Candace's Rules

"Baby, I'm sorry to spring this on you but I'm in a jam. This is really important to me. I haven't seen Candace in two years, and her flying back here for the wedding is a really big deal."

"I know. It's just a big surprise, and I don't see why she can't stay with your parents or at a hotel."

"If you insist, we will put her up at a hotel, but my folks house is up to here with grandparents and your cousin. Sweetie." John put his hands on my shoulders and gently squeezed. "This is my baby sister who I haven't seen in a while. We used to be really close, and I want her to feel welcome here. I also want you to get to know each other. I think she is heading back to London pretty soon. This is a good chance for you to get acquainted. She hasn't killed anyone in years!"

He flashed that bright grin at me, so boyish beneath that curly brown hair, and laughed at his joke. That was one of the things I loved about John: the contrast of his masculine body, long and rangy, muscled, and that boy's face. His personality was something like that to; mature about work, responsible but also mischievous and playful. I leaned into him; he surrounded me in his arms and his scent.

"Of course I want her to stay. It will be fun, and I am sure we will get along."

"Oh baby, I love you so much. I feel so close to you, and can't wait to be married." He pressed me in even closer; I felt his erection (hard that fast?) against my crotch and belly. We kissed deeply, and again he pulled me in close, molding me against him, my breasts against his body, his hands moving down to caress my butt through my jeans. I could myself growing excited, being this close to him, feeling the heat and the solidity of his body against me. I was growing damp as he cupped my breasts through my shirt; his hands moved up to tease my nipples through the fabric. "Honey."

He kept kissing me; I could feel his intense desire as a palpable force.

"Honey, please." He broke from me with reluctance. "Just a few more days.

Then we can do anything we want." He grinned at me kind of sheepishly.

"I am of two minds, my dear," drolly, with a glance down at his bulging crotch. I laughed back, but said with all the sincerity I could muster.

"It will be worth it John. I am going to make sure you have the best wedding night ever."

So it was that John's sister Candace came to live with me for a week. My apartment was crowded for two; but with her on the futon/couch we could make due. She was tall like John, paler than we tend to here in Cali, with long dark hair. She tended to dress down like I do in jeans and a T-shirt (although maybe tighter than mine), which made me a little more comfortable.

Her manner was so direct that I found myself falling right in with her. Even though as the bride I had the most to do of anyone, I ended up picking her up at the airport. As she came out of the secure area she immediately picked me out.

"Jennifer?"

"Candace?" She immediately smiled at me, called me "Sister!" and gave me a big hug. I am not the most super touchy person but I didn't mind; she seemed genuinely excited to see me. We chatted away, got her luggage and headed to my Jetta. The only weird part was as we got into the car, she sat in the passenger seat and took a moment to really eyeball me.

"Well, I can se John did a good job in his selection." It was an incredibly sexist, shallow comment; she looked at me like I was a piece of meat being weighed. A biting comment rose to my lips, and instead, a small

"Thanks," came out. I told myself it was because I didn't want to pick a fight with my fiancée's sister, but I just felt so passive at that moment, and bizarrely pleased that she approved of my looks.

That all went away as we got her settled and my world turned upside in preparation for the wedding.

Cake, floral arrangements, the photographer and videographer, caterers, country club (John's folk's, not mine!), last minute cancellations and additions ad infinitum. God, it went on and on forever. One thing I gave thanks for is that Candace never cared about being a bridesmaid. I had dreaded her wanting/demanding that I change everything at the last minute to include her, but she laughed when I broached the subject. She spent some of her time helping me, and the rest catching up with her old friends in the area. The second night over, she never came back. I stayed up late, fretted and worried about whether to call John, and ended up doing nothing.

The next day she showed up in the afternoon, looking frowzy and unkempt. I asked after her, genuinely concerned that everything was ok, and she just laughed at me.

"I know the area pretty well Jenny. I think I can take care of myself."

"I know I was just worried. I was worried you were alone in an alleyway somewhere or something." I laughed at my own weak joke.

"Don't worry honey, I didn't sleep along last night; I had two people to keep me safe and warm."

I stared at her in shock. Did she just say what I thought she said? She had two men, or did she mean a menage a trois? I had no idea how to respond to this and quietly went back to getting thank you notes prepped to save time after the honeymoon. She must have sensed my disapproval, and laughed again at me. "You don't like that Jenny?"

"I didn't say that, and please call me Jennifer."

"Oh, you didn't need to say anything Jenny. I hope my brother isn't marrying some frigid, cold fish." I turned to her furiously, but my anger suddenly melted away.

"I'm not a cold fish," I weakly protested.

"You dress like one. You hide your body under your clothes. You must be repressed or obsessed or one of those 'essed' words." I felt crushed. I knew she dressed sexier than I did, but I thought I looked ok. Unbelievably, I heard myself say in a small voice,

"You don't like how I look?"

"No I don't. No one would. My brother has, how shall I say it, discerning taste in women. He must have the eyes to see, but I think you dress like shit." I don't know that I had ever heard anything so hurtful and crushing before in my life.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry is indeed the word. I bet you have on ugly underwear to, don't you?"

"I, no. I-"

She cut me off.

"Bullshit. Let me see right now. I'll bet money on it."

"I can't take off my clothes..."

"I guess I'm right." I couldn't stand the thought of her thinking she was right, and I could feel her disapproval on me. I didn't understand why, but I desperately didn't want her to dismiss me as a cold fish.

There, in my apartment, Candace watching me with a smirk, I peeled off my shirt, and stood there in my jeans and cotton bra. I didn't know what to do with my arms, and let them hang down. She stared at me, her dark eyes boring into me, and I realized I hadn't done enough. Ashamed, afraid, I peeled my jeans down, and stood back up in my panties, bra, and white tube socks. She stared at me, a triumphant look on her face, and I could feel my neck and face burning with embarrassment. To my further horror I realized I was growing aroused. Somehow the shame of what I was doing,, and my new found passivity made me feel...thrilled. I knew my nipples where stiff and poking through my bra, humiliatingly visible, and to my complete abasement I knew I was getting damp. What if she saw? What if I visibly stained my panties? The more I wished it wouldn't happen, the more excited I became; my body was a traitor to me.

After an eternity of exquisite humiliation, she said simply, "Looks like I was right. Ugly cotton panties, I even see a little hole there." God, she was right. These were old, soft and comfortable, and I didn't expect when I put them on that I would be inspected. She turned back to her paper. She was done with me; had dismissed me. Cold and ashamed, I bent over to pick up my clothes and shuffled back to my room, confused, lowly and excited.

I walked to my mirror and stared back at the shabby girl there. I felt like I deserved Candace's contempt; I crawled to my bed and lay there crying for a while. But the heat between my legs wouldn't go away. I had rarely touched myself there; I hadn't wanted to very often and knew it was dirty (at least part of me felt that despite classes about "healthy" masturbation). But I felt compelled to put out the fire. I ended up leaving my ugly panties on; it was more exciting that way, and with two hands in my panties I slowly and with mounting pleasure built to my orgasm. My own hair tickled my fingers in a way I was not very used to, and I was soaking wet. The fingers of one hand slid easily along my lips while my other hand rubbed slick circles across my clitoris. As I built to orgasm I felt frustration along with mounting excitement, and I knew I needed something to push me over the edge. Freshly ashamed, I let my thoughts turn to her, and as I saw in my minds eye her sneering contempt and cold authority I came powerfully, my toes curling and a gasp of pleasure escaping my heretofore silent lips. I hugged myself as I came down from that high, wallowing in the scolding image of another woman, until I grew cold with self-disgust. I had let myself be ordered around like a child by another woman, and then played with myself in response. What the hell was wrong me?

Worst of all, it was my future husbands' sister. It was sick, and I dissolved into tears and self-reproach.

Eventually I calmed down and wiped my tears away. I washed my hands thoroughly, terrified she would somehow smell me, know what I did, and dressed. Weak, so weak, I threw the panties I had been wearing away and put on a pair of lace panties and a prettier bra. Even if she didn't make me prove myself, I couldn't bear to think of her cold disapproval. As I slid them on, the knowledge that I was doing something she would approve of brought a fresh surge of excitement to me, and made me feel better.

I went out to the living room and studiously ignored Candace as she I, and the rest of the day passed without event. She even spoke to me normally as we decided on some take out food. As we chatted more convivially, I felt myself warming to her again, and curiously, I kept coming back to my panties and bra. I almost wanted to tell her, have her "inspect" me again, somehow let her know I was trying to be prettier...for John of course.

That night as I performed my evening ablutions, I was anxious. I was still in shock over my earlier reaction, but beneath the surface of my thoughts ran a darker current. I busied myself, laid out my clothes for the next day, looked at my wedding planner, flossed again to make sure my gums were safe, dithered over whether to wear PJs or a T-shirt, until I finally had to go to bed. I slid under one sheet; it was cool against my legs, and I finally faced what I had been avoiding all night.

I lay there quietly, trying to sleep, and found myself becoming aroused again. I had never masturbated twice in a month before; now it would be twice in a day? Even as I examined what was wrong with me, in the midst of self-reflection, I realized my hands had started without me. The hand on my chest had moved to my breast, and I began to give in. I pictured John, his powerful arms, the deep line between his chest muscles, and began to tweak my right nipple. Out to the sides to cup and gently touch my breast, and then back to raise my nipple to hard erectness. My right hand slid under my panties (so dirty to finger myself under the silky fabric, to feel my hand constrained against my pubis. Wet quickly, and I began to touch my breast more firmly, squeezing my breast from the base and feeling an erotic surge from the tension it caused. My nether lips parted, slick, so smooth under my fingers as I rubbed them and drug wetness to my clit. I suddenly realized I had moved from thinking of John to Candace; the shame made me arch my pelvis up in pleasure. I almost came. Like a drunk who had kidded himself about the beer in the fridge until everyone was out of the house I gave in fully. I saw pretty Candace in front of me in living color, smirking. I threw back the sheets in a moment of inspiration and got on all fours, head cradled on my left arm as my right hand reached back between my spread legs. I imagined Candace peeking through the door at my upraised ass, laughing at Jenny driven to slut. The idea of being on display for her like that and the hard pressure of my hand rubbing furiously on my slick lips brought me to another orgasm. I bit my arm to stifle the noise, I felt to incredible at that moment, so hot, so aroused; it was like this gnawing in my belly that dominated my needs and had been filled.

Soon though, the shame returned. I smelled my hand, felt sick with myself and then gingerly licked my hand clean. My mouth felt soiled, I felt soiled. I was about to married and I was having fantasies about another woman. Was the pressure of getting married making me crazy? Perhaps I was really a closet lesbian and my mind was finally letting it loose? I lay awake, my thoughts chasing each other; I never noticed when sleep crept in and overcame me.

Another frantic day of trying to steal wedding prep time from work and after a few more hours of errands I was back at my apartment, exhausted and drained. Candace held no terror for me at that moment; I just wanted to sit down and eat something and relax. My mind was still so busy with the day's events I couldn't compute the scene in front of me when I walked in. I literally couldn't see; I saw Candace laying on the futon but for several seconds my mind refused to understand what I saw. Then suddenly the red around her waist resolved itself into another woman's long red hair, splayed out as she knelt between Candace's legs, head pressed to Candace's pelvis. Candace's head was propped up on a pillow; she smiled at me and then deliberately placed her white hands on the redhead and pressed and guided her.

I stumbled by; shut the door to my room and felt trapped in my own home. Most awful of all was the realization that my shock was shot through with lust; I was terribly excited and repulsed at the same time.

I am a slut, I thought to myself. I must be a lesbian, or going crazy. I determined though at that moment not to give in. I loved John, I wanted to marry him, and live a normal life. I picked up the phone then and called my fiancée up.

"Hey Sweetie!" His voice was like a lifeline. "How are things going with you and Candace?"

"Oh, fine. She has been visiting with, old friends I guess," I supplied weakly, desperate to talk about anything else. We talked a little longer and he must have sensed some uneasiness. He sweet-talked me, re-assured me, made me feel loved.

"It sounds like you are under a little bit of pressure right now hon? Just sounds like you are stressed, and I know you have a lot more to do than me getting ready. You going to make it?"

"Yea, I'll make it." I said with a smile. He was good at sensing my moods, sensitive and gentle with me while still being masculine.

"I been reading a book, babe. My mom gave it to me, "The Five Love Languages," you know that one? Well, anyway, it has some pretty good parts in it. I want you to know that during our honeymoon, you are going to have my undivided attention. The cell phone goes away, we are not going to "do" stuff the way I like to sometimes. I mean, I can't spend my whole life focusing on you every second, but I think the way you most feel loved is when I spend time with you, giving you my undivided attention. It is only going to be 5 days but I think it might recharge your batteries a little bit. Hold on, I'm coming..." He trailed off into his best Sam & Dave routine and I smiled again.

We chatted a little bit longer, and when we hung up, I was grounded. I knew who I loved, who my rock was, who I was going to build a life with. Candace was obviously a black sheep in the family, an aberration that I was going to weather.

"Hi Candace."

"Well hey there Jenny, I thought you were going to break a land speed record back there getting to your room." I blushed at her words and winced at her use of "Jenny" but let it pass.

"You caught me by surprise."

"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag my sex life into yours," I met her eyes and they laughed at me, "but that was my old roommate from college.

I felt bad for her, wanted to indulge her a bit."

"You had sex with your roommate?" I blurted out in stupid repetition.

"Oh, don't tell me you never "experimented" in school? No? Never even looked? Come on, tell Candace." That curious feeling of passivity and compliance had begun to steal over me.

"No." I said in a mousy voice.

"My God, you ARE repressed. Wait! Don't tell me. You're "saving yourself" for marriage?"

"Yes," I almost whispered; she made it sound stupid and laughable. Her bright teeth flashed white as she threw her head back; her peals of laughter hammered at my confidence.

"Oh, ho ho. That is too rich. I mean, that is great. You realize that John has not exactly, "saved" himself, right? I happen to have personal knowledge of that." I nodded miserably at her. Her smile broadened. "So, a real life virgin. Of course, maybe you're lying. I mean, how can we really know? You probably have some horseback-riding story to sell John, the world's most trusting man. Shit, he could catch you with a mouthful of cock and be willing to believe you were treating for snakebite if you said it right. He thinks everyone is as nice as he is. Not like me."

"I am a virgin. I-I never let a man...inside me." God, what was I doing explaining and justifying myself to this woman? I just couldn't seem to dismiss her.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Prove it. We're just girls here. Drop your pants and I'll check."

"I-I-I...."

"I-I-I what? You heard what I said, now do it."

I couldn't stop myself. Burning with shame, I found I could not withstand her stare. I slid my hands up to unbutton my jeans, and then pull them and my panties down around my ankle. I stood there, top on, pants around my ankles, my crotch exposed to her pitiless glare.

"Hey dummy, you might have walked over here first and then dropped your trousers." Renewed humiliation filled me, and I shuffled over to her, pathetically, pants around my ankles. She was seated on the futon, her face on level with my crotch. She gently spread my thighs (I had to sort of squat bend), and then she held up two fingers. I didn't need to be told. I humbly bent forward, closed my eyes, and gently wet her fingers with my mouth. She needn't have bothered; I was dripping wet for her. She slid here fingers along my inner lips, smiling at me impishly; I loved the feeling and stifled a moan. She worked her fingers a bit, and slid two fingers into me, bumping against my hymen.

"Well well. It would appear you have been a good girl. My mistake." She left her fingers there though, and inside I loved every second of it. I wanted her to stay in me forever, play with me, penetrate me herself with those glorious fingers. With a sigh, as if she was reluctant (I wanted to scream "No, no please touch me Candace!") she pulled out and held up her two fingers, which I tremblingly cleaned with my tongue.

She leaned back, then glanced down at my panties. "Lift you shirt up." I did, pinning the bottom of my blouse under my chin, exposing the lavender Wonder Bra I had put on that morning. "Much better, that looks pretty on you." My heart exploded with happiness at this crumb of praise; I had never felt more proud of myself at any time; every other achievement to date was nothing compared with pleasing Candace at that moment. We stared back at each other, her in a long T-shirt, leaning back, I ludicrous with my shirt pulled up, and my pants down.

"Are you really that uptight Jenny? Do other girls scare you that much? I mean, I'm pretty, right?

"Oh yes Candace." She suddenly slid down a bit on the futon, spreading those long, long lean legs. My eyes zeroed in on the blue cotton panties she wore, that gorgeous, sexy strip between the apex of her legs. She had shamed me for my plain cotton panties, but hers were the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

"Is this what you wanted to see? That is what Sage wanted to see earlier, to get close to, to kneel in front of. Kneel down little Jenny. Get real close." It was as if someone had removed the part of me called "will," the part that could discern my wishes from someone else's wishes. What Candace wanted somehow was what I wanted; I couldn't resist what I wanted to do.

I slid to my knees there before my future sister-in-law. The "vee" of her legs was a magnet; I loved the taut smoothness of her legs, the molding of her panties to her pubis, the sprinkling of hair around and edging out of her panties. I brought my face closer, closer still yet until my nose was gently touching her pantied mound. It was the supreme erotic moment of my life. No backseat fumbling, no college groping had ever touched me with a fraction of this force. Closer yet, until my mouth touched the soft cotton, my nose and mouth pressed firmly against her mons. I inhaled deeply; I recognized the scent and it went straight to my groin, stroking the fire there hotter. "You love this Jenny." Oh yes. "This is where you belong, kneeling before my pussy." Oh yes, yes it was true. "You'll do anything I tell you Jenny, because your pussy is the part of you that thinks. It doesn't matter what you were taught, what you think is dirty or wrong. Sluts like you listen the their pussies, and I think your pussy only wants to do one thing: worship me."

Almost weeping now with the depth of my feelings I began to shower light kisses on her panties; each kiss was an act of obeisance and submission to this goddess. Please, I thought, please make me do things like this. Please pull your panties aside and let me worship the real you. Please put your hand on my head and push my face in; please brush aside my timidity and use me like a toy.

I was crying by this time, silent tears of shame, frustration and an element I could only call rapture. "That's it honey, I'm going to give my little jenny-slut what she wants. Weak minded girls like you always end up with their face between my legs, you belong there, you can smell it." I backed off long enough to let her pull off her panties and there it was. Her glorious pussy. I had a brief glimpse of the black thatch between her legs, the swollen outer lips and most delicate inner lips before I plunged my face down. I didn't lick at first; I rubbed my face around, coating myself with her juice. Even in the extremity of my passion I the space to realize I wanted to be baptized, baptized in her essence.

I turned to my real task; long licks of her sweet vagina, then burrowing my tongue in as deep as it would go, straining to get the most I could in. She tasted so strong, so sexy, it WAS sex to me. I started covering the hood of her clit with my south and sucking, using my fingers to spread the hood and expose her clit to my loving strokes. I was intensely aware of the need to please her; her pleasure was my joy. I was also intensely aware of my degrading position. Days away from marriage, on my knees with my pants pulled down, naked ass facing the door (if only someone were to walk in and see me!), my face buried in my soon to be SISTER-IN-LAW'S pussy. She moved slowly to her peak, but I was in no hurry; I was content to suck, lick and please Candace, Candace, Candace who could make me do anything. Her hand came to the back of my head and I thrilled to the sensation of her pulling me in, grinding against my face. "Good girl, keep licking me right there, oh don't stop don't stop keep keep..." I flushed with pride hearing her pleasure, moved that I could bring happiness to her with my lowly tongue. I felt lowly; the compliance I had been delving into was finding full flower with her now. I would do anything Candace wanted as she ground against my face in a wheezing orgasm.

She released my head and I sat up, licking my lips; she lay back, exhausted, sated and pleasured. I moved up along to hold her and she turned and gave me that lazy, indolent smile. "What? Did I ask for a lover and tender embraces?" I stopped, suddenly feeling a terrible anxiety in my belly.

"No, I thought-"

"You thought you would be all tender and lovey-dovey with me. Jenny, do you know what you are?" The shame back in full force I whispered at the carpet, head hung down.

"A lesbian."

"No. No! Lesbian's get turned on by women. You get turned on by me, specifically my pussy. You're a cunt-sucker. I have a pussy, a pretty one by all accounts, but you, missy, are nothing but a cunt sucker." She laughed at my tears, stretching languorously. She spread her wide mouth in a huge smile. "Want to do it again?" So help me, I blurted out,

"Oh yes Candace."

"Well, you need to get me fired up again. Get closer again. That's right, get close to my pussy, don't touch though. Just stare at it. You are in love with my pussy, aren't you Jenny?"

"Yes," I said in misery and excitement.

"You love my pussy, and that love has sapped any willpower you might have had. There's nothing you won't do, is there jenny-slut?" I shook my head no. It was true. I'd sell my soul to please her. "Well then, get me the picture of John their off the coffee table." I scurried away to fetch it. I didn't think about what she anted it for; she wanted and I did. "Slam into the wastebasket." I did so with violence, hearing the glass shatter as the last part of my self-esteem and moral's shattered. She pulled me down again, directing my sucks, telling me about how important symbols were, how seriously she took them and how I had made a symbolic choice. I had. I choice to exercise every bit of my energy and lapping at her sweet cunny in the most servile and loving way I could. I loved having her hold my head, now with both hands, sometimes rough and sometimes gentle; the metaphor of a light hand at the reins made my cunt spasm in pleasure. Please, I thought, keep directing me, don't just let me suck your cunt but make and control my cunt-sucking. She had said I was in love with her pussy, and I was in one sense, but in the deepest sense I was in love with the power and control she exerted over me, the subsumption of my will into her pleasure. I wished my mother, or John was there to see what a slut I was, how perfectly I loved and served this beautiful creature.

I had pretended before to not want this, to fight it; "pretend" was indeed the word. While I was on my knees, under the full force of her personality, "Jennifer" had been replaced by "Candace's Will." I was a loving accomplice to that; I wanted to have her rape my soul. She took longer to come to her orgasm this time, and I grew frantic not in pace (she controlled that) but in my desire to please her. Piss on my face, beat my ass with a belt, I thought, call John's parents and ask them to come see what their future daughter-in-law really was. Thoughts of submission and degradation that I had never conceived of filled my mind, alien thoughts from no where, but they dominated my consciousness. Just get excited and get off and feel good and let me be your jenny-slut was my deepest wish. Suddenly an image appeared in my mind of Candace fucking me with a strap on dildo; it shocked through me with almost physical force. I had seen one once in a porno movie; been repelled by it, playing along with my friends who wanted to see "just one dirty movie" but so uncomfortable. I could see her in my mind's eye, riding me, using me like a hole and as if in response she flowered into her pleasure, groin pulsing with contractions. She let me keep my face close to the altar of her sex for a few minuets as she came down, but eventually with a sigh, pushed me away. She laughed at me and I realized I was licking around my face, trying to get more of her juice in my mouth.

"God you are pathetic jenny-slut. You realize you are now my cuntsucker?"

"Oh yes Candace."

"You follow my rules, and until I go back to England your main function in life is to be a sex toy for me. We're not having sex by the way: I'm using your face to masturbate." I turned red with hot shame again at her cruelty and nodded in complete agreement. "That means among other things you're not getting any cock on your wedding night. Maybe after I'm gone, but on your wedding night. You need to be concentrating on my pussy, your Goddess." How could I do that? What was I supposed to do to put John off?

"Yes Candace, yes I want to be good for you and love your pussy the way I should." I started to reach out to her knee and stopped. "Please, please Candace can I pleasure you?"

"No little jenny, I've got some things to do tonight. Maybe later. But here's what you can do for now. Go put on your highest heels, and your prettiest bra and panties, and stand in front of the mirror and look at how sloppy you got your face, loving me like that. Fuck yourself and think about what a slut you are, and how much you worship me. Pretend I'm watching and disgusted by you. And I when I get back tonight you better be dressed like a slut, do your hair and makeup, and be kneeling with your legs spread and hands on thighs on the living room floor. I might bring home a friend." She smiled at me with pure poison in her face and I walked back to my room. I had to follow Candace's rules.