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Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys Part 1

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Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys � Part 1
If nothing is evil,
then it's All Good at Amorous Goods

Based

on a post by ShowTime8.
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Novels.




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 the only remaining
relative, a niece on a career path of her own. 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. This 18 part series
is devoted to many of the stories 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 odor, which was another normal element
she'd come to expect when wading into a neglected collection like this. Except,
the dusty odor 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 odors 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 the sixteenth furniture to first editions of
Playboy magazine and furnishings from Fannie Porter's Texas brothel where Butch
Cassidy was a favored 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" odor and succumbing to its influence, she'd had to temper
her usual academic's skepticism.

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 odor 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 odor 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 cockes 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 labor. Vikki worked as quickly as she could to curate the terribly
disorganized collection of items spread across the classic 19th-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 shriveled old ladies cooing over the life-sized
molds 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 risqu� 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 jewelry 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 jewelry
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 jewelry 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 jewelry 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 tags."

"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 skepticism. "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 neighborhood 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 unpracticed 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 tits, 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.

Morgana

Delacroix would have said the two sexy outfits were drawn to each other and
thus mystically synchronizing the two women's movements, but to Mrs. Sheriff it
was just a pleasant surprise when she stepped out of her room and saw Mrs.
Mayor in the same position some yards down the hall.

The

two women walked toward each other; slowly, sensually, letting the other take
her in step by step. Each immediately recognized that her friend was also
wearing her new outfit and registered all the sexy details as she came closer.
There were two elevators side-by-side in the middle of the hallway and the
women stopped just

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