Inspired by this prompt: She's on a road trip with a friend, or a group of friends, and agrees to a bet. She wears a remote control vibrator for the trip. Every orgasm, she loses a piece of clothing. If she's wearing anything besides the vibrator when they get to their destination, she wins.
The excitement any new homeowner feels when they buy their first rung on the property ladder is almost indescribable. When the months of searching the property market, followed by the stressful shenanigans of estate agents and mortgage advisers, while negotiating endless amounts of legal red tape, ends with a front door key, there is huge relief. I was there. Five months of uninterrupted frustration and costs to purchase a property, but finally, I had my own home. I had bought the flat, just outside Manchester's city centre, with my gay twin brother, and the flat had fantastic views over the railway line and dual-carriageway. It was however, our home.
We met the occupants of the only other property on the third floor a day later, an innocent-looking blonde knocked on our front door with a parcel; we had been out when our new toaster had been delivered and she had accepted the delivery on our behalf.
For the first month, she took almost all of our deliveries. The svelte beauty with long fair hair would always knock on our door, moments after one of us arrived home, whilst wearing deliciously abbreviated shorts and a devilishly innocent grin, before providing us with our package.
Sometimes, we saw her with her flatmate, a big-chested, plump girl in a nurse-type uniform, but most of the time the lithe blonde was on her own. A few weeks after we moved in, we hosted a "flat-warming" and our new neighbours met our friends and colleagues. They were sociable, got inebriated and were the last of our guests to leave.
Felicity, our ever-reliable receiver of parcels, was in "media." Her flatmate snorted when she said this but I never thought too much of the cheeky grin and a wry smile that accompanied her admission. Lucy was a night-time carer and worked a twelve-hour day helping the infirm and elderly live their lives independently.
From that point, all four of us became good friends; my twin brother and I helped them decorate their lounge, and we took turns at entertaining at each other's flat.
The turning point in our friendship came after a few months. It was a late Saturday night and my brother was on the town, and probably in either the gutter or the gay sauna, celebrating a colleague's birthday. I was busy beating up zombies on my games console when I heard a frantic knock at the door.
Felicity stood, wearing just a near-transparent nightie, breathlessly panting. "My radiator's leaking all over the place," she cried. "Can you stop it?" I grabbed my toolbox from our cupboard, locked my front door and followed her into the flat. She bit her lip as she stood by her bedroom. "I may need to explain something afterwards," she admitted.
I shrugged, as she opened the door to their "spare bedroom" to reveal a large double bed, which had three cameras, four photographic flood lights mounted onto tripods, and a computer in the corner. "Oh..." I muttered, glancing at the bed to see more sex toys than a branch of Ann Summers on the bed. Mounted on the wall was a radiator, gushing water from a broken pipe at the base of three foot metal object, and draining into an overflowing washing-up bowl.
It took twenty minutes to reattach the pipe; Felicity sat on the end of the bed as I worked to repair the damage. I could see up her nightie with ease although her effortless exhibitionism did not cause her any embarrassment or concern.
The following day, with the events of the previous night feeling like a dream, Felicity visited me to explain. Her job in "media" was actually a job in "pornography." She made her money by performing late-night sex shows and starred in scenes twice a month at a local pornographic studio. When I was fixing her radiator, she had a co-star from the University, hiding in her bedroom while dressed as a Gladiator.
Living next door to, and being good friends with, a porn star was a great story, but she always laughed when I jokingly offered to give her a hand if she needed it, and although we never saw her working, she was candid about her work when it came up.
Felicity was never rich; she had a lot more money than her best friend, and flatmate, but the idea that she got paid thousands each week was a fallacy. She said she loved doing anal and fetish scenes at the Mancunian studio, not because she enjoyed them, but because it would double or treble her take-home salary for the month.
At the end of the summer, my brother and I had made arrangements to go to London. He was flying out from Heathrow with his mates to a Mediterranean beach to find some Sun, lots of Sangria and he hoped, some cock. I was taking in a football match and seeing old friends in the capital city. Felicity asked if she could hitch a lift with Lucy, in the back of my car. The trains were astronomically priced and all travel options on the Bank Holiday were fully booked or outside her budget. Especially, at such short notice.
"Where are you going?" I asked her, over a glass of wine.
She giggled, held out her hands and then smiled. "I've got an offer to have a big part in a film," she said.
"A big part."
"Oh yeah, that's a big part. There's four of those. But I'm also a big part. The director who's filming it, used to work with me in the studio, and one of the two leading ladies has dropped out so they have offered me the part if I can do it next week. It's not massive money, but it gets me the role I want." I raised my eyebrows at her. "It's going on DVD release so tens of thousands will watch me, or hundreds of thousands rather than just hundreds of..."
"Wankers?"
"People," she corrected me. "But I need to be in London for Saturday. They're doing promo shots on Sunday then a week of filming at two locations. Near Heathrow. Lucy's coming down too, she's always wanted to attend a filming."
"Me too!"
She grunted in response. "Well, perhaps..."
"Why does Lucy get to watch you and your other friends don't?" She blushed as I spoke and looked blankly at me. "I understand you can't have a crowd there, but just one day, let me see you. I'll be on my best behaviour. And I've always wanted to watch a porn film be shot."
"It's more boring than you think."
"I'm sure it is, but that doesn't change a damn thing. Men like porn. I don't have the body or the dick to be a star, but in the audience, I'll take that all day long!" Although I moaned that I was not going to accompany her to the studio, I would never have refused Felicity and Lucy a lift with us on Friday after work; they were our friends, and I had already warned my brother he would have to restrict the amount of duty-free he was bringing back from Spain, as his additional luggage wouldn't fit in the car coming back.
Felicity knocked on my door at 2am, panting and breathless. "OK, I'll do you a deal," she cried; I ogled her in a transparent sheer nightdress which showed all of her delicious assets and stopped below her hairless mons. "Someone has given me a challenge. If I accept it, I've got to travel down to London in the back of your car, wearing a remote control sex toy and streaming it across my phone. When I get tipped money, it sets off my toy. And when I orgasm, I have to remove an item of clothing. That'll be me working, and you will be seeing it."
"I'll be driving, I can't watch you in the rear-view mirror. We'll crash."
She pouted. "But..."
"How about, if you are naked by the time we get to the hotel, I get to watch you at the studios?" She rolled her eyes, and gestured with her hands, which lifted her nightdress up further.
"If I come while naked, you can watch me."
"OK, and only three items of clothing!"
She tutted, but a smirk came over her face, and she nodded. "Four, and you're on!" She held her hand out for me to shake, which aided the uplifting of her flimsy attire
We left our Mancunian home in the mid-afternoon; I agreed with my brother we would share the driving before telling him about the bet I had with Felicity. She brought two battery packs to sustain the tablet-cum-computer, mobile data hotspot and webcam, which she clipped to the headrest of the driver. She signed in to the live-streaming adult website and then spoke directly into the camera.
"Hi. Miss Scarlet here. I'm here doing a road trip to London. My Lush is in and for every orgasm you guys give me I've got to remove an item of clothing. There's three people in the car with me, my best friends, and they've never seen me come before. Each coin gives me a five second blast of my Lush and for ten coins, you get to control my vibe for a minute. That is the only thing that will get me off, so if you want to see me naked, and want to see my come, what the fuck are you guys waiting for?"
She gave a flirty smile, winked at me in the rear-view mirror and I pulled into the rush hour traffic.
It was weird with her in the car doing her performance; nobody in the car spoke about our personal lives, as we were aware that our conversation was being beamed out on the Internet, and I keep stealing glances at Felicity and Lucy in the back seat. The rumbling noise of her vibe kept interrupting our innate chatter.
Felicity winked at me in her short black dress that didn't even cover her arms and finished a few inches below her waist. She beamed at the camera, blowing kisses at me and her plethora of wanking fans. Every few minutes, she'd stop speaking, and take a few deep breaths, holding onto the arm rest and panting loudly.
"Who's got control?" She squealed in earnest, squirming in the seat as the vibrations coursed violently through her body. "You should see the size of my wet spot! I can feel it on my towel!" My cock strained in my shorts; every time the sex toy burst into action we all fell silent and watched the writhing mass of sensuality in the seat behind the passenger.
