Housewife Bimbo Ch. 07

Florence couldn't do anything about it, so retreated to a corner of her mind, leaving Candy in control of her body. How much more trouble could she get into, after all they had been through. Letting young guys molest her, and screw her, had become a normal part of her life.

They moved on, with a promise to visit the store tomorrow.

'Will you take me home?' Candy asked.

'Where do you live?' Mickey asked.

'No silly, to your place,' she giggled. 'Candy is getting horny. You paid for these clothes, so my boyfriend deserve a treat,' she coyly said.

He could guess what she meant. His mother wouldn't be home, so he decided to risk it. Of course he would, while driven by his cock.

Candy excitedly followed him to his bedroom, giggling and repeating the usual inane chatter. Quicker than he could undress, she peeled off the tights and t-shirt.

'Oooo! Undo Candy's bra!' she urgently spoke.

They were both naked, writhing on the bed. He was trying to kiss her, whereas she wanted him inside, fucking her.

'Keep still, Mickey! Candy wants to do it sooo much,' she squealed.

When he laid back on the bed, she clambered on top of him. Foreplay wasn't considered, or needed. She started bouncing on his hardness, with him admiring her jiggling breasts. He couldn't resist grabbing the swinging tits, to maul them.

'Ooo! Squeeze em, Mickey. Candy loves her nipples pinched,' she yelped.

***

Charlotte arrived home after a hard day in the office. She hated the job, and was in a bad mood after receiving too many awkward customer complaints.

She heard the distinct sound of a girl giggling. She marched upstairs and caught her son cavorting in bed with a girl. They quickly wrapped themselves in a sheet. The damn girl had a big happy grin on her face. They'd obviously just had sex.

Charlotte calmed herself. It was about time her son had a relationship. He wasn't too bright, just like his father. The father had contributed his sperm, during a wild party, then thankfully left her to it. It hadn't take her long to realise it was a big mistake, and that she was best rid of the fool.

'Hi, what's your name?' Charlotte grimaced.

'Hi, my names Candy!'

'Oh. Should have guessed. Get dressed, and come downstairs. I'll be in the kitchen. Mickey, you, can tidy your room,' Charlotte said.

She was too pissed to eat, so just made a coffee. The girl eventually sauntered into the lounge, and stood there looking vacant. Charlotte looked her over wondering whether to be relieved he had a girlfriend, or feel angry it was a dim blond.

'Well, Candy, what do you do?' she asked.

'Err, like, nothing much. I just hang around with my boyfriend,' Candy said.

'You mean, Mickey. How old are you?' she asked.

It was difficult to tell how old she was. She was dressed in a pink Barbie dress, which would have suited a tasteless twelve year old. At her age it might be a retro-fashion statement, or one of those dress-up things they do.

'Over eighteen,' Candy answered.

Candy looked bored, but Florence was keenly interested in what this woman had to say. This looked like being the closest she'd been to escape the damnable Candy persona.

'How old are you exactly?' she persisted.

'Twenty-eight,' Candy said, managing to sound like a young adolescent.

Charlotte took a good look at her. It was difficult getting past the make-up, hairstyle, clothing, and the way she acted. Maybe she was telling the truth. If so she had a mental age much younger. With such smooth skin, it was just possible to look that young.

Looking at the girl triggered a memory. She remembered gossiping with colleagues about the bosses wife, how she had clear porcelain skin. How could she forget that boss, and his wife. She'd had too much to drink at a Christmas party, and danced too close to the boss. A week later she had been fired. One of the girls in the office told her it was the wife who engineered it.

'Can I go and be with my boyfriend?' Candy whined.

'Err, yes, I guess so,' she said.

If the girl was that old, she didn't want the idiot digging her long, pink fingernails into Mickey. If she was twenty-eight, it felt creepy, the way she behaved and spoke like a teen.

That damn boss, Mathew, told her she was going because she wasn't up to standard. He should have had the decency to give her a good reference, enabling her to get another business analyst job. The money ran out, so in desperation she tried an escort service. After a year she was running the office, which meant she didn't have to put up with dirty old men every night.

It had been a nasty experience that she would rather forget. The cause of it she couldn't, and wouldn't. In some way she would get back at that damn man.

She picked from a shelf the Christmas party album, given to all staff as a memento. She'd meant to throw it out, but leafed through it. He'd been a good boss, until that evening. Admittedly she had danced too close, and kissed him under the mistletoe. The wife was a stupid bitch to think anything of it.

In a photo the bitch was posing next to him, all prissy and angel like. It looked as though she wouldn't utter a bad word against anyone. An angel, with a capacity to stab you in the back. She remembered a conversation after the kiss. The woman had smiled while asking what college her son was going to. Damn, bitch! She must have known he was a bit slow, and was rubbing in the fact. At the time she'd been too drunk to notice. Fucking bitch!

Turning another page, she laughed at the woman dancing with a mop. She remembered the woman stroking it and flirting with it. She took a closer look at the photo. Was that his wife? The dress was the same, so of course it was. What the hell were they doing? Hypnosis, that was it. The whole night was organised to earn money for some charity. Alzheimer's or something, she couldn't remember.

She looked at the two of them again, staring at the picture. This was the first time she'd studied the album. Turning another page, there was a photo of them together, on stage. She remembered it was a comedy act. The wife was acting like a dizzy blond, while he asked her questions. She figured it was all a set up, and they had a rehearsed an act. The bitch was good at it.

Mickey brought his girlfriend into the lounge, looking worried. At least it delayed Charlotte from opening a bottle of wine.

'Can Candy stay for dinner?' he asked.

'I guess so,' she said.

There was little enthusiasm shown, but they were excited over spending more time together. With her attention back on Candy, she figured she would have to do something about her.

'Candy, you'd better phone your parents. Let them know you're here,' she said.

'Err, like, I don't have parents,' she sang in high voice.

'Who do you live with,' she asked, sounding peeved.

'My uncle. Oh, well, like, his name is Mathew,' she said.

The high pitched voice was annoying. Drawing information out of her was difficult.

'What's his number. Phone number?' she clarified.

'Don't bother your bimbo brain, I'll look it up. What's his last name? Candy, are you listening?' she cajoled her.

No one could be this dumb. She didn't know the last name of her uncle, when she was living with him. She stared at them, happily chattering away to each other. At certain angles she looked around Mickey's age, just a bit older.

'Candy, come with me will you. Mickey you can lay the table in the kitchen,' Charlotte said.

She pulled the girl to the bathroom. Wash that make-up off, and I'll let you try out mine,' Charlotte told her.

She wasn't listening to the girls silly chatter. It was easy to tune out a person, from past experiences with men.

'So what have you been up to recently, Candy?' she asked.

'Not much.'

'You must have been doing something. Come on tell me,' she insisted.

'Well, I guess, like, mostly playing games with boyfriends. Shopping with a nice lady, Mable. A nasty lady dumped me with her brother. Craig was my boyfriend, then he gave me to Mickey. I like Mickey, he's fab!' Candy enthused.

'Tell me about your uncle,' she persisted.

'Well, like, he's supposed to look after me. Especially when I'm, err, hypnots, err, whatever. But a boy found me and took me away. When my uncle got me back home, he let Damien take me away. My uncle turned up looking really cross, and took me back home. He sent me to my room. That's when the nasty woman, Catherine, took me to stay with her brother,' Candy said, in a rush.

'Did your uncle hypnotise you?' she asked.

'Err, like, maybe,' Candy said, looking confused. 'There's a voice in my head, telling me to say something,' Candy said, looking bewildered.

'What's the voice saying?' she asked.

'It's silly. Like, its Florence? What does that mean?' Candy asked.

'I'm not sure,' she murmured.

It meant something, but the what eluded her.

Florence was frustrated as hell, from trying to get Candy to explain what happened, and hearing it scrambled in her mindless way. She desperately wanted the woman to understand and free her. It was a woman who would get her out of this hell, not some sexed up boy.

For several weeks she'd suffered being a sex toy. She'd been forced to be a mere sexual plaything, pandering to a series of boys whims. Until this moment she thought there would be no escape, with the prospect of being nothing more than a stupid bimbo slut for the rest of her life.

'Like, what does that mean? It's creepy,' Candy said.

'OK. Relax, Candy. You put some make-up on, and I'll call you when dinner is ready,' she said.

'Oh! Like goody, I like make-up,' she said, in annoying girly tones.

Charlotte put the oven on to preheat for a pizza. She leafed through the album again, not taking much in, as she was deep in thought. There was a picture of the company owner, with his wife, Mable, and son, Damien. Mable and Damien? Was that a coincidence?

Her uncle was Mathew, and the name Florence came up from somewhere. She frantically looked through the book, to find the photo with Mathew and his wife. The caption under it read, "Mathew Fencer and wife Florence".

That was it, the damn woman's name was Florence!

'Candy! Come into the kitchen!' she shouted.

'I'm not finished with the make-up yet!' came the reply.

Charlotte marched into her bedroom to find Candy in front of the mirror, spreading it on thick. She'd selected the brightest reds and pinks. She held her breath, unable to believe it. This girl must be Florence's niece, or some close relative.

'Did you say you stayed with Bernard and Mable? OK. What about Damien?' she asked, while holding her breath.

'Like, he was my boyfriend,' Candy said, while spreading her lips with dazzling pink.

'What did you do with Damien?' she asked.

'Well, like, we played games, of course,' Candy absently spoke, still absorbed with painting her face.

'What kind of games?' Charlotte demanded.

'Ooo, scrummy orgasm games,' she said, then wiped her face to start again.

Charlotte clapped her hands. She had a close relative of that damn woman in her clutches. She had a nasty rumour to repeat about Florence's niece, to friends still working there. Could she include her son in the story? The bitch had bad mouthed Mickey, but that didn't justify doing the same to Candy.

'Wipe that off, and we'll do it together after dinner,' Charlotte told her.

'Alright, I guess,' Candy pouted.

Charlotte sent Mickey to his room to clean it up. While eating pizza, Candy recounted her adventures with boyfriends. This time Charlotte was taking notice of what the girl was saying. She wanted it all very clear before phoning friends.

'So you were dressing up for Mathew? OK. Where were you going?' she asked.

'On vacation. We were going to play a, like, err, a game,' Candy hesitantly spoke.

'You, uncle Mathew, and Florence?' she asked.

'No. Just me and Mathew,' Candy said, around a mouthful.

Charlotte looked at the photo of her boss, and Florence. She flicked her eyes between Candy, and the photo, several times. The resemblance was uncanny. Without make-up Candy looked even more like Florence. In the picture Florence was made up for the evening, and wore a ball gown.

An incredible thought crossed her mind. It was foolish, yet she couldn't shake it off.

'You can go and play, I mean, use my make-up, Candy,' she said.

The girls squeals of pleasure put her off the foolish notion. more information was needed to make sense of the confused picture, so she phoned a friend.

'Hi, Denise, how you doing,' she asked.

'Hi, long time no gossip. Isn't it about time we went out for a meal to catch up?' Denise asked.

'You're right, we should. I wanted to ask you about something. How old is Florence?' she asked.

'No, let it go. What are you up to? Alright, alright, she's twenty-eight. I should know, I bought the last birthday card. You know how useless Mathew is. Are you going to tell me?' Denise cajoled her friend.

'Not yet. I will, as soon as I work something out. By the way, does Florence have a niece?' she quietly asked.

'Don't think so. She's an only child, with no uncles or aunts. Her parents died in a car crash some years ago. Come on, what are you up to?' Denise pleaded.

There was no way she was going to give anything away to the company gossip, not just yet.

'We'll meet up for coffee, only then,' she laughed.

'A coffee, that reminds me. You remember Mable? She caught me slipping away from the office, shopping. Didn't say a thing about it. Well, she got me to look after her daughter, and I'm sure she doesn't have one, just a son. Alright, alright, I'll get to the point. The funny thing is, the so called daughter looked like Florence. It couldn't be a niece. Though she looked too old for that cos-play stuff they wear,' Denise mused.

'Well, thanks, Denise, I've got to go, something's starting to complain in the oven,' she lied.

She put the phone down, before her friend could start gossiping about someone else.

All the pieces of the living jigsaw had come together. However incredulous the picture, it was plain to see. Charlotte sat brooding in an armchair, wondering what to do. Could she justify using Candy to get back at her one time boss? She could simply take her back to him, feigning outrage that the girl had slept with her son.

The Fencer's had caused her much suffering when fired. She couldn't obtain a business analyst position, or even a temporary contract. In desperation to keep the house, she'd signed on to an agency as an escort. She found it wasn't much different from prostitution. The badly needed cash was too much of a temptation to keep her integrity. After all, she had a mortgage to pay, and a son to feed.

Would humiliating Michael for five minutes balance out twelve months of her own degradation? He was unlikely to admit the full truth, and so avoid complete humiliation. There was also that woman, Catherine, to consider. Would he be bothered about Candy, now he had a Catherine to warm his bed?

She grinned to herself, and poured another glass of wine. 'Shit!' she laughed. 'This is so cool. I've got the bosses wife trapped through hypnosis, as a dizzy blond. It's such a perfect retribution that she's an bimbo slut, panting for cock!'

She sipped the cool white wine, wondering how she could use this against the woman's husband.