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.
