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Don’t they get it? Not every wand is magic.
He’s clearly no Harry Potter of Pussies.
“I tell you what.” But I willnotlet this woman down.Giving orgasms is my mission in life. Well, that and getting them. “I’ll throw in some free samples of our best lubricant. It really increases the sensitivity.”
I do my best, and I want an Oscar. I lay my lady-ego down for this man because I want to snap at him, “Look! Your dick is not God’s gift to women. No, it’s turning your poor wife’s pussy into sandpaper because you poke your little wood around in it, only rubbing one off for yourself.”
But Mr. Ebenezer Screwless still wavers at my kind offer. He purses his nervous, thin lips, tapping his foot in fancy brown loafers. He’s got money but doesn’t want to spend it on his desperate wife’s pleasure.
What’s that saying? A happy wife equals a happy life.
Yeah, well, in my professional experience, a horny wife equals a happy husband. You’d think men would be willing to go bankrupt in a store like this.
“We also have some free samples of…rings,” I coax, raising his eyebrow. “Rings for men. They really add to your pleasure.”
Of course, if I make it about him, he’s sold.
Delta’s doesn’t give cock rings away for free, but I’m as desperate as this poor woman.
I know the gut wrench of dreaming for something, and it never comes. Part of you feels selfish, like there arerealproblems out there; how dare you feel sad. But the other half of you is slowly dying, watching someone else swim in happiness when you’d give anything for just one drop.
I swear, I’m making this sale tonight, so help me, Glory Hole Gods.
Stacey Evans, the owner of Delta’s, won’t mind if I throw in a cock ring to help this sad wife. Stacey’s my boss, and she built this palace for the pink hole, for womenmainly, and she supports us. She dreams of happy pussies across the land, too.
“Fine,” Mr. Petty Penis huffs, “throw in some freebies, and let’s get out of here.”
He grabs his wife’s hand and leads her out of the showroom with its black walls glowing under warm lighting. Billowing ivory silk curtains puddle on the gleaming wooden floors, and glass shelves brim with high-end sex toys presented over custom ivory display cabinets featuring luxurious lingerie.
If Rodeo Drive were a sex shop, this would be the place.
I follow them with a satisfied smirk, my red heels clicking down the grand staircase.
Delta’s is in a Historic Charleston single house. The coral three-story home has a narrow front with an ivy-laced iron gate to the sidewalk and the cobblestone road outside. You’d never know by the traditional outside that the inside is full of modern kink.
When you enter from the wide side porch — piazzas, as we call them — you overlook a secluded courtyard and step through the black double-wooden doors where a guard stands, welcoming you into an elegant parlor. Stacey kept the illusion of propriety upon first glance, but when you venture upstairs, each opulent room is designed for seduction.
I follow our guests downstairs to the check-out counter in the front parlor. Really, the counter is a stately, antique wooden desk where my sister, Vale, clicks away on her laptop.
My twin glances up at our approach and reads the look I give her.
“Make this quick. This man is a Dead Stick, and thissweet woman needs these toys to put some life back in her Lady Jane.”
Vale quickly checks them out, smiling as she hands them a full, black, glossy bag with our signature gold ribbon and the letterDembossed in script.
“Thank you so much, Blair,” the wife says, offering me a tender handshake.
Her palm is warm, and I smile because she’s getting hot with anticipation, and I’m sure at least that vibrator will satisfy her tonight.
“Of course. You’re so welcome,” I coo, sneaking a wink at her. “Have a Happy Valentine’s.”
But silently, my eyes tell her,“Girl, come back anytime. I got your cunt covered.”
Once they leave and Jace, our guard, closes the doors behind them, Vale rumbles, “Who’s more pathetic? Me, doing our accounting on Valentine’s Day, or you, who doesn’t have a date tonight?”
“Fuck you, Stinky Pinky.” I laugh at my twin. We have the same raven hair and gray eyes. We’re identical and nothing alike. Vale looks like a XXX-rated Wednesday Adams, while I prefer the classic sex kitten look, all curves and no shame. “The night’s still young. It’s only six o’clock, and I’ve got like thirty-four likes I can answer tonight.”
“Bitch, please. You’re not going on Tinder.” Vale doesn’t even look up from her screen. “We all know you’re going home to write more orc porn.”
