It was a naughty thought wasn't it? Sophie shouldn't even consider masturbating in the back room of the shoppe. She should wait until she got home. There, in her small house, she could take a bath, light some candles, and have a nice glass of chardonnay as she pinned up her hair and slipped into her favourite fantasy.
She could. But why would she?
That would just prolong the inevitable.
The postman had brought a new toy. And Sophie was duty-bound to try it out and see if it actually worked. No sense selling something that might disappoint the public. She'd learned that lesson. Returns and dissatisfaction were a nightmare.
Well, that was just the excuse.
To tell the truth, Sophie couldn't wait to see if The Clit Rocket actually worked. According to the sales literature she'd received from the manufacturer's rep, the handy little device promised to deliver an orgasm that would propel her to 'stratospheric levels of pleasure.' Could it be? Could The Clit Rocket possibly be the holy grail of orgasmic pleasure? Well, for the sake of 213 High Street's demanding and discerning clientele, she was always willing to find out.
She grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the tape sealing the cardboard box. Then she pulled out the packing material and tossed them in the general direction of the rubbish can. Her youngest sister, Gracie, was the neat one. She'd sigh, but she'd clean up the mess. No sense getting a dog only to bark yourself, Sophie always told Gracie and Katie.
That's why things worked so well at 213. Gracie could organise a party for a thousand people in three point two hours. Sophie, as the middle child was adventurous and had never once coloured inside the lines. Katie, the oldest of the three, was management material through and through, or so her fancy university degree said. Even if it didn't, Katie would be sure to tell them all, daily. Sophie just figured that Katie liked to boss people around.
After tossing the rest of the paper on the floor, Sophie pulled out a smaller box and opened that, too.
The packaging inside was red hot. Fireworks, in vibrant, shimmering silver exploded all over the exquisitely designed top. She opened the fire engine coloured box to reveal an innocent-enough looking toy. The vibrator part was red and shaped like a bullet. The device was cordless, which would add to the cost significantly, but for the perfect climax, the women of Widby were willing to pay nearly anything.
A remote control was nestled in a satin pouch. The manufacturer, bless them, had thoughtfully provided a battery.
After figuring out the intricacies of taking apart the remote device and inserting the flat, lithium disk, Sophie considered the variety of silicone sleeves that slipped over the bullet. The first surprise, actually protruded a bit, and was shaped like a mushroom. Probably as close to a realistic firework as they could get. It didn't escape her notice that it also looked more than just a bit like the tip of a man's cock.
Another sleeve had bubble-like dots. 'For ignitable pleasure,' according to the printed insert. The third had ripples, or 'Blast off Ridges' as they were called.
The marketing materials were perhaps over the top, but if she could sell the Clit Rocket, so what? Adult sex toys weren't necessarily known for their sophistication, although the marriage of style and sensuality was definitely one that appealed to her.
She sprayed the bullet with antibacterial cleaner and selected the firework sleeve. She'd start with the explosion of sensation and go from there.
While the spray went to work cleaning the silicone, she looked at the directions. Wow and a nice big bowl of ice cream. The remote could be set to pulse. Over a period of several minutes, the intensity would automatically increase.
If the toy actually worked, she may never need another man.
She rinsed the bullet and sleeve under running water, then took a quick trip through the shop's front room. Lights were off. The closed sign was flipped the proper direction, the cash register till had been emptied. She grabbed a tube of lube especially designed for use with toys and returned to the back.
Feeling deliciously naughty, Sophie kicked off the high heeled shoes she always favoured and then unzipped her jeans. Wriggling, she shimmied the denim over her hips and down her thighs. And then she kicked aside the jeans.
Wanting some atmosphere, she turned on the radio and found her favourite satellite station. Fun, funky, staccato techno stuff. The music was nothing she'd listen to when the store was open, but the beat was perfect when she was in search of a pulse-pounding orgasm, or, even better, a rocket propelled one.
After pulling down her knickers, she used her toes to launch them towards her jeans.
Getting into the spirit of things, Sophie cranked up the radio's volume, slid the sleeve into place, checked that everything was in working order--that could never be overstated, as she'd tell her customers--and then uncapped the lube, squeezing a generous amount onto the tips of her fingers.
She bent her knees slightly, then massaged the thick cream onto her clit.
It'd been at least a week since she'd played with herself. From time to time, she'd deprive herself of sexual release. She did that just to make the next time even more sensational. Absence made the ... climax more powerful. Or something like that.
She made sure she was good and moist, dipping into her vagina and parting her labia, slipping, sliding.
Already close to orgasm, Sophie forced herself to stop putting pressure against her clit. Waiting was such a sweet torment.
Feeling the techno beat, seduced by the response of her own body, she placed the silicone firework against her clit. She thumbed on the remote and felt the first, light pulse against her clit. It was ... nice. The second pulse was just as pleasant. Nice, but not spectacular.
The third felt a little more intense.
The fourth was close to fabulous.
Well, then.
She'd never had a vibrator that behaved in quite this way. Being the most athletic of the three sisters, she usually did everything at mach speed. She had two speeds, or so her last boyfriend said: fast and asleep. So what? It was hardly her fault if he couldn't keep up.
Little hammering sensations snaked through her body.
Closing her eyes, she parted her labia further, wanting increased pressure. The vibrator was maddening. She'd take a little more, thank you.
Still, she didn't switch the control to fast. This was different. Different was good.
She bent her knees a little more and rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, reaching, searching, wanting...
)
