Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys � Part 1
If nothing is evil, then it's All Good at Amorous Goods
Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.
Prologue:
A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. This 18 part series is devoted to many of the stories of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.
At Amorous Goods
Chapter One.
Vikki Friday pulled a box off one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves that ran in rows across the basement of the Amorous Goods mansion and carried it over to a large oak work table. She took off the lid and was hit with the comfortably familiar scents of decaying paper and fountain ink one always found in older archives. The long unopened box also had a dusty odor, which was another normal element she'd come to expect when wading into a neglected collection like this. Except, the dusty odor she'd found in the Amorous Goods archive was unlike any she'd ever encountered before. It was spicy or smoky or flowery; she could never decide, because it always seemed to be shifting. Sometimes she wished she could bottle it as a perfume {Or an aphrodisiac! declared her Inner Voice.}, because it was so heady. Other times she immediately wanted to put the lid back on the box because the scent was more frightening than arousing {Brimstone!}.
Her newest partner in this bizarre venture, Morgana Delacroix, said the odors were a by-product of the spell or curse that lay over so many of the items that Vikki's far-distant and now-deceased uncle, Ludwig Freitag, had collected. Ludwig had assembled an incredible variety of items, ranging from rare manuscripts and Louis the sixteenth furniture to first editions of Playboy magazine and furnishings from Fannie Porter's Texas brothel where Butch Cassidy was a favored guest. But ancient or modern, classy or trashy, everything was united by a theme of love, romance, or sex. According to Morgana, one of Uncle Ludwig's specialty areas was erotic enchantments, and items imbued with one of these enchantments raised powerfully amorous feelings in the people who used them. Vikki had naturally scoffed at such ideas at first and jokingly called the older woman Morgan le Fay for her witchy beliefs. But ever since the time Vikki had found herself apparently overcome by that musky "amorous" odor and succumbing to its influence, she'd had to temper her usual academic's skepticism.
Vikki felt a warm feeling creep through her as she remembered that episode. She'd been here alone in this very room, like now. She'd opened one of the older specimen cases and found it held a collection of antique dildoes. The scent that had blossomed out when she removed the lid had hit her like walking into an Amsterdam coffee shop. An Amsterdam coffee and florist shop, she amended. {A French whore's bedroom inside an Amsterdam coffee and flower shop!}
By the time the ventilation system had cleared enough of the odor away to allow Vikki to regain her senses, she'd found herself lying on this very table. Her skirt was up around her waist, her panties were hanging from one ankle, and she had two of the antique sex toys inside her, still moving slowly in and out as she came down from the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced just from masturbation.
The ventilation fan in the ceiling kicked in just then, bringing Vikki out of her reverie. {That weak, old ventilation fan? You know it didn't save you from the fumes.} No, each time she'd thought about that episode, she'd become more certain that while the intoxicating odor had made her head swim and made her want to touch the dildoes, {And their touch had led to the rest}, it was only her orgasm itself that had finally broken the spell.
Vikki hadn't told Morgana or her business partner Dylan about the episode with the unusual artefacts. {You mean the magic dildoes?} She'd simply cleaned them off (after putting on heavy rubber gloves over latex gloves), put them back in their box and moved them to the large walk-in vault that they'd found in the sub-basement. When she'd updated the collection inventory, Dylan had asked how she'd known the pieces were among the special items that required locking away. She'd simply said that the paperwork in the box with the antiques had been clear enough. Morgana had looked at her suspiciously, but thankfully hadn't pressed her on the subject.
Now Vikki literally shook her head and looked into the open box on the table. Just papers here, no ebony or ivory cockes to entice an unattached archivist. Pulling on white cotton gloves, she brought out the pages of the first item and spread them across the table. She would appraise the item and enter it into the growing index of Amorous Goods holdings on her laptop. She needed this; a good old-fashioned session of appraising and cataloguing. Something mundane and pedestrian to help her re-center her mind after their most recent artefact recovery mission.
Chapter Two.
Vikki had been sorting through the papers in the box for about half an hour when she heard the door from the upstairs open. That was followed by footsteps coming down the stairs and soon Dylan was standing by her side. "The shop's all locked up for the night, Cousin. Can I interest you in a glass?" He held up a bottle of red wine he'd carried down with him.
The two young people didn't share a bloodline, but family marriage ties had brought them together as kids, when they'd spent several summers together and "cousins" was what the grownups called them. When Vikki had needed someone's help managing the expansive business inheritance left to her out of the blue almost a year ago now, she'd naturally turned to her 'cousin' Dylan.
"Sure," she said, peeling off her cotton gloves. "How was business today?"
Since they could no longer hastily liquidate Amorous Goods or the AG as they'd taken to calling it, they had to keep the business going and this had become their division of labor. Vikki worked as quickly as she could to curate the terribly disorganized collection of items spread across the classic 19th-century robber-baron mansion, trying to determine what was safe to sell or display and what needed to be moved down here to the basement or locked in the sub-basement. Dylan kept the antique store on the ground floor of the converted mansion, as well as the boutique hotel known as The Amorous Inn on the upper floors, open, bringing in revenue they needed to stay on top of taxes, utilities and the expenses of recovering items they had sold in ignorance early on.
Dylan chuckled as he retrieved a corkscrew and glasses from a small galley installed in a corner of the basement. "Apparently, your Uncle Ludwig wasn't the only old pervert in these parts." He paused as he uncorked the bottle and poured out two generous balloons.
Even after several months, it was still hard for Vikki to reconcile that the young man she'd grown up with as a cousin, wasn't really a blood relative, while some old German 'Casanova-wannabe', as she thought of him, was. Second uncle, thrice-removed or some such nonsense, but Ludwig Freitag had known the link between the Friday and the Freitag branches of the family tree and had left his odd estate to his distant niece Vikki.
Dylan continued his story as he handed Vikki a glass. "We had an entire busload of senior citizens up from the city; I think they actually came from two or three different retirement homes."
Vikki's jaw dropped open as she accepted her wine. "You're kidding, right?"
Dylan lifted his glass up in a silent toast and said, "I kid you not," before taking a long sip. "Blue hair, liver spots, walkers and canes...and before you ask, no, they weren't here by accident. Naughty old Amorous Goods was one of the main stops on their itinerary." He took another sip, trying to wash away the memory of shriveled old ladies cooing over the life-sized molds of Famous Cocks in History.
"May we have that sort of energy in 50 years," Vikki said, raising her own glass in toast to libidos that were not willing to go gentle into that good night.
"How about you?" Dylan asked. "Any more possessed lingerie we need to recover before the new owners turn into streetwalkers?"
"No, thank God." She shivered, remembering how close the wives of a nearby town's mayor and sheriff had been to sexually servicing a bunch of guys at a muscle car convention after they'd picked up some risqu� outfits that had made their way from the AG to a costume shop in the city.
"But I have come across an inventory sheet that lists and describes some of the pieces we sold to that jewelry liquidator in one of the first lots we sent out the door," Vikki said.
"Okay, I remember that one," replied Dylan. "It was like nine or ten nice antique pieces that didn't scream, 'I came from a whorehouse!' right?" Vikki nodded and Dylan continued. "I thought they were just nice jewelry that Ludwig and his cronies used as normal bribes to get sex from women. Please don't tell me they were cursed too? We got a decent price for those and can't really afford to have to buy them back."
Vikki still had trouble using the word 'cursed', but was also still unable to offer any more rational explanations for things like two town matrons in their forties or fifties offering to let a dozen or more car collectors fuck them in the back seats of each of their cars. {Or a strait-laced archivist giving herself a dildo DP right here on this table.}
Chapter Three.
Vikki took a sip of wine to collect herself and heard the upstairs door opening again. It was Morgana Delacroix. {Speaking of older women who could still rock a Madonna bustier hard enough to get conventioneers to shell out a few hundred dollars for a rumble in the back of their old 55.}
"Perfect timing," Vikki said to their mentor in the Arcanum of bewitched erotica as she made her elegant way down the stairs. "I was just telling Dylan about some new information I've come across that I'm having trouble understanding."
Dylan poured out another glass of wine and handed it to Morgana when she reached the table. The enigmatic beauty smiled her thanks and took a sip. Her smile widened. "Dylan, my dear, you've been reading those vintner books I gave you, haven't you? This is delicious."
{He's blushing!} Vikki was going to have to talk to Dylan. Yes, they'd had to quickly take Morgana in as a quasi-partner because of her experience and expertise, but they really still knew very little about her. {Jealous? her pesky voice asked. He's not a blood-cousin after all, and he is pretty studly.} Vikki tamped the voice down.
"So;� the archivist proffered. "I've been looking for information about more of the stuff we sold from the store and the Inn before we knew the...um...risks. Well, today I came across some inventory lists and recognized a couple of pieces of jewelry that Dylan and I sold as part of a larger lot to a liquidator soon after we took over the AG."
A look of concern came into Morgana's face. "Anything dangerous?"
"That's what's got me confused," replied Vikki. She slid one of the sheets she'd been examining over to the edge of the table so the other two could read it. "This is an inventory list of small pieces, like jewelry and some of the curios we've seen on shelves all around the mansion."
"Okay," said Dylan, pointing. "I know these three items are in the store in the Love Potions and Charms display."
"Yes," agreed Vikki. "You see the letter 'S' by each one? That indicates they're in the store. You can also see those three items were apparently all acquired by AG at the same time, some 5 years ago." She pointed to a column of dates.
"And this other date; that's how old the thing is?" asked Dylan. Vikki nodded. "Damn! Each of those weird little things is more than 125 years old!" Dylan exclaimed. To Morgana he said, "The only reason we didn't try to sell those at the beginning is because they were marked with what seemed like such ridiculously high prices that we didn't know their real value or what we should ask. Now that we know they really are truly antique I begin to understand their price tags."
"I suspect," Morgana replied smoothly, "That their cost is about much more than just their age. You see the next column?" She pointed at the paper.
"Yeah," he replied. "What does the letter 'E' mean?"
Fortunately, interpreting someone else's personal shorthand was one of the skills an archivist developed early on in her studies and Vikki answered.
"It appears Ludwig had a system of labelling the, er, status of each item as either Clear, Enchanted, Cursed, or Unknown. You'll notice he used 'K' for Clear, spelling it 'Klar', like in his native German."
Dylan's eyes widened. "All three of those pieces are labelled, Enchanted. Holy shit! You mean they really work? They can really make someone fall in love?"
Morgana answered. "Knowing how precise Ludwig was, I'd say, yes, they all have working love charms on them."
Vikki's eyebrows went up in automatic skepticism. "Love charms?"
Morgana smiled. She knew the younger woman couldn't help herself, but she also knew that Vikki's doubts were being inexorably chipped away by everything she was seeing around her.
"In layman's terms, yes," the occultist said. "Now, how well the charm worked, or for how long, or with what effect could be wildly different. For example, a skilled and subtle practitioner might cause the recipient of a charmed gift to simply be more open to the person who gave them the gift; opening the door for love you might say. On the other hand, a spell applied too heavily or handled improperly, could turn the object of your affections into an obsessed stalker."
"But since these are marked Enchanted rather than Cursed, they shouldn't be too dangerous, right?" asked Dylan.
"Well, in general, that's right. But as we've discussed, even a seemingly benign enchantment can have unintended consequences."
"The Mayor's wife," said Vikki.
"The Mayor's wife," Morgana repeated in agreement.
In the Big City
Chapter Four.
The Mayor's wife wanted to give her husband a special reward for winning his latest election. She enlisted the help of her friend, the Sherriff's wife, whose husband had also been re-elected. Because both men had run on law and order platforms and had made much of their success in getting hookers off the streets of their small, family-friendly town, the two town matrons decided it would be funny and fun to give their husbands a bawdy weekend in the big city. They would tell the men to meet them at a swank hotel for a supposedly normal celebration and then surprise them by acting like their own high-price call girls.
The ladies wanted the proper attire, but didn't want to be seen buying it in their own town. So, they went into the city a day early, telling their husbands honestly that they would have one girls' day of shopping before their husbands came for two days of celebrating their re-elections; out of the public eye of the people who'd elected them.
A look through the Yellow Pages led them to an exotic clothing/costume shop near the edge of downtown, where the neighborhood started becoming more disreputable. As the women perused the racks of leather and lace, they found themselves inexorably drawn toward the higher-priced end of the store. They'd seen camisoles, corsets and bustiers in the earlier sections, but the elevation of quality in material and workmanship at this end was obvious even to their unpracticed eyes. It was as if they'd walked from the Walmart Halloween costumes to Madonna's custom stage outfits.
In the end, Mrs. Mayor picked out a crimson corset that gave an hourglass shape to her slightly chubby midriff, but let her big boobs spill over the top deliciously. Mrs. Sheriff was much thinner, with small tits, but her black bustier gave her a breath-taking cleavage, like she'd always envied in Mrs. Mayor. The garments were already partnered with perfectly matched panties, garters, stockings, sheer robes, and for Mrs. Mayor, a bandage strap bra if she didn't want to start with her boobs already hanging out over the top of the corset.
In the end, both women ended up spending far, far more on their costumes than they'd ever imagined. But after handling them and then trying them on in the dressing rooms, there was no way they could deny themselves, or their husbands, the indescribable sensuality of such high-quality lingerie.
As they walked out the door with their shopping bags, the proprietor was congratulating herself on scooping up such wonderful pieces at such bargain prices, and then turning them around with a massive profit. That young couple at Amorous Goods really had had no idea what they were dealing with when they let such special merchandise go at such cheap prices.
When the ladies got back to their hotel, each was eager, almost desperate, to try on her new outfit again. Fortunately, they could see it in each other's eyes, so no fake excuses were needed as they parted ways in the corridor and went to their rooms. Soon the street clothes were off, the whore clothes were on, and two women in their late 40's were touching themselves in front of their mirrored closets.
Then each got the same idea. Her girlfriend hadn't seen her modelling her outfit when they tried them on at the store. It would be good to compare and see if her friend looked as hot as she did.
Mrs. Mayor had quickly discarded the bra when modelling for herself, but thought that for the sake of modesty as she walked down the hall, she should probably put it back on.
Mrs. Sheriff also made a nod to modesty by donning the floor length sheer gown over her bustier, garter belt and thigh-high stockings.
The idea that they were considering outfits from The Rocky Horror Picture Show as modest enough to wear outside their hotel rooms showed just how enchanted their AG outfits really were.
Mrs. Mayor took one last look in the mirror and almost decided to lose the bra again and just let it all hang out. But, in the end, she decided she should wait and take it off for her girlfriend in Mrs. Sheriff's room. Yes, that would give her the whole effect. She grabbed her key card, stepped into the hallway and turned toward her friend's room on the other side of the elevator bank.
Mrs. Sheriff's gown had no fasteners in the front and was cut to hang open just outside her tits, but as she modelled in front of the mirror, she decided to clutch it closed in her hand for now to cover up her new cleavage. Not that she was embarrassed, hell no. But she pictured knocking on Mrs. Mayor's door and when her friend opened up, Mrs. Sheriff would let her robe fall open and she would see her sexy friend's honest, surprised reaction. Mrs. Sheriff was confident it would be a very pleased reaction.
Morgana Delacroix would have said the two sexy outfits were drawn to each other and thus mystically synchronizing the two women's movements, but to Mrs. Sheriff it was just a pleasant surprise when she stepped out of her room and saw Mrs. Mayor in the same position some yards down the hall.
The two women walked toward each other; slowly, sensually, letting the other take her in step by step. Each immediately recognized that her friend was also wearing her new outfit and registered all the sexy details as she came closer. There were two elevators side-by-side in the middle of the hallway and the women stopped just beyond them, some five paces apart, and posed for their friend.
Mrs. Sheriff let her robe fall open and Mrs. Mayor smiled and salivated to see her friend's small titties so absolutely crushed together.
Mrs. Sheriff's eyes popped when she realized Mrs. Mayor wasn't wearing a black G-string beneath her garter belt as she'd first thought. No, Mrs. Mayor had gone commando, but her bush was so thick and full it looked like she had on a furry thong.
Just then, one of the elevators dinged its arrival and the doors opened to disgorge four men. They were all wearing ball caps with car logos: two Fords, one Chevy, and a Pontiac. The men tumbled out, clearly already with a few drinks under their belts, talking over each other about the great cars they'd seen or were showing at their muscle car convention, and wondering how they should spend their first night in the big city.
Their voices went silent when they caught sight of the women in the hall. Two men had turned right and seen Mrs. Sheriff; the other two went left and were hit with the image of Mrs. Mayor. Silently, like a scene from a Hangover movie, each pair of men turned back to share the amazing news with the other pair, only to discover another fantasy vision standing behind their new friends.
Their eyes feasted on lace and satin, big tits and slender legs, women they gradually realized were as old as their own wives, but goddamn, my wife never looked so good. Eventually the four conventioneers looked into each other's eyes, questioning.
- Do you know them? Did you call them? Did you hire them?
- Strippers? Whores? Sluts?
Apparently, they'd actually started asking each other these things out loud because the buxom one in crimson suddenly said, "Whores."
"Call girls, actually," said the skinny one in black. She suddenly strode forward, passing right through the four men, and taking up position alongside the hottie in red.
The four guys automatically rearranged themselves into a square, facing the two women. "What's the difference?" asked the guy with a Mustang logo on his hat.
"Call girls cost more," answered Blackie.
"But we fuck better too," added Crimson.
That stumped the conventioneers a bit, so they fell back on the comfortable and explained what they were doing in town and what kind of car each had brought to show.
Crimson said that she'd lost her virginity in the back seat of a Dodge Charger.
The men approved of her good taste.
Blackie then asked if the guys would like to take their virginities in the backs of their show cars.
"Not to be rude," replied Chevy Camaro, "but, you're virgins?"
"Have you ever fucked me?" responded Blackie.
Camaro had to admit that he hadn't had that pleasure. Yet.
"Then it will be our first time and therefore my virginity with you," Blackie said matter-of-factly.
The men couldn't argue with that logic and the discussion moved on to prices and also to the idea of maybe letting some of the other conventioneers in on the action.
During these negotiations, without a second thought about what they were doing right out in the hallway of the Grand Sheraton, Crimson had shed her bra and Ford Torino was nuzzling on a nipple. Blackie's thong had been pushed aside and Pontiac GTO had two fingers in her quim.
Then the arrival bell on the other elevator dinged and out stepped three more people; two women and a man. Morgana, Vikki, and Dylan.
Morgana turned to her two young companions and whispered, "Hotel security," before confidently stepping in between the 'call girls' and the conventioneers.
Dylan quickly picked up on Morgana's intent and followed her lead. He also took up a place between the men and the women, but faced the men. "Gentlemen," he said gravely, with a slight nod. "We're with hotel security and we've heard there might be a few women looking to, um, 'work' with some of our guests." The car guys were stunned into silence.
Vikki caught on and stepped in. "You see, we work undercover, dressed like regular hotel guests, but on the lookout for, shall we say, activities that don't really belong in a nice hotel like ours."
"What?" "Well we weren't;� "What are you going to do?" came out of the men's mouths.
"Well, as near as we can tell, you gentlemen may have been approached and even propositioned, but that's no crime, is it?" Dylan said with a bit of a conspiratorial wink to the guys. "So, if you were just to continue on to your rooms there'd be no reason for us to even take your names for our report. Would there?"
And just like that, the car guys scattered, almost running to their rooms.
Vikki and Dylan grinned hugely at each other, quite proud of their performance and success; they damn near high-fived.
"What next?" Vikki asked as she turned toward Morgana. But the older woman was gone. As were the two bewitched would-be whores.
"Where?" she asked Dylan. All he could do was shrug.
The two cousins spent the next 15 minutes just hanging around the hallway, their feelings of success deflating into feelings of goofiness; especially when two of the car guys stuck their heads out their doors and then quickly ducked back inside after spotting the 'hotel security' still hanging around.
Finally, a door opened about 30 feet down on the left and Morgana Delacroix walked toward them, carrying a stuffed shopping bag with the costume shop's logo on the side.
Dylan pressed the elevator call button and the doors opened just as Morgana arrived, her usual, inscrutable smile on her face. Although, Vikki noticed, her normally perfect hair did seem more tousled than when they'd ridden up, and was her lipstick smeared?
"So, what happened?" Vikki demanded when the doors closed, leaving them in privacy. "Why did you take off like that?"
Morgana just looked her straight in the eye and delivered her answer like a teacher responding to the slightly slow student in class.
"Since the clothes were enchanted, the only way to break the spell was obviously to get the clothes off. It really wouldn't have been appropriate to have them strip down right there in the hallway, in front of their prospective clients, would it?" Vikki shook her head no with some chagrin. "So, I talked them into one of their rooms and finally got them to disrobe." She held up the shopping bag, a black strap to something hanging out over the edge.
"Fortunately," Morgana continued. "Their memories of what really happened are going to be pretty fuzzy, although their dreams and fantasies for the next couple of weeks may be far more exotic than they're used to. But that's not necessarily a bad thing," she added with a smile and a gleam in her eye just as the elevator doors opened and delivered them to a lobby full of people that cut off the conversation.
At Amorous Goods
Chapter Five.
Vikki took another sip of the red. It was delicious, she had to concede. She looked at Morgana's perfectly coiffed hair and thought again about that day at the Grand Sheraton. 'How had the witch's hair gotten messed then? And how had she gotten the two women out of their charmed costumes?' {And were the two things connected? Her impish side said.}
Right now, Morgana was continuing her latest lesson on the oddities that Ludwig Freitag had brought together in Amorous Goods. "Those lingerie pieces were probably commissioned by the original owner for his wife," she explained. "Maybe he wanted her to be a bit more adventurous in their lovemaking. And if our two wives had only modelled them for their husbands, as I learned they meant to, then all would have been fine. It probably would have been the hottest sex they'd ever had, but all fine."
"But the clothes made them want to act like whores?" Vikki challenged. "And it didn't matter with who; the first cock they saw would do?"
Morgana could tell the young woman was upset by this, thus the much stronger language than usual. But she kept her own tone calm as she continued. "That's what I meant about unintended consequences. Imagine that the first owner only meant for his wife to wear them in their own bedroom. But what if the next owner was a pimp who used the charm to take advantage of unsuspecting women?"
"So," Dylan mused. "Enchanted for one could be cursed for another?"
"Exactly," Morgana replied. "It can get confusing. For example, look at the next entry after the three you noticed before. Same acquisition date, so Ludwig probably got them all together. But notice how the 'S' has been crossed out and replaced with a 'V'?"
"He moved it from the store to the vault." Dylan deduced.
"Precisely," said Morgana. "And in the other column, the 'E' is crossed through and a 'C' has been added."
"He learned or deduced it wasn't enchanted, but cursed?" Dylan offered, feeling he was starting to get a grasp.
"That's what I would say," Morgana agreed. "Except for this arrow." She pointed and Dylan noticed a one-headed arrow apparently pointing from the 'E' to the 'C'.
Vikki had been wondering about that bit of short hand herself. "So, what do you think the arrow means?"
"I think it means the item was originally enchanted, but at some point, became cursed." She looked directly at Vikki, willing the sceptic to accept these strange, even bizarre concepts. "Imagine if that lingerie we recovered had originally been enchanted just enough to allow a shy wife to relax and let loose with her husband. But later, another practitioner came along and corrupted the spell so that the wife really would become a whore for anyone."
"From enchanted to cursed," offered Dylan.
"From enchanted to cursed," agreed Morgana.
Chapter Six.
Vikki felt she was about to lose her mind. Yes, she had gone into some kind of fugue state and masturbated herself to orgasm right here on this table with some of Ludwig Freitag's kinky acquisitions. Yes, she had seen two middle-aged women half naked and negotiating sex for sale after putting on outfits that Vikki had sold from the AG collection. And yes, she'd seen equally unexplainable erotic things since inheriting this freaky antique store and boutique hotel. But; "Enchanted and Cursed?" she finally said out loud.
Morgana placed her wine glass on the table and stepped in front of Vikki, clasping both of her soft hands around Vikki's shaking one, keeping the archivist's wine from spilling over. She looked directly, strongly, into the younger woman's eyes.
"Let's look at this from an archival viewpoint; let's talk about concepts and theories," she soothed. "You're appraising a collection of papers from Old Salem, from the infamous Witch Trials. That would be fascinating, wouldn't it?"
Vikki could only nod slightly; trapped in Morgana's intense emerald gaze.
"Many women and a few men were accused of sorcery, of witchcraft. Some of them were found guilty and hanged and today we see it as terrible mischief and mob madness. But what if some of the accused women really believed in magic and actually were conducting rituals they thought would give them special powers, be it from Mother Nature or from Satan?"
Morgana lightened her grip on Vikki's hands and guided the glass to the young woman's lips, where she sipped. The occultist continued to hold Vikki's gaze and offered a slight smile.
"So," Morgana continued, "you have one of the 'witch's' spell books and she talks about enchanting versus cursing; an object, a person, what have you. What's the difference?"
Vikki's mind reached for the abstraction to give her something to wrap her thoughts around besides enchanted lingerie and the deep green of Morgana's beautiful eyes. "Good vs. evil; help vs. harm?"
"Exactly," smiled Morgana. "It's all about her intent." She brought her voice to a more conversational level that seemed to bring the pulsing energy level in the room down with it.
'I like you and you're lonely, so I'll make an enchantment, a charm, so Farmer Jones doesn't seem so ugly and you can make each other happy.'
Or, 'I hate you, you stole away my boyfriend, so I'm going to curse you so that you'll think that any man you see is your one true love and you'll open your legs for him.'
Both love charms, but with very different intents and results."
She then picked up her own glass and took a drink. Dylan, meanwhile, took a long draught. The looks that had passed between the two women, the wild passions that flittered beneath those looks, had him clearly visualizing them in a lesbian 69 on the strong table and him walking back and forth from one end of their union to the other, where he offered and they accepted his manhood in all holes. He took another drink, then topped off his glass.
"What about...um...moral choice and free will?" Dylan asked in a stumbling voice, struggling to stay on the high side of this discussion and not lose himself in those delightful, but dangerous mental images of the two women.
The witch held her glass up to Dylan for a refill. "You have hit on a key element," she said. She took her glass, stepped back a step so she could more easily see them at the same time and took a sip.
"This is a bit simplistic," she offered. "But have you ever heard that old maxim that a hypnotist can't make a hypnotized person do something they really would never do on their own?" The faux-cousins nodded. "Well, imagine an enchantment is like that. It can only enhance or amplify something the subject is already interested in, even if they're embarrassed to admit it. A curse, on the other hand, is meant to corrupt; to get someone to do something they'd never want to do. That's where the element of evil comes in."
"Let's go back to the lingerie," Morgana continued. "I think the pieces really are just enchanted, although perhaps a lot more strongly than Ludwig thought. Remember, our good town matrons already had the idea to dress and act like call girls for their husbands before they ever saw the lingerie. So, when they encountered the spell, it simply enhanced and amplified what was already in their heads and desires."
"Amplified?" Vikki interjected in a strong tone. "I'd say so. They were going to pull trains on conventioneers."
Morgana nodded. "Like I said, the spell may have been laid on too heavily. Or, that could have been a secret fantasy that was much stronger in both ladies than they knew. But if the lingerie was actually cursed, then anyone who put it on would have been ready to whore herself out to anybody, regardless if she'd never had that fantasy, and regardless of the damage it would do to her or her family. Unfortunately, the only way to test that hypothesis would be to put the clothes on someone very innocent and ignorant of those kinds of activities and see what happens. It's not a test I'm willing to subject anyone to."
Vikki and Dylan nodded solemnly. This was why they had to recapture the many items they had sold off in their early haste to liquidate the Freitag estate.
"By the way, where did you find the outfits? Were they for sale in the store?" asked Morgana.
Dylan answered. "No, actually, they were in the closets of the two upstairs Grand Suites; one in each."
"Ah," the beautiful older woman sighed. "Then they were part of Ludwig's 'special services' for his high-end clients."
"Special services?" said Vikki.
"You have to understand, your uncle had a serious historical and mystical interest in the items he collected. But he was also a charming degenerate who wanted those items to serve the purposes for which they were intended."
Vikki's face looked pained. "A charming degenerate?"
Morgana Delacroix wore one of her best Mona Lisa smiles. "One of his most endearing qualities," she assured his niece.
Dylan picked up the thread. "So, he'd make some of the special items available for hotel visitors to use? And he charged for it?"
"How much more would you pay for your hotel room if it came with a magical corset that would make your companion act the complete whore for you?" asked Morgana matter-of-factly.
Chapter Seven.
Vikki brought the conversation back to her original question. "Okay then, what about this one?" she said, pointing at an entry farther down the page. "This is a bracelet that I remember going out with that jewelry lot we talked about. It has an 'E' and a 'C' and a question mark." She drew the symbol in the air. "And no arrows, just the three letters or characters."
Professor Delacroix turned to Dylan. "What do you think?"
Dylan pondered for a moment. He had seen some seriously weird shit since taking on business management of the AG and he was not as reluctant to believe its supernatural cause as Vikki. "I think it means he wasn't sure," he offered. "Maybe the, what do you call it?" he directed at the archivist. "Provenance? Maybe the provenance was unclear and he knew it had a charm, but couldn't tell if it was merely enchanted, or cursed, or had been first enchanted and then later cursed. Corrupted, that's what you called that, right?" he asked Morgana.
The beautiful witch smiled warmly. "You have been paying attention, haven't you?"
The young man flushed.
"But does that mean it's dangerous and something we need to recover?" interjected Vikki, feeling upset again at the way Dylan was acting like a puppy around a woman who was literally old enough to be his mother. {Jealous? Her damnable inner voice repeated in a catty tone. About him? Or maybe about her? It added suggestively.}
Morgana turned her smile on Vikki. "That is the question, isn't it? Of course, a lot depends on who has it and how he's using it. And especially, what it does. Does the list say what the charm is?"
"Unfortunately," Vikki answered, "this inventory sheet is skimpy on those details. There may be more somewhere else, but I haven't found it yet. All it says here is, 'Three Wise Monkeys: no evil'."
Morgana froze; the smile became a grimace. "You sold the Monkeys?" she asked in a choked voice.
Dylan and Vikki exchanged surprised, worried, and ultimately guilty looks.
"Yes," the new owner of Amorous Goods finally said dejectedly. She knew something bad was up.
Morgana put her glass on the table and looked at the inventory sheet for a few moments. Then she lifted her gaze and it was once again the strong, determined look of a woman who would let nothing stand in her way.
"Do you have the receipt from when you sold this jewelry? I think we have our next recovery mission."
At Dolan's Photography
Chapter Eight.
Sam Dolan could tell the young housewife was still quite nervous about taking her clothes off for the photographer; even though she was the one who would be paying for the privilege. He'd learned a long time ago that while these women were excited about the prospect of posing in private boudoir shots for their husbands or partners, it was quite common for them to get cold feet on the actual day of shooting.
Fortunately for Sam, the secret weapon he'd acquired from Amorous Goods would melt those cold feet into hot puddles of passion with no problem. But he still needed to finesse her a little farther along the path before he could employ the secret weapon. 'Or should I say, Magic Charm?' he thought.
"Okay, So-Young," he said to the woman seated across from him. "We're about ready to start. I understand you're still a bit nervous, but do you feel comfortable with the way we talked about proceeding or do you have any more questions?"
The beautiful young Korean-American woman kept her eyes down on the desk between them when she answered. Sam wasn't sure if this was a cultural thing she'd picked up from her childhood in South Korea or if it was just natural shyness and embarrassment over what they were going to do. Either way, he found it very arousing and he was going to strive to capture that sense of innocence in her photos. Well, at least in some of her photos.
She gave a little laugh and the American character she'd developed over the past 15 years since immigrating with her family at age 9 came through. "I'm sorry about being such a chicken. I know we've talked it to death and I do appreciate your patience. Are many of your clients as big a pain?"
"Almost all of them," he assured her with his own laugh. "Including your friend Chae-Won. Since she recommended me to you and has allowed me to show you her portfolio, I think it's okay if I share that she was just as nervous as you. But I think you'll agree that she doesn't look nervous here." He indicated the large photo album that lay open in front of So-Young.
No, thought So-Young. The normally quiet and plain Chae-Won did not look nervous at all. What she looked like was hot and horny. And according to Chae-Won, her husband had thought so too when she gave him the "In My Boudoir" photo album for his birthday and their sex life had taken a very exciting turn.
So-Young felt her cheeks flush as she thought about some of the surprisingly graphic details Chae-Won had shared on that topic. Apparently, posing in lingerie had freed up some of her friend's own inhibitions in a way that her husband had liked as much as the racy photos.
Sam's own cheeks felt ready to flush as he also considered the successful lowering of the other Korean housewife's inhibitions. Chae-Won had turned out to be quite a firecracker as could be seen in some of her more graphic photos. Of course, those photos weren't included in the album he was showing Chae-Won's friend, but they had been included on Sam's subscription website.
Chae-Won had been his first Asian model and she had proved very popular with Sam's subscribers. As he took in the more delicate and far lovelier features of So-Young, he had no doubt she was going to earn a lot of money for him. And that he was going to absolutely love playing with her body while she did.
Chapter Nine.
So, Young took in Dolan's intense gaze and red it as a shit-or-get-off-the-pot challenge as her American-born husband, John Lee, would say. "Okay, I'm ready," she declared, resolute with the idea that John would enjoy such a surprising and sensuous gift as much as Chae-Won's husband had. "Do we need to sign the contract first?"
"Tell you what. How about we leave that for the end and dive right in now, before you get another case of nerves?" Sam said it with a light touch that made her laugh at herself.
"You're right," she said. "So, what first?"
"First, I'd like you to put this on." He brought a small box out from a drawer and placed it on the desk in front of her. It was about 5 inches wide and 4 inches from front to back. It was covered in deep green velvet, with an ornate "AG" imprinted in gold on the lid.
She looked at him questioningly. "It's sort of my trademark," he said as he opened the jewelry box. The lid snapped back on its hinges and so did So-Young's eyes, as she gasped in wonder.
"It's beautiful," she cooed. The inside of the box was lined with cream-colored silk on which lay a silver bracelet. It was brilliantly polished and clean, without a touch of tarnish, but it was still quite clearly very old. Hanging from the bracelet were three ornate jade charms.
"Mizaru, Kikazaru, and Iwazaru," she said. "The Three Wise Monkeys."
Fortunately for Sam, the young woman kept her gaze focused on the charm bracelet, so she did not see the look of surprise on the photographer's face. He'd never heard of the monkeys having individual names, he just thought of them as See no Evil, Hear no Evil, and Speak no Evil. Recovering quickly, he said, "I'm impressed, not many people know that."
She looked up at him with a small, half-embarrassed shrug. "We visited the Tōshō-gū shrine in Nikkō, Japan when I was a little girl. There the monkeys are carved above the door of the shrine." She looked back to the bracelet. "The carving in these figures is exquisite. And they look very old."
"I'm told they're at least 100 years old," he said. "Although I suppose the merchant could have just been trying to drive up the price." He chuckled. Sam knew the antique piece was probably closer to 400 years old, but that date tended to make some people really too scared to touch it.
Dolan lifted the bracelet out of the box and opened the clasp. "May I put it on you?"
So-Young gasped again. "You want me to wear it? Why? Oh, it looks too delicate to wear."
"Not at all," he reassured her. "As I said, it's become sort of my trademark. You can always tell Sam Dolan took the pictures if you see the Three Wise Monkeys. If you look at Chae-Won's photos you'll see she has it on."
So-Young looked again at her friends' bedroom images. She'd been so taken by the way Chae-Won had been exposing her legs, buttocks and tits, that she hadn't noticed the charm bracelet. But there it was, the three jade monkeys dangling delicately from her slender wrist.
Chapter Ten.
Smiling, So-Young held out her own wrist and Sam deftly wrapped the beautiful silver chain around it. The young woman felt an unusual tingle just as he closed the clasp. She put it down to the surprising weight of the bracelet, the jade was clearly authentic. The little man left his hands on her wrist longer than was really appropriate, apparently admiring the look of the bracelet on her finely shaped wrist. So-Young normally did not like strangers, especially men, being too touchy, but for some reason she did not mind Mr. Dolan's touch. His fingers felt sure and strong and she imagined that his firm control of his cameras might be one reason he was such a good photographer.
Keeping one hand cupped under her wrist, Sam rose to his feet and walked around the desk to her. His fingers slipped into hers and lifted, silently directing her to stand. "Shall we?" he said, indicating the open area of his studio. He led her by the hand to a sofa arranged in the studio's "living room" set. When he released her hand to go to his camera, she found herself missing his touch.
How strange, she thought bemusedly. She usually disliked shaking hands with Sam because his fingers were actually a bit stubby, to go with his overall stubby stature. But now she was suddenly missing their touch. 'And what drivel was I thinking a moment ago? That his hands would be strong and sure on his camera?' She looked up and saw he actually had a camera in his hands now and was fiddling with the barrel of the lens; twisting it and sliding it back and forth. 'Like pulling the foreskin away from the head of a cock,' came into her head; surprising herself again with her bold thoughts.
The thought of him peeling back his foreskin reminded her of a fantasy she had entertained when she first started looking into doing her own boudoir photo shoot. She remembered reading more than one story on the Literotica site about women who ended up being seduced by photographers during similar situations. She'd thought about showing up for her photo shoot and finding Daniel Henney or a young Antonio Banderas was the photographer. She loved her husband, but wasn't everyone supposed to have a hall pass list?
Then she'd met Sam and the whole Daniel-Antonio threesome idea had fled. At first, she'd thought he might be a dwarf and somehow, doing it with Grumpy did not measure up to doing it with Zorro. Later she felt bad about her shallow crassness, but the sexy photographer idea was still ruined. She'd even come to think that his success with boudoir photography may have been in part because women were not worried about the sexy photo shoots getting out of hand with a short, dumpy, and frankly not-handsome, photographer.
So-Young's thoughts about Sam's photography success were both astute and accurate. But, of course, the short man would gladly have traded much of his success behind the camera for just a little success in front of it. Like So-Young, Sam also entertained a photographer-model seduction fantasy. Although in his, he was more like Hugh Hefner, not only bedding his beautiful models, but also building a publishing empire from them.
Unfortunately, in real life, women were willing to pose in lingerie for 'Danny DeVito's ugly son' (as he'd overheard one woman describe him to another), but they were not willing to take him to their beds or even his photo set couch. At least, not in the past, Sam thought happily as he waddled about, setting the lights for the first series.
As they began shooting, So-Young found herself taken with Mr. Dolan's professional assurance and artistic manner as he guided her through her poses. She wondered how she'd come to think of him as a safe and non-sexual; his every move spoke of confidence and control. If he was a dwarf, he had not come from Disney, but from Under the Mountain.
"A slight tilt over and up this way," Sam purred while pressing his fingers lightly against the side of her jaw. "That's it, perfect." His fingers remained. "Are you feeling more comfortable?" Slowly his fingers glided down her jawline until they slid away at her chin.
Again, So-Young felt bereft by the departure of his touch and could only nod a yes before putting her head back in the position he'd directed. Comfortable? Yes, he had said this first series of pictures, with her just in her street clothes, would relax her and get her more comfortable with his camera always buzzing here and there, and he was right. She couldn't wait to take off her clothes.
Chapter Eleven.
Sam had suggested she bring one or two of her own "naughty" outfits for the shoot. Without being too direct or creepy, he'd let her know that husbands often wanted to see the same poses, in the same outfits re-enacted at home once they saw their wife's portfolio. So-Young really only had one lingerie-type outfit, a baby doll pajama-set of red satin, and she went behind a folding dressing screen to put it on.
Coming out from behind that screen was really the moment of truth in doing this shoot, but it never even entered So-Young's mind as she came almost skipping out. She was eager to do some of the poses they'd practiced in street clothes in the skimpy little outfit that her husband enjoyed so much. In fact, the only thing she did wonder about was why she only had the one sexy outfit and why she didn't wear it for John more often.
Fortunately, Dolan's Photography had a wonderfully large selection of other outfits for her to choose from and Samuel showed a terrific knack for helping her find the styles and sizes that really showed off her body to its best advantage. He was also very handy helping her change clothes and it was only in a very distracted way that she realized she was no longer hiding behind the screen, but was changing right in front of him, even when it meant she'd be completely naked.
It also dawned on her that the pot of green tea they'd been sharing at the start of the session had been replaced by white wine somewhere along the line. But it felt completely comfortable and right, just like when he complimented her nice trim bush in between outfits or helped her fit her tits properly into a strapless bustier.
In fact, just now they were taking a short break, sitting on the sofa and enjoying a glass of a very good Chardonnay and it didn't bother So-Young at all that she was totally nude.
"Are you feeling comfortable?" the dear man asked as he had earlier.
"Very comfortable," she could answer out loud this time.
"And are you enjoying yourself? Enjoying being a free, beautiful, sensual woman?"
"Free, yes, that's it," So-Young declared. "And you're right, I am feeling sensual, and I am enjoying it. As for beautiful," she lowered her eyes coquettishly and said, "I'll leave that up to you to decide."
"Hmm," Photographer Dolan considered. "You know, I've been so intent behind the camera, so focused, if you will, that I've really only caught fleeting images."
"What about when you helped me change clothes?" she said with rising warmth in her voice.
"Again, so focused on getting the outfit right, that it was only glimpses. Now, those fleeting images and glimpses have indeed registered as beautiful, but I think I need to take a longer, more complete look before passing final judgment."
Without a word, the young wife took a sip of wine, placed her glass on an end table, rose from the sofa and stood directly in front of the man. She began to turn very slowly around and around; first with arms down by her sides, then moving them up until they were over her head. Then she turned back the other way, but only a quarter turn at a time, stopping to pose for him with each move.
She was a very slender woman and when she stopped, facing him, he took in small, round tits with brown areolas that tended to camouflage the nipples that had the same color. Her arms were crossed and resting on top of her head, which lifted the lovely tits with their hard, little nipples well off her chest. The belly tapered down nicely to a thick mat of silky black hair, which was trimmed around the edges to an upside-down triangle.
The next move gave him the side profile and here he could really see that the nipples, while small in diameter, did indeed jut out proudly. There was a slight, very feminine swell to the belly and the legs showed good proportions from thigh to calf. Her ass did not jut out much, but had a delightful roundness.
When that ass was turned toward him, he confirmed small, firm globes, a perfect handful on each side of slightly gapped thighs that showed a glimpse of labia. The back was smooth and led to an elegantly tapered neck that became visible when she swept her thick, black hair to the top of her head.
As she made the next turn to another profile, Sam said, "Yes. Most definitely beautiful." He got to his feet and traded wine glass for camera. He moved and told her to move. He kneeled on the floor and had her kneel on the sofa. In a beautiful ballet under his direction he caught her from every angle. As he snapped away, Sam thought back to a similar photo session, to the first time he'd seen the 3 Monkey Charm at work.
At the Amorous Inn
Chapter Twelve.
Sam had kind of stumbled into private boudoir photography, but it turned out he had a real eye for it and the income from the risqu� side-line had saved his business. And introduced him to some pretty kinky people. One such couple were his first hard-core clients. They had a strong exhibitionist penchant and really enjoyed performing for his camera. Over the three sessions he'd done with them, he'd learned that they also enjoyed performing in front of other people. Apparently, this went on at what they called 'lifestyle' parties.
Sam hadn't wanted to appear un-hip, so he hadn't asked, but had looked it up later. Swingers! But it seemed that they were still on the fringes of the lifestyle. They would go to parties and watch other people fuck and they would fuck each other in front of other partygoers, but they didn't touch anybody else.
Then, after his third private-porn photo shoot at their house, when they'd apparently made up their minds that they could trust him, this couple had confided in Sam that they were going to cross the lifestyle threshold. At an upcoming party they were not only going to take the next step to 'soft swapping', but were going to go all the way to 'full swapping.' Again, Sam had had to Google that shit later.
Then the real shock had come. The reason they had shared this decision with Sam was that they wanted him to capture the moment. They were going to take the plunge at a private party being hosted at the infamous Amorous Inn and they wanted Sam there with his camera. The rumors about the upper floors of the old 19th-century mansion were true and Sam was going to see it all!
Chapter Thirteen.
Old Man Freitag, the master of Amorous Goods and the Amorous Inn, had been very hesitant and had laid down some serious restrictions on what Dolan could photograph and how the images would be controlled, but Sam had agreed to all of it.
The scenario was that Mrs. Terwilliger (a fucking kindergarten teacher!) was going to take on three men who were not her husband. Meanwhile, the wives of those three men would be arranged on hands and knees in front of Mrs. Terwilliger. Mr. Terwilliger (Vice President of the town bank!) would move from one to the other, fucking them in front of his wife and their husbands. They would go until all the men had busted a nut. Hopefully Mr. Terwilliger would last long enough to deposit the fourth creampie in his wife; otherwise he'd drop it in whichever quim he happened to be poking when he could hold out no longer.
The Terwilligers had apparently fucked in front of their friends several times in this twisted mansion, but were still nervous about taking the next step. Well, she was anyway, she was after all the one who was going to have to let three or four guys fuck her until they came inside her. So, they'd started out slowly, much like Sam did with his boudoir models. He'd had the couple move through some of the poses and positions that he'd already taken pictures of in their own bedroom, until Mrs. Terwilliger's juices were running freely from Mr. Terwilliger's rigorous pounding and the crowd's enthusiastic cheering.
Now it was time to start crossing some lines. The other three couples who'd agreed to help initiate the Terwilligers (and allow their pictures to be taken, thank God), were all experienced swingers. The three slut-wives took their places in front of Mrs. Terwilliger's head, as she remained on hands and knees. These three shared wives were to end up in that same position, but for now, all were kneeling upright, facing a standing Mr. Terwilliger. His Johnson was standing out proudly and absolutely shining with his wife's juices. As Mrs. Terwilliger watched from only three feet away, all three of the other women began licking and sucking her husband's cock; cleaning away her pussy nectar with happy tongues.
Sam remembered being highly impressed by Mr. Terwilliger's stamina and control. He himself had been ready to shoot his wad in his pants just from watching; there was no way he could have lasted through the fucking of the very fine Mrs. Terwilliger, let alone the subsequent sucking of the three whores. But Sam managed to keep his focus on his role as photographer. As much as he wanted to drop his camera and grab his cock, he wanted even more to be invited back to Amorous Goods and he knew his performance, and results, would determine if that happened.
Next, the three swinger women had moved around the initiate's sides and were sitting on their beautiful, naked asses watching. Mr. Terwilliger got down on his knees and offered his hard cock, wet with the sluts' saliva, to his wife's mouth. She took it in without hesitation, sucking on it hungrily, and then suddenly impaling herself, driving the rod into her throat. Sam had gotten a beautiful shot with her nose buried in his pubes, while spit ran freely out of the corners of her mouth and down her chin.
Mr. Terwilliger didn't stay for more, however. Instead he moved back, his cock still pointing at his wife's face, but out of reach. Sam quickly realized that the reason for the pullback was not only to keep the husband from popping off too early, but more importantly, was so they could see easily into each other's eyes. Mrs. Terwilliger had watched him cross a line with other women, now it was time for him to watch as she crossed that line too. She wanted to see his face as he let his wife be taken by another man.
Sam had focused in on her pretty face, eager to capture her eyes as it happened, and it had turned out to be another fantastic shot. Then he'd shifted back to her other end and caught the images of each of the three swinger husbands taking turns licking Mrs. Terwilliger's dripping snatch. "Soft swapping," Sam remembered from his research. 'One step at a time,' he thought.
Chapter Fourteen.
Then had come the moment that had really changed Sam's life forever. The moment that had eventually led to him shooting this close up of a Korean beauty's spread open gash and would later lead to him sticking his cock in that gash as she eagerly cuckolded her husband.
Mrs. Terwilliger seemed on the brink of orgasm, as if she might explode if one of the men shifted his tongue down just a little farther and hit her clit a few times. But that wasn't in the plan just yet and even if it was, the kindergarten teacher still had a knot of anxiety that was interfering with really taking her full pleasure from the men's attentions.
Her husband had gotten down on his own hands and knees and crawled in to kiss his wife while the other men feasted on her pussy. "Are you ready?" he asked soothingly.
"I'd like the bracelet," she answered hesitantly, a look on her face that seemed to indicate she was afraid her husband would be disappointed.
Sam actually hadn't understood what she'd said right then, it was such a non-sequitur.
Instead of looking disappointed, however, Mr. Terwilliger just smiled and said, "Of course." He turned and looked around; then nodded his head at someone standing behind Dolan.
Sam was down on one knee as well, to be on his subjects' level. He began to pivot on that knee to see who Terwilliger was nodding to and almost got a cock in his mouth for his trouble.
Whoever the man was, he'd obviously started forward at Terwilliger's beckoning and was passing right by the photographer as Sam turned. He was just as obviously naked and sporting a very large, semi-erect cock that flounced up and down, right at the height of the small man's mouth. Fortunately, the walking man took a quick step to the side to avoid conking Dolan's head with his hip and Sam was saved.
The man stopped in front of the Terwilligers and leaned forward a bit. This put his pale, scrawny ass directly in Sam's view and it was not a pretty sight. The guy might have been packing some heavy equipment in the front, but the back did not match. Sam scooted a foot to his right to see what was happening beyond the man's flaccid ass.
From his new angle, Dolan could see the man's profile and realized he was looking at their host, Ludwig Freitag. No wonder the guy had an old man's ass; he was in his 60's, probably even his 70's. Freitag was holding a small box out toward Terwilliger; it was dark green, with the lid open, apparently on a hinge. A jewelry box, thought Sam.
Mr. Terwilliger reached in and extracted a shiny silver chain, with something green hanging from it. Sam suddenly came to himself and swung up his camera to get the shot. But before he could get his eye to the viewfinder, he saw Freitag looking back around at him and shaking his head, no. Apparently the bauble was on the restricted list that old Ludwig had given him.
Sam lowered the camera and just watched as Mrs. Terwilliger lifted one of her hands and offered it to her husband. Sam could now tell the piece of jewelry was a bracelet and Mr. Terwilliger gently attached it to his wife's pretty wrist; on the same hand where she wore her engagement and wedding rings. He leaned in again to kiss his wife some more.
Ludwig Freitag closed the box, turned, and headed back toward Sam. The photographer saw that his first near-disastrous glance had been right; the old man was packing. The home-porn photography Sam had gotten into over the past couple of years had exposed him to a wide variety of cockes, both limp and stiff, and he knew this old man would be around eight inches long when erect. 'Hell,' he thought, 'I'd gladly take a shriveled old ass in the back if it meant I could be hung like that in the front; especially when I'm 70 or however old this ancient pervert is.'
Freitag stopped at the photographer's side and held out a hand, clearly offering to help Sam to his feet. Dolan grasped the old man's hand. 'Damn, he's not only hung, he's still got a hell of a grip,' the short man thought as Freitag easily pulled Sam up.
Once Sam was on his feet, the old man bent down from his impressive 6' 1" and put his mouth close to the photographer's ear. "Mr. Dolan," he said quietly with his aristocratic accent. "I understand it will be impossible to completely avoid the bracelet, but do try your best. Any images that show it in too much detail will have to be deleted. Do you understand?"
No, Sam didn't understand. Sure, he'd understood earlier when Freitag had said that any images of his face or of any other guest who hadn't expressly agreed to being photographed, would have to be deleted; before Sam even left the mansion. But a piece of jewelry?
Freitag had straightened and was looking down at the photographer; waiting. "Yes, I understand," Sam said. What he understood was that if he didn't agree he'd be out on his ass and never coming back. 'Maybe the bracelet was stolen,' thought Sam. That would be a good reason not to have photos of it floating around.
"Good," Ludwig said. Then an unusual smile crept across his face. "While you cannot take pictures of the bracelet itself, I believe you will be very happy with the images you capture arising from its charm." The old man stepped away, leaving a confused Sam Dolan in his wake.
To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica