Amorous Goods: Seen in Sepia

For the first time Dylan's composure slipped, "four hundred quid? Four fucking hundred? Lottie, you're a thieving bitch!"

Charlie's eyes were wild, like a trapped animal, but when she looked around it was for an exit.

"Four hundred," said Dylan, almost to himself as he shook his head, and then he turned to Vikki, "there are people who would pay half-a-million for this, minimum. It wasn't on your uncle's ledger?"

Vikki shook her head.

"Well, I think we've found her angle."

"What is it?" said Vikki, lost.

"Only the sodding Grail! It's not the powder, though there are a couple of people who mistakenly maintain that it is. No, it's the tin. If you put a powder in it, then apply it to your face, well, have you seen Spinal Tap?"

"What?"

"It's a joke rock documentary. Anyway, there's a rock musician in it who had speakers made that go up to eleven instead of ten. Any make-up you put in that tin will do the same for your looks. I reckon if you auction this between the right buyers the sky's the limit."

"I almost threw it away," said Vikki quietly, "but I thought the tin might fetch something at a car boot sale. But who'd pay so much for it?"

"Anyone whose face is their pay cheque," said Dylan, and he put the tin softly in Vikki's open palm, closing her fingers around it, "fading actresses, paranoid singers, models who want another few years on the catwalk. Keep it safe. This is your uncle's real legacy."

"I think you'd better leave now," said Vikki, speaking directly to Charlie for the first time since the drama had begun, and stung by defeat Charlie did just that, slipping silently away.

"Can you really get me a buyer for this?" Vikki said to Dylan, holding up the tin.

"Easier than falling off a log," smiled Dylan, "faster, too."

"Then we'll go fifty-fifty."

It hadn't escaped her notice that while Charlie had tried to snatch the tin, Dylan had placed it, worth half-a-million pounds, no less, directly into her hand without a second's hesitation. The room had noticed too, not that Vikki or Dylan realised, and a calm descended with a hint of purring beyond human hearing.

***

Vikki slipped out of bed and stood for a moment, smiling down at Dylan as he turned and settled himself in his sleep. He wouldn't be up until about ten, but that was ok, Vikki liked having the house to herself for a couple of hours in the morning. For fun she slid around and beneath the summer sun beams that poked through the gaps in the curtains and then she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Having her own house was still a novelty, and she grinned as she gazed out of her kitchen window as her coffee percolated. The view had done the heavy lifting for the estate agent, Vikki captivated by the broad sweep over the valley and up to the Peaks as Dylan looked on indulgently, knowing at that moment that she'd found their home.

The sound of her phone drew her away from the greenery and the scampering rabbits in the distance. It was an unknown number, but these days that usually meant another customer.

"Hello?" came the voice as Vikki picked up the call, and the voice sounded like an older woman, perhaps one closer to retirement.

"Hello," said Vikki, "can I help you with something?"

"Erm, err," said the woman, and yes, it was business, because 'erm, err' was a standard opening that Vikki often heard. The woman found the words to go on, "I heard from a friend that you might have something that would help me."

"I can try. What item did your friend mention?"

"A sewing machine..."

"Ah yes, Halliburton and Dawes, made in Gosforth in 1878. Can I ask, is your daughter getting married by any chance?"

"My son," said the woman, relief in her voice once she realised Vikki knew exactly what was wanted without her having to spell it out. Uncle Lewis hadn't been very clear in his notes about the sewing machine but Dylan had been able to fill in the gaps. Simply put, if the bride wore an item of underwear made on the machine, nine months later the woman would be a grandmother, though Vikki wasn't sure what would happen if her son wore a condom -- presumably it would break or something. Maybe they'd get carried away and forget. Whatever, it wasn't her problem.

"Congratulations," said Vikki, "are you looking to rent or buy?"

"Rent," said the woman diffidently, "my friend told me the cost is two thousand, is that right?"

"Your friend is spot on. When can we expect to see you?"

"I was hoping on Saturday."

"I'll send you our address," said Vikki.

She busied herself with her coffee after the woman rang off, listening to the bird song in the garden and trying to identify each species. It was the third rental they'd had in a year, and whilst six thousand pounds hardly paid for Caribbean holidays it was nice as a passive income, and it confirmed what she'd learnt since Dylan had made the big sale. He had found a buyer for the Aphrodite powder who was willing to part with nearly £1.5 million, and with that she had come to understand that the big thing that money bought wasn't cars or houses or holidays; what it bought was time.

They had time to find amorous items, Vikki doing the research and tracking down potential sellers and Dylan doing his salesman thing. They'd made nearly one hundred grand in the last year, which was comfortable without being amazing. But for Vikki, being comfortable with Dylan was more than she could have hoped for in the bad old days before he'd come along.

Once she had cream and sugar to her satisfaction, she took her coffee through to the small garage. They kept their cars in the large garage at the front, but the small garage at the rear, which presumably had once been home to a bit of farm equipment, now housed Amorous Goods. She opened the connecting door and stepped inside, the chime from the bell they'd brought from the shop and fixed over the door a familiar reminder of their good fortune. She immediately felt a welcome, a sense that the collection was embracing her. It was stupid, of course; they were just things, but they did seem to have personality.

She put her coffee down on the workbench and walked over to the Mutoscope, caressing it with her fingertips and feeling a familiar desire to escape into its virtual reality. She rationed herself, very aware that she risked becoming like her uncle if she indulged too much. But he had been a shadow, a voyeur who was hidden from the world behind shades of blue, whilst here she was the star of the show. She had wondered whether she could translate her exhibitionism into the real world but she had dismissed that thought almost immediately -- she had body issues, and she was still essentially shy. And how would Dylan react? He was indulgent, but perhaps not that indulgent. Maybe one day.

But it had been more than a week, and despite (or maybe because of) the fact she was still humming from the beautiful sex she'd had with Dylan last night, she began to undress. Dylan had mentioned he could find a buyer more than once but she'd turned him down, lying that the Mutoscope was something she wanted to keep as a memento, as the thing that linked her to her past. In truth it was her guilty secret.

The only other item that wasn't for sale was the sunglasses, but for a different reason. She'd quickly realised just what Uncle Lewis had been up to when he'd had his heart attack: the poor jogger who'd found him had been the object of his voyeuristic lust, and for Vikki that was too close to a violation. She sent the woman a bouquet, ostensibly as a thank you for caring enough about a lone old man to check on him, but actually as a little compensation for being his dying wank fantasy. Vikki shuddered as she imagined what Uncle Lewis might have done on that summer morning on the heath if the heart attack hadn't taken him first, and she had locked the drawer in which the sunglasses were kept, and put the key safely away.

Her fingers trembled a little as she took the Edward VII penny from the tin and slipped it into the coin slot in the Mutoscope. Before she began she breathed deeply, slowly, and she let her fingertips slide over her skin, a featherlight touch that excited her and drew her into her fantasy. She leant forward and looked through the viewer, then reached for the handle and began to turn.

She was in sepia again, and now it felt like returning. The experience always varied with her mood, each journey unique, and that day it seemed her mood was more wanton. She was clad, as ever, in her flapper head band and 1920s shoes and her stockings, and was otherwise naked, and she had her feather fans, but in front of her, erect on the floor, stood a glass dildo. The lights reflected through it, a discord of prisms, mesmerising her and drawing her in, and she swayed and showed the unseen men, somewhere in time and place, the vision of a lifetime.

She had never done something so explicit but it seemed so natural to kneel down, her legs wide and her feathers discarded, the glass dildo standing proud between her thighs. It was nine inches, ten perhaps, its girth such that she could only just wrap her fingers around it, but this was the fantasy place, and she could take just as much of it as she desired. She positioned herself, her knees either side of the dildo, and the incessant background clacking, the sound of handles turning outside the drum in which she danced, grew in intensity as the men gulped and grasped their cocks, not daring to hope that they were really about to see...

She lowered herself, the tip of the toy easing into her, and she gasped softly at that initial penetration, excitement playing over her skin. Slowly at first, she eased down the shaft, letting it fill her, stretch her, touch her everywhere that mattered. And then she lifted herself, slowly again, teasing the men who watched, let them make her their goddess, her every move their worship. She leant back a little and sank down again, moaning aloud as it really hit the spot this time, and she fucked it, fucked herself, riding that toy faster and faster, using her fingers to caress her skin, running them up her stomach to her breasts and squeezing her nipples, then down between her legs, spreading her lips apart and, moist on her clit, sending herself skywards.

Giddy, she was going to come, but first they must make their offerings. She felt them, felt her power over them, and they groaned and grunted, wherever they were, and shot ropes of hot, sticky cum from their purple cocks, such an aphrodisiac. She plunged down faster on the toy and now she was glass herself, ready to stiffen and splinter and melt and ooze and reform, gasping and sweat flying and shuddering joy as she gripped that toy and fell forward, holding on to the Mutoscope to stop herself falling as the vision went black. Her fingers were sticky where she had ridden them relentlessly, her skin flushed and her hair wild and her knees hollow as she slipped back and rested herself against the tabletop, the black spots fading but her grin widening. She had never pushed the boundaries so hard, but it wouldn't be the last time.

Her phone began to ring, vibrating across the table, and she caught her breath, composing herself as she hurriedly groped, still nude, and swept it up, hoping the noise hadn't woken Dylan. It was Margot, back to her rhythm of regular calls, though whilst the enhanced sex life Bastet had bestowed on her had seemed to have calmed enough to allow her to contact her friends again, it had certainly never gone away. Vikki had pondered telling Margot the secret of her wild, rampant, and above all regular, bedroom gymnastics with Peter, but ultimately, she thought it irrelevant: let her fuck with abandon and without cause.

"I've got news!" Margot gleefully giggled.

"You're pregnant," said Vikki, revelling in being the sage.

"How did you know?" Margot gasped, truly taken aback and beautifully, innocently unaware of what every last person in her circle had seen for nearly a year now.

"Magic," said Vikki, "just ordinary magic."

And she smiled, satisfied: They would all live interestingly ever after.