The Red Collection Read Online Free PDF Page B

again, for effect. ‘But sometimes, of course, an armchair will do just as well.’
    ‘Do you often use it in an armchair?’ Sir enquires.
    ‘Um … yes. Sometimes.’
    ‘And what about bed? Do you sometimes use it there too?’
    ‘Er … yes, that too.’
    ‘Which is best?’
    ‘I don’t have a preference.’
    ‘Well then …’ He gives me an encouraging nod, then snags his full red lower lip with his snowy white teeth again. He’s sitting very still, but somehow he seems as full of dynamic energy as a tensioned spring at the same time.
    Setting the Spinetingler down on the chair arm, I take a seat. This is very embarrassing, but – showing immense presence of mind for me – I manage to get a grip on myself. Reaching beneath my neat grey shop-girl’s skirt, I fish around and find the elastic of my panties.
    Sir’s dark eyebrows lift.
    I tug at my pants and slide them down my thighs, over my knees and off.
    Sir blinks, his rather beautiful eyes widening
    I wriggle in my chair to get comfy, just as Sir has, and he nods pointedly at my skirt, which is still covering the aforementioned groinal area.
    ‘Of course, I’m sorry,’ I apologise, then hitch up my skirt so he can see my demonstration.
    ‘No problem,’ he murmurs, sitting up in his chair all of a sudden, and leaning forwards.
    I pick up the Spinetingler from the chair arm. ‘Well, some young ladies rather like to … er … insert the Spinetingler , but others prefer to use it externally.’
    I suppose I’m stalling for time here, but this
is
rather a personal matter, and it’s the first time I’ve ever had to demonstrate an item for a customer in this way. Furthermore, it doesn’t help that I keep getting the distinct feeling that Sir actually
does
know everything there is to know about the use of Spinetinglers and other similar devices, and is actually just sitting there, large as life, and silently laughing his head off as he dares me to make an exhibition of myself.
    ‘Which would you recommend?’ he asks, grinning.
    ‘I … I usually start off using it externally.’
    ‘Perhaps you could you show me that then?’ he suggests.
    I twist the bezel and the Spinetingler buzzes loudly. Too loudly, in fact, so I back it down a notch.
    ‘Sometimes it’s best to start off gently and build up.’
    ‘That seems sensible enough. Please continue.’
    I close my eyes, and guide the pink silicon tip of the device to the target zone.
    When it touches me I can’t help but let out a gasp.
    The Spinetingler really is an excellent product, and its vibrations are right on my frequency. The buzzing and thrumming makes me pant for breath and compels me to wriggle, but I try to stay as still as I can so that Sir can see exactly where the stimulation should be applied.
    ‘And how does that feel?’ he asks, his voice suddenly low and silky.
    ‘Um … v-very nice,’ I stammer, aware that I’m not really going to be much good as a demonstrator. I tend to get pretty inarticulate pretty soon in situations like these.
    ‘You know, I can’t really see all that well,’ he complains suddenly, although it’s not so much a complaint as an observation that comes out in the form of a stifled laugh. ‘Perhaps you could open your legs a bit wider? Put your thighs over the arms of the chair, maybe? I’m sure that will provide a much better view.’
    I’m sure it will, you wicked old pervert, I want to say to him, but he is the customer, after all, and I’m here to serve. So, trying not to lose my place, I hitch and hutch my bottom around in the chair, and tilt my pelvis so I can drape my thighs across the arms.
    The resulting position is not unlike being on a gynaecologist’s couch with all my bits on display for Sir’s perusal.
    ‘That’s so much better. Please proceed,’ he remarks cheerfully.
    I apply the Spinetingler to my sex again, keeping my eyes closed so I can’t see Sir’s avid face. With the vibrations on low I play the naughty silicone widget