[rsghbb]

We were in our late twenties, still close from university: the four of us girls and Miguel, the only boy in the group and unfairly handsome. It was the bride-to-be’s bachelorette party, so we rented a house on the outskirts of a city near mine. I’m Spanish, and we’d all grown up in the same area.

That afternoon we had a tuppersex party at the house. We bought four cheap vibrating eggs during the demonstration, and I quickly noticed they all ran on the exact same frequency. Any remote would set them all off at once. The others were drunk enough to try it.

I went first. The second I came out of the bathroom they hit every remote and held them down. The vibration was relentless. I came in seconds, right there in front of everyone. Shame hit me hard, but it faded fast when the next girl stepped out and they did the same to her — and my own egg started buzzing again. Within half an hour all four of us had one inside, and none of us took them out for the rest of the weekend.
We kept begging each other to stop pressing the buttons, but it was useless. Every time someone gave in, all four eggs came alive together. We spent the evening laughing, screaming and coming in front of each other while Miguel sat there stunned. The constant vibrations made it impossible to stay in control.

In the taxi to the disco we were already a mess. Every few minutes one of us would accidentally trigger them all again and we’d collapse into helpless moans and laughter. The driver kept glancing in the mirror, clearly baffled, but didn’t say a word.

At the club the remotes hung round our necks like jewellery. We were so worked up from the eggs that we started flirting hard with another stag group. It didn’t take long for the boys to notice what happened every time one of us pressed a remote. The bride-to-be disappeared into the toilets with one of them quite early.
Back at the house that night the eggs were still inside us and still going off at random. The four guys from the disco came back with us. What began as heavy flirting quickly turned into something else. The constant, unpredictable vibrations had left us all so turned on that the lines blurred completely. Miguel, who had never touched any of us before, ended up in the middle of it too. By morning everyone had been with everyone.

We left the eggs in the whole weekend. They kept catching us off guard — in the pool, on the sofa, in the middle of the night — and every time they did, someone would pull someone else into a bedroom or a dark corner. The eggs didn’t just make us horny; they made it impossible to behave.

Two weeks later, at the wedding, the three of us who weren’t the bride wore them again. My husband had one remote, another boyfriend had the second, and Miguel had the third. The fourth sat on a table with a note that read: “Press for happiness and joy.”

We were good girls that day.

Mostly.

Since that weekend I’ve become a real fan of this kind of toy. My partners and I still use them regularly, especially in public. I’ve never found anything that gets me as worked up as knowing a remote could go off at any moment.