The Dildo - Follow Through

This is the wrap-up of a little two-parter based on a sudden idea I had. Unlike much of my body of work, it has zero correlation to any real world experiences of my own... except for the crushing lameness of time spent on a trade show floor.

I could have stuck this in Toys & Masturbation, but I wanted to make sure readers of the first part could find it.

As always, please: If you care about gritty realism or higher human truths, don't bother. I aim for stories that are plausibly ridiculous, and nothing more.

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THE DILDO -- FOLLOW THROUGH

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I awoke as the big spoon, with Lynda curled up in my arms. It was dark.

More importantly, my cock was somehow ready once more, and nestled happily, nay, eagerly, in the crease of her ass. I lay there, content to do so for the moment, since my co-worker appeared to be sleeping easily.

Or so I thought.

Her ass suddenly wriggled against my cock. Her gentle grasp on my arm draped over her firmed up. "Damn, Davis," she murmured softly. "You are as ever-ready as my dildo..."

I didn't even answer. I just pushed her over face-down on the bed, and rolled atop her. I rose to my knees, grabbing a pillow as I did so. Her legs, which now seemed always eager to spread for me, splayed out to either side. I gently lifted her hips and pushed the pillow underneath her, supporting her ass up in the air.

"Ummm..." she murmured hesitantly, looking back at me askance.

"Don't worry," I grinned at her. "I'm not getting any of those ideas."

Actually, the view was giving me a few of those ideas. But not many. I'd tried anal a few times. It was usually okay, rarely great. But without the whole hassle and production of douching...? Hard pass.

Besides, I knew how awesome the pussy spread before me was. And I buried my cock in it yet again. We both sighed happily as I slowly sank once more into her depths. I held myself there, caressing, squeezing, and massaging the firm curves of her slender but perfectly shaped ass.

Lynda just nuzzled semi-sleepily down into the soft bed, clenched her insides, and spoke our code word, "Go..."

And did I go.

Still sleepy, Lynda may have been, but she was utterly into this last hurrah. I was grunting and groaning almost from the start at the delectable sensation of stroking into her. She was swiftly and equally vocal, and I again hoped her suite was either well soundproofed, or its neighbors empty. But I wasn't concerned enough about it to keep my voice down or worry about hers.

The pillow gave me a fabulous, comfortable angle to work with, and I soon realized that Lynda was rocking her hips back and forth with deliberate experimentation. She found a small arc to rock in that really had her mewling with pleasure and with her face pressed firmly into the mattress, growled out, "Give it to me hard!"

Oh, fuck yeah.

It wasn't a long session of morning glory, but it was intense and marvelous. I didn't even notice the light begin to change as my efforts grew fiercer and more ragged. Lynda let out a scream that vibrated the bed. It really was fortunate that she kept her face buried in the sheets, or we might have gotten a visit from the management. Her hips bucked underneath me, and I managed yet again to unleash a load within her. It could not possibly have been much, volume-wise, after the start of our night, but it was enough to cross my eyes.

We sort of held there, poised in orgasmic finality, then crumpled together down on our sides, my weary cock still pressed inside her. And we dozed back off for the rest of the night.

Which lasted about 25 seconds.

Thankfully, we both had regular alarms set, and we found ours were set for close to the same time. I heard mine first, the James Bond Theme, sounding from my phone in my pants pocket still in the other room.

"Holy shit! It's been all night," I exclaimed in realization.

Lynda was laughing throatily.

"What?" I asked, still unwilling to let my hands off her body or otherwise bestir myself.

"Man, are you about to have one awesome walk of shame, just as everyone else, including the maids, are out in the hall moving around," she cackled.

"Evil woman," I growled, crawling free from the tangled sheets.

"As charged," she yawned, snuggling back into the bed. "I've got another five minutes before mine goes off. See you at the show, you magnificent beast."

As dismissals went, it didn't suck.

I picked up my clothes as I exited the bedroom and headed for the door. I didn't bother with my underwear or tie as I tried to make myself look at least not embarrassing, tucking them into my jacket pockets. It was truly going to be a walk of shame, if only for a few doors down.

I muttered, "Shit," as I noticed the now wasted chocolate pie on the floor, beside her purse.

Then I got an evil grin as I bent down near, but not over, the pies. It was all I could do not to burst out a hearty, 'Bwahahaha!'

I walked back to Lynda's bedroom door. "Hey!" I called, waiting until I had her full attention. "Catch!" I called and gave a perfect toss. She instinctively caught what I had tossed on the fly, and opened her palm to see I had thrown her the insertable pink vibrator. She stared at me. I waved the remote control visibly at her, then made sure she could see me depositing it in my pocket. "See you on the show floor," I said, gaily walking away.

There were three maids and a family of four in the hallway, who all saw me shambling from her suite to mine. The maids all had the Seen Everything look. Incredibly, while the dad looked at me like I was obvious pond scum, I got an appraising wink from the mom! The kids were of course, oblivious.

*

Lynda beat me, somehow to the show floor, which I would have thought violated the laws of Girl Physics. I took a closer look and realized that she was wearing a different suit from the day before. I had had to get out the hotel iron and press mine from the night before to make it remotely presentable enough to wear to the show. That explained it.

I wasn't complaining about Lynda's change of wardrobe either. It was still the usual dowdy, boxy silhouette she always wore, but the skirt on this one was at least a few inches above the knee.

Such nice knees. Such nice calves. Although, I supposed I liked them better when I could not see them... because they were wrapped around my back.

There were no kisses of greeting or any other outward sign that anything had happened from either of us, aside from a quick shared wink and a wordless toast with our morning coffees. I had Starbucks, while she had waited until she reached the convention center and picked up some Peet's.

I made no mention of the contents of my pocket. I had put the remote back into the same pocket where she had seen me place it in preparation for my walk of shame. I put my hand in there often, when she could see me doing it. But I did nothing with it.

I was fairly certain that nothing would happen if I had pushed the On button, but you never knew, given the wary looks Lynda would shoot my way when she saw me, in moments of quiet in the booth, sliding my hand into the pocket.

I finally found my chance, when the booth was mostly empty, and Lynda was stuck talking to someone who had no money to spend, no need for our product anyway, but who seemed hell bent on wasting her time. She is a pro, so she was doing a great job anyway of appearing eager to tell this schmuck all about what we did.

I stepped into the back of the booth and well away, so I had a good view of her, but she was not looking my way.

I slid my hand into the pocket. The remote was a flat disk with rounded edges. The pink of its silicone skin matched that of the ovoid-shaped vibrator back in her room... or wherever it was located. I had noticed, as I examined it discretely in the Uber on the way to the convention center that morning, that the On/Off button was the only actual button. There were arrows in a circle on it, and I remembered that tilting it had made the vibration change.

I pressed the On button.

Her spine stiffened instantly.

It was all I could do not to go down one knee and pump my fist in triumph. She had put the damn vibrator in before coming to the show! Today was going to be the best day

ever

in the history of trade shows.

Lynda turned her head slightly to glare at me out of the corner of her eye, but only her new, more upright posture, and a very occasional shake in her voice betrayed anything new was happening.

The remote vibrated softly in my pocket. I twirled it around a little. The vibrations either increased in frequency and magnitude, or decreased, as I turned and fiddled with the device. It took me about three seconds to realize that if the remote was vertical on its side, there was virtually no noticeable vibration as all. Flat on its side, and it was giving it all it had. I could only assume that this was a feedback mechanism to tell the holder what they were doing to the 'beneficiary'.

I tidied some literature and refilled the candy dish, keeping the remote mostly just off of vertical. She had to be noticing it, but she could still concentrate pretty easily. The design was actually pretty genius for discrete use by a partner in public. If you just dropped it into a pair of pants' pocket, it would naturally rest upright. A guy had to reach in to rev the lady up. But you could take it out of your pocket and lay it flat, and it would go full battle rattle without cease.

"So then the system, um... the system... eh, it generates a set of meeting outlines with all the teacher's notes and grades to go over with the parents," Lynda told the guy, managing to soldier through my flipping the remote flat every time she said, 'system'.

Booth barnacle started to ask some follow-up questions, but Lynda finally took the opportunity to shoo him away. "That's really all the system does," Lynda said brightly, wincing just the slightest at her mistake in vocabulary. She shrugged. The guy finally seemed to be satisfied, and thanked me for some reason, before heading off to infest someone else's space.

"Did he really just say 'thank you' to

you

, and not to me?" Lynda asked, watching him go.

"It does require a special level of idiot, doesn't it?" I mused. My hand was still in my pocket, but holding the remote rigidly upright.

"Speaking of special idiots," Lynda hissed, turning on me. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

"Me?" I asked innocently. "I'm just standing here, trying not to get cut by your booth barnacle."

"Your lack of help was also noted. I explained the system... ohh... fuck you... all the way through twice before he beat it. I could have used a tag out."

"You were doing great. I had faith in you."

"So every time I use the word sy... that word, you are going to zap me?" Lynda asked with acerbic challenge, and a touch of anticipation, in her voice.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I said idly, looking around to see if there was anybody looking curiously at our booth that I could draw inside. "But if I were looking some sort of trigger word to spring an ambush, it wouldn't be any fun to use the same one all day long. No fun at all..."

"Look," Lynda began, but was interrupted by three people entering our booth. We went into our usual routine, and soon found that these were real prospects. They even had budget they needed to spend soon, or lose it for next year. We smiled at each other.

The customers were all women, which was not unusual, and they seemed to gravitate more to Lynda than me, so I dissolved once more back into the periphery. I had already noticed that they really were super concerned about the budget thing, and kept bringing it up.

Even before I slid out of the conversation, I was 'triggering' Lynda whenever she said budget. She glared at me as I slid away, not because I was leaving her with them, she really was the better one of us to be on point, but because I had just waved the remote hard and long after the last time she had agreed about their budget.

I still listened intently, of course.

"Yes, absolutely, we can adjust for your billing cycle and front-load the invoices to ensure the first two thirds of the contract will bill against your... allotment this year," she said. I had already started to tilt the remote until I heard what she said, and dutifully flipped it back to the quiescent vertical. Lynda's back straightened again, not in stimulation this time, but triumph.

"That's good to hear," the smartest of the three customers said. "But obviously, we need the right product to spend our budget on. Let's talk about the reporting system some more, and we can come back to the budget in a minu... are you all right?"

Lynda was coughing, and bending and turning so she could glare at me.

She avoided using the word for the next fifteen minutes, while she absolutely sold them on the system, got contact information, and even made a call to the salesperson in their territory to arrange a visit.

But

they

kept using the word 'budget', and I kept hitting her hard as I could every time.

As they left, I approached her casually, noting a light sheen of sweat at the back of her neck, above and down into the collar.

"Dirty pool, Davis," she hissed. "You can turn it off, if you are going to do that."

"Oh... I don't think so," I grinned.

She almost flashed a grin back, but steeled herself. "Honestly, I can't be on the verge of throwing my O-Face in the middle of sales interactions. Turn it off."

"Come on, you don't want that," I laughed.

"Davis, we are working."

"And you are enjoying the fuck out of my livening up the day," I said smugly.

"I am barely holding it together," she hissed. "That remote you have in your pocket just buzzes politely in your hand. My end is ten times as powerful, and is resting on my g-spot!"

"Wow," I said, actually little surprised that it was that robust. "I can't hear it doing anything."

"I. Am. An. Effective. Sound. Insulator," she growled. "I absorb all those vibrations straight into my nervous system."

Two more groups arrived at our booth, interrupting our fun. I took one group, Lynda took the other. Both hung in there and seemed promising. We converged on our computer and the two of us together did a quick demo for both groups at once. Somehow, we ended up with each other's initial group, and came away with good contacts, and some real hope.

I had only hit the remote twice, at random times, after the demo.

"Having an enjoyable day?" I asked offhandedly, as we bid farewell to two groups of hopefully future customers.

"Turn off the remote, please," Lynda wheedled.

"No. Because you don't want me to," I said tauntingly.

"I am asking you straight out."

I looked at her with a gaze that was meant to remind her where I had had my face buried several times the night before. "If you actually wanted me to turn it off and stop, you'd have excused yourself to the restroom and removed the vibrator," I said.

She gawped at me. I just looked blandly back. I reached in my pocket... my wallet pocket, and pulled out a ten. "Hey, go get us some Coke's, will you? I'm thirsty."

Lynda's eyes narrowed. She snatched the bill and walked away with unseemly haste.

I kept my hand pressed against my pants leg to keep the remote upright and buzzing minimally. She had to be out of range anyway. It wasn't like the thing was WiFi-enabled.

I waited while she was gone, talking to only one person who had totally the wrong idea about what we did.

Lynda reappeared after a long while, with two cans of Coke and a dollar change.

A

dollar change

? From two measly cans of Coke?

Lynda was looking calm and raised her can at me mockingly. I clinked mine to hers and said, "Cheers."

I lifted my leg and rested it on the chair arm next to me, which tilted my pocket, and what was in it, ninety degrees, while keeping my eyes locked on hers.

Her eyelids fluttered, and then she let them close and smiled blissfully.

Fuck yeah.

I shot my hand back in my pocket, and grabbed the remote. As I lowered my leg, I kept the remote horizontal, or close to it, rocking it back and forth softly, to add to the anticipation. I walked around in a circle behind Lynda, and my eyes feasted on the way she was deliberately rocking her ass in time with how I was modulating the intense vibrations inside her core.

She wrapped her lips against the edge of the red aluminum can and sucked eagerly on the soda.

Aaaaaand, several people walked into the booth.

I snapped the remote upright, buttoned my jacket to make sure no one saw the evidence of my enjoyment of things, and headed them off before they got to my still flushed colleague. Lynda joined us soon, but it was clear that these folks were going to be my responsibility. I just had the read on them.

The booth was quite crowded for a while, which was great, but I had to be careful to keep the remote upright. I was in no way going to turn the vibrator off, but I did want Lynda to have her wits about her during this rush. Besides, had I riled her up again right then, I would have been too busy to enjoy it.

At some point we had two seconds to talk to each other instead of prospects, and Lynda noted it was lunch time. My stomach growled in agreement, but the rush continued.

Programming was to resume at 1:15, and at about 1:10, the crowd thinned as people left for various meeting halls. The moment our booth was empty, Lynda asked, taking a quick step toward the corridor in front of our space, "Sandwich?"

My libido wanted her to stay with me, and let me pleasure her while the crowd was thin, but my hunger craved a turkey and bacon with provolone. Hunger won, especially since it looked like Lynda was heading to the lunch place with or without my order. I called out my desire... my culinary desire.

While she was gone, I pondered the little remote in my pocket.

This was all so fucking delicious, and more fun than ought to be legal.

Wait. Once upon a time, this

would

have been illegal in Alabama... Was it still?

The real question was, could I actually get Lynda over the edge and give her an orgasm by the end of the day? If I could, how many times? The sight of this cool, poised woman in her bland suit and her current professional location, beginning to squirm in helpless pleasure as I wirelessly fondled her was to die for.

I was going to head home this evening with end-stage blue balls, but it would be worth it if I could actually get her off just once.

That was it. I was resolved. I was going to find out if she could keep it together or at least not make noise. I was a man on a mission, and the next time the booth was empty, it was Go Time.

The booth was still empty when Lynda got back, but Go Time had to wait. It was Sandwich Time first. We munched our surprisingly edible sandwiches in companionably idle conversation, pausing once or twice to answer a quick question from passing lookie-loos.

Lynda had brought back two different flavors of chips, so we could each have a choice. But we found that we both much preferred the barbecue flavored ones. We wrangled back and forth over the bag until I cheated by flipping the remote in my pocket to full horizontal suddenly.

She blue eyes widened in shock at the sudden and surprising awakening inside of her, and I snatched the bag away before she could react in her distracted state. Her pretty, if ordinarily unexceptional, face was enchanting right then as it was a mass of various frustrations, from being denied the rest of the delicious potato chips, to my (hopefully roguish) misbehavior, to once again finding her feet rooted to the floor as her hips involuntarily wanted to dance.

I ate the chips obnoxiously while I toyed with the remote in my pocket. She continued to stare at me while trying to keep her back straight and hips from moving. And she bit the left side of her lower lip. I fed her a chip. She took it, displaying a rather unnecessary amount of tongue in the process.