by Avery, T. C.
Vincente had the foresight to address this dilemma. Toys and tools, bling and battery operated machinery of all tastes, types and tolerances need instructions too. But who among the crowd will oblige. Educate their fellow females. Take one for the team, as it were. It's not as if they won't be rewarded in the best possible manner for their forthright and charitable endeavours. But they don't. At least not in any meaningful numbers.
And so, he had the clever idea of securing the services of the less inhibited, the willing and the experienced, the easily excited and the stunningly beautiful. These purveyors of personal pleasure would provide example, instruction, action and encouragement for the party going public to get their hands in their pants, and not just for their wallets.
The videos, or rather DVDs, would be included with each presentation case. They were as much 'fun' and naughty to watch, as they were instructional. And to get the crowd excited about the products, they would be played, or at least demo'd at the party evenings. There's nothing better for getting the excitement levels up and the juices flowing (every pun intended) as a little porno video or two. Especially when it was of such a high quality.
It was all about the toys of course, but the use of some of God's gorgeous creatures, great and small, to deliver the message of just how goooood they were made it all so much nicer, cleaner, less seedy and of course easy on the eye. And when two or three of these stunners are applying delicate, delicious and downright filthy manoeuvres on each other with the naughtiest novelties in town, it has a certain way of circumventing all notions of sleaze or hard case lesbian tendencies. No dungarees or spiky hairdos here.
Rachael was at one of the first parties to have our new products to hand and videos for viewing.
"Shhh," came a loud and effective message from over her shoulder.
"Now has everyone got one of our little objects of desire handy?"
"Murmur, murmur, murmur."
"Good. Watch the video, you're going to like this. These little beauties really will awaken 'the inner you' to a little personal pleasure. Just you watch."
Rachael couldn't help thinking that the lady in charge could do with going on a few more sales courses, but refrained from saying anything. She was here to make sure the product offerings got to the masses not to critique the event. And anyway, what did she know about sales. It's all about people skills not the gift of the gab, and in that respect the lady of the hour was very capable, and likable.
The video started with an acknowledgement to the performers and a rundown of the cast. Not a dog in sight.
And now for the action.
The first one was a lady in her mid twenties coming home from late night work to a dimly lit room. She poured herself a wine, turned on the gas fire, extricated herself from her tight and restrictive work trousers and slumped down on the settee, curling her long slender legs under herself as she did. She sipped at her glass of red and laid her head back on the sofa.
Her head came back up. She'd remembered something. Groping around under the cushion she brought out a little pink object. It was a 'Sister's Finger'. Taking another sip of wine she adjusted her position and sat straight. The camera was pointing right at her now and the flickering gas flames just gave the moment an even cozier feel. She pulled at her blouse to reveal some sensible but still visually appealing panties. Her legs parted a fraction. Taking another sip she put down the glass, twisted the base of the digit to turn it on and bit her lip. And now she turned it on herself.
"Ooohh that felt good."
The room of women was silent. All eyes were glued to the screen. Rachael looked around and thought to herself "who would have thought you could get a whole room full of women to watch porn together? And there's not a dick in sight."
The light hum was just audible. The lady was rubbing it slowly up and down the gusset of her thin cotton panties. The material clearly provided very little resistance to the power and intensity of her little 'finger'. She laid her head back again and moaned. The camera zoomed in on the action and her legs widened. Fifteen pairs of eyes and fifteen captured imaginations stared, eagerly, concentrating, conjuring up their own determinations for how they would play this out themselves.
She dug the finger in and her panties distorted a little. A tell tale wet patch emerged and the finger went back to its up and down stroking. Then the second human set of fingers came into play. At first they stroked. Thigh then loin, thigh then crotch. Four fingers fondled either side of her moistened, mysterious, and as yet unseen forbidden folds. And then the fingers hooked under her panties and pulled them gently to one side.
Her engorged labia lips were glistening and pink. Only a hint of short hair crowned this beautiful presentation. The camera was now up close and very personal. You could almost smell the self-induced juices.
Rachael looked around the room again. Mouths were open, lips were licked, hands were tightly gripped around toys.
Our performer brought back the 'Sister's Finger'. She manipulated it and curled it into a crescent, then holding panties wide and aside, administered it once again to her beckoning pussy lips. As the up and down stroking started again, her lips parted obligingly and the moans began.
Some buzzing started from within the room, then some more (and that one was Rachael).
The crescent finger hovered over the now visible dark opening, and it entered. There was clear air intake in the room. The finger curled its way in and then out again, wetted. The humming sound quietened and loudened accordingly and she began with a rhythm. The dexterity of her little friend was obvious. The intensity of its performance was audible and the spectacle overall was to be applauded. Our audience was spellbound.
Two more micro machines of massage and masturbation went 'bzzzzzz' to Rachael's left.
The 'finger' was drawn out from its fully embedded pleasure-providing situation and the camera followed it painstakingly upwards. Our actress (though this was clearly not much of an act) inserted the surrogate finger between her red lips and tasted her own sweet juices.
She stared at the audience and licked her lips as if to say "There has never been anything so sweet as womankind in moments such as this." She smiled at them all, rolled her eyes and her head backwards, then the camera once again followed 'finger' back to heaven.
A solitary dip into pussy was performed before the twist grip was turned up to full. No one had expected a second level of electrifying intensity, and the noise was clear. On screen and in the room. She expertly pulled back her clitoral hood to expose the teeny tiny button of brazen self-awareness inside. It rose to the occasion, and as our audience inhaled yet again, she set upon the lucky little mite.
Groans of sheer jealousy went ringing round the room. The buzzing persisted, the pressure mounted, the moaning intensified and the audience was rousing to the occasion. Rachael and some of her more adventurous cohorts were discreetly matching our screen performer with their own through-jeans performances (well they were each given props, and who said they were just for looking at?).
And then came the shortening of breath, the gasping for air, the tightening of thighs and involuntary muscle spasms that signaled total satisfaction, blissful accomplishment, heaven on earth, stupendous relief and release. She screamed and yelped and eventually groaned her way back down to earth as the camera fixated our audience on her contorted, ecstatic features.
Our obliging and orgasmic assistant slowly came round and, smiling once again at the audience, uttered in a seductive, satisfied, Spanish accent, "You really should try one of these 'Seester's Fingers', and just then another orgasm went off, only this time it was in the room. One of the ladies at the back was having her moment in full public view.
When the commotion subsided, and the jaws around the room closed, there was a round of applause and cheering. The unknown and still fully clothed recipient of adulation straightened herself and took a little self-congratulatory bow.
"How much more proof do you need?" asked the party planner.
&
nbsp; Chapter 14
Rubber gloves
Rachael and Co. were gob-smacked at the success of the party plan sales. They'd always believed it would be good, but things just took off.
The other videos had various girls and women in some laid back, private moments of self indulgence and others in some downright daring, risky and precarious incidents guaranteed to shake up the steady, mundane and safe sexual existences that most women seem destined to orchestrate or endure.
There was one video where three friends decided to take their toys to a private indoor swimming pool. They first went through all the dares and mental challenges of getting their bodies out in front of one another. In the end, the easiest way to start, they decided, was to take a sauna, with towels intact. This helped to break the ice, lighten the moment, and was swiftly followed up with some running, giggling and skinny-dipping. They eventually got round to lying on the loungers, and then it was time to get the toys out. And a fine selection of buzzing little beasties they were too. Three in a row pleasured themselves for the camera, then two on one and so on. The exercise all along was to demonstrate the break down of inhibitions for some pure unadulterated pleasure. No guilt, no reasoning, no questions asked and no one to answer to. Sex for sex's sake.
Another rather daring video followed a gorgeous young, blonde girl around town, after first educating the audience on procedures for slipping in the "Tourette's Twins" where it's best to slip them in. She then demonstrated, through the use of some secret, voyeuristic camera work, how her hand held remote control button could induce, at will, the most incredible, even climactic results in all sorts of risqué and inappropriate places.
She underwent good vibrations in a taxi, the moving of heaven and earth on a busy sun drenched beach, and the sweetest and most excruciatingly wonderful of distractions whilst street front at a busy cafe. The crowning glory was her poorly controlled (for obvious reasons) furniture grappling, squinting and head thrashing routine with stifled squeals whilst sitting in an up market hotel foyer. The looks from staff and passers by were priceless, and 'Blondie' loved every minute of it. She had all hell on trying to subdue her expletive outbursts to mere mumblings and showed everyone, beyond all doubt, how apt the naming of this discreet little device was.
Video after video was shown amongst tea, wine and supposed toilet breaks. Clearly these displays were a bit of a breakthrough as mentioned.
Sales soared, commissions poured in for our girls on the back of it, and Jody's new found enterprise at the coal face of the adult retail world was better than she could have ever hoped for. Vincente was over the moon with his foray into the UK. Luke was his father's undying hero after driving profits for B.P.L. skywards. European entry was next on the cards and in time this would also prove to be a highly successful move.
2001 was a colossal year for Jody. The travel trade was humming along nicely, the strip clubs were booming and the toy sales were soaring. Everything seemed to be heading in an upwardly mobile direction.
Noses were kept very much clean, however, a constant flow of minor espionage activity was always on the cards, since it would take a few years worth of punter provided fund building in the W.A.I.F.A. account before it was of a sufficient size to be useful. It would eventually mount up, and more than adequately constitute the significant catalyst needed for bringing about Jody's exacting revenge. Her 'Talion' punishment for the perpetrators of years gone by. With a healthy dash of compound interest thrown in for good measure. Justice of the Jody kind.
After the close of the two thousand and first year A.D., another four successful and eventful years passed, before anything happened of any real significance to the plot, that is. Of course there would be lots of additional material for the cause to be collected, created and planted along the way. But the main event, the downfall of five unsuspecting, oblivious characters, bound by association and collaboration, in an incident from a bygone era was now upon them. And they had no idea where it came from, or why, or who was involved, or even why they had been thrown together in the same unsavoury melting pot in the first place.
Now Charlie had been on long haul flights for some time. One day it was the bright lights of L.A., Vegas and New York, and next it was the smog filled, heady aphrodisiac that was South East Asia, namely Hong Kong, Singapore and Bangkok.
It was one of the latter Asian destination persuasions from which she was returning. Cocky, headstrong, fun loving and fulfilled was her demeanour. It always was. She'd grown used to the travelling, the 'jet set', the status and the opportunities that life on the edge of the skies had offered her. Granted, a Trolley Dolly's life is not an easy one. But for those who enjoyed their time off and the cityscapes on offer, it was a rewarding and enriching removal from the troubles that the rest of the working world has to bear on a daily basis.
And so, with an air of prowess, pride and mild arrogance, Charlie swanned through Heathrow with her colleagues, some of many years, without a care in the world, except the anticipation of a warm, clean, cotton covered cot in which to deposit her weary legs after a shower and maybe a wine for the wind down. Her usual routine for returning to Chez Charlie, unless she had a 'shag' lined up. Which was highly unlikely this time since the last man of that ilk was no longer standing, or waiting around for that matter.
They breezed through passport control and headed for customs. It was to be 'green' as usual, but on this occasion, Brian asked her to step to one side. She knew it was Brian because it said so on his nametag.
"I'll see you on the other side." she called after the others, smiling nonchalantly. Standard procedure and one she'd been through every other day of her life.
Something wet nuzzled the back of her left leg and looking round sharply she smiled as the nose of a busy little Beagle buried itself into her crotch. She reversed out of the slightly awkward situation but smiled at the handler in a knowing and accepting way. The dog was pulled off and ushered towards Charlie's flight case.
"This was a little unusual." She thought. "There's nothing in there he should be interested in."
It was one of those funny moments like when you know you're clean, you haven't been shoplifting, but you still half anticipate the alarm to go off when you leave the shop through the security gates.
The dog persisted. He sat by the case looking back and forth between handler and loot, his big soppy eyes just begging to be rewarded for his success. And there it was. An unseen morsel of something extracted from jacket pocket and instantly hoovered up between very jolly jowls.
"Do you mind if we have a look at your case madam?"
"No, er, no, by all means," replied Charlie, and she lifted her standard issue, top quality flight case off its wheels and onto the podium for inspection.
"Could you open it for me please?"
This time she didn't answer. She just un-clicked the latches and lifted the lid.
"Did you pack your bags yourself madam?" asked Brian, the now fairly serious Customs Officer, who was trying hard to be professional, polite and affectionately un-opinionated. These guys need to reserve their judgement till the last, and demonstrate an outward preference for innocence wherever and whenever it may still be possible. Just in case it is possible.
"Yes," said Charlie.
"So no one else has touched this bag or given you anything to carry for them?"
"No." Charlie was getting a little anxious now even though she knew there was nothing to be concerned about.
Brian now began carefully manhandling the top layer of clothing in Charlie's case with his decidedly unflattering and unnerving rubber gloves. Frequent flyers have a habit of making the first layer of clothing in their suitcases out of their dirty underwear collection. The hope is that anyone entering said luggage will instantly feel a tad reluctant to delve deeper. Who wants to rummage through the last few days' knickers, after all? On second thoughts I suppose there are those of a certain sexual bent or deviancy that just might.
Anyway on this occasion it didn't wo
rk.
The top layers were removed, and there, on full display, in pride of position on top of nice, clean underwear to be proud of (seen in, even) lay a full and self explanatory ten inches of shiny, swirly, knobbly, battery powered satisfaction, clearly designed for connoisseurs amongst the sexually active and uninhibited. Or the shy!
Charlie remembered a conversation she'd had with some 'girls' at one of the sex parties she'd frequented some time in her past.
"Did you know you can get custom made vibrators these days?" One of them had said.
"Yes, but go on."
"Well you can get some of the bigger ones made to order, if you know who to ask. They can put a secret compartment inside."
"Why would you need a secret compartment?" She'd asked, "And what kind of compartment are we talking about? There's only enough room in these things for batteries, surely? Anyway, I like as much battery power as I can get!" Snigger, Snigger.
"Apparently they take out one of the batteries and put a false bottom, or top, inside and then you just use higher powered batteries. The square ones. Nine volts."
"Yeah, but what would you use it for?" Charlie kept on digging.
"Well the thing about Vibrators and all sex toys, for that matter, is that they're pretty damn private. On the whole, no one's going to take too close a look at it, except you. They're never going to check the batteries or inside, are they?"
"Suppose not."
"Well, let’s just pretend you have a few secrets. A photo, or a ring, or some dope or maybe, well, I dunno, anything. You could hide anything in there coz no one's going to look. Anyone coming across your rather obvious, larger than life, personal sex toy is going to be more embarrassed than you to take a longer, closer look. Someone told me it’s great for going through customs. You put it right on top of everything, and if anyone does look in your bags it just distracts them. It’s like a barrier to the rest of your things but the stuff's right there under their noses. They're never going to unscrew it and take it apart are they? It’s just not the done thing. You could get away with murder."