Our college life can be described as four years that passed in the blink of an eye. We kept wondering when it was going to get hard, because for us it never did. And, except for those few hiccups our freshman year, it was smooth sailing with the sorority.
This spring, we said good-bye to Tracy Simson, our house mother. She asked to transfer to the Delta Alpha Bravo fraternity, after their mother quit. The rumor mill ran rife about her motivation, but Liz and I kept mum. We still see her occasionally, and she looks happy. And she smiles a lot more now.
Liz and I planned to attend a job fair for graduating seniors the school hosted. There were several Fortune companies recruiting, and we thought we were competitive. Then Morgan Whitmore, one of the guidance counselors, told us to be wary of their proffers. She said previous women engineer graduates were offered what appeared to be lucrative employment contracts, but after they signed, the companies paraded them around to their boards and shareholders as examples of their commitment to DEI. She gave us explicit questions to ask the recruiters, and said to carefully listen to their responses. She said if we signed with them, likely the best we could hope for was that in five years, we might be allowed to collaborate on the design of the thread pattern for a screw in the data plate of a toaster.
Sure enough, the answers we got to her questions were noncommittal and evasive. I even saw one woman recruiter standing in the background of one company’s kiosk grimace and turn away.
Well, fuck. That was a bust. Bloodied but unbowed, we retreated to Starbucks to caffeinate our woes and plan our new employment strategy. We had barely sat down when a woman wearing a suit shouting POWER and STYLE walked through the door. She scanned the room, spied Liz and me, and came to our table.
“I hope you two are Laura and Liz,” she began.
“And, who exactly are you?” Liz countered.
“Bailey O’Reilly. I’ve been looking all over campus for you. You haven’t signed with anyone yet, have you?”
“Not likely,” Liz responded. “It looks like these assholes are looking for Barbies, not engineers.”
“Praise Jesus!” Bailey blurted. “May I sit?”
Liz indicated a chair. “And, now that you’re here…?” said Liz.
“I represent a company that seeks to employ you. We have contacts in Student Admin who notify us when they see graduates with your particular attributes. My employers wish to make the offer to you themselves. I am authorized to guarantee each of you $1,000.00 if you just listen to their proposal.”
“So,” I said, “to be clear, they will pay each of us $1,000.00 to listen to a job offer? What if afterwards, we say, no sale?”
“Then, each of you will walk out of that room with an envelope containing $1,000.00.”
I looked at Liz. “It sure beats any other offer we’ve had today.”
She agreed. “Why not? Okay, Bailey, lead on.”
We walked outside to a waiting black limousine. Liz and I exchanged an astonished look as a liveried chauffeur opened the door for us. Bailey ushered us in, indicating we sit at the back. She took a jump seat facing us, the chauffeur closed the door, and we were off.
“What industry is your employer in?” Liz asked.
“They wish to cover the details of your employment themselves. I was only tasked with bringing you to them,” Bailey answered.
We headed into the city. We pulled up to the front of The Ritz, where a doorman opened our door. Bailey exited first and motioned us to follow. She led us through an elegant foyer to a bank of elevators. We entered a small elevator where Bailey used a key card to select a floor, and the doors closed.
Liz and I exchanged another look. Whoever these people were, they weren’t afraid to spend money.
The elevator arrived, the doors opened, and we stepped out into a penthouse. A man and a woman were standing by the windows. The man was about 50, bald in top, wearing a cardigan over a flannel shirt, lightweight pants, and loafers. The woman was taller, full figured, wearing a print dress. Her hair was carefully styled, her makeup minimal. But you could tell, she was the boss.
“I found them,” Bailey said. “They haven’t signed with anyone yet, and agreed to hear your proposal.”
“Thank you, Bailey,” the woman answered. “You may give them the envelopes, and then please leave us.”
Bailey took two envelopes from her valise, handed one to each of us, reentered the elevator, and departed.
Striding across the room, the woman offered her hand and said, “I’m Margaret McMillan. This is my husband, Henry. We wish to offer you employment with our company.”
“And, what does your company do?” Liz asked.
“We make novelty items. And, before you dismiss us, take a moment to think. Look at how you were brought here, what you have seen since your arrival. Does any of this suggest we lack financial resources? A liveried limousine, this penthouse? That money, just to hear our proposal?
“We operate in a niche market, and, I will not lie, you probably will work for us for only a few years. But you will be compensated well beyond anything you would have earned elsewhere, because we take care of our employees.”
“What novelty items?” I asked.
“Marital aids. What you see in those stores at the off-ramps on the Interstate highways. Our difference is we have our own distribution system. We undercut our competition because we sell direct while their products have wholesaler markups. And our product quality is second to none.”
“You want us to design fake cocks and pussies?” Liz blurted.
“Oh, no. We already have all those designs we need. What we want from you is something new, a product that no one has ever seen before.”
“And what if we can’t come up with that?” I asked.
“We’re betting you will. We’re willing to invest three years to see if we’re right. And, after three years, we’ll renegotiate your compensation. If we can’t agree, you walk. What do you say?”
Again, we looked at each other. Three years? It was better than any other offer we had had that day.
“Okay,” Liz said. “Where do we sign?”
And that’s how Liz and I came to work for The M&V Enterprises. M for Mars, V for Venus; they made things for men and women.
The company was located in a single, very large building on the other side of town. It housed their R&D, manufacturing, shipping, receiving, and warehouse.
On the first day, Margaret gave us a tour. “Our product lines are small compared to our competition, but we stand out with our innovation and manufacturing quality. We also stand 100% behind our products. If they fail to function for any reason, we replace them at our expense. It has happened, but so rarely as to be never. The trade-off is, our products are expensive. But, there are more people than you would imagine who will pay for high-quality items in this market, and word-of-mouth advertising keeps our products moving off shelves while others don’t.”
After lunch, Margaret turned us loose to wander the manufacturing floor, to get acquainted with the people and their products. Evidently, the employees had been told to expect us, because several paused their work to explain the intricacies of their particular product. It was fascinating. I had never thought the design of this type of item could be so involved.
We went to the Quality Control section to see different items in action. No, not on someone! Precise measurements were taken to ensure tolerances were met. Electronic items were powered up to check functionality. I was constantly amazed.
It was there that Liz, watching an anatomically correct female pelvis and male penis, got that “A-HA!” look, and she said, “Well, shit, yes!” I quizzically looked at her, and she said, “Let’s go.”
The building has a mezzanine with six large rooms, called “incubators.” They’re rooms where designers (us) could work in private on prototype designs. Each had machines and tools, but we could take a design to the floor if it was beyond the room’s capability. There was a rule: Once the red light over the door was on, there was no admittance without approval of the incumbents. And it was locked at night.
After we locked ourselves in I-3 (I for Incubator), Liz drew up her idea and pitched it to me. I can’t show you her drawing, but let me describe it. Ball one hand into a fist, thumb tucked across knuckles. Extend your index finger and rotate your wrist until the finger is vertical. Bend the finger at the first knuckle, so the tip points 90 degrees. You now have what we called a “feather.”
The feather itself isn’t so revolutionary, but how we employed it is. Liz’s idea was to take a standard male device and modify it with feathers and a lubricating network to stimulate the female vagina and anus during intercourse. Five feathers on the top, five on the bottom, each designed to stimulate the clitoris and anus during insertion. The lubrication system would ensure that the female wouldn’t experience discomfort before her natural lubrication had sufficiently begun.
In short, it was going to be a dildo that rubs the clit and asshole, and keeps things wet until the woman creams.
This was the challenge we had been looking for! Redesign the phallus to incorporate a G-spot stimulator and accommodate the internal reservoir, pump, and batteries. Design the feather sleeve and integrate it with the reservoir, and mount it onto the phallus. Then test it until we were satisfied with its operation.
We got to work. We got several female pelvis samples and male cocks, of various sizes, and tried them in different configurations. We finally came up with a measurement for the feather that we thought would work for almost everyone. That turned out to be the easy part.
We redesigned the dildo to flatten the tip and add an upward curve to massage the G-spot. It had to be hollow to house the reservoir for the lubrication system and batteries for its pump. And the feathers had to be sturdy enough to withstand the hundreds of thousands of insertion cycles without being damaged, while being flexible so as not to injure delicate lady bits.
It was impossible to keep the whole company from knowing we were up to something. We would work for hours on end, then come down to the break room for a breather. Almost everyone we saw asked how it was going, trying to get something out of us. They got a wink and a smile, and we were back at it. Sometimes we needed outside help for something. We only exposed the minimum necessary to get the assistance we needed, so no one could get an idea of what our product was.
Things got tense between us. There was no external pressure, not from Margaret, Henry, or anyone else. But we felt it, anyway. We thought we should have finished long ago. But little things kept popping up that were difficult to overcome, and the frustration kept mounting.
It all came to a head one day, just not in the way you would expect. We had an engineering model finished, and Liz was testing its feathers against different female pelvises. She had a pelvis on the table and was bent over, slowly inserting and removing the device, making sure the feather tips massaged the clit and anus. Totally focused. I was standing watching her when suddenly, the absurdity of what she was doing hit me. She was slowly fucking a fake female pelvis with a fake cock. And completely focused on doing it.
I clasped my hands over my mouth, trying to stifle the laughter, failing totally. Liz angrily looked up. I made the standard hand gesture for intercourse, thumb and fore-finger in a circle on one hand, the index finger on the other hand moving in and out, then pointing at what she was doing. She looked at the pelvis, then her hand, then me. Then she got it and started laughing, too. Our hysteria fed each other, and we both literally rolled on the floor, laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe.
They must have heard us downstairs, because soon there was a knock at the door. I opened it and there were Margaret and Henry.
“Are you two alright?” Margaret queried.
Liz waved them in and demonstrated what had set us off. Margaret turned away, smiling. Henry just looked on. Liz assured them we were very close to solving the remaining engineering issues and ready for alpha testing.
That testing would be a problem. We couldn’t use it on ourselves, because it wouldn’t be an objective evaluation. So we made a second device and designed a testing protocol. We agreed to put aside our personal exclusivity one time for the sake of the project.
At the end of every month, the company had what they called a decomp. Not like CSI decomposition, rotting bodies and that. It stood for Decompression, a chance for everyone to get together with heavy hors d’oeuvres and an open bar. It was Margaret and Henry’s way of showing their appreciation for the hard work everyone did. That’s where we were going to get two of our coworkers to “volunteer.”
I chose Suzi O’Malley, a cute, buxom redhead who worked in finance. She was friendly with everyone, and maybe, with a few drinks in her, she could be convinced to “take one for the company.” Liz targeted Nora Torgersen, a big Norwegian who worked in Shipping and Receiving.
The party had been going for about an hour before I had a chance at Suzi. She was popular with the guys, who hung around her like flies around honey. I got next to her, put my arm around her shoulders, and asked her if I could talk to her privately. She knew who I was, and that what I was working on was a secret, and she agreed. I got her a fresh drink and led her off, to the catcalls of disappointed guys.
I explained the circumstances to her. That I had a new product that needed testing, that it was a sexual item, and it involved intimate contact. It would not hurt her; in fact, if it worked as intended, she would likely have a unique sexual experience. She could call it off at any time, safe word STOP. She had these big green eyes, staring at me all the time while I talked, guzzling whatever the bartender had given her. At the end, she said, “Let’s do it.”
I took her to the reception area outside Margaret’s office. There was a couch that folded down, like a futon. I asked her to take her dress off, but she also took off her bra and panties. Wow, no wonder the men were after her. This was going to be fun for me too.
I had her lie on the couch. The device and its harness were underneath, out of her sight. I removed my shirt, pants, and bra. I told her that I had to get her natural lubrication started, and if she were uncomfortable, let me know.
Then, I leaned over and kissed her. Softly at first, then more enthusiastically. My tongue licked her lips. She got the idea and responded with hers. Her arm was around my neck, her tongue working on mine. My hand went to her vagina, thumb massaging her clit, fingers moving inside, looking for her magic spot.
“You’re a good kisser,” she whispered, her pelvis undulating against my palm. “Maybe I should try girls.”
I reached under the couch and got the harness, and managed to put it on while keeping her otherwise occupied. I didn’t want her to see the device, because its look might scare her. So I took the device, attached it to the harness, moved over her and prepared to insert it.
That’s when I noticed I had put it upside down. The bend at the tip was designed to stimulate the G-spot. In the missionary position, it should be up. Hands and knees, down. I had attached it in the down position.
I didn’t think I had time to change it around, so I did the next best thing. Lifting her hip, I rolled her onto her stomach. Then, lifting her to her knees, I began the insertion.
It started slowly. She felt the feathers and noticed the difference right away. “What’s that thing?” she asked.
“Shh. Just wait,” I whispered.
Slowly withdraw. Then slowly enter again. Now speed it up a little.
“Oh. What’s that doing? It tickles. Mmm. That’s good. I like it. Are you playing with my asshole?”
Pick up the pace.
“Oh, yeah. Oh, hell yeah! Are you using a tickler? Is that your finger in my butt?”
She’s ready. Pedal to the metal.
“Oh, my God! I’ve never had it like this before! I’m going to cum, you’re going to make me cum.”
Overdrive.
“FUCK ME! GODDAMN YOU, FUCK ME! OH, HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, I’M CUMMING! SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, I’M CUMMING!”
So, it worked in the doggie position. What about missionary?
I stopped, let her down onto her stomach, and pulled it out. I rolled her over. Her face had that fresh-fucked look. We weren’t done, though. I lifted her legs over my thighs, turned the device to the missionary position, reinserted it into her, and started off hard and fast.
She popped right away, as loud as before. “FUCK ME! FUCK ME! HARDER! HARDER! DON’T STOP, KEEP GOING, KEEP GOING! OH, MY GOD, I’M CUMMING AGAIN! OH, FUCK! OH, FUCK”
And then, she passed out. I stopped and pulled out. It took her a few minutes to recover. When she did, she smiled at me and said, “I may never fuck a man again.”
I put the device and harness back under the couch, we got dressed and went back to the party. Apparently, the acoustics were pretty good in the building because, as we reentered, the crowd broke out in applause, cheering and whistling. Suzi blushed redder than her hair and went back to her coworkers. I went to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. When I tried to tip the bartender, he waved it off. “I should be tipping you,” he smiled. “That must have been some performance.”
About ten minutes later, Liz returned, Nora just behind her. Liz looked awful. Her hair was messed, her shirt was cross-buttoned, shirttails out, and her pants weren’t zipped. She ordered a double bourbon, shot it down, and ordered another. She said she had hardly begun the missionary protocol when Nora grunted and rolled them over, putting Liz on the bottom. She put a hand on Liz’s chest and began to ride her, hard. After several minutes, she would pause for a few seconds and grunt, probably for her orgasm, then continue. Liz said the only reason Nora stopped was because she had fucked herself dry; the reservoir on the device had run out or the battery had died, and it was too painful for her to continue.
We decided the test was successful and submitted our data, recommending beta testing. It was approved, and Liz and I supervised the production of ten more devices.
Normally beta testing takes several weeks or months, but after only ten days, the feedback was that the device was going to be a tremendous success. The next day, we saw two product lines reconfigured, as well as four new lines added, all dedicated to making our device. It would be called Cock-A-Diddle-You. We received a very nice bonus for our efforts.
Suzi still messages me. She keeps asking if we have a new product design that needs testing.
Liz will not go near Shipping and Receiving.
