Foreplay: This is a work of fiction. I really haven't a clue whether everything herein is possible, but just in case you've ever wanted to be a fly on the wall of the women's changing rooms, let's just suppose everything is. What originally started out as a small idea grew into a much bigger one, so for convenience I've split it into two parts. All characters depicted are fictitious and are over 18.
*****
After years of hard work in IT planning, developing and upgrading websites for several companies, I had gleaned enough knowledge to put some programming to my own use. The company I'm presently working for owns four huge clothing warehouses, specialising in quality, budget-priced clothing to fashion conscious teenage girls and young women. We also sell beachwear, nightwear and a small selection of clothes for the older woman but ages 13 to 35 or so are our target and by using the time tested sales plan we can stack 'em high and sell 'em cheap. By trading solely online through a well planned website we can undercut high street stores while never skimping on the quality of our stock and offering first class customer service.
"Terry," said MD Steve Winterbourne one day, "Come in and take a seat. Would you like a coffee?"
"Please," I answered, "How can I help you?" I'd been summoned to Steve's office, which usually meant something had gone wrong - like a deadline not reached or the IT department had gone over budget. When something had gone wrong, though, I didn't get the coffee. Managerial coffee was in a totally different league to the usual barely drinkable vending machine sludge. I never refused it.
"The Board had its regular meeting this morning," he began. "You've been with us quite a while now and you've worked wonders with our website. You know the huge range of styles we stock and you know that we operate a comprehensive returns policy. If a customer orders from us and doesn't like what's arrived in the post, they can return it without any fuss. It's a policy that works well."
The coffee arrived by way of Steve's secretary Julie. Partly unbuttoned blouse, breathtaking tits, slim waist, short skirt arranged around a tight butt and very, very attractive ... the way Steve likes them. He took a sip of his coffee and bit into one of the local delicatessen's home made biscuits.
"Of course, this is one of the many company costs and we are always reviewing options to maximise profits. Minimising returns is one way of doing that." He paused again to take another sip of coffee and bite of a most delicious biscuit. I was an honoured employee to partake of such a feast.
"We have quality photos which can be zoomed to half screen. We have front and back views and we have almost every size in stock. What we don't have is a fitting room and, as a married man with a teenage girl, you will know that every woman loves to try clothes on to see how they look. Why, even little girls like to dress up."
We chatted for a while about our families, holidays etc., while what he'd said sunk in.
"So, Terry," he continued, "If our customers could have a virtual changing room, we're hoping the returns will become less and less, and when our customers tell their friends, well we are not going to shut down any high street stores but we might hit them where it hurts. You're the programming whizz, Terry. My thoughts are that if we could link a customer's webcam to our range of clothes, although it might take some special photography, we could run rings round other Web retailers."
With just one buzz on his intercom, our coffee and biscuits were replenished
Steve was in serious mode. Although the company was doing well, there was always the desire to do better.
"Think of it this way. The pound shops have cutout books. There's a cutout of a girl, then cutouts of clothes with tabs. The tabbed clothes go on the ... "
"I know exactly what you mean. Our daughter, Holly, had several. She spent hours and hours playing, trying this then that until she was happy."
"So you see. If we can join the customer's face from a webcam to our clothes, do you see where I'm going?"
"Exactly. Give me a few days to chew it over."
--
"Hi daddy. Did you have a good day?"
Holly, our beautiful 19 year old daughter, was there to greet me when I got home. A simple hug and a kiss on the cheek was all I was allowed. There are just the three of us at home; Holly, Rachel my wife and myself. Holly is a studious girl but prefers working her way up and earning a salary. We could have helped her through college or university but Holly has her own mind. She often looks on the company's website but prefers going into town. As I said earlier, girls like to try clothes on and, with the limit of 3 items per person in the changing rooms, she shops with her friends. They then swap with each other. You get the gist?
Holly and I have always been close but Rachel intervenes even if Holly wants to sunbathe in the garden.
"Holly! That bikini bottom is so cut back I can see your pubic hair. What will old Arthur next door think? What will you father think? And tighten your neck strap; when you bend you don't want anyone seeing your nipples and blah, de blah, de blah."
Rachel probably had a fair point. Holly's breasts were a little below par for any horny male. A last minute shopping trip before she went on holiday meant her bikini top was too big and if the strings weren't pulled tight the cups sometimes gaped open I knew that well enough as we'd been swimming in the town pool. Arthur would probably have a heart attack if his neighbour's daughter accidentally flashed him. Poor bugger would die happy though.
Inside, Holly dare not parade around in underwear, had to wear a peep-proof nightie, dare not bend forward lest her limited cleavage showed too much skin. Neither dare she sit casually in a short skirt on the off chance she might show her panties.
When Rachel wasn't around Holly sometimes used her charm to beg £10 off me, but those times were few. Rachel's constant remarks had sunk in to Holly's mind but Holly and I were at one. She loved me as much as any daughter could love her daddy and I loved her.
I could dream though. I could fantasise about being a fly on the wall being able to see her topless or naked. For now though all I had to look forward to was a kiss on the cheek and a brief hug.
--
I tried to think Steve's idea through, then I tried some more. In the end I phoned Bill, a long-standing friend who knew far more about webcams than I did. He agreed to have a drink with me the following evening.
"Thanks for meeting up, Bill," I said, placing a pint of his favourite real ale in front of him. Bill lived on the other side of town and we met up from time to time at The Rampaging Ferret Inn to solve all the world's problems that affected us. As long as I kept the beers coming I knew he would fill me in with his expertise. Between us we had the webcam sub routines sorted.
Steve seemed relieved and pleased that the Board's suggestions looked to be quite feasible. For days and weeks I drank the undrinkable machine coffee and ate the regular supply of home made biscuits that the Board donated, working long hours getting the coding working as I wanted it to be. Finally I scanned some face photos and matched them to samples of clothes on the website. A book load of coding, a webcam link and some volunteers from the secretaries pool and we had lift-off.
"It looks good," said Steve, viewing my work on his laptop, and that was praise indeed. "How about our swimwear lines and, if any if our secretaries play along, some lingerie lines? Tell them I'll pay a bonus and the photos or cam shots will be held securely. If you get a volunteer, could you link their home webcam to your testing pages so they can model for us in private?"
"I don't see why not. That's what we ultimately want anyway. And I think I know just which of the secretaries to ask."
Roll on several months, more pages of coding, sleepless nights, testing, debugging, retesting. The vending machine coffee was upgraded and finally a sample of clothes, swimwear and, yes, lingerie were prepared for the new website. Our photography team worked hard and, with some image manipulation magic, quite a number of our stock photos were altered so the clothing could be detached from the model's body. This was the digital version of the pound shop cutouts. The clothing could be dragged and dropped to the customer webcam photo in the virtual changing room, then resized as necessary. The results were tested against a female face and then a female body.
I needed a volunteer.
"Hi, Debbie speaking."
"Hi Debbie, it's Terry from IT." I knew Debbie well. Like many of the other secretaries she rang me when her computer went down. Debbie was a vivacious blonde who partied to the full outside of work. Aged just 23 she was by far the most knowledgeable of our secretaries and could be depended upon to keep important matters hush. We'd had a kiss and cuddle and ... well ... a steamy session in the stationery store after the office party last Christmas.
"Debbie, I've been working on a new addition to the company website. We need a bit of modelling done and I thought you might be able to help. Could we talk it over through lunch?"
"Sure, Terry. I owe you a few favours for fixing my machine so quickly."
"OK, I'll meet you at The Drowned Rabbit at 12.30."
The pub was just 2 minutes walk away and served excellent food. We talked my ideas over and I stood the food and drinks tab. It would mean a short visit to Debbie's home to teach her how to access the test site and link her webcam up
It was around 6.30 when I arrived at Debbie's house, a modestly sized semi on a housing estate a couple of miles north of town. Although the furniture wasn't top notch, the house was neat and tidy and spotlessly clean. She led me to the small bedroom where her PC was.
"Thank you very much, Debbie, for helping," I began. "I just need to install the test package, tweak your browser and we will able to access my test area on the company's website." Rob, her husband, was as excited as Debbie and watched with interest as I got her up and running. Rob obviously didn't know about the office party.
At home, Debbie was dressed far more casually than at work. Stood behind her I hoped Rob didn't notice that I could easily gaze down Debbie's cleavage, especially when she leaned forward to the screen and had a nip slip moment. It was obvious she'd had a quick shower; classy, expensive smelling shower gel and shampoo invaded my senses. Her cleavage was radiating enticing scents. I stayed just long enough to let her 'try on' a couple of outfits and explain that short sleeved blouses and swimwear would superimpose over any other items she might be wearing. In effect, being in bra and pants for the short sleeved blouses and short skirts, for example, would give better results. I left the rest to her imagination and assured her and Rob that the test site was secure and no-one else could see.
The following morning Debbie greeted me as soon as I arrived.
