Part 1
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The Price Of Perfection/Part One

by Marlissa

Candy was ready to roll. Damn, I'm hot, she thought. Pretty blue eyes, with thick Madonna-thick eyebrows, winked at her from the mirror. The small bow-shaped mouth all wet and ready for kisses, her sculpted cheekbones framing her face with assertiveness, her small, pointed chin proof of her femininity. Her long dirty blonde hair gave her such a party-girl look all teased up like that, but her perky little Irish button-nose said "good girl" all the way. She had probably gone overboard with the make-up but she couldn't help it. It was her first time out on the town in her new persona and she would allow herself to go a little crazy. Which explained the light blue eyeshadow, the blush and the lipgloss her tanned, flawless face certainly didn't need. Like the admittedly garish hot orange polish she had used on her Lee press-on nails. She liked the idea of long nails, but the maintenance didn't justify all the work. Though she was going to enjoy herself, she wasn't willing to put herself through daily misery just to look sexy. This was the 90s after all-- Women's Lib and all that? In any case, she liked what she saw--all made up with somewhere to go.

Dress-up was going to be so much fun. Just getting ready to go out tonight was more fun than she had in a while. She had tossed new clothes right and left, cleaning out her still tagged wardrobe from her closet in a frenzy of delightful indecision. The "right" look was so important for a modern gal. Not too conservative or you may as well just sit home and watch tv. Not too slutty or you might as well get paid for it. She had plenty of clothes to choose from. Candy was a classic clothes horse-- she adored clothing and couldn't resist the temptation to buy anything that took her fancy. Whenever the mail arrived, it was the myriad clothing catalogs that she devoured like chocolate-- the bills were tossed aside immediate. Page after glossy page of pretty women wearing blouses, swimsuits, skirts, dresses of every imaginable hue and material. Lace, velvet, silk, cotton, leather-- she loved the feel of all of them against her soft skin. What you could do with your clothing was to Candy what her new freedom was about-- choices, choices, choices!

So she made her choices, choices that should send the right message: a silk floral print blouse from House of Silk which buttoned up in the front, a cute yellow knee length cotton mini-skirt from the Limited that showed off her long smooth golden legs, a pair of taupe flats from Papagallo's and a blue headband to keep her wild hair out of her face. She accessorized with gold hoop earrings, a gold bangle on her wrist, a cute big blue wrap-around belt, hot pink sunglasses and a small white clutch purse for her i.d. (it was amazing to think she would get carded-- how exciting!). It was the perfect look for her-- spoiled Ivy League college girl with a rich daddy and a sex drive in mid-gear. Everything bright, promising and fun.

Underneath the sex drive might go up to high gear-- for the guy of her choosing. Candy made ached for the day when she might indulge herself with the biggest, most colorful lingerie collection the world had ever seen. She didn't wear pantyhose because it was so warm, but in cooler weather she most certainly would. To hell with garter belts, she thought impishly. Even though guys loved them , Candy would dress for comfort. Maybe-- and only maybe-- when she met a guy she wanted to keep, she would wear garter-belts and stockings for him. But she was a long way away from tying her self down to one guy. She was just starting to live for God's sakes!

But she did want to show off her prize possessions-- her firm 36C breasts. And to do that, she would err on the side of naughtiness. So she had slipped into a pretty bright blue lace brassiere with lots of underwire to get those boobs in the face of every guy she ran into tonight. It had been her first purchase from Victoria's Secret-- the perfect way to show off her best feature-- with a pair of matching blue French-cut lace panties. Candy looked again in the mirror-- wasn't the mirror becoming her best friend? She put her hand on her hip and gave a teasing come-hither at her reflection. What a catch she was! Blonde, early twenties, a 36-32-36 figure, living in an exclusive waterfront penthouse apartment, in the garage a red Mercedes convertible ready and waiting and in the bank more money that you could possibly spend. What a dish. . Any guy would be lucky to get in my pants, she thought playfully.

And when they did get in her pants, a surprise would be waiting for them. She would see then how sexy they found Candy. She was fully confident that she could pick and choose the bedmate she desired for the night, then seduce and manipulate him into raging, full-bore lust for her-- a lust she would harness and control for her own needs. By the time she was ready to reveal all underneath those hot little lace panties, her Romeo would be quite ready to do what she wanted in order to reach relief. Exactly what she wanted. Her hunch was that her needs would be satisfied-- or Romeo would go away with his tail between his legs. That was why she had refused to let Dr. Slate remove her maleness in the sexual reassignment surgery. She had done her research like a smart little girl. A lot, not all, but a lot of transgendered gals said they regretted giving It up. "Don't do it," one said. "You'll miss the sensation of ejaculation. There's no replacement for it."

So Candy had everything else done, except the one thing that would make it all permanent. Why should she? She was paying for it-- she could just what she wanted, no more no less. She was paying enough, that was for sure. When it was said and done, Dr. Slate's bill had passed the five hundred thousand mark. Not that Candy cared. Her last year on Wall Street, she had banked a cool ten million in salary and bonuses-- the culmination of a fast and furious investment career that had astounded even her jaded peers. But Charles "Boy Wonder" Dane had done it in an effortless way before he had hit twenty-eight. Not bad for an orphan who had grown up in the mean streets of L.A.

And when he had hit the mark, he had abruptly resigned and disappeared six months ago. Why had he done it, the Street asked. Where did he go? What did he want? He smiled at the reports as he read them in the Journal. What did he want indeed, he mused, even as Dr. Slate had transformed him into Candy Cane. What he had wanted all his life, what had kept him going through the intense insanity of the high-stakes global investment game-- he wanted to be a California girl.

He had always wanted it. The bright, laughing girls of Venice Beach, the bikinied beach bunnies of Laguna, the hot pants honnies on the boulevard of Hollywood-- he was obsessed by them all. To Charlie Dane, dirty unwanted street kid who flew in and out of state institutions, neglectful or even abusive foster homes and reformatories, the California girls of his youth epitomized everything he wanted-- beauty, security and power.

And here he was, fresh out of the Slate Clinic, ready to try out her new body-- ready to be a SHE. She had chosen to base herself in the East Coast because blowsy blondes like here had a higher value than the already blessed West Coast. Less competition, better hunting she thought as she arranged a bra strap. But she needn't limit herself to the East Coast. With her money, she would go wherever and whenever she wished, collecting lovers and enjoying the good life. She was all estrogen, all curves and jiggles and all girl. Michelle Pfieffer, no-- but she was definitely Dallas Cowboys cheerleader-class. And she was free at last-- free from doubt, guilt and fear of being discovered. SHE was living the way SHE always wanted to.

With purse in hand, she trotted out to the elevator, which carried her to the garage and her gorgeous Mercedes convertible. As she sped out of the garage, she gave the building attendant a coy smile and peeled out to begin a night of romance and adventure. Little old me, a cocktease? she giggled. You better believe it!


Le Temps was THE place to be seen, if you wanted to crack the rich and beautiful scene in the city. She considered sitting at the bar, but that looked a trifle obvious. Instead she allowed a cute Italian waiter to deposit her at a small table for two. The place was packed and she thought she might have a problem getting a table. She was prepared to pass a folded twenty to him to ensure prime seating, when she realized that no such consideration would be necessary. The way the waiter's eyes rolled over her cleavage, albeit respectfully. Candy knew it would be his pleasure to seat and serve her. Feminine wiles beat the power of money any day!

Her Chardonnay arrived in a heartbeat. Dry, exquisite and much needed, the wine calmed her fluttery nerves. Her eyes danced across the room. It was a chic crowd, the guys all in Gucci loafers, J. Press shirts and Joseph Aboud suits. Most were attractive. There was an English-sounding guy with a beard that looked way too intense and some too-young, too-immature types, but otherwise a promising crop of men. She knew that not a few of the male half of dates were drinking her in. How much fun it will be to steal other girl's men, she thought evily with one particularly yuppie-looking brunette in mind. The bitch, with her butch short hair and tres boring Talbot's career gal outfit, was trying to pull her date into some stupid discussion about politics, even as the guy's eyes were doing It to Candy, seated next to the couple. How will it feel to lose your guy to a gal who is better looking than you, huh honey? she thought. To lose out to a gal with a hard, thick cock, huh honey? She sipped her wine. This would be fun.

She picked up her clutch and began fumbling through it, tsk-tsking to herself. "Oh, pooh!" Candy exclaimed, just a tad too loud. She had the guy's attention fixed now and she turned.

"Excuse me-- could I borrow a dime? I need to make a call." The guy, a successful lawyer-looking guy who might have walked out of an L.L. Bean catalog, was already handing her one, even as his date glared at her.

She thanked him, scrapping her nails on his palm as she took the dime. Candy did her best catwalk as she minced over to the payphone and smiled back. The brunette shot daggers at her but she continued to smile as she fake-dialed a number. Suddenly she frowned; her eyes began to tear. She minced back sadly, pretending to brush a last tear out of her eye. As she passed by the table, she stopped.

"Thanks for the dime," she sniffled.

Male Model looked up. "Everything o.k.?" How sweet he should ask.

She shrugged weakly. "M-my boyfriend can't come. He broke up with me just now. Oh I could die!"

The brunette looked coldly at her, her short dark hair vibrating like porcupine needles. But Male Model was up on his feet and she conveniently collapsed in his arms sobbing.

"I'm sorry! I don't know what I'm doing!" she whimpered.

The brunette's eyes said it all...Like Hell You Don't, Bitch!

Candy wanted to smile and suggest she leave the two to get acquainted. In two minutes flat she held the property deed to Male Model. Candy had already taken possession and was moving in. She had a silent message for Porcupine Hair: Don't you get it babe? Blondes DO have more fun She gave Male Model a secret cock stroke as he helped her regain her balance. Candy clutched her purse and sat down, taking the new glass of wine he had already ordered for her. Candy winked at Porcupine Hair, who blushed, looked down, made her regrets and left the restaurant. Male Model smiled weakly then fixed his whole attention on her.

"She wasn't your type anyway, was she, cute stuff?" Candy insisted.

Male Model muttered no, she was just a friend.

Candy smiled. They would be more than friends before the night was over. She dabbed her now-smiling face with a tissue she pulled from her clutch and began to fill the air with small talk about her favorite subject-- herself. She must have been weaving quite a seductive web-- even the intense guy with the beard was tuning into her stream of chatter. God, being a sexy girl just didn't get any better!


She hunted for her bra in the dark, found it and slipped it on. She could still feel his kisses on them as the blue lace covered her magnificent pair of melons. He snoozed on the bed, exhausted beyond all expectation. Candy's first night as a bitchy vixen had gone well. Extremely well.

Male Model had drunk a couple glasses of wine, screwed up his courage, then asked if he might take her to a trendy dance place. She looked bored and finally consented. He nervously slipped his arm around her waist as they left and though she didn't look pleased, she allowed it to stay. She wanted to pace her new stud carefully. Dancing was fun and the place was hot. Even the bearded guy had eventually shown up, sipping a scotch from the sidelines. Watching the show, Candy wondered. She made Male Model stay there till the place closed down in order to get a sense of how much stamina he had. He was still on his feet by two o'clock-- a good sign. She hadn't given him so much as a peck on the cheek, though she had flirted with him like crazy, grinding her hips against his and casting her best bedroom eyes upon him. Her hands drew lightly across his chest teasingly, but when he tried to put a hand on her ass, she angrily shook him off. She made him beg a good twenty minutes for forgiveness before she took the dance floor again.

As they left, he wondered if he might walk her home. She smiled. "How 'bout I take you home, babe? I don't want to leave the Mercedes at Le Temps, so I'd be happy to drop you off at your place."

He shrugged uncertainly. "Sure, I guess. It's funny-- I've never been taken home by a girl--uh, I mean, woman, before."

She pulled up outside his place, a nice if not stupendous place in a fashionable, quiet part of town. He sheepishly asked her if she wanted to come in for a nightcap. She nodded and followed. As he mixed her drink, she decided to take what she wanted. She crept up behind him and pounced, her hands roaming his chest and unbuttoning it. He was taken by surprise and turned around.

"I want you," she whispered I his ear. "I'm going to have you."

He moaned as she rubbed his cock through his pants, unbuckling his belt and pushing him gently into the bedroom. They collapsed on the bed together. Soon he was nude, though she was still dressed. On his back, he looked up at her.

"You're gorgeous," he exclaimed.

She smiled. "Good boy. Keep saying things like that and we'll have some fun." She flicked his erect cock. "Poor thing needs attention, doesn't he?"

Male Model nodded desperately.

She leered cattily. "But I don't do blow jobs, babe, not unless the guy does me too. Fair enough?"

He nodded. He was so horny, he'd do anything for some action. Guys were so pathetic.

"Fine, but how do I know if I do you, you'll do me? I mean most guys don't like to go down on girls. I have to be sure I'll get my part of the bargain. Will you help me to trust you?"

He nodded, bleary from booze, sleep and lust, all combining into a weird daze which she could take advantage of. Which she knew she could take advantage of.

Without explaining, she rose, still in her skirt and blouse, though kicking her heels off. She opened up his closet drawer and pulled a couple ties off the rack inside. "Tie to tie you up, babe," she explained.

He smirked. Kinky, he's thinking. A bonus he didn't count on. As she tied his wrists and ankles to the headboards, she chuckled. You don't know what kind of a bonus you're about to get, Cute Stuff. Now that he was tied down securely, she peeled off her blouse, exposing her blue laced breasts.

"Like them, babe?" she purred, pressing them in his face. He grunted and licked the lace cup. She straddled him, then slipped down.

"I always keep my word, but a warning, babe," she continued to make her way down his chest to his waist. She brushed the hard cock with her nail. "You don't cum in my mouth. You cum in my mouth and you stay tied up and I'm out of here in a heartbeat. Got it?"

He nodded, the poor sap. She began to lap at the cock teasingly, then too the thick bulb head in her throat. It was her first deepthroat and she enjoyed it more than she thought. The meat thrummed within her throat filling it with gaining girth as she plied it more and more with her fast-learning tongue. Male Model was moaning loudly now and she pulled his member out abruptly. She blew on it and pointed it at a framed museum poster on the wall. He exploded and sent a bullet of goo a good three feet, hitting the poster on the wall.

He sighed and she patted him. "Good boy. Now it's my turn." He watched in anticipation as she unzipped her tight miniskirt, leaving her straddling his chest in only her bra and panties. It was dark, but she knew he had discovered her "bonus" when she pressed the panty bulge against his handsome face.

She yanked down the little panty and her own cock bobbed out. Ironically it was bigger than Male Model's. She pressed it against his cheek while he yanked his hands trying to free himself. The ties held. He looked up in dawning horror as he realized the enormity of his position.

"O.k. babe, get to work. Give me some head, cute stuff. If you're a good little cocksucker, I'll let you go. If not, I'll leave-- but not before pulling the fire alarm. How would you like to explain to all the firemen why you're all tied up like this? Bet the neighbors would be curious, wouldn't they babe?"

He whimpered. "Please don't make me! Please!" he begged furiously.

She patted him. "Sorry babe. You're just too cute a morsel to pass up. A girl's got to have her fun when she wants it." She directed the cock toward his clenched shut mouth. "Don't make me ask again, babe."

Grudgingly he opened his mouth and accepted the ever alien yet so familiar object of Candy's desire. It wasn't long before she told him that unlike himself, she WOULD be cumming in his throat. And she expected him to drink every last drop. He groaned in despair as she tugged the ties tighter reminding him of his position.

And now she was slipping her skirt on. It was five o'clock and she had just finished with him. He had been slow at first, but Male Model was a fast learner. By the time she had finally begun to tire of him, he had turned into a very accomplished cocksucker and she told him so. But by that time he was so exhausted that he merely fell back and sighed in defeat. His face was sticky and messy with Candy's cum, his eyes glazed and mouth slick with the goo too. She patted his head and slipped her flats on.

"Good job babe. Maybe I'll call you sometime. Would you like that?"

He buried his head in his creamy pillow and sobbed pitifully. She gently untied the restraining ties, patted him on the ass and slunk out triumphantly. The virgin voyage for the HMS Candy was over. She knew just what to do from now on.


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