Bill walked out of Dr. Callaway’s office and past Candace without raising his head or making eye account. “Bill-”
She never got to ask her fiance what the therapist had said. “Candace, come on in,” Dr. Callaway said, his deep
voice sounding gentle yet concerned. She walked in and took a seat on the couch across from the doctor’s desk.
Callaway peered at her over thick glasses. Candace was a tall brunette with mousey brown hair and green eyes
that would have been exotic if they hadn’t been placed beneath thick brown eyebrows. She had the fit body of
a professional young woman with a personal trainer. She hid it beneath a business suit. She was not going to be
happy with what he had to say. But he had promised Bill he’d try… and if she really loved him…
“Candace, as you know Bill started coming to see me a few months ago, after he’d been dating you for about
a year. He’s asked me to talk to you because he feels he can’t.”
“What is it? What’s wrong with him? Is this about those magazines I found of his?”
“Yes… its directly related. Candace, Bill is a fetishist. That is, his sexuality is tied into fetishes. In his case, he has
many; none of them are particularly bizarre but they are quite strong. And fetishes cannot be cured. In fact, they
usually grow stronger with time.”
A slow feeling of panic rose in her; her stomach seized up. “What are you saying, doctor?”
“Bill loves you, but he has sexual needs which you don’t satisfy. If he doesn’t… well, its like asking a man to live
celibate. I’ve spoken to him extensively and there are really only three possible solutions. First, you and he can
break up, and maybe Bill will find someone new that he loves that can satisfy his fetishes. Second, you and he
can stay together, and you’ll have to accept that he has to satisfy his fetishes from somewhere if not from you.
Third, you can change to accommodate his needs.”
“What are his…needs…, doctor?” she asked. He responded by pushing a file across his desk to her. She opened
it up and started flipping through. She stopped halfway through in horror. Her Bill? The magazines had been
bizarre but this… Bill was into this?
She walked out of Dr. Callaway’s office in a daze. Bill was in the waiting room. He looked up at her, his eyes red.
Both of them opened their mouths to speak, but nothing came out. They walked in silence through the city until
finally they were outside Candace’s apartment.
She broke the silence. “Bill, I love you. I know we can work through this together, and find a way that we can both
Friday afternoon, a few days later. During her lunch break, Candace walked the eight blocks to Maria’s Hair and
Nails. It was an uncomfortable trip; she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get comfortable walking in high-heeled shoes,
even if they did have a chunky heel. But she’d promised herself, and Bill, that she’d try.
Maria’s was a full-service salon and Candace had an appointment for ‘the works.’ The works started with the nail
technician filing Candace’s nails down to smoothness, then applying acrylic forms to them. When the forms had
set, she cut them down to the appropriate legnth-1/4″ of an inch-and gave her a French Manicure. While that was
happening, Maria’s hair stylist came in and began working on Candace’s mousey brown locks. When she was
done, Candace’s hair had been streaked with red highlights.
Then Maria herself came in to do the “glamour make-up” Candace had requested. Maria started by waxing
Candace’s eyebrows, trimming them to a thinner, sexier shape. Then she set to work. An hour later, Candace’s
face was made-up like a movie star, complete with lip-liner and two coats of glossy lipstick, pancake make-up,
eyeliner, exotic eyeshadow.
“You come back soon, and we’ll take you to the next level,” Maria said as Candace handed her the tip.
At the office, she got raised eyebrows from the women and a few sidelong glances from the men. She dismissed
them with a joke about a ‘hot date’, although she found she couldn’t as easily dismiss her new nails. Typing had
suddenly become a burden. The day passed slowly. She consoled herself with the reminder that she was quitting
in just a few weeks to start law school, so it was no big deal if her work efficiency went down a bit.
Work ended at 5, and she raced home. Tonight was going to be a big surprise for Bill! She changed into the new
leather pants she’d bought the day before, and admired the way they made her ass look, firm and round. Then
she slipped into a tight black halter top she hadn’t worn since college; it ended just above her belly button. Years
of working out had paid off; her tummy was smooth and taut. She finished the outfit by putting on a pair of leather
boots with pointed toes and 3″ heels.
“Highlighed hair, glamorous make-up, long nails, and club clothes, damn, I look hot!” she thought. Inside, she felt
a warm glow of love for Bill; it made her happy to know that she would please him.
He took her to the hot new dance club in the Village. The doorman let them in right away. “Special treatment! I
must really look fantastic tonight,” she thought.
Inside it was loud noise and writhing bodies and the smell of sweat and smoke and booze. After a margarita, they
hit the dance floor. They danced for what seemed like hours. She was pressed tight to Bill, grinding up against his
waist, rubbing her wetness against his hard-on. She looked up into his eyes…which were staring over her shoulder.
Candace turned, and instantly knew what Bill’s roaming eye had set upon: A club girl, in shiny black vinyl pants and
spike-heeled pumps, with a pierced navel and a tattoo encircling her upper arm–sort of like in that movie
Barb Wire. While Candace watched, the girl inhaled from a long white cigarette, and then blew a stream of smoke
out in her direction.
“That…that.. SLUT…knows my man is checking her out! She’s mocking me,” Candace screamed inwardly. And all
at once that warm feeling, that sense of security she’d felt for pleasing Bill, was gone. She turned on him.
“I obviously don’t look trashy enough to satisfy you, do I Bill?”
For a moment Bill looked as if he’d been slapped. Then his face hardened. “No. No, I guess you don’t.”
Candace didn’t say a word to him; she turned and walked out of the nightclub.
She didn’t go far-just far enough to find a stiff drink. She found one in Lou’s All-Nighter, a seedy late-night drinking
establishment just a block from the danceclub. Sitting at the bar, she swallowed two shots in a blur, then a third a
moment later. The bartender eyed her pittingly. “Pretty girl, if a little trashy. I wonder why she’s all alone,” he wondered.
But what he asked was “Can I get you something, miss?”
Candace looked up from an empty shot glass with red eyes. “Another shot. And do you have a cigarette I could bum?”
He did; a Marlboro, as it turned out. It was thick and strong and it made her lungs hurt as she inhaled it angrily, clumsily.
She exhaled with a sneer, trying to look distant, contemptuous, like the slut had done. Her eyes fell on a neon sign across
the street: TATTOOS/BODYPIERCING 24HOURS.
And suddenly she knew what she had to do.
Bill called Saturday morning at 11 AM. “I love you, Candace,” was the first thing she heard when she picked up the phone.
“I love you, and I’m sorry. Can I come over and apologize in person?”
“Yes,” she said. “Come on over at around 2.” And then she hurried to get ready. She was just finishing her preparations
when she heard a knock on the door.
She opened the door to see her fiance, a dozen roses in his hand. She watched as his jaw fell, and then as the roses fell too,
almost in slow motion. He was looking at a vision from his wet dreams. Candace was wearing a skin-tight vinyl halter top
that showed off her new bellybutton ring, as well as the henna tattoo knotting its way around her upper arm. Her face was
heavily made-up, from eyes rimmed with dark liner to lips painted into a cupid’s bow. 5″ spiked heels adorned her feet,
and her legs stretched up up up to terminate in a micro-mini of shiny black plastic. Bill knew there was no underwear beneath it.
“Why don’t you come inside,” she said, as she slinked over to the dining room table. As Bill shut the door, flame glowed in
front of her face; then she was smoking a long white Virginia Slims cigarette. “And take your pants off.”
“What’s going on?” Bill stuttered. “I came her to apologize…I came her to…”
She blew a long and luxurious stream of smoke into the air. “You haven’t cum here yet, Bill. But you will.”
She stubbed the cigarette out and walked over to him. He stood paralyzed. Dark, long nails reached out to unzip his fly. He
felt her slip his pants down around his waste. Then he was distracted by the pleasure of her painted lips sliding up and down
his engorged cock.
He came with greater force than he ever had, hot spurts spraying into her mouth. Candace swallowed greedily, filled with a
hotness inside. When it was over, he staggered, dizzied by the force of his orgasm. He looked down at her, at her heavy
make-up, her spike heels, her piercing, and soon he was hard again. She lifted up her miniskirt, as if in invitation.
He fucked her savagely, from behind, and when she moaned he hit harder. Whether the moans were from pain or pleasure
he neither knew nor cared. All Bill knew was that this was his woman, and that for now his woman had become his slut,
and that a slut exists solely for her man’s pleasure. Thinking of that, he came. And when he was done, he lay down naked
and told his slut to clean his cock with her tongue. And she did.
Later, when she had finished her tongue work, she lay close to him. Her pussy aching, Candace realized she felt content.
More than content. Fulfilled. For the first time she realized what had been missing from their love life, and she felt what it
was like to have all of Bill’s passion directed at her.
“Bill,” she said. “If its ok with you, I want to quit work a month early and move in with you. I’m going to spend the next
few weeks as your…dream girl.”
“But what about law school?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m still going to go to law school,” she said dreamily, resting her hand on his manhood. “But for the next month, let
me make your fantasies a reality.”
His manhood stood up to show its agreement with her plan.
When Candace returned to the salon, she was glad to see the smiling, made-up face of Maria. Maria understood what
she was doing, what she was going through. Maria would help her become Bill’s wet dream.
“Maria, I’ve decided I want to take it to the next level. What do you suggest?” As it turned out, Maria had quite a few
suggestions. They talked it over, and finally Candace nodded to her. “Do it.”
It started with the Brazilian wax job-Brazilian being the euphemism for ‘remove everything,’ from her armpits to her
ankles. She welcomed the pain; it was a mark of her commitment to Bill. She enjoyed the feel of her new pussy, swollen
and throbbing and hairless.
The lengthiest process was the hair extensions. Angela, the hair weaver, was quite skilled, but adding enough locks to
get Candace from her current shoulder length hair to the desired look–thick tresses halfway down her back-was still
a three-hour task.
When Angela finished, Pamela took over to do the dye job. Candace had decided to go for an obviously artificial
purplish burgundy. The hair color that slut in the club had. “Do you want semi-permanent or permanent color?” Pamela asked.
“Oh…permanent, I guess. Don’t want to have to come back here every 12 washes!” she explained. “I can always dye
it back in time for school, right…” she told herself.
Meanwhile, the nail technician was busily lengthening the acrylic on her nails. Candace had decided on a luxurious 1/2″
length. “No more typing for me,” she thought. “The only jobs I’ll be doing for the next month are hand and blow.”
While the dye was setting and the nails were drying, Maria went to work on her face. Like before, she started with the
eyebrows. But this time there was no careful trimming and thinning. Candace felt a ripping, and suddenly her eyebrows
were gone, waxed entirely off. Maria proceeded to repaint them as high, quizzical arches, the type bimbos always have.
Then she glued long, thick false eyelashes to each eyelid. Candace’s lids felt heavy, and she let her eyes fall to a
half-closed, hooded state. Maria then proceeded to do her make-up, thick, slutty, cheap. If last time she had looked
like a movie star, this time she would look like a porn star.
The nails were just drying when Angela returned, carrying a tray stacked with needles and small pieces of jewelry.
Candace winced at the sharp stabbing pain-one, two, three new holes in her left ear! One, two, three new holes in
the right! Then Angela took hold of her hands, and pierced the pinky nail of each hand. After a bit of fumbling with
the jewelry, Candace and Angela managed to get everything in: Four dangling plastic hoops in her ears, gold rings
in the nails.
“All done,” Maria said, smiling, as she spun the chair around so Candace could see her new, slut look in the mirror.
“Bill will be so pleased,” said the burgundy-haired whore in the mirror. Dark-nailed hands lit a cigarette, then paid
Maria a generous tip. Now Candace was headed downtown, to St. Mark’s Place, for some shopping. Her leather
pants and her vinyl get-up were the only clothes she had to go with her ‘new look’; it was time for a spending spree.
Bill, being the wealthy young investment banker that he was, had generously agreed to pick up the tab.
St. Mark’s Place featured the usual crowd–punks and freaks purchasing fetish garb and body jewelry from seemingly
straight-laced Indian businessmen who seemed entirely unaffected by the perversity of it all. The last time Candace had
been here, she’d been a suit, simultaneously contemptuous and fascinated by the scene in the way that the mainstream
Now she was burgundy-haired and vinyl-clad, and stalking through the stores, looking for just the right choices for her
new lifestyle. Red patent leather boots with a 6″ stiletto that fit her like a glove from her toes to her mid-thigh. A black
leather corset. Patent leather opera gloves. Black patent platform pumps with 8″ spikes. Ballet shoes in black leather.
A burgundy vinyl dress that barely covered her from crotch to breasts. A black latex catsuit. All her choices were
skin-tight, and sexy, and shiny. All of them made her look cheap, trashy, or slutty, and sometimes all of the above.
And if they were made of an artificial material, a plastic or a latex, all the better.
Six hours later, Candace’s clothing bill came to over $5000. It suddenly occurred to her that this was a lot of money
to spend for just one month. “He won’t be upset. He wants me to wear this stuff. Besides, I’ll still wear this stuff for
Bill once I start law school, sometimes. Like when we’re alone in the house and I want to turn him on, or if we go
out to a club. It won’t go to waste,” she told herself.
Candace was in her thigh-high boots, kneeling on the floor of the living room, her vinyl dress hiked up to reveal her
shaven, lubricated ass. Bill stood over her, his cock slipping in and out of her hole. At Bill’s instruction, she had
taken to wearing a butt plug during the day for the past week. Today the plug had been replaced with his cock.
There was pain, but not as much as she’d feared; and the sensation of being fucked in the ass was like being filled,
being fulfilled. “Fuck me! Fuck your slut! Harder, harder!” she groaned.
Bill rewarded her by increasing his rhythm. “You like that, bitch,” he said, as he came in her ass. “Why don’t you
tell me how much you liked it.”
Candace rolled over on her back and began to rub a long-nailed fingertip across her engorged clit. As she did,
she started to talk. “Oh, I liked it so much… I love being fucked by you. Its all I want. Its what I am now. Just
a slut for you to fuck.”
Bill stood over her, watching her, rubbing his own cock. As he saw her legs tighten and her breathe shorten, he
accelerated his own pace. As she orgasmed, so did he. His hot cum spilled all over her face. He told himself that
he loved her. It was just that the month was almost over. He just had to enjoy it while he could.
In the afterglow of her orgasm, Candace realized she very desperately wanted a cigarette. Was she really up to a
pack a day now? “I’ve just been fucked in the ass, called myself a slut, ordered to masturbate, licked cum off my
own face, and all I can think about is that I want a cigarette because this was good sex. Oh my god,” she realized.
She knew then that she was addicted, and that there was no going back. The question was… “what am I addicted to?”
Candace had taken to sleeping in; the old Candace had been a morning girl, a hard worker on the 9 to 5 lifestyle, but
a slut was a creature of the night. And it was a very cranky slut that was awakened by a 9:30 AM phone call that
jarred her out of a very pleasant dream about a porn queen who gets paid to suck hard cocks.
“Hello,” she said in a tired voice. “If this is a tele-marketer go to hell.”
“I got the promotion! I made vice president at the bank!” It was Bill.
After five years, he had made it to the big leagues. It was a long shot. He didn’t think he was going to get it. But he had.
Now it was time for a 7 figure salary. Shorter hours. Did I mention the 7 figure salary?
Candace was totally silent. Her mind was desperately thinking, putting it all together. Was this the sign she was waiting
for? She knew it was.
“That’s really great, Bill,” she said at last. “Its great for us.”
“Yes, it is!” he said.
“Do you know why its great for us?” Candace asked. Her voice had suddenly turned sultry.
“Its great for us because now we don’t need to worry about money anymore. Which is really great, because I’ve decided
not to go to law school.”
“You’re not going to law school?” He sounded shocked.
“That’s right. Because a slut doesn’t need law school. And that’s what I am going to be from now. Your slut. I’m going to
do this for real…no turning back.”
“Honey. I would love you even if you went to law school. You don’t have to do this for me,” said Bill. “So what do you
want to have done first?”
Candace was sitting on a stool in the tattoo parlor she had first visited two months ago, when that slut had shown her
what she needed to do. This visit, though, the artist, Rick, was working with needles and permanent ink, not henna. She
was getting a real tattoo. Rick was still working on it, finishing up the Chinese characters that would forever encircle her
right upper arm. When he was done, they would spell out fuck toy.
Rick had done all her recent piercing work as well. The diamond screw in her left nostril was his work, as were the dozen
hoops and rings that hung from each of her ears. Early this month, he’d also done the steel rings in her nipples that were
now so blatantly visible through the taught lycra of her shirt. Sometimes she strung a chain between the nipples, but today
she opted for a belly chain through her navel ring. Less obvious was the barbell pierced horizontally through her clitoris,
or the two piercings in her tongue. Bill loved those. Ever since he’d gotten those, he’d been more and ore frequently
shoving her head to his cock to suck him off. She didn’t mind. Actually, she rather liked it. “Maybe I should get a third
barbell in my tongue… I’d be eating cock for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!” she thought.
She lit a Virginia Slim as Rick was finishing up. “Since you’re the one who marked me as a fucktoy, I think you’ll be the
next one I fuck,” she said. As Rick started to take his pants off, she let out a long stream of smoke.
She could feel Rick’s cum dripping down her leg as she stood on the subway car on the way home. The first time she’d
fucked a man other than Bill, she’d felt a bit guilty, even though it had been Bill’s idea. But her guilt had mostly gone away
when she saw Bill’s reaction. His eyes had glazed over with lust, she remembered. And then he’d told her that was how
he wanted her to be. A slut. An object to be used by men for their pleasure. She still had to force herself to sleep with
other men. It was getting easier. She did what she had to do to please Bill.
She glanced around the subway car; everywhere she looked, men were just then averting their eyes, pretending not to
stare at the burgundy-haired bimbo in the 5″ heels and micromini. The subway women shot her hateful glares. She had
nothing but contempt for those women now. “You all should learn to please your man. That’s what I did,” she sneered
The first thing she did when she got back to the apartment was light up another cigarette. She’d stopped fighting the urges,
and had let her addiction entirely take her. Now she was up to two packs a day. That was ok. It gave her something to
do when she wasn’t sucking cock.
Cigarette in hand, Candace settled down in the couch and turned on her latest porno video, Shaved Bimbo Sluts. Last
week she had sold her entire college book collection on eBay. The week before that, she had dropped off all her old
clothes at Goodwill. She didn’t want to wear that shit anymore anyway, and who had time for books? Nowadays she
focused on looking and acting as slutty as possible for her man. She went through porno like popcorn, learning how to
look and act and talk. Bill loved it when she acted trashy, dumbing down her vocabulary and acting like a stupid cuntslut.
While the tape rolled through the FBI warning, she flipped through the latest issue of some fetish mag, stopping to admire
the girl’s fake breasts, their shaved cunts, their empty, horny stares.
“I am not there yet,” she thought. “I don’t look plastic enough. And I still talk too smart. Bill needs me to be a true bimbo
slut. I have to keep working at it.” She reached into her purse and dug through it, ignoring condoms, cigarettes, and
make-up until at last she found the phone number. “At least now I have a plan. If this works, I’ll be the biggest slut of all.”
“Hello, doctor? This is Candace. I want to go ahead and make that appointment,” she said into the phone.
Bill and Candace didn’t make love anymore. All they did was fuck. Missionary style had been almost eliminated from
their bedroom, unless you counted the times when Candace rolled her legs back over her head so her high heels were at her ears.
This particular evening, Bill was pounding her doggy style, as hard as he could. She panted in hot gasps, loving it, asking for it,
wanting his cock to hit her harder, go deeper. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me!” she shouted. He came with a grunt and then pushed her
to the bed. She looked up at him through half-closed eyes and then opened her mouth.
His dick dove dripping into it. She licked the head of his cock with her pierced tongue, all the while rubbing her painted lips
on his shaft, gently coaxing it further and further into her mouth, feeling his cock get hard again. Soon she was deep-throating
him and he was gasping in pleasure. As she bobbed her head up and down, she reached a long-nailed hand between her legs
and started rubbing her pierced clit. They came together, hers a wave of pleasure that rolled upward from her cunt, his an
explosion that went off deep in her throat.
When it was over Bill rolled off of her and onto the bed, sprawled backwards. On his face was the look of serene contentment
that a man only has in the brief moments after he’s come. Candace sat up and got her cigarettes off the nightstand. She lit one
with a flourish of dark nails and chrome lighter, and inhaled deeply.
“Bill, I’ve decided to go to the extreme,” she announced.
He rolled over to look at her, admiring his creation. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You’re already like a wet dream to me.”
“Sure. I know. But I also know I could be even more. I’ve started to do something these past months. And whatever I do, I
do 100%. The old me, I wanted to go to the top schools, work for the best law firms. The new me…I want to be the ultimate
fucktoy for you.”
He moved to be on top of her, and she saw he was hard again. “What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a clinic. I’ve made an appointment…” she said, as he entered her.
Candace was lying in the recovery bed in the clinic. Bill and the doctor who had operated on her were in the room too. Bill
was looking at her, a wistful look in his eyes. The doctor was busily setting up some sort of audio-visual equipment.
“What a sight I am,” she realized. Her feet and lower legs were sealed in a cast, as was her lower ribcage. Her hands were
swathed in bandages, and her pussy and throat and face were sore. Her chest was huge, like a mountain, but much of that
was just bandages, she assumed. It looked like both her cunt and ass had vibrators in them, plugged into the machine the
doctor was working with.
The doctor came up to her. “While you are recovering from your surgery, we’ll be running an audio-visual reconditioning
system. Its what you asked for. It’ll strip away the higher personality layers that made you such a successful college student
and professional… When its through, you’ll be just another dumb bimbo slut. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She nodded, and Bill smiled at her.
The doctor placed a set of video lenses on her eyes and then readied the audio system. Just before the doctor put the plugs
in her ears, he asked her, “how extreme do you want the conditioning to be, Candace? How far do you want us to go?”
“All the way,” she said.
“Goodbye, Candace,” Bill said, and then he and the doctor left her.
Her world swam as the AV equipment activated. And then she was fucking and sucking and cumming and she was a slut
and she was meant to be used by men and she was a bimbo and she was dumb and repeat after me cunt cock slut whore
hole titties jugs jism cum bitch trash cheap fucktoy and she likes her big fat titties and she only wears high heels and she likes
to eat cock and cum is her favorite food and sluts don’t think they suck cock and sluts are objects and and sluts talk like this
and she lives for cock and she dreams of cock and she was an object and her name was
Candi woke up alone in the operating room. She sat up gingerly, unaccustomed to the weight on her chest. She swung her
legs over the edge of the table and tip-toed on her new pointed feet over to the mirror. She could feel the tightness in her
calves, and dimly realized that the doctor had been good to his word-she’d never walk in flats again.
At the mirror she took her first look at her new self. Her breasts were huge, jutting from her chest. They were obviously fake,
and meant to look that way, and had long nipples adorned by huge gold rings. Her waist was tiny, as if she was wearing a
corset. Vaguely she remembered asking to have ribs removed. Her lips were swollen with collagen implants. “Candi has
cocksucking lips,” she said gleefully, in the high-pitched voice of a bimbo.
Her nose had been reduced, and her cheekbones made higher with collagen. Her make-up was perfect. She leaned in close
and realized that all of it, from the high arching brows to her dark lipliner, was tattooed on. Her piercings were the same as
she’d entered with, nose, tongue, ears, bellybutton, nipples, clit, but she saw that new ones had been added-four rings in
each of her outer labia.
She ran a hand along her cunt and realized how long her nails were! Her hands were adorned with inch-long talons painted in
dark burgundy; the nails were a little thicker than was natural and seemed to be implants. Each nail tip ended with a piercing.
She opened the closet and her eyes opened wide with glee. A brand-new wardrobe of vinyl and plastic for her new body!
A body built for fucking and clothes to look fuckable. There were so many choices, it was so confusing. It took Candi ages
to decide what to wear. In the end, she settled on a black vinyl dress and thigh-high boots with tall spikey heels.
She was admiring herself in the mirror when Bill walked into the room. “Hi Candi,” he said. His eyes were aflame with lust,
and he started to take his pants off. Then he paused. “How are you feeling, baby?”
She turned to look at him, and when Bill saw her, he knew the question was pointless. There was no intelligence in her eyes.
No Candace in her eyes. There was just a horny bimbo with one thing on her mind. She broke eye contact and looked down
at his erect dick.
“Bill…Candi doesn’t want to talk. Candi wants to fuck! Fuck Candi!” she said in her new bimbo voice. “Candi needs your
cock in her cunt! Fuck her please!”
She was a slut now. Forever.