tagIllustratedDildo Designer

Dildo Designer

byBeatnic_jazzman©

My new apartment was exactly suited to me, a two bedroom ninth floor corner unit. The deposit had taken most of my bonus but I was well satisfied with the investment. Here I could expand from the one bed I'd had since my student days and embed the technology that was beginning to become both affordable and reliable enough to be a must, along with greening. The second bedroom could store it all in the built in. There was also the view across the nearby Green Park. Best still was the secure underground car park. The first day at work I left at 7:30 to be in at 8:30. I had driven the route several times and it had taken 50 minutes in congested traffic. By the end of the week my 7:30 had shortened to 7:50 leaving a bare five minutes spare for safety.

It was Tuesday that she made her appearance. We both exited our doors at the same time. She was a statuesque blond with all the right attributes; long shoulder length hair with a curl up at the bottom, a sparingly applied blush and a thin matching blue eye shadow, white silky blouse under a gray charcoal check with matching knee length skirt, sensible 2 inch heels and darkish blue stockings. Every bit the career ladder junior executive. She also seemed to size me up. What she saw was a 27 year old man, trim, with suede shoes and slacks, a crisp white shirt and a loosely looped tie. I stood 5' 11" and had a 'good proportions' vote from a portrait painter who painted me nude. I had a 'nice' squarish jaw and a well proportioned symmetrical face though I had a liidle bit sticky out ears. On the whole I did well at uni, I nearly always got the girls coming at me even though I was officially in the 'Geeks camp'.

As we waited, both looking at the lift door, I risked a nod of acknowledgement.

She took me on, "You are the new tenant of 10A?"

I nodded again, "Yes, moved in last week".

Her accent marked her Scandinavian, I couldn't tell which.

"Danse?"

"Na, Norge."

"Well in case no one's done it, welcome to London."

She gave a tinkling almost nervous laugh. "Thank you."

The lift arrived and we rode down in silence. She getting out at the ground leaving me and a trace of her perfume to exit in the car park. There was another trapping of my success, my BMW 324ci, a status symbol I'd bought to celebrate my promotion to an executive VP, in charge of product development. 27 and a salary in five figures with another five figure bonus. I had a degree in electronic engineering and a masters in product design. And here I was working with dildo's, vibrators and fucking machines; that my mother could see me, boy.

The Wednesday she was there again, ten to eight could be my new best time of the day.

"Have you been here in England long?" I enquired as we stood waiting.

"Six years now, since I was eighteen."

"You work local?"

"Yes just one tube stop along."

Then the lift came and I waved her inside and followed. As she left the lift she turned and gave a little wave "Bye."

Thursday saw us together again, me first by a few seconds.

"Do you think it will rain today?" she asked.

"I'm not sure; with our climate we can have both rain and shine in an hour."

"The forecast said sixty percent chance so I bring my brolly, yes?"

"That's the safest bet."

Then our silent ride down and the trace of perfume.

Friday was lonely. Had I missed her or what? Saturday and Sunday I played with the nearly complete house computer, linking it through a vpn to my office intranet. If they knew where to look they could see what was in the fridge and program the cooker. There were security protocols of course with double tiered passwords for admin rights. My new the bachelor pad was taking shape.

Monday was a dud but Tuesday she was there. We talked more, she was a therapist. Art therapy was her speciality but at the moment she was doing child counselling. Her name was Ingvold Olimb. On Wednesday I told her I was a design engineer for gadgets. With the rain on Thursday I told her the tale of my soaking in the river at uni to her tinkling laugh; she wished me goodbye till Tuesday again.

It was actually Friday. I had design drawings of the new G spot dildo over the table when she knocked to beg a bottle of wine. Of course she followed me in and saw the drawings despite my effort to gather them. She picked up the full colour cutaway and saw the life-sized mock-up rotating slowly in the AutoCAD program running on the laptop.

"You design these," she exclaimed with delight showing on her face. "I never thought about who designed them I only used them."

I was still embarrassed and trying to splutter out an apology.

"You must bring me samples." she stated.

She had me off balance; instead of being shocked, she had embraced the revelation.

"I... er... will see what I can do."

I stood looking at her for a moment. "The wine." she reminded me.

I went and brought her one of my favourites; a subtle rosé. She took it thanking me.

Our Tuesday meeting brought me a Friday night date. She told me more of her life on Wednesday and Thursday. Friday I booked a restaurant recommended by one of my colleagues, a Japanese one, splashed out on a new set of fashionable clothes. Shaved and showered I was ready for our eight 'o' clock date, knocking her door at just a few minutes late.

She was dressed in a light figure hugging pale brown ensemble, with a chiffon overlay that added a touch of mystery. We engaged in small talk in the taxi and during the meal. It was the first time she had tried Sake and she found it 'refreshing' and 'a nice taste in the mouth'. At about ten thirty we headed home and I invited her in. Bringing out my finest white and pouring her three quarters of a glass. We sat and talked of painting and I mentioned my secret painting. The nude study of me done by my girlfriend in college, which I kept hidden in the bedroom. She insisted, as an artist, that she should appraise it. It was big, five foot by three. It showed me posed, in the act of throwing a spear, beside a tree. I remember the ache in my arm from that morning. She was impressed. She would have given it pride of place. She practically begged me to pose nude for her. We were both still on the merry side of drunk and I said I'd agree if she painted naked as well. She laughed at that and said she'd consider it. Just before the witching hour she excused herself and went back to her flat, promising to show me her art on Sunday.

Saturday I finalised the house computer, tuning my door entry to both my car remote and an RFID embedded in my wallet. I spent some time organising some 'love' playlists and generally relaxed surfing the web. I even googled her name but found nothing. On Sunday she knocked for me at ten. She was dressed ready for painting. Playfully grabbing my hand and giving it a tug, barely giving me chance to close the door behind me, almost pulling me across the hallway. Taking me straight through to the studio in the back bedroom, it was north facing and better for the light. She had a range of landscapes and cityscapes with a couple of portraits. Including a semi nude self - portrait in an angular style of the Picasso school, a project from art school. She asked if I would pose for a couple of sketches in eighteenth century clothes. She measured me up and produced a pair of breeches and a frilly shirt. The shirt was tight and the breeches loose.

She gave me space to change while she made coffee. She did two quick sketches with me looking contemplatively at an apple, then wanted my shirt off for a more masculine pose. She had me strike a pose with one hand on a floor mop she's paint in as a sword, with the other raised to heaven as if imploring. She took three angles and within an hour we were finished.

When I saw her Tuesday I asked of the sketches. She asked if I could pose some more one evening in the week. I agreed to Wednesday night. On the way down we talked about the weather, the forecast was dull and rainy all week. Wednesday morning she asked if I would like a meal with the posing that night, offering me steak. It would be ready to serve at six, if that was ok. At six I was at the door with a couple of bottles of wine, one white the other rosé. She open it dressed in a paint splattered smock over white knee length leggings. Dinner would be ten minutes and she'd change in five. She took the wine to the kitchen and disappeared into the bedroom. In five she was back, now with a tight T shirt showing the nipples of her beautiful braless breasts and a pair of black leggings. The meal was a culinary delight, my medium rare was perfect, I could have cut it with the fork. We drank most of the white as she talked more about her childhood, with me cribbing tales about some of my escapades in uni.

As we walked back to her studio I could smell her perfume as I watched her hips bounce with her walk.

Inside were two covered canvases against the wall.

"Are those my paintings?"

"Yes but they're little more than outlines yet, it'll be a few weeks before they're fit to look at."

"May I?" I asked.

"NO, not till they're ready." She rushed to protect them.

I laughed at her protectiveness, "Mother bird guarding the nest."

"Well, when they're ready I'll show you."

She went to a wardrobe and came back with a loincloth, "I want to do you as Tarzan."

I took the loincloth, a soft, supple suede, and measured it against me. Looking down to see that it would barely cover me; I was wearing shorts which would hang well below.

"This is smaller than my shorts, will that be ok?"

"Tarzan never wore shorts," was her giggled reply, "you'll have to take them off."

I'd play her game, "I've got some Y fronts back in the flat, I'll go and get those."

I quickly turned and went to retrieve the underpants. The only thing I could find was my old jockstrap, which would have to do. I changed and put the loincloth on leaving my clothes and wrapping my bathrobe around me. Her door was still open, knocking I went straight to the studio. She looked at me, appraising my body through the flapping robe as she took a stool and a rope.

"Can you tie this to that eye in the ceiling?" she handed me the rope and I took the proffered stool. It was a stretch to reach the eye.

She walked around me, her hands under my robe, brushing over my muscles and abdomen. "You have fine muscle tone, good, it will be easy to paint."

As I stood down she slipped the robe from my shoulders, "Stand back on the stool as if it were a branch, then take the rope like you were going to swing on it."

I took up the pose and she fussed around. Moving my legs till they were just right, then my arms and head. Her touch was soft and sensuous, sliding her hands to my buttocks to twist them and finally pulling one leg forward as if I were poised at the instant. Satisfied she retreated to the easel and picked up the charcoal. It took an hour and several minor adjustments to my pose before she let me take a breather, bringing a cloth to cover the drawing. She was humming to herself as she went and retrieved the second bottle from the kitchen, pouring us two generous glasses.

"Well I am pleased so far. You are a good model. I could paint you forever."

I could hear the joy in her voice as she smiled at me, her Norwegian accent made it delightful to my ear.

"You couldn't pay me what my job does, though it would be easy getting to work."

She laughed more than the joke was worth, flashing her white teeth and bouncing her breasts. She rose from her seat, "Come, break over, let me paint while the mood lasts."

She posed me again, moving me round till satisfied. Moving my leg forward she let her hand move right up my thigh touching my balls and gripping my ass as she adjusted my knee with the other. I looked at her face but saw innocence although my penis took note, twitching in my firm jockstrap. She painted on for another hour.

"I am done for today, but I need you back tomorrow to finish it."

I tried to peek but she brought the sheet down covering it.

Picking up the wine she refilled our glasses. "Shall we?" she indicated with her glass and I followed back to the lounge where we sat and talked of inconsequential's while we finished the drinks. It was eleven thirty gone when I got to my door.

Thursday she was bright and bubbly, taking my arm as we entered the lift. She was really pleased with the painting; she felt it was going to be one of her best. I spent the day at work trying to find a workaround to fit something too big into somewhere too small, eventually having to call for a redesign of the circuit board. I left feeling vaguely dissatisfied. I'd have to justify the delay to my boss at Monday's conference, not a happy thought But I would have the designer responsible in my office tomorrow morning. He could explain how he confused the inside outside dimensions. Ingvold must have been listening for the lift, no sooner was I out and the door opened. "Neil, can you come and see if you can fix my machine?"

"Can I get a shower; I've had a trying day and a bit of relaxation under a warm shower first, to relax the muscles would be nice."

"Ok, if you get your cloth on I might give you a massage, I am good at that."

"Ok give me fifteen and I'll be over."

In twenty minutes I was gently knocking her door. She was in her painting smock and leggings again while I was in the bathrobe. We went through to the lounge where she laid me on some cushions on the floor, stomach down while she knelt at my head. The oil and her hands felt cool on my back as she started kneading and pummelling at my muscles. She did down to my buttocks then had me turn over. She worked from my shoulders down. As she leant over me to my abdomen her breasts were swinging freely over my face, I could see the nipples running their points up and down on the inside of her smock. Seeing her breasts like that turned it from sensual to sexual and my cock started to swell inside its pouch. At my groin she stopped and slapped my stomach.

"Come, let's paint."

She picked the cloth by the oil and wiped her hands as we walked to the studio. I stood on the stool.

"Wait, I shall study the painting to see how you will stand."

I stood there as she studied the painting. Her profile silhouetted, so that the point of a nipple shaped itself against the gray light of the window.

Finally she looked at me and started to give directions for the pose, verbally adjusting me as near as possible. Then she came over and began micro moving my limbs, first my arms and head, then the torso and finally onto the legs. After an hour or so of painting she called a break, asking if I wanted a coffee.

I followed her into the kitchen sitting at the table while she restocked the percolator with fresh ground coffee.

"Where's the machine you want me to look at?"

"It's my bed actually, it's stopped vibrating."

She led me into the bedroom. The bed was a king size. It looked like a divan but there were no legs. From the dressing table, atop a precarious stack of sketch pads, she picked a booklet up and handed it to me. I sat on the bed and did a quick flip through to the troubleshooting page. It recommended checking the plug, fuse, wire, etc. I checked them out with the multimeter, they were fine, the problem was inside.

I looked at the next stage and it showed the free floating padded board as the access point to the internals. We would have to remove the mattress to get at it. The vibrating mechanism was simplicity itself, an electric motor driving four cams, one at each corner of the bed. I stood and walked to her.

"According to this we'll have to strip the bed, get the mattress off and lift the base board to get into it," showing her the diagrams.

"All this just to check what's wrong?"

"Afraid so. We can stand the mattress against the wall at the bottom if we move those paintings."

She looked at the pair of landscapes on the wall.

"I'll start on the bed; better get those paintings down and safe."

"Oh well." she sighed, and moved to take them down. I turned to the bed and grabbed the pillows. As I picked them up a surprise lay underneath; a pair of dildos. One was a transparent jelly nine inch model, with a circumference of eight inches, the other was much slimmer; a 'rabbit' design that I knew was expensive. If this was what I was competing against then my seven incher was well outclassed. I moved them in between the pillows and put them on the floor. She put the paintings down and turned to see me pulling the fitted sheet down, folding the duvet inside it. As she came to help I clambered over to the other side and we rolled and dropped the bedclothes over the end of the bed.

"Do you really design dildos?" she asked me.

"Yes and no," we moved the mattress as we talked. "I'm in charge of product development and testing. We have designers who put together a concept. It's then evaluated; if it passes then the engineers will make prototypes for testing. That's pretty much done on computers; the prototypes are then tested by volunteers and people we hire as experts."

"Do you get to see them do it?"

"Sometimes, yes; especially with the, if you'll pardon the language, fucking machines. Sometimes there might be a point flagged up in the 'report back' that we need to take up."

"So you get to watch women fucking themselves?"

"Yes, though not very often, we usually have women doing the observation, but they have called me in from time to time." We had the mattress against the wall and I was bending, looking for the release catches for the base board.

"That must be nice for you."

"No it's all very clinical; we wear white coats and safety glasses. I find it a bit embarrassing. We view them through a one way mirror; there are usually two or three female technicians in there with me."

She gave a high tittering laugh, I looked at her, she looked back at me and shrugged her shoulders. I released the last catch and climbed from the bed.

"Right, grab the other side and we'll put this against the mattress." The inside was all dusty with big dust balls clustered around the cooling fan of the motor.

"Have you got a vacuum cleaner? That dust may be the problem."

While I carefully clambered into the innards of the bed, she went and fetched the cleaner. She brought a small hand held and I cleaned it as well as I could. The exhaust blew a lot of the other dust up in the air covering me, Ingvold and the rest of the room with a fine coating. Damp with perspiration and with only the jock strap and loin cloth on, I took on the appearance of a speckled gray ghost.

"How long have you had this?" I asked, referring to the bed.

"Since I moved in five years ago."

"That would account for the dust then."

I got to work examining the motor; it was a brushless ac type. The dust had clogged the rotor and gotten into the bearings. I had lubricants and tools back at my place, I'd have to get those.

"I need to get some oil and things from over in my apartment; I won't be a second."

Returning with my tool kit I found her flicking a dusting cloth clean, putting yet more dust in the air.

"I wouldn't bother just yet, there may be more to come."

She looked at me as she started dusting the cover of one of her files. I gave her a little shrug and a smile and clambered back into the bed. Carefully taking the cover off to reveal the innards. I cleaned the insides out with my tweezers and a hard bristled artists brush. Then, after liberally oiling it, I reassembled it.

"Plug it in, then on its lowest setting, quickly turn it on for only a second." She did, and the motor started and ran.

She did a little jump and clapped her hands, "Thank you, thank you."

I clambered out of the bed on the other side.

"Now let's put it all back together again."

First the base board clipping the catches home; then the mattress, and then the bedding as we gradually remade the bed. The pillows were on her side, she picked them up as I rounded the foot of the bed. I heard the dildos fall to the floor.Qquickly, she surreptitiously tried to stuff them under the pillow again. Casting a frantic glance at me to see if I'd observed her little drama I pretended not to have noticed. As she straightened up she dislodged one of the folders stacked on the bedside table. Glossy 10 x 8's spilled across the floor ploughing through the dust. Naturally I looked. They were photos of girls in body paint; girls in uniform, in football strip, with flowers, as animals, scattered before me. I looked at her in amazement, then bent to retrieve a hand full. In some a look at the genitals showed that they were wearing a bikini bottom, in others they were totally nude.

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