Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys

Island Author's Note: Kudos to jaF0 for putting together the Amorous Goods Anthology Authors' Challenge and doing an admirable job of herding us cats in the AG Forum.

We're looking forward to reading others' versions of Amorous Goods Anthology Authors' Challenge and hope that our own finds a place, perhaps in parallel universe no. 12.

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys

Prologue:

A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to his only remaining relative, a distant niece on a career path of her own as an archivist. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. These are the stories of some of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.

At Amorous Goods

CHAPTER ONE.

Vikki Friday pulled a box off one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves that ran in rows across the basement of the Amorous Goods mansion and carried it over to a large oak work table. She took off the lid and was hit with the comfortably familiar scents of decaying paper and fountain ink one always found in older archives. The long unopened box also had a dusty odour, which was another normal element she'd come to expect when wading into a neglected collection like this. Except, the dusty odour she'd found in the Amorous Goods archive was unlike any she'd ever encountered before. It was spicy or smoky or flowery -- she could never decide, because it always seemed to be shifting. Sometimes she wished she could bottle it as a perfume {Or an aphrodisiac! declared her Inner Voice.}, because it was so heady. Other times she immediately wanted to put the lid back on the box because the scent was more frightening than arousing {Brimstone!}.

Her newest partner in this bizarre venture, Morgana Delacroix, said the odours were a by-product of the spell or curse that lay over so many of the items that Vikki's far-distant and now-deceased uncle, Ludwig Freitag, had collected. Ludwig had assembled an incredible variety of items, ranging from rare manuscripts and Louis XVI furniture to first editions of Playboy magazine and furnishings from Fannie Porter's Texas brothel where Butch Cassidy was a favoured guest. But ancient or modern, classy or trashy, everything was united by a theme of love, romance, or sex. According to Morgana, one of Uncle Ludwig's specialty areas was erotic enchantments, and items imbued with one of these enchantments raised powerfully amorous feelings in the people who used them. Vikki had naturally scoffed at such ideas at first and jokingly called the older woman Morgan le Fay for her witchy beliefs. But ever since the time Vikki had found herself apparently overcome by that musky "amorous" odour and succumbing to its influence, she'd had to temper her usual academic's scepticism.

Vikki felt a warm feeling creep through her as she remembered that episode. She'd been here alone in this very room, like now. She'd opened one of the older specimen cases and found it held a collection of antique dildoes. The scent that had blossomed out when she removed the lid had hit her like walking into an Amsterdam coffee shop. An Amsterdam coffee and florist shop, she amended. {A French whore's bedroom inside an Amsterdam coffee and flower shop!}

By the time the ventilation system had cleared enough of the odour away to allow Vikki to regain her senses, she'd found herself lying on this very table. Her skirt was up around her waist, her panties were hanging from one ankle, and she had two of the antique sex toys inside her, still moving slowly in and out as she came down from the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced just from masturbation.

The ventilation fan in the ceiling kicked in just then, bringing Vikki out of her reverie. {That weak, old ventilation fan? You know it didn't save you from the fumes.} No, each time she'd thought about that episode, she'd become more certain that while the intoxicating odour had made her head swim and made her want to touch the dildoes, {And their touch had led to the rest}, it was only her orgasm itself that had finally broken the spell.

Vikki hadn't told Morgana or her business partner Dylan about the episode with the unusual artefacts. {You mean the magic dildoes?!} She'd simply cleaned them off (after putting on heavy rubber gloves over latex gloves), put them back in their box and moved them to the large walk-in vault that they'd found in the sub-basement. When she'd updated the collection inventory, Dylan had asked how she'd known the pieces were among the special items that required locking away. She'd simply said that the paperwork in the box with the antiques had been clear enough. Morgana had looked at her suspiciously, but thankfully hadn't pressed her on the subject.

Now Vikki literally shook her head and looked into the open box on the table. Just papers here, no ebony or ivory penises to entice an unattached archivist. Pulling on white cotton gloves, she brought out the pages of the first item and spread them across the table. She would appraise the item and enter it into the growing index of Amorous Goods holdings on her laptop. She needed this; a good old-fashioned session of appraising and cataloguing. Something mundane and pedestrian to help her re-center her mind after their most recent artefact recovery mission.

CHAPTER TWO.

Vikki had been sorting through the papers in the box for about half an hour when she heard the door from the upstairs open. That was followed by footsteps coming down the stairs and soon Dylan was standing by her side. "The shop's all locked up for the night, Cousin. Can I interest you in a glass?" He held up a bottle of red wine he'd carried down with him.

The two young people didn't share a bloodline, but family marriage ties had brought them together as kids, when they'd spent several summers together and "cousins" was what the grownups called them. When Vikki had needed someone's help managing the expansive business inheritance left to her out of the blue almost a year ago now, she'd naturally turned to her 'cousin' Dylan.

"Sure," she said, peeling off her cotton gloves. "How was business today?"

Since they could no longer hastily liquidate Amorous Goods or the AG as they'd taken to calling it, they had to keep the business going and this had become their division of labour. Vikki worked as quickly as she could to curate the terribly disorganized collection of items spread across the classic 19^th-century robber-baron mansion, trying to determine what was safe to sell or display and what needed to be moved down here to the basement or locked in the sub-basement. Dylan kept the antique store on the ground floor of the converted mansion, as well as the boutique hotel known as The Amorous Inn on the upper floors, open, bringing in revenue they needed to stay on top of taxes, utilities and the expenses of recovering items they had sold in ignorance early on.

Dylan chuckled as he retrieved a corkscrew and glasses from a small galley installed in a corner of the basement. "Apparently, your Uncle Ludwig wasn't the only old pervert in these parts." He paused as he uncorked the bottle and poured out two generous balloons.

Even after several months, it was still hard for Vikki to reconcile that the young man she'd grown up with as a cousin, wasn't really a blood relative, while some old German 'Casanova-wannabe', as she thought of him, was. Second uncle, thrice-removed or some such nonsense, but Ludwig Freitag had known the link between the Friday and the Freitag branches of the family tree and had left his odd estate to his distant niece Vikki.

Dylan continued his story as he handed Vikki a glass. "We had an entire busload of senior citizens up from the city; I think they actually came from two or three different retirement homes."

Vikki's jaw dropped open as she accepted her wine. "You're kidding, right?"

Dylan lifted his glass up in a silent toast and said, "I kid you not," before taking a long sip. "Blue hair, liver spots, walkers and canes...and before you ask, no, they weren't here by accident. Naughty old Amorous Goods was one of the main stops on their itinerary." He took another sip, trying to wash away the memory of shrivelled old ladies cooing over the life-sized moulds of Famous Cocks in History.

"May we have that sort of energy in 50 years," Vikki said, raising her own glass in toast to libidos that were not willing to go gentle into that good night.

"How about you?" Dylan asked. "Any more possessed lingerie we need to recover before the new owners turn into streetwalkers?"

"No, thank God." She shivered, remembering how close the wives of a nearby town's mayor and sheriff had been to sexually servicing a bunch of guys at a muscle car convention after they'd picked up some risqué outfits that had made their way from the AG to a costume shop in the city.

"But I have come across an inventory sheet that lists and describes some of the pieces we sold to that jewellery liquidator in one of the first lots we sent out the door," Vikki said.

"Okay, I remember that one," replied Dylan. "It was like nine or ten nice antique pieces that didn't scream, 'I came from a whorehouse!' right?" Vikki nodded and Dylan continued. "I thought they were just nice jewellery that Ludwig and his cronies used as normal bribes to get sex from women. Please don't tell me they were cursed too? We got a decent price for those and can't really afford to have to buy them back."

Vikki still had trouble using the word 'cursed', but was also still unable to offer any more rational explanations for things like two town matrons in their forties or fifties offering to let a dozen or more car collectors fuck them in the back seats of each of their cars. {Or a strait-laced archivist giving herself a dildo DP right here on this table.}

CHAPTER THREE.

Vikki took a sip of wine to collect herself and heard the upstairs door opening again. It was Morgana Delacroix. {Speaking of older women who could still rock a Madonna bustier hard enough to get conventioneers to shell out a few hundred dollars for a rumble in the back of their old 55.}

"Perfect timing," Vikki said to their mentor in the arcanum of bewitched erotica as she made her elegant way down the stairs. "I was just telling Dylan about some new information I've come across that I'm having trouble understanding."

Dylan poured out another glass of wine and handed it to Morgana when she reached the table. The enigmatic beauty smiled her thanks and took a sip. Her smile widened. "Dylan, my dear, you've been reading those vintner books I gave you, haven't you? This is delicious."

{He's blushing!} Vikki was going to have to talk to Dylan. Yes, they'd had to quickly take Morgana in as a quasi-partner because of her experience and expertise, but they really still knew very little about her. {Jealous? her pesky voice asked. He's not a blood-cousin after all, and he is pretty studly.} Vikki tamped the voice down.

"So..." the archivist proffered. "I've been looking for information about more of the stuff we sold from the store and the Inn before we knew the...um...risks. Well, today I came across some inventory lists and recognized a couple of pieces of jewellery that Dylan and I sold as part of a larger lot to a liquidator soon after we took over the AG."

A look of concern came into Morgana's face. "Anything dangerous?"

"That's what's got me confused," replied Vikki. She slid one of the sheets she'd been examining over to the edge of the table so the other two could read it. "This is an inventory list of small pieces, like jewellery and some of the curios we've seen on shelves all around the mansion."

"Okay," said Dylan, pointing. "I know these three items are in the store in the Love Potions and Charms display."

"Yes," agreed Vikki. "You see the letter 'S' by each one? That indicates they're in the store. You can also see those three items were apparently all acquired by AG at the same time, some 5 years ago." She pointed to a column of dates.

"And this other date -- that's how old the thing is?" asked Dylan. Vikki nodded. "Damn! Each of those weird little things is more than 125 years old!" Dylan exclaimed. To Morgana he said, "The only reason we didn't try to sell those at the beginning is because they were marked with what seemed like such ridiculously high prices that we didn't know their real value or what we should ask. Now that we know they really are truly antique I begin to understand their price rosa-blanca.ru."

"I suspect," Morgana replied smoothly, "That their cost is about much more than just their age. You see the next column?" She pointed at the paper.

"Yeah," he replied. "What does the letter 'E' mean?"

Fortunately, interpreting someone else's personal shorthand was one of the skills an archivist developed early on in her studies and Vikki answered.

"It appears Ludwig had a system of labelling the, er, status of each item as either Clear, Enchanted, Cursed, or Unknown. You'll notice he used 'K' for Clear, spelling it 'Klar', like in his native German."

Dylan's eyes widened. "All three of those pieces are labelled, Enchanted. Holy shit! You mean they really work? They can really make someone fall in love?"

Morgana answered. "Knowing how precise Ludwig was, I'd say, yes, they all have working love charms on them."

Vikki's eyebrows went up in automatic scepticism. "Love charms?"

Morgana smiled. She knew the younger woman couldn't help herself, but she also knew that Vikki's doubts were being inexorably chipped away by everything she was seeing around her.

"In layman's terms, yes," the occultist said. "Now, how well the charm worked, or for how long, or with what effect could be wildly different. For example, a skilled and subtle practitioner might cause the recipient of a charmed gift to simply be more open to the person who gave them the gift -- opening the door for love you might say. On the other hand, a spell applied too heavily or handled improperly, could turn the object of your affections into an obsessed stalker."

"But since these are marked Enchanted rather than Cursed, they shouldn't be too dangerous, right?" asked Dylan.

"Well, in general, that's right. But as we've discussed, even a seemingly benign enchantment can have unintended consequences."

"The Mayor's wife," said Vikki.

"The Mayor's wife," Morgana repeated in agreement.

In the Big City

CHAPTER FOUR.

The Mayor's wife wanted to give her husband a special reward for winning his latest election. She enlisted the help of her friend, the Sherriff's wife, whose husband had also been re-elected. Because both men had run on law and order platforms and had made much of their success in getting hookers off the streets of their small, family-friendly town, the two town matrons decided it would be funny and fun to give their husbands a bawdy weekend in the big city. They would tell the men to meet them at a swank hotel for a supposedly normal celebration and then surprise them by acting like their own high-price call girls.

The ladies wanted the proper attire, but didn't want to be seen buying it in their own town. So, they went into the city a day early, telling their husbands honestly that they would have one girls' day of shopping before their husbands came for two days of celebrating their re-elections; out of the public eye of the people who'd elected them.

A look through the Yellow Pages led them to an exotic clothing/costume shop near the edge of downtown, where the neighbourhood started becoming more disreputable. As the women perused the racks of leather and lace, they found themselves inexorably drawn toward the higher-priced end of the store. They'd seen camisoles, corsets and bustiers in the earlier sections, but the elevation of quality in material and workmanship at this end was obvious even to their unpractised eyes. It was as if they'd walked from the Walmart Halloween costumes to Madonna's custom stage outfits.

In the end, Mrs. Mayor picked out a crimson corset that gave an hourglass shape to her slightly chubby midriff, but let her big boobs spill over the top deliciously. Mrs. Sheriff was much thinner, with small tits, but her black bustier gave her a breath-taking cleavage, like she'd always envied in Mrs. Mayor. The garments were already partnered with perfectly matched panties, garters, stockings, sheer robes, and for Mrs. Mayor, a bandage strap bra if she didn't want to start with her boobs already hanging out over the top of the corset.

In the end, both women ended up spending far, far more on their costumes than they'd ever imagined. But after handling them and then trying them on in the dressing rooms, there was no way they could deny themselves, or their husbands, the indescribable sensuality of such high-quality lingerie.

As they walked out the door with their shopping bags, the proprietor was congratulating herself on scooping up such wonderful pieces at such bargain prices, and then turning them around with a massive profit. That young couple at Amorous Goods really had had no idea what they were dealing with when they let such special merchandise go at such cheap prices.

When the ladies got back to their hotel, each was eager, almost desperate, to try on her new outfit again. Fortunately, they could see it in each other's eyes, so no fake excuses were needed as they parted ways in the corridor and went to their rooms. Soon the street clothes were off, the whore clothes were on, and two women in their late 40's were touching themselves in front of their mirrored closets.

Then each got the same idea. Her girlfriend hadn't seen her modelling her outfit when they tried them on at the store. It would be good to compare and see if her friend looked as hot as she did.

Mrs. Mayor had quickly discarded the bra when modelling for herself, but thought that for the sake of modesty as she walked down the hall, she should probably put it back on.

Mrs. Sheriff also made a nod to modesty by donning the floor length sheer gown over her bustier, garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

The idea that they were considering outfits from The Rocky Horror Picture Show as modest enough to wear outside their hotel rooms showed just how enchanted their AG outfits really were.

Mrs. Mayor took one last look in the mirror and almost decided to lose the bra again and just let it all hang out. But, in the end, she decided she should wait and take it off for her girlfriend in Mrs. Sheriff's room. Yes, that would give her the whole effect. She grabbed her key card, stepped into the hallway and turned toward her friend's room on the other side of the elevator bank.

Mrs. Sheriff's gown had no fasteners in the front and was cut to hang open just outside her breasts, but as she modelled in front of the mirror, she decided to clutch it closed in her hand for now to cover up her new cleavage. Not that she was embarrassed, hell no. But she pictured knocking on Mrs. Mayor's door and when her friend opened up, Mrs. Sheriff would let her robe fall open and she would see her sexy friend's honest, surprised reaction. Mrs. Sheriff was confident it would be a very pleased reaction.