Pussy Kandy

Why is that little girl dressed like a dominatrix? Jaycee thought as she walked toward the front door.

The "girl" was standing on the other side of the storm door, visible through the glass pane. She was wearing an impossibly tight pink catsuit with a plunging neckline and a pink lace harlequin mask. There were pink cat's ears in her hair, and fine little white whiskers painted on her cheeks.

The main door was open, held ajar by the small table with the candy bowl, so that Jaycee could take in the costumes before handing out the mini Twix bars and boxes of Nerds. The small kids had long-since gone home. For an hour there had been only a few ten-year-old stragglers and a couple of stoned middle-schoolers, so she wasn't expecting the doorbell when it chimed.

Should have shut the door, she thought when she saw the outfit.

By the time she reached for the bowl, Jaycee knew that whoever was in the catsuit, it was no middle-schooler. She was miniscule --even in 4-inch stilettos, she was barely over 5 feet tall-- but that's where her resemblance to a little girl stopped.

She was supernaturally curvaceous, and the latex bodysuit clung to her form like a glassy candy shell.

It was a shade of pink that made your mouth water, with bright white zippers at strategic locations, and a small, plastic ice-cream cone hanging from the zipper fob below her cleavage. The two small, pink sequined cat's ears poked from hair that was as white as whipped cream. Pink ribbons (with plastic cherries at the center of the bows) scooped the fine white strands into ponytails on the sides of her head. Her skin was the color of caramel, and her brown eyes so big you could drown in them. Around her neck was a thin pink leather collar, like a choker, from which hung a ruby-red plastic cherry.

She looked like an ice cream sundae that you wanted to fuck.

In one hand was a glittery, hot pink rectangle that Jaycee mistook for a cell phone. In the other was a leash that trailed up behind her to the collar of an all-white Great Dane that towered over her. He too wore a pink collar, but with a plastic bone dangling from the leash ring. He was sitting calmly to her rear, a tongue the size of a paperback book lolled out of his mouth, panting and uninterested.

To their right stood a massive man who towered over the Great Dane and was nearly as wide as he was tall. He was wearing a black mariachi costume with a wide sombrero and hot pink embroidery (that costume must have been a bitch to find, she thought), also with a black fabric harlequin mask. He had his hands clasped in front of him, one holding the other at the wrist, like he was waiting to tell Jaycee about her Señor y Salvador, Jesucristo.

They looked like villains on a comic book cover.

Even for Halloween it was odd.

Jaycee might not have opened the door at all, had it not been for the cameras.

There were two of them, one on either side of the trio. They had floodlights attached and created a blinding halo when they pointed in Jaycee's direction. She could make out a fuzzy boom mic hanging to one side of the massive dog's head.

What fucking TV show is this? she thought as she pushed open the door.

"Trick or treat!" yelled the little kitty, as the dog let out a single bark.

"What is all this? Who are you supposed to be?" Jaycee asked from around the corner of the storm door. She was holding the bowl in front of her, like the Jolly Ranchers and Tootsie-Rolls might ward off trouble.

"It's reverse trick-or-treat!" said the young woman. "I'm Pussy Kandy --that's 'Kandy' with a 'K'-- and I'm trick-or-treating through neighborhoods, giving away samples of my hot new lip gloss, Pussy Kandy, to all the sexy ladies!"

"Pussy Kandy, huh?" said a dubious Jaycee. "What's with the cameras?"

"I'm streaming this out to all of my fans! You're on the Pussy Kandy and Mr. Snickers Show! 2.8 million total followers!"

She leaned forward slightly at the waist, lifting the back of her hand to the side of her glistening pink mouth in a mock conspiratorial pose.

"Mr. Snickers is the dog," she fake-whispered to Jaycee, then straightened and resumed her normal voice, playing to the cameras. "Right, Mr. Snickers?"

The dog barked once, a booming woof she felt in her chest. He was totally, almost impossibly, white.

Why name a white dog 'Snickers?' Jaycee thought.

"The big guy is Mister Daddy. He's our security. He doesn't talk unless I say so." She gave a broad wink to one of the lenses.

"Everything OK, babe?"

Jason came up behind his wife, wearing a white sailor costume that made him look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. He was not prepared for the supernova of sluttiness standing in his doorway.

"Yeah," said Jaycee --annoyed that she hadn't gotten rid of this tiny tart before Jason saw the outfit. God knew that was going in his spank bank now. One more thing to compete against. "She just wants to sell me lip gloss."

"Buy it." said her husband.

"I'm not selling it! I'm giving out samples!" said Pussy, "And I don't just want to just give you lip gloss. I want to give you a taste."

"Do it." said Jason.

"I don't think so." said Jaycee, backing into the house.

"C'mon! It's just a kiss!" said Pussy. "It's the sexy way to sample the product on the sexiest holiday! A taste of Pussy Kandy! Just a little peck on the lips! No tongue, even!"

She held up a "Scout's Honor" sign with three manicured fingers and did a little half-curtsy.

"I don't know..." Jaycee said, but she was looking at the young woman's pink lips --full and shimmering, almost dripping. She and Jason had been going through another rough patch, and it had been two months since she'd been laid. The lips made her tingle a little.

"Pleeease! Just a quick kiss for the fans! Pretend you're back in college!" said Pussy. "Your husband will love it! Just look at him!"

Jason blushed, but shrugged at Jaycee, hopefully.

'Why not? It's Halloween,' his eyes said.

She turned and handed him the candy bowl, giving a look that said, you're such a guy,while thinking to herself, I bet I get laid tonight.

"OK," said Jaycee, turning toward Pussy. "Just a quick kiss."

She was trying to play it off, but she was suddenly hot and her stomach was fluttering. This tiny dynamo just oozed sex. She bent down, bringing her face close to those big eyes.

"Could you look at the camera and say, 'I want a taste of Pussy Kandy'?" Pussy asked.

Jaycee could feel herself tingle and flush. She giggled involuntarily as she squinted into the lights, at 2.8 million followers, and said, "I want a taste of Pussy Kandy!"

She had barely faced forward again before the girl's full lips were on hers. Smoothe and pillowy, liquid and silky, they felt wet and warm against her own. Pussy's lips parted and a playful tongue flicked out to tease Jaycee. It tasted like fruit and sex. She felt Pussy's hand at the small of her back, pulling her in. She was getting turned on.

There was an incredible shooting pain in her armpit that lit up the right side of Jaycee's body. Something was wrong with her arm. Her whole body was rigid and on fire. She tried to yell but couldn't breathe. She was falling. All she could see were colored flashes of light. She felt herself being carried and heard Jason yelling, far away.

She didn't black out --it was more of a white haze-- but she did forget who and where she was for a minute. When she came back to herself, she was lying on her back in her front hallway, wrists and ankles zip-tied. It felt like she'd been punched in every muscle on her body and her ears were ringing. Her jaw hurt. Everything hurt. She saw Jason on his stomach across from her in the hallway, hands behind his back, his terrified blue eyes impossibly wide.

"Gag 'em and bag 'em," she heard Pussy say. "Put her on the couch. Put him in the bedroom, on the bed."

A man knelt and pushed a pink rubber ball gag into her mouth, then wrapped the leather strap around her head. Her hair caught in the clasp, and Jaycee winced as it was cinched tight behind her skull. He pulled a black cloth bag over her head and she began to feel hot and panicky. Under the hood she began to cry.

Someone --it had to be that giant of a man, Jaycee thought-- plucked her effortlessly from the hallway floor, tossing her over a shoulder that felt like an oak tree. She could tell she was being carried into her living room. The big man unloaded her confidently, but carefully. She felt herself make contact with the couch cushion. It was familiar, comforting. Jaycee wanted to sink into it and disappear. She settled for continuing to cry, softly.

She could hear a bustle of activity around her: cables or ropes uncoiling on the wood floor; wheeled carts or crates being brought in from outside; some type of metal poles pinging and scraping around the room. No one spoke. She could hear people moving about, working on something, but whatever they were doing, they were doing it silently.

Finally, she heard Pussy say, "I'm gonna search the bedroom." The thin click of her heels retreated out of the room and down the hall, toward Jason.

Jaycee wondered who they were and what they could be looking for. She tried not to let her mind conjure all the terrible possible endings to this scenario but couldn't stop herself. Soon she was shaking with terror. She heard muffled talking from the bedroom, a pained yip from Jason, a bark, then the approaching click of those heels in the hallway.

They stopped in front of her, near the wall of framed photos that butted against one arm of the couch.

"Aww!" she heard Pussy say. "Those must be your sisters! Three little gingers. Look at your little matching T-Shirts! 'Jaycee,' 'Lacey,' and 'Gracie,' Hmmm."

"I'm not trying to rub salt in your wounds, Jaycee. Especially since I know what's about to happen. But it sounds like your mom bought you guys as a set at a Cracker Barrel gift shop."

Jaycee began to cry louder. She loved her sisters. And her mom. And Cracker Barrel. The "especially since I know what's about to happen" scared her badly; she was scared about what they were doing to Jason; the bag was making her claustrophobic; the flex-cuffs were biting into her wrists; and she was very close to losing it. She began to hyperventilate.

"Red? How much longer?" Pussy asked someone.

"Ready," came a reply.

"Blue?" she asked the other side of the room.

"Two minutes," said someone else.

Jaycee felt a tugging at the bag on her head and then she was looking at her living room, blinking at the banks of lights that had been set up to point at her on the couch. The large man and dog were nowhere to be seen. Four men in black, wearing the same black harlequin masks, were fussing with video equipment.

The buckle at the back of Jaycee's head made a snick as Pussy worked the clasp. Jaycee pushed at the ball with her tongue, and the gag fell away.

She looked down at her lap where it landed, noticing streaks of dust and lint around a fresh tear in her Sexy Witch costume dress. She began to cry even harder.

Pussy sat down on the couch next to Jaycee.

"Look at me, Jaycee," she said.

Jaycee turned her head, trying to blink away tears that were still flowing.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Jaycee. You're just unlucky. Your husband is fucking the wrong woman. Your husband is fucking my boss's wife."

Jaycee gasped like she'd been slapped. She felt like she wanted to throw up. She closed her eyes and began to rock back and forth.

I knew it! she thought.

"The bad news is, my boss happens to be the head of the most powerful cartel in the Western Hemisphere, and he wants your husband to face justice."

Jaycee wailed.

"Hey! Hey! Keep it together," said Pussy. "That's almost all of the bad news. Almost. The good news is that no one here wants to hurt you. I'm going to say that again: No one here wants to hurt you. Ok?"

"The better news is that, not only can you walk out of this alive, you can walk out of it with a substantial amount of money. Look at me."

When Jaycee looked, Pussy was holding up something that looked like a pink ballpoint pen, but with a small vending-machine key where the ballpoint would be. She bent and fiddled at the flex-cuffs on Jaycee's ankles and the tension vanished with a refreshing pop.

"Let me get your wrists," said Pussy.

Jaycee half-turned/half-fell to her side, and in an instant the biting pinch disappeared. She turned to face Pussy.

"No one here wants to hurt you, Jaycee. Quite the opposite. I mean, sorry about the stun gun on the porch --couldn't be helped-- but, really, no one wants to do you any more harm. We want you to walk out of here happy. Do you want to walk out of here happy, Jaycee?"

Jaycee didn't believe her but nodded.

"Good," Pussy continued. "Now, I'd like you to watch a little movie with me. After that movie, I'd like to make you a proposition. I warn you, it will be a hard thing to watch. Are you willing to do that? Will you watch a movie with me?"

Jaycee was terrified of what she was about to see.

Pussy turned to a man pecking a laptop on a folding table across the room.

"Blue?" she asked.

"We're hot."

Cameras pivoted toward Jaycee.

"Roll the tape," said Pussy.

The large flat screen on the living room wall flashed to life. It had been a wedding present from Jason's parents. Jaycee had watched her honeymoon videos on it. Now she was watching her husband, filmed from across a street, walking in front of a motel. His hand was around the waist of another woman.

They stopped briefly in front of a numbered door as he fumbled with the key card, and Jaycee glanced at the date imprinted on the stakeout video: three years ago. On screen, Jason opened the door for the woman, and they disappeared into the room.

I fucking knew it! Jaycee thought, feeling sadness, satisfaction, and anger, all at once.

The shot cut to a montage of footage from various hidden cameras in numerous bedrooms: overhead, profile, full-face from the headboard. Every view was covered. There was no doubt it was Jason. He was fucking the same pretty Latina woman in every scene. Missionary, cowgirl, sixty-nine, doggy style. They got him from every angle. Even his moves were the same.

He used to do that same thing to me, she kept thinking.

It went on and on. Jaycee kept looking at the dates digitally imprinted in the corner of the frame. This had been going on for years. She did the cruel math. She had been with Jason for seven years, married for five. He had been having an affair for half the time they'd been together. For most of her marriage. Jaycee's world was crumbling around her. Everything was a lie. She was audibly moaning in pain.

Pussy touched Jaycee's knee.

"Stay with me, Jaycee. This is the important part. This is the rest of the bad news."

The video cut to a view of a bed. The camera was hidden in some appliance on a table at the foot of the bed, aimed toward the head. She could see Jason and the pretty Latina woman, intertwined and reclining into a mountain of pillows against the headboard. Someone had helpfully captioned the conversation in subtitles across the bottom of the screen, like it was a hidden-camera episode of 20/20. It was dated two weeks ago.

"He knows, Jason," the woman said.

"You're just paranoid. He's thousands of miles away. We've been careful. Besides, he can't touch us. He's in solitary, in Altiplano, twenty-three hours a day. We're in Michigan. You give him too much credit," Jason said.

"You're a fool. He's never far away. He could touch us from the moon! He won't just kill us, Jason. He'll kill my parents. He'll kill your wife and make you watch."

"So, you're saying it won't all be bad?" Jaycee heard the man she'd thought she'd loved say. Her heart hurt. Her stomach twisted in on itself.

"JASON!" his lover exclaimed as she slapped him across his chest. "Don't even joke like that!"

"It's a joke! I'm sorry. It's just...I mean...if she was gone, at least we'd be free."

"You would be free. Then what? We'd still have the most powerful sadist in the world looking to kill us."

"He doesn't own the whole world. There are places we could go, and he'd never find us. I know how to get away. I can't do it if I get divorced --I'll lose the boat and the money we'd need. But if Jaycee died somehow, with the life insurance and her trust fund..." Jason let the sentence trail off unfinished while the thought hung in the air.

"Enough!" said the Latina woman on screen. "I don't want to hear any more!"

In the frame, she rolled over and burrowed down into the bedding. Jason slid down in the bed and wrapped an arm around, spooning her.

"But that might be nice," said the woman. "If she died, somehow."

The TV went black and Jaycee sat staring at the blank black rectangle on her wall. She felt hollow. Numb. Dazed. Betrayed. Heartbroken. Furious.

Lost.

An hour ago, she and Jason had been drinking wine and laughing in her kitchen, planning their night out.

"Jaycee, I wish I could give you time to process this, but we're on a schedule, and, well, life comes at ya fast, as they say," Pussy said. "So, I'm gonna give you the pitch."

"A little over three years ago my boss began to suspect his wife was fucking your husband. A few months later, on Halloween night, he saw the first video proof. Do you know what bothered him most while watching that video? How much she obviously enjoyed it. He couldn't get that image out of his head."

"To make matters worse, Halloween is my boss's wedding anniversary. The pain he felt while watching his wife fuck another man and love it? On his anniversary? Well, I guess I don't have to tell you how it feels. It ate him up inside. He vowed to make sure your husband felt the exact same pain he felt. He knew that to do that, he'd have to be patient. He'd have to wait for the right moment. He had to wait for an opening. That tape gave him one, so, here we are."

"Opening for what?" asked Jaycee.

"Jaycee, my boss would like to pay you a million dollars to shoot a movie with me and Mister Daddy, here, tonight, in front of your husband, while my boss watches, live, through that camera there."

Pussy pointed to a small tripod-mounted camera with a solid red light glowing on the front, then waved at the lens.

"¡Hola, jefe!" she said, then turned back to look at Jaycee, as she began to tick points off her fingers.

"In a nutshell: we want to fuck you; we want you to like it; we want to fuck you in front of Jason and make him watch you like it; we want to record it; my boss wants to watch this. For this, we will pay you a million dollars."

Jaycee felt sick. Stunned. This all felt unreal.

"I can't do that! What if I say no?" asked Jaycee.

"Then we pack up everything and go. Everything including Jason. We won't hurt you, but you'll have nothing: no million dollars, no video evidence, none of the documentary evidence which we'll provide to you --text messages, e-mails, Internet searches, that sort of thing-- just a missing husband and a crazy story about a slutty trick-or-treater and a giant dog.

How long will it take the police to find out he was having an affair? How long before you're a 'person of interest'? How long before they start looking at his search history? What if they think you were the one searching for untraceable poisons and crime scene cleaning tips? I mean, it will probably all work out for you eventually, but what if it doesn't?"