Now what was I going to do? The question struck to my core. For months, I had been making pretty good money selling adult novelties in people's homes, much like Tupperware parties, except, well, not just anyone was invited. And this is what happens when you don't know your hostess.
My husband, Steven, and I had needed some extra money, and a small article in our newspaper had piqued my interest. I'm sure Steven would admit that it piqued his as well. From Steven's perspective, he lost weekend days and nights with me, but he gained by testing the wares and hearing my stories of women's reactions during my demonstrations. And although I told my customers that all transactions were strictly confidential, I always shared with Steven what our friends and neighbors bought. It was wickedly fun and led to some good sex.
My first few jobs had been very difficult. The company I represented, although having a great product line, didn't have a suggested list of people for me to call upon for home shows. So, that meant I had to start with my friends. This had been awkward in my somewhat conservative social circle, but, everyone enjoys sex... The sales got better, and pretty soon, I was into the third and fourth generation of shows from people who had attended my earlier ones. I learned that to sell my items, it was important to put the ladies at ease, and, at times, to non-provocatively demonstrate what the gadgets did, or how they were worn. The biggest selling point had been suggesting how the items could be used to surprise their husbands, to turn the humdrum of marital status quo into a night of fun and passion. The parties rarely got out of hand, and generally only when liquor was involved. But, polite or raunchy, I had learned how to make it fun. And besides, it was among girls, often with others much more open than I was about sharing my sex life with others.
It normally took one to two hours for "some show, more tell" of my various products. Then, I would retreat to a bedroom, where each of the women would enter to purchase their items privately, so that no one would know what she had purchased. I kept a stock of all the "toys," but some sizes of lingerie I had to special order. But overall, my sample bag and boxes included what seemed to sell the most. Making $1,000 to $2,000 per show was quite nice, and it had recently begun to get very easy, almost second nature.
Women who chose their friends to attend such a non-conventional affair generally selected those who were either randy to begin with, or had a desire to be randy for a change. I had learned in idle conversation with my customers that the ones who spent the most money had told their spouses where they were going. Their "credit limits" were enthusiastically removed by their husbands as a result. Further, I encouraged the hostess to provide wine, which definitely seemed to soften inhibitions. Sales were steady, and steadily good. I just couldn't let my mom or anyone else take a close look at all the cardboard boxes in my garage and basement. Yikes.
My "hostess," Claire, who had sounded perfect over the phone, had said that she would invite a good sized crowd that she was sure would be interested in sex products. As I had driven to her home, her neighborhood had spoken of wealth, as did the cars in her driveway. But it was only after I had arrived that Claire explained that, after talking it over with her husband, that he had felt more comfortable inviting his friends than she did hers. Then she had picked up her purse, and headed out for dinner with the girls. The wives thought only that the men were getting together for their normal Saturday night college football game and maybe some cards.
Doing a show for men was definitely out of my "comfort zone," and I had begun the evening...terrified. So much for confidence. There were seven men, with another expected to arrive. Beers were popping before Claire had made it to the door. To put it bluntly, I had the fear of being raped, as there was no way of escaping an atmosphere of "sex," which, although not literally, was what I was selling. But the men's good humor had won me over, at least enough to proceed, and several had seemed more interested in the football game. So, it all began more manageable than I had feared. I began with the basics: bra's, panties, garters. There were general whoops and hollers as I held them up, explaining the colors and sizes available. I gave each man an order form which listed each item, so that they could check off those in which they were interested and make notes. I was pleased to see frequent pen movements.
I had to endure a few catcalls, as I held up a see-through body suit, or a bra with holes cut out at the nipples. They kept joking that they couldn't make a decision without seeing the fit. Yeah, right. So, I played to the audience with suggestive talk, but leaving the goods to their own imaginations.
With the promise of a good sale, I had just wrapped up most of the clothing items and was just beginning the vibrator selection, when the men broke to refresh themselves. Meaning more beer. When they gathered again, the husband of the hostess, Lou, posed a question. "I'm very interested in what you've shown us, Hayley, and the prices seem reasonable. But, if we were to pay double your price, would you show us your products...more intimately ? What about it, guys?" His question was met with an enthusiastic response from the others, apparently a collusion decided upon during our "break." My first reaction was, "Yeah, right." But...
My resolution faltered to my current dilemma. This job suddenly had the potential of paying a lot more than my usual 40% commission. But I couldn't answer based solely on financial terms. If my husband found out... He had been thrilled to hear me recount each session of who bought what, but how would I explain this night? Think it through. They were asking me to model, but, a bra was a bra. Panties, garters...no big deal. Exposing my nipples in a cutout bra would be more fun than embarrassing. I think. But to model a vibrator would mean... No way! I wasn't going to show my cunt to a bunch of strangers... Was I? But I just couldn't! Could I? I realized that my cunt was primed. The words "thinking with my dick" quickly came to mind, but I shoved them aside, however appropriate they were for the wetness between my legs.
I had been looking at the floor while I had considered this, but as I raised my eyes, Lou saw that he had me. But he couldn't "have" me. Yet, he did. The money was enticing, and so was the idea of showing a bunch of men my 38 C's. Steven had hardly given me a compliment on my body in months, maybe a year. Yes, they had me, to a point. But rules were going to be necessary.
"Okay," I allowed with a devilish grin, "but here's the rules. First, I'm married. There will be NO sex." I looked at each of them to see that this registered. "But, any product you're interested in, I'll demonstrate. But you agree to buy that item at twice the price. Further, I'll start with an imprint of your credit cards, and we'll record the sale BEFORE I demonstrate it. And, I'll only pull three items from the bag at a time. They all have to sell before I pull out any more. When an item doesn't sell, we stop." Let them consider the expense...
Lou looked thoughtful and then countered, "That sounds fine, except, considering the price, we get to try the goods - we dress you, we get to," he paused, considering, "TEST the vibrator in you, and whatever else you've got in the bag. But if we use it, we'll buy it."
A small voice withing me cried, "Nooooo!" But I wasn't interested in listening to it. My hard nipples confirmed what my cunt was screaming at me. This was like a fantasy that I didn't know I had. Control remained the issue. This could get out of hand, but, still... I wanted it. "Okay...BUT, you each have to line up your chairs at least 10' away and stay there, except for the person buying the merchandise." I could handle one on one.
Lou nodded. "Gentlemen?" There was general agreement. But I wasn't going to start with the vibrators. I pulled the bag of clothes closer, that I had just showed them, and began by randomly pulling three items out of it. I could see that Lou, at least, appreciated the sales tactic in the move. "Okay, Hayley, we'll start with the clothes. But there's no dressing rooms here."
Be still, my racing heart. I gave him my best come hither look, and replied saucily, "Obviously, assuming you're brave enough to dress me." My voice sounded much braver than I felt. I would normally have the hostess do most of the modeling, if any were needed, as part of her duties for the $200 worth, or 10%, of products that she could choose for inviting her friends, providing refreshments, etc. And it added to the fun when the ladies knew who it was that was modeling. So, I hadn't come here prepared to be undressed. But, I suppose it doesn't really matter, except that my plain bra and panties would show that I wasn't practicing what I preached... The clothing was laid out, so I offered, "Who wants to be first?" Lou, of course. Approximately 45 years old and full of executive level confidence and swagger. He walked towards me and picked out a bustier. I had him record it on his sales sheet. It was a good thing I had given them pens. I wouldn't want them erasing orders after this.
.... There is more of this story ...