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Anonymous
Re: sequels
Mon Aug 6, 2018 9:30am
75.40.154.152

Only sequel that I know of:

CANDI’S COMEUPPANCE, PART 1:

“This is not going at all as I had planned.” Thought Candice.
That silly bimbo, Barbie - Candice could no longer bring herself to think of her former peer as “Barbara” - had given away the farm. Her swim teammates signed power of attorney forms over to Barbie so that she could agree to whatever was required to gain access to the University pool for practice. But by enrolling them all in school, with the Coach as their sponsor, she had left them at his mercy - which was a commodity in very short supply. If they didn’t please him, he could simply flunk all of them out of school, putting an indelible stain on their otherwise spotless academic credentials.
This morning had started off so well. Candice awoke refreshed, as she always did after a night of listening to her subliminal motivation tapes. Ever since she and her teammates on the swim team started receiving them in the mail, their performance had steadily improved. Successful professional women all, they were also alumni of the local university. They subscribed to its co-ed swim team magazine, edited by coach Leer. The magazine began sending along sample tapes for trial. The women had received a new tape each of the past six months.
The tapes had helped tremendously. Since using them, all the women became far more enthusiastic about their swimming practices. In fact, despite their busy schedules, not one of them had missed a practice since they began listening. None, that is, until the local gym closed its pool. Now it had been almost two weeks since the women had been able to practice their technique and get the workout that only a rigorous swimming practice could provide. Without their daily practices, the women were starting to become anxious.
Nevertheless, the ladies of the swim team couldn’t stop listening to the tapes. They helped the women cope with the stress of their busy careers. There was one odd side effect. Candice could not quite bring herself to call it a “down side.” Along with the increased energy level, Candice had noticed a distinct rise in her libido. Paradoxically, she was so focused on her swimming regimen that she had not been on a date for several months. When Candice hinted around the topic, she came to suspect that her teammates were in pretty much the same situation. It was as if all their sexual energy had been increased and somehow refocused.
Normally, this sublimated desire just seemed to add to Candice’s already increased energy level. Even when at work, she was always pleasantly excited, but it did not interfere with her concentration unless something happened to “set her off.”
That happened big time just two days ago. The swim team was having its nightly meeting. Without a pool, all they could do was get together and talk about swimming. The gatherings had eventually devolved into drinking soirees. That night, someone suggested using the local college pool. The agreement was immediate and unanimous. Then the conversation moved onto a rather ribald discussion of humiliation fantasies involving the aptly named coach Leer.
Normally the shy, reserved, career women would never have allowed themselves to take part in such a prurient conversation. But their frustration over missing practices had come to a head. Despite herself, Candice was practically mopping her seat by the time the meeting broke up and all of the women embarrassedly headed home. There was no way to be sure, but the large number of purses and jackets awkwardly held in front of crotches on the way out of the crowded bar did not appear to be pure coincidence.
Last night’s meeting was very different. Barbara had been selected to talk to coach Leer and arrange for the use of the University pool. In her business dealings, she was known as a tough negotiator and she regularly managed million dollar accounts. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, something had gone wrong. Barbara walked into coach Leer’s office as a confident, self-assured, tough as nails business lady, dressed to the nines. “Barbie” walked out as an obsequious, prurient, absolutely stark naked bimbo, begging for the tiniest scrap of clothing to cover denuded, depilated, squirming flesh..
Barbie stood in front of her teammates as she recited every humiliating detail of her ordeal. Their anger slowly changed to something else as the story progressed from defrocking, to shearing, to Barbie’s frog march out to the parking lot. Instead of being shocked at how Barbie salaciously groveled to get her car keys back, and then as a final indignity had to drive home naked, ruining her expensive leather driver’s seat, the women sat as if hypnotized.
They quickly reverted to shock and then went straight through to anger after they made Barbie show them her new “haircut.” When Barbie told Coach Leer that her team nickname was the Dolphins, he changed his mind about the buzz cut he was going to give them.
Commanded to remove her new wig, Barbie revealed a scalp shaved as utterly bald as a billiard ball!
After last night’s escapades, Barbie could offer no argument when the women loudly demanded that she show them the rest of the fleecing, and while she was at it, go ahead and take all of her clothes off. After all, she had done that and more, in front of coach Leer, not to mention blithely volunteering everyone else on the team to exactly the same fate. Barbie looked nervously over her shoulder, knowing that a waitress or - gulp - a waiter, might come through the door into the restaurant’s conference room at any moment. Unsympathetic, the women put Barbie through her paces, making her re-enact every indignity the coach intended to inflict on the entire team for the rest of the season. Finally, after each woman had insisted on personally spanking Barbie’s poor backside, someone went to the kitchen and made arrangements that the food and drinks would be left at the door and one of their own would be doing the serving. The choice of who that server would be was unanimous, but for one single dissenting vote. After her sound electoral defeat, Barbie sheepishly asked where her clothing had disappeared to. A roomful of laughter and a hearty slap to the backside helped her realize she was already wearing her waitress uniform.
Amid the frequent butt-slapping and demands for drink refills from their scurrying, flouncing, naked waitress, the women desperately formulated a plan. Well, to be more precise, they really just argued a whole lot, each accusing the others of being untrustworthy to represent the group to the coach. Finally, Candice was picked as the new spokesperson. By that time she’d had quite a bit to drink (it was just too much fun watching their bare-assed Barbie doll scurry back and forth.) But her hazy recollection was that the decision was based not so much on her own virtue, but more the fact that she was most colorful in accusing the other women of being “helpless, simpering, sluts.” The most outspoken feminist in the group, Candice was confident she could handle that overgrown frat rat coach Leer.
At home that night Candice plugged in her newest subliminal tape, which had just arrived by special delivery. Somehow, though, this tape did not seem to relax her. She kept having the most pernicious fantasies. They all seemed to involve coach Lear, and they definitely were not feminist training films!
She found herself fixated on the image of Barbie’s shaved sex. For some reason, Candice had not masturbated in weeks. Her hands went down to her own fleece, and this natural part of her somehow now felt like a foreign impediment. Candice became desperately curious about how Barbie felt with nothing but completely smooth, baby-soft skin down there. Finally, acting on a compulsion, Candice got up, went into the bathroom and started gathering scissors, razor, shaving cream, depilatory, everything that would be needed to rid her of this unwanted fuzz.
By the time she finished, Candice was shivering slightly, despite having turned up the heat. She sat in front of a mirror and stared in fascination at her now completely bare crotch. It wasn’t just the way it looked, but the way it felt. Every air molecule felt like a caress. Although she was even more aroused than before - in fact, it seemed that she was more turned-on than she had ever been in her life - Candice went to bed and fell right to sleep, excited yet strangely content.
The subliminal tape quietly droned in the background.
Candice awoke at the sound of her alarm, feeling completely refreshed, if not quite relaxed. Holding the covers away from her body, she got out of bed. She tried to keep anything from coming into contact with her hyper-sensitive pudunda. It wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact exactly the opposite. It was as if it were charged and any contact could cause her to explode with orgasm.
She stopped for a few minutes in front of the bathroom mirror. She stared transfixed, as if in awe of her smooth, shiny, “slit.” She could actually see her clitoris peeking out in its excited state. She looked like some odd sort of randy Cherub - innocent, yet filled with an uncontrollable and unidentifiable desire.
While showering, Candice touched herself in “that place.”
Fascinated, she was filled with incredible sensations, but she forced herself to keep from raging completely out of control. She was already late for her appointment, and she somehow knew that no amount of frigging could completely quench the need she was feeling
right now. So she was careful to not start anything she knew she couldn’t finish.
When Candice started to get dressed, she ran into a problem. She found that even the scantiest panties she owned agitated her fiercely. Just one attempt to put on a pair of slacks showed the futility of that idea.
Finally, in the very back of her closet, she saw a short, bright blue strapless Spandex cocktail dress she had bought recently, on a wild impulse, from a risque mail order catalogue. When it arrived, she had been too shocked by its brevity and trashiness to even try it on. She stuffed it in the back of her closet where it remained - until now. Without really knowing why, Candice pulled the dress out and tried it on. Immediately she realized what a huge mistake this purchase had been. One look in the mirror made devastatingly clear that no woman wearing this dress could possibly be mistaken for a professional career lady. The fabric was much shinier than satin.
There is no shame in wearing inexpensive clothes, but the way this thing tried so desperately to look expensive, and failed miserably, simply screamed the word “cheap.” And that word applied even more to whatever woman had such an incredible lack of class as to wear an outfit like this out in public.
To top it off, the dress was two sizes too small! Admittedly, the material was expandable. The problem was that her body, or at least certain select parts, of it were only partially compressible. She was literally spilling out of the top (and the bottom) of the obscene garment. And the darned thing was already demonstrating an unnerving tendency to ride up (and down) on her. If left to its own devices, the already scandalously brief dress would happily convert itself into a bustier, leaving her top and bottom bared to the world.
Smiling impishly, yet just a bit nervously, Candice thought how exciting it would be to tease the coach by wearing this to the meeting. Her dress was sheer and snug enough that it would amply hint at her state of dishabille beneath. She giggled as she entertained the notion of having the coach in thrall, entranced by the chance he might get an incredibly brief glimpse at forbidden fruit. Denying him, she could get any concession she asked.
Tearing her eyes away from the bathroom mirror, Candice saw that she was already late for her appointment. She knew that psychological advantage was the key to any negotiation. She needed to be waiting, composed, in her own office when the coach arrived, hat in hand, to speak with her. Candice was acutely aware that once one side lost that psychological “high ground,” it was hard to get it back. More often, it just turned into a slippery slope, leaving the disadvantaged party with less and less power, until.... Well, best not to think about that! It was time to go, and now.
Hurriedly, Candice applied makeup. There was no time for her usual subtlety. Besides, her garish clothing and tempestuous mood somehow made heavy application of her brightest lipstick and rouge seem the only option. Same for her hair-sedate braiding was out of the question - Candice tried to figure out how to “tease” her hair into shape, trying to substitute an excess of hair spray for expertise.
Reaching for her purse, she realized immediately that no handbag she owned would come close to matching the color of her dress. She grabbed her keys, and left the rest of the contents behind. Candice had no pockets or any other way to carry ID, credit cards, money or anything else of use. She experienced a mild pang of helplessness at this realization: all she would have would be her body and this thin, very thin, piece of cloth. But that was silly. She was going to her own office. What could she possibly need in the one domain in which she was unquestionably the master? Her status and dignity were all she that mattered there.
She bolted to the door, threw it opened, but then stopped short, teetering forward. Strangely, as she left the security of her apartment, the vulgar outfit somehow made Candice feel as conspicuous as if she had been utterly naked. Although the dress was tight, it did absolutely nothing to constrain her ridiculously bobbling breasts and butt. Her eyes grew wide as she felt the cool air circulate underneath. Looking down, she saw that her nipples were sticking out prominently. Futilely, she tried to adjust the top of her dress, but that only increased the problem. Besides, every fraction of an inch she pulled the top up just meant that much more of her bottom was uncovered.
Pensively, she peeked her head out of the doorway and looked both ways. The lot was clear. She made a dash for her car, as best she could carrying her jangling, over-large key chain, and wearing absolutely nothing but an undersized strapless snug, shiny blue spandex dress and ridiculous spiked “... me” red heels.
Candice could not seem to think clearly. Her blood was clearly all flowing toward somewhere other than her brain. She felt as if she were acting compulsively, but she didn’t have time to properly think about that right now. Her excitement was getting the better of her. She found herself trying to surreptitiously rub her thighs together as she speed-walked. Unfortunately, this accentuated the already pronounced sashaying motion caused by the unaccustomed height of her heels. Every part of her was bouncing as she walked, even her over-sprayed bouffant hairdo. Fortunately, no one was around to see her flounce to her car through the covered parking lot.

  • sequelsarchitya2000, Mon Aug 6 7:13am
    You are right, I did read some time ago one sequel. unfortunately I did not save it cheers
    • Re: sequels — Anonymous, Mon Aug 6 9:30am
      • Thanksmdasif_habib, Thu Aug 9 11:36am
        Thanks for the post. It says - Candi’s Comeuppance, PART 1: I know I am being greedy but is there any more? Like PART 2 or PART 3?
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