For those of you who are looking immediate sex, the âoh fuck me daddyâ kind of thing, I apologize. I need some intelligential stimuli to get my rocks off so to speak so most of my stories are written like that. I admit there is some âfuck me daddyâ but you have to read to find it.
Candice smiled as she glances at herself in the tall mirror in her bedroom. She looked incredible if she did say so herself and she did. The man she was prepping for wouldnât know what hit him. At 5â2, 115 lbs, Candice was every manâs fantasy. Her body was the stuff of wet dreams. She wasnât built like a willow stick; her body curved in directions the way a womanâs body should. Her breasts were high and firm, her stomach flat and taunt. There wasnât an ounce of fat on her body and she planned to keep it as such. She practically screamed, Fuck Me, even when she wasnât trying to. There was just something about her.
At 18, Candice was like many girls her age. Beautiful, vain, self involved, that and so much more. She knew she was gorgeous. Every man on planet Earth had told her so since the minute she had popped from her motherâs womb. Every man saves one. He never seem to notice when she walked into a room, never commented when her perfume was applied just right. He ignored her, a fact that never failed to irritate Candice to no end.
Sam Logan was a handsome man. He could get any woman he wanted, and had in the past done just that. He was constantly rejecting offers from beautiful sexy women from every walk of life so Candiceâs beauty was of no use to him. He had seen prettier, more seductive as well, in his time. Candice wasnât even on his radar screen. She was to him just a pretty trinket he had picked up on vacation.
He was her legal guardian, the keeper of her gate, so to speak. Everything she had was because he gave it to her. The expensive clothes she wore, the brand-new Mercedes that she drove, all giving to her by him. Everything hers was his except the one thing, the only thing she has wanted from him since the minute they met. His love.
Candice had been 13 when they first laid eyes on each other. A very old, very angry 13 year old who knew too much about life. She lived out of a suitcase and lied to survive. The face of an angel, the body of the devilâs bride, and the mind of a geniusâŚthat is, if you counted conning an art. She did, so in her opinion, she was a total Einstein.
The morning of that day her social worker arrived at the foster home she has been in for about 3 months. Candice hadnât been surprised to see the overworked, underpaid government servant. With one look, Candice grabbed her packed suitcase from the cramped room she shared with 2 other girls and headed out the door. She asked no questioned, knowing the routine by heart now. The family hadnât wanted her, explaining to the adoption agency how Candice was just too much to handle along with the other 4 kids they received payment from raising. Candice had had to go.
The car was silent, Candice remembered, that day. She kept her eyes forward and her mouth shut. She hadnât wanted to know where she was being taken, her mind already planning the escape from the new place. She knew it and the worker knew it as well. She would be gone in 24 hours. She always was. She wasnât a bad child, the worker had thought, she had just had some bad breaks in her life and she had yet to find anyone who would take the time to figure her out.
The car came to a stop in front of a large house. So large in fact, Candice was sure that you could get lost in there and stay lost for a while. Facts that sort have appealed to her. She stepped out the car, grabbed her suitcase, and headed for the door, following her social workerâs heels.
The house was incredible, something out of a movie. Candice could almost see a movie star step from the house wearing a beautiful gown being escorted by a handsome man who was madly in love with her. Hearing her own thoughts, Candice snorted. Yeah, right. Like anyone from that house would want you, she thought. No, she thought, this must be a home or something.
Shaken from her thoughts, Candice watched as the front door of the house open. As she watched a tall, balding man stepped from the house wearing a black suit. Even from Candiceâs untrained eyes, this dude must have been the butler. For some reason, Candice felt relieved. She didnât want to do to a home, didnât want to be just another helpless child in the system that didnât care whether she was happy or not. Many nights, she cried herself to sleep, wishing, hoping that the years would fly by and she would be 18, then and only then could she truly begin to relax.
âGood evening, Sir, I am from the Orange County Social Services Department and I have an appointment with Holden James,â Marissa Gray said, in a voice more tired than she looked. She was so tired of placing these children in one home and then the next week have to come get them just because the foster parentâs couldnât âhandleâ them. Sighing to herself, Marissa pushed Candice into the door after the butler. In Marissa opinion you didnât âhandleâ children, you cared for them. All to often now-a-days, people wanted immediate results and didnât want to take the time to get to know the children, to bond with them. Well, there wasnât nothing that she could do about it. She couldnât force someone to take the time and get to know the child that was in her care, all she could do was watch over the children, keep them from harm, and hope that they found the family that so many of them wanted.
Unable to read her social workerâs thoughts, Candice had no idea the turmoil that was rolling around in her. She could only feel the butterflies in her own stomach as they waited on the Holden James man to arrive. Never before had she ever been this nervous about meeting a foster parent, never so afraid that someone wouldnât like her and would send her away. She told herself that she didnât care whether or not the man liked her, she could careless if some rich bastard thought she was worthy or not, but stillâŚa part did.
Candice glanced down at herself and grimaced. She looked like a bag lady, with clothes to big to fit her small form. Most of her things were hand-me-downs and had more holes in them than a strainer, but they were hers and no one, not even the police could take them away from her.