Outstripped (25 page)

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.

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 work.

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."

Charlie
returned her consciousness to the proceedings in front of her. Safe and
relieved in the knowledge she had never purchased or ordered one of those specialized
offerings. So she had nothing to fear.

She
feigned her embarrassment accordingly.

Brian
unfortunately didn't follow 'the girls' pattern of customary procedure. He
picked up the exceptionally well-endowed article in question and asked,
"Is this item yours madam?"

"It
is," she replied.

"Mind
if I
.......?
"

By this
time Charlie was standing with her weight on one leg whilst the toes on her
opposite foot pivoted and waved on her half height heel. Her arms were crossed
and she tore apart her tight-lips to respond with increased agitation.

"If
you must."

As her
hands moved defiantly to her uniformed wisp of a waist, Brian lowered the
Vibrator to nose level and the dog earned his next morsel in suitably excited
fashion.

"Are
you carrying any illegal substances today madam?" asked Brian.

"No,
I am not," she replied indignantly.

"We'll,
have you been using any whilst you have been out of the country?"

"I
tried some pot a few years ago," she said, offering up far too much
unnecessary information to someone who could easily exploit such comments. She realized
the error of her 'foot-putting' and added, "So, the answer's no, I
haven't."

The
customs officer then did what all good customs officers would do under the
circumstances. He said, "Oh. Well we'll just take a closer look
anyway," and he handed Charlie's vibrator to a stern looking female
colleague who had been called to assist by the dog handler moments before.

Charlie
was starting to get concerned. She knew she'd done nothing wrong, but why was
Brian being such a Twat? And why did her private possessions need waving around
in front of half the airport? (Okay maybe just the few people who'd been
selected to have their privates inspected). She wasn't ashamed, she was more
like someone somewhere stuck between uncomfortable, indignation and "fuck
this for a game soldiers," but unfortunately you can't say that to a
customs officer. So she folded her arms again and waited.