Ms. Carter and Miss Candy Ch. 02

"I figured that," I replied, as gentle as I could. "What else?"

"Miss Candy met me online," Mitch continued. "It doesn't matter what site. We talked, hit it off, and you're falling for me."

"How long have we been together?" I asked.

"Not long." He was struggling with thought, "whatever, you make it up."

I wanted to go over our cover story together but stopped myself. Mitch was a D student on his best days. He would just get mixed up on details, stress out, and screw everything up.

"I'll take care of it," I told him. "Don't worry about a thing."

"Okay, it's almost time," he said, as the dashboard clock ticked over to 9:58am. "You have to get out first—that lock is busted."

I stepped out of the car into the bright sunlight and suddenly felt entirely naked. I looked around and patted myself down to make sure I was still wearing some clothing. I had forgotten why everything was rose colored. It took a moment to remember, and to realize that the glasses might at least hide my identity a little bit. I was brought back to reality when Mitch set the car alarm and I jumped at the noise. Mitch was walking towards the Food Court. I hurried to follow him.

"Hey, Little Brother," a striking woman greeted Mitch once we got inside, "and this must be the Miss Candy you were telling me about." "Hi, hon," she greeted me directly, "I'm Tara."

Tara was a hugger. I tried to move closer to Mitch once she let me go. He was a sociopathic blackmailer and a bully, but at least I knew who he was. Tara held me at arm's length, her hands on my shoulders, and looked me up and down. "This is a serious case, indeed," Tara said cheerfully, "you look like you let my brother dress you."

"Mitch, uh," I stammered out, "he helped me choose this outfit."

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," Tara playfully chided me, "never let him do that again. Boys don't know what they really want—and they definitely don't know what looks good!"

"Tara," Mitch started introductions, even though we were well past that point, "This is Miss Candy, my latest plaything." At least, he didn't call me a slut, but plaything wasn't much better. "Candy, this is my sister, the dyke." Tara let out a hearty laugh. I chuckled nervously. Mitch just stood there looking mildly irritated.

"So, brother-mine," Tara put her arm around my shoulders and looked at him, "Are you going clothes shopping with the girls?"

"There's a movie starting in fifteen minutes," Mitch told her, then said to me, "Don't lick her carpet unless she pays you—and it's been disinfected." With that, Mitch walked away, leaving me in the hands of this bubbly bottle blonde with more tattoos and piercings than should be allowed by law.

"So, dish," she told me, "What's the deal with you two?"

This was going to be the longest shopping trip ever.

-----

Once you got past her personality, Tara wasn't so bad. Unfortunately, once you got past her personality, there wasn't much there. She was a cosmetologist and hair stylist. Her entire life revolved around the fashion magazines and fashion blogs she could read free online. That only goes so far in a conversation, so she let me do the talking most of the day. When I say she let me do the talking, I mean she kept asking me questions about every detail of my life and expected me to answer her.

Mitch had only given me the basics about Miss Candy's character. I just had to improvise all the answers. Most of the time that just meant confirming her leading questions. Miss Candy was my online persona, and I didn't want to use my real name. I was really interested in Mitch, but as an older woman, it would be awkward if anyone recognized me. Most importantly, I wanted to look nice for Mitch, and not seem out of place when hanging out with him and his friends. Tara never asked me if I had any kids, so I was able to avoid that question entirely. Tara guessed that I was about 30 years old, and I just let her believe that.

When we got to the first store, Tara picked out some clothes and dragged me into a dressing room. It would be rude to ask her to leave, so I started to undress. Once I was naked Tara gasped and pulled out her phone. I was terrified she was going to take photos of me, but instead she just sent a message to Mitch, demanding to know why I wasn't wearing any underwear. Mitch responded, which meant he was rudely texting in the movie theater. I didn't see what he said, but she pulled her phone up to her face and started typing frantically. "Put your clothes on," she said. "We'll come back here later."

The next stop was Victoria's Secret. I was glad she hadn't taken me to Frederick's of Hollywood, or somewhere worse. I tried to explain that Mitch didn't think I should wear panties around him, but she said, "My brother can go fuck himself if that's his attitude. You need to have drawers on if you're trying on clothes, and," she added almost as an afterthought, "God damn it, you're a grown woman. You deserve this." I was thankful to have underwear again, until I got the receipt. The sets of bras and panties that morning turned out to be only the second most expensive purchase of the day. The most expensive was to be much later.

We had bags of clothing from different stores, and I was wearing a much nicer, yet somehow, sluttier outfit. Bra, panties, black leather miniskirt, and an almost sheer white blouse that split down the middle to show off my midriff. Tara said my skin was so perfect that I didn't need stockings, but she did have me get a pair of high heel ankle boots. It most definitely was not my style, but I felt sexy and confident and decided this was Miss Candy's style. When we met Mitch for lunch and to put all the bags in his trunk (even the inside of the trunk was clean and polished), he let out a wolf whistle and complimented us both.

After lunch, Mitch was ready to go, but Tara said there were just a few more important details to complete my look. Mitch just shrugged and Tara and I took off again. This time she walked me into a spa and salon. I followed her as she confidently strolled straight to the back. The stylists all greeted her, and I guessed she must work there. I had never been to a place like this before, where they lock up your clothes and have everyone walk around in bathrobes. Next thing I knew, Tara had me laying in a chair where she could wash my hair and remove my make-up for a full make-over.

"I envy your pores," she told me, and we got into a detailed discussion of different skin treatments. When she pulled her face back for a better view, she frowned at me. "You're older than 30," Tara said, almost accusingly, "does Mitchell know?" I had never heard anyone refer to the boy as anything other than Mitch. I assured her that I was 37 and he knew that.

"You're holding back something, though," she said. "It's just us here, what did you want to tell me?" I couldn't keep much from her, but I did my best. "Mitch doesn't want anyone to know this," I said, "so you have to promise you'll never ever tell him that I told you." She agreed, so I continued, "Mitch is just a few weeks older than my son. They go to school together."

"Oh!" Tara exclaimed, "Does your son know about...?"

I looked away, not wanting to talk about this further.

"So, when you said you don't want anyone to realize that you two are together," Tara was catching on. "Oh, wow. I can see why that would be difficult." Then she smiled down at me, "Don't you worry about a thing. When I'm done with you, your own son won't recognize you—but, whenever you like, you'll be able to go back to your usual appearance."

It sounded like some kind of magic.

It sounded a lot more like a cash register dinging my credit card.

Meeting Miss Candy

Doing my own make-up took about seven years off my appearance. Tara and I exchanged tips and took at least another seven years off. We looked like we could be sisters, or at least going to the same college.

The real coup-de-grâce were the wigs. She had me purchase three using her employee discount and skipping the usual commission. Each one was a different expression of Miss Candy's personality. Walking back to the Food Court to meet Mitch, I selected the strawberry blonde with pink highlights. It matched the rose-tinted glasses he gave me that morning.

Mitch just stared absentmindedly at his sister when we walked up, then he looked at me and his jaw dropped. Literally. Tara turned to me and cheered excitedly, then we hugged goodbye. Mitch then walked me to the car. The last of the packages found their way into the trunk, and we headed out. It was late afternoon. The weather was perfect. We listened to the radio. I slipped into the fantasy that I was a young twenty-something riding in this Mustang with her new boyfriend. For about half the drive, I had completely forgotten that this boy was blackmailing me, and not someone I was dating.

"We should pull a little prank on Russ when we get home," I said. "Pretend that I'm some floozy you picked up and brought back to his mom's house."

"Why would we do that?" Mitch asked me.

"It could be funny," I said, "I don't look anything like—"

I cut myself off. I remembered who I was. I remembered where I was, and why I was there. Meanwhile, I didn't notice Mitch unbuttoning his jeans.

"I have a better idea," Mitch said, while pulling out his cock. "The road is pretty straight here. The traffic is light this afternoon. Why don't you suck me off." It wasn't a suggestion or a request. I had no choice other than to comply. Even when he was holding my head and fucking my face up and down his cock, he kept his attention on the road around us—which just meant it took longer for him to cum. We were almost home when he finally shot semen and sperm into my mouth. I swallowed and cleaned his cock properly.

It would have been a shame to make any mess in that Mustang.

-----

"You really do look good, Miss Candy," Mitch said, when we had parked outside my house. "I'm going to take my sister's advice and let you wear underwear again."

"Thank you," I said. He reminded me that I had to get out first. I wasn't sure if he would follow me or just drive off; but, of course, he came inside. It was getting close to dinnertime.

When we walked inside Russell hollered out from his room, "Mom?"

I decided to play my joke. "Umm, hellloooo?" I said, in a voice twenty years younger and fifty I.Q. points dumber than myself. Russell came out of his room and saw Mitch, who just hooked a thumb towards me. My son had no idea who I was.

"What is this?" he asked, "Where's my mother?" He looked authentically afraid.

Mitch just shrugged, "It was her idea."

"What are you...?" Russell started to say. Then I pulled off the eyeglasses and wig.

"Ta-da!" I exclaimed, and Russell relaxed. We both started laughing. Mitch was not amused. He just sat down in the living room and flipped on the TV.

"Oh look, it's my favorite movie," Mitch said. Russell and I both turned to see that DVD of the gloryhole was still in the player.

We stopped laughing.

Mitch smirked.

"Could you put something else on?" Mitch asked, "I came enough when we were in the car."

-----

"We're all going out tonight," Mitch stated plainly over dinner. "I know Miss Candy can pass, but I'm not sure about you, Rusty. Just try not to embarrass yourself... or me."

After dinner Mitch 'helped' my son find an outfit while I did the dishes. When I finished up, I was surprised to find them both sitting in the living room. I was more surprised to find that Russell was sitting on the couch wearing nothing except for a dark pink pair of my everyday panties.

"What is this?" I asked. Russell just kept staring blankly at the TV screen. They were watching some action movie.

"Relax, Miss Candy," Mitch said. "We've got a couple hours before the party starts. He has plenty of time to put on the rest of his outfit."

I didn't like this, but what could I do? I sat down on the couch next to my son and waited patiently. When the credits started rolling, Mitch said it was time to get dressed. Russell got up and walked to his bedroom.

"That goes for you, too," Mitch told me. "You wouldn't want anyone to recognize Ms. Carter at this party." I blinked and remembered. I went to my bedroom and selected a wig. I couldn't ask Mitch for assistance—his fashion advice was terrible—so I just had to guess what kind of party he was referring to... I selected the layered purple wig thinking we might end up at a rave. I put the rose-tinted glasses on and was glad to see Russell emerge from his room wearing plain white slacks and a plain white t-shirt. I might have noticed the pink panties were slightly visible underneath the white slacks if I hadn't been wearing tinted glasses.

When we got out to the car I had to climb into the back seat of the coupe while the boys rode in the front seats. Russell was very impressed with Mitch's Mustang, but Mitch wasn't in the mood to talk with him. We drove a few blocks away into a bad part of town, and then into the parking lot of some apartment complexes. Finally, Mitch parked under a lamppost, just outside a row of townhouses.

"You have to be 18 to get inside," Mitch told us, as we walked towards a crowd of teenagers smoking cigarettes in front of one of the townhouses. Standing next to the door was the first student I recognized. Wayne was three-hundred pounds of solid muscle. He had been on the football team all four years. He graduated last year but hadn't gone on to college. I had no idea what he was doing now. Apparently, he was the bouncer.

"These two with you?" Wayne asked Mitch, who just nodded.

"They're old enough?" Wayne asked. Mitch just nodded again.

"Alright, get your asses in there," Wayne said, and held the door for us. He gave me a whistle when I walked by, and said, "Hope to see you upstairs sometime."

The townhouse was small, dark, and full of smoke. I recognized the scent from my younger days and could almost identify the blends. It was cigarettes outside, but inside it was pot. Bongs, hookahs, joints, you name it. I walked past one guy snorting powder off a table. Mitch grabbed a beer and offered one to Russell. My son started to protest, but quickly reconsidered and took the bottle. Mitch leaned into me, said he was going upstairs, but that we should stay here. Then he kissed me on the mouth and slipped his tongue inside while grabbing my ass. I understood what he was doing—he was marking his territory. Everyone in the room, including my son, was watching us. I hoped Russell wouldn't do anything stupid.

Mitch disappeared up the stairs. I found an open seat and was immediately handed a joint. I hadn't smoked in a couple decades, but during my high school days, I knew how to party. I inhaled deeply, nodded, handed it back, and then exhaled. The person who had offered it to me—I honestly couldn't tell if they were male or female—just nodded sagely at me. Russell walked over and decided to lean against the wall next to my chair. He was offered the joint, but just saluted with his beer bottle. This might not be his scene, but he was doing alright. We sat there hanging out for a while, waiting for whatever happened next. The person finished their joint and stood up, leaning against the wall with Russell. They started talking, but I couldn't hear anything over the music. Honestly, I couldn't even hear the music over the music. They could have been playing my favorite songs and I wouldn't be able to hear it. It was just too damn loud.

Joint person peeled themselves off the wall and went into another room. A minute or two later, Mitch came back downstairs. He greeted me by sliding his hand down my shirt and cupping my left breast over my bra. I tried to get up but found that I had sunk into the seat. It was one foamy mass of cushion. Mitch and Russell helped me stand, then Mitch led us through the kitchen to a door down into the basement. When Russell closed the door behind him, everything went abruptly, eerily silent. The pounding music on the main floor was just a low thud down here. Still, dust could be seen pulsing from the rafters.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mitch blurted out with unexpected volume in the quiet space. We reached the bottom of the stairs where everything was obscenely well lit—a sharp contrast to the darkness of the main floor. There was a cheer of "Hey Mitch!" followed by one man's voice saying, "Who's your bitch?"

Mitch pulled me into the room. There were maybe twenty people there, some sitting around a poker table, others just scattered around with chairs and tables placed haphazardly. A few of them were clearly only 18 or 19, and a few were at least in their 40s, but most of the crowd were in their early 20s. I blinked my eyes behind the rose-colored glasses and recognized five of my former students.

"This lovely lady," Mitch sounded drunk off his ass, "is Miss Candy." The crowd cheered again, and I waved. I was so outside of my comfort zone and had no idea what Mitch might do next.

"Yeah, but who's your bitch?" the man's voice said again. I could see it was an older guy—maybe even in his 50s—with a bald head and full beard. Everyone got a good laugh, as Mitch pulled Russell into the room.

"Holy shit," a girl I recognized as Wendy (graduated last year with a 2.0 average) said, "That's Rusty Carter! What the hell are you doing bringing a teacher's kid here?" Everyone turned to look at my son. I played along and stared at him as well. Russell held his ground but didn't say anything.

"Rusty is alright," Mitch slurred slightly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Wendy shouted, as she stormed towards the three of us. "He's a teacher's cunt and a snitch. He's going to rat us out if you let him down here!"

Mitch took his arm off me and freed his other hand from Russell. He stepped calmly forward, and I realized the drunken bum was just an act. Mitch was stone cold sober—and dangerous as hell. "Rusty is alright," he told Wendy. She backed down but wasn't happy about it. Mitch looked back at us and resumed his drunk act.

"C'mon friends," he waved towards us, "let's grab a table." Mitch walked towards a table and plopped down in one of the chairs. The people on either side of him got up and moved to other parts of the room. Russell sat down at Mitch's right, and I started to sit down on his left when Mitch put his hand up.

"Hey, babe," Mitch said, over his shoulder in my general direction, "Fetch the six of us another round of drinks." I looked around the table and saw that yes, there were three other people sitting there including the older man who had shouted, 'Yeah, but who's your bitch?' I took another look around the room and spotted the bar with refrigerators behind it.

"Of course, what would you like?" I asked the three others. I played waitress and came back with six drinks on a tray.

"Holy smokes," the older man said, "you actually brought a girl that knows how to mix drinks!" I guess they had been messing with me when one asked for a White Russian, another asked for a martini, and the third asked for anything single malt. "I didn't find any Scotch," I apologized, "the closest I could get was Jameson."

I was a hit. I also brought back more for Russell and Mitch, who were drinking forty-ounce bottles of the finest malt liquor you could find at any gas station. Finally, I found some hard cider for myself. I put the tray back and sat down. Mitch's hand immediately found its way into my lap. I didn't even flinch. It wasn't me. I was just playing a role. Miss Candy was entertaining.

The boys drank and talked about all sorts of things. After about an hour, the older guy—they called him Gray, probably because of the streaks in his beard—went over to a shelf and brought back a board game. It was some four-player German board game. I had never seen anything like it, but I was fascinated. I hung onto Mitch's arm like I was his girlfriend and whispered to him about the rules and how to play. Half an hour later, I was helping him win. The other three guys were all good sports and happy with my interest in their game. Russell was watching everything methodically, and carefully choosing when to join and exit the conversation. He wasn't welcome there, but he was doing a great job of fitting in. After the first game, I was sent back for another round of drinks; but this time, everyone agreed to the same drink. I brought back six rum and cokes and received another round of compliments. My secret is to pour most of the rum into the bottom of the glass but save a little bit to splash on the top. That initial hit of rum convinces you that you're getting something strong, and that feeling continues as you go through the drink; yet you don't use as much alcohol and can drink more. It would have been better with a slice of lime or spritz of lime juice, but this wasn't going to happen.