Under Cupid's Contract: Quarantined with My Boss on Valentine's Day

by Jamie Knight

  “Let me know if it hurts.”

  “O-o-okay, d-don’t stop! Fuck yes!”

  The sound was soft. The distinctive noise of a butt plug getting firmly into position. Nestled between her perfect cheeks.

  Reaching around her hip, I lightly coaxed her pussy for extra stimulation as the plug did its work. Much to Vega’s delight.

  Her pussy made way, allowing two fingers in, as I took the flared base of the plug between my fingers. Stroking her clit with a gentle ‘come here’ motion, I eased the plug out an inch or two before slowly sliding it back in, carefully building up a motion that was very close to thrusting. Giving her a taster of what anal sex with a cock felt like.

  She went mad. Bucking and moaning, howling in pure pleasure. The shaking began, the rest of her going still as she shook from within, like she had a rickety rail bridge running through her. It all culminated in a final, banshee wail as she was hit with the combined force of a g-spot orgasm and the added sensations of the plug in her ass.

  The old box spring objected to the extra weight, groaning its protest as I made my way to her. Vega wrapped herself around me, panting and trembling.

  The moment held. Time seemed to stop around us. She had done it, and I was so proud of her.

  It was a light touch. Just a nudge really, on the edge of the base. Vega moaned deep. The effects of the simple act seeming to run all through her.

  “Would you like me to take it out?”

  “Gently,” she specified.

  I couldn’t quite see. But I knew it must have been a sight. Almost like a magic trick, the full bore of the plug appearing from her ass. Nothing but the softest sound of pleasure coming from Vega.

  Brief but sweet, the kiss surprised her as much as me, though she was happy to reciprocate.

  “I love you,” she whispered into my chest, as the plug came free.

  And with those three little words, it was like everything came crashing down around me.

  Chapter Eleven - Vega

  Things had turned, the very air taking on a new aspect. We would get up, eat, work, read for a while and go back to bed. Hugo staying well on his side.

  He wasn’t cold to me, just sort of… aloof. If I tried to cuddle him in the night he never pushed me away. When I kissed him he would smile. I did it more often. Random cuddles and kisses throughout the day. Some of the pretense for them more realistic than others. A few coming rather out of the blue, trying to catch him off-guard. To see some flicker of change. Love, hate, lust, disgust. I would have taken any of them over his passive fucking aloofness.

  We hadn’t fucked for nearly a week. He hadn’t even touched me down there, or anywhere really. Almost like he was trying to keep his distance without actually staying away. My head hurt thinking about the prospect. Though not as much as my pussy ached from the sudden lack of attention. I would touch myself to take the edge off.

  The butt plug helped, even more than I thought it might, reminding me of him. It just wasn’t the same. I needed him. Not just his touch, which would be nice, but the feeling that had been behind it. Even more than the sex, at least by a little, I missed the intimacy. I missed the little things, like the time he’d shampooed my hair. His body pressed up against mine in a warm, bubble bath. The tub somehow bending Newtonian physics to fit us both in it.

  The work was going well, though. I was improving my French skills while helping Hugo get an even better grasp of English. The irony in no way lost on me. The publishers would probably want someone else to go over it. A ‘native speaker’ just to make sure we’d gotten it all right. Despite the fact that he’d used words like ‘xenophobic’ correctly.

  There was only one explanation I could think of for the sudden ‘off switch’ in my sex life. I had spooked Hugo by saying ‘I love you.’ Never mind the fact I never would have, were it not for the situation. The pure bliss I had just experienced drawing it out of me, like torture in reverse. I meant it, after all, I did love him, but had an inkling it wouldn’t go down well. Score one for feminine intuition.

  He was hard. I knew he must be, because he had been every time before when we had been so close. Not that he was the only one to get aroused by proximity. The two of us were so sexually compatible ,we were both basically ready to go at a moment’s notice. Making the current situation all the more unbearable.

  The squeeze was light, just enough to get his attention. It was like a stab how quickly he jumped up, looking almost like I’d hurt him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He sat back down. Resolutely refusing to look at me. I could almost see the gears turning in his head.

  “Why are you sorry? Because I touched you? Fr because of how you reacted? I’m really confused. You spend days fucking me wonderfully. We work together on your super-secret project you can’t show to anyone else yet. You fucking collar me, and now you won’t even touch me.”

  “I can take the collar off,” he pointed out.

  The words feel like a slap in the face and my hand immediately shoots toward the metal, gripping it protectively. “Not the fucking point. I don’t want the collar off…it’s nice, actually. I just want you to touch me. To cuddle me, caress me, fuck me so I can’t walk straight. Or, at least to know why you suddenly won’t.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to fuck me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then give it a try,” I shot back drily, “Who knows? You might just like it.”

  I don’t remember him moving. One minute I was on the chair at the desk. The next I was on the rug, naked from the waist down. My pants and panties were somewhere on the other side of the room. Hugo didn’t go through any teasing that time, he just dove in, devouring my pussy like a starving man given a steak.

  Hugo deployed the usual repertoire to guide me in, but this time he got even more creative, unleashing a plethora of symbols on my pussy, as though casting a spell. Bringing me to ever higher levels of ecstasy.

  Continuing his practice of the arcane arts on my clit, Hugo slid a finger into my sopping wet pussy. He met no resistance whatsoever, working my tight walls as he deftly pressed my button.

  I could barely think as I moaned, my mind relenting nearly all to the pleasure centers as I struggled to stay conscious. The pleasure that raged through my system threatening to consume me.

  The orgasms were fast and multiple. I tried to keep up but lost count pretty quickly. The intensity of the situation made it difficult to concentrate, each one shaking me to my very core.

  He lay his head on my belly and rested there a while. Both of us needed a bit of a breather after the stupendous sexual frenzy. My fingers worked through his hair as I listened to him breathe.

  As we both came around, an idea occurred to me. Slipping my hands under his head so it wouldn’t slam on the floor, I eased out from under him. Somehow getting Hugo onto his back, I slithered up his body, toward his cock. My bare thighs straddling his face.

  Shaking with excitement, I undid his pants like he had done with mine so often before, and eased his beautiful cock out of the opening in his boxers. Unfurling it in three sections so it wouldn’t spring out and smack me in the face. Which was always a possibility when Hugo was hard. I took his gently throbbing head in my hot little mouth and sucked with relish. Finally, I fully grasped the phrase ‘cock starved.’ It felt like I might die unless I was able to taste his sweet cum and soon.

  As I sucked his beautiful cock, taking my time to savor the moment, I could feel Hugo softly stretching my pussy. Maya had once told me about 69-ing, though I couldn’t quite imagine how it would work. Turned out, it was actually pretty simple. As well as fucking amazing.

  Hugo lapped lightly at my tender pussy, no doubt a bit fatigued from the pleasure with which he had so recently blessed me. I hungrily sucked his cock in return, working my way down to just over half way. It was my ambition to be able to deep-throat him. Even th
ough I had yet to discover that exact descriptor. Still, what I’d accomplished during my very first 69 session, I counted as a personal best. Another step along the way toward my ultimate goal.

  I’d just fallen into a good rhythm, cupping his balls and stroking his shaft as I sucked, when Hugo went an upped the ante, introducing a finger into my pussy as well as his brilliant tongue work. I couldn’t let that stand without a response and started with some tongue work of my own. It was a bit awkward at first, with me being a beginner but I soon found the rhythm of it. Hugo’s moans only added to the delicious sensations in my pussy.

  Thus began a friendly competition, ending with Hugo damn near drowning me with his biggest cum load yet and me nearly choking on it because I was screaming in pleasure of my own.

  He must have been saving it up over the days we hadn’t touched. I was suddenly glad I was able to release him, figuring there was no way that sort of built up tension could possibly be healthy. Helping him as he was helping me. The perfect sort of arrangement.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded as I gulped down the last bit of his cum. Always taught it was rude to speak when my mouth was full.

  Sucking him clean once more, as well as helping him remain hard, I kept a hold of the base of his cock, and I swung my leg over like I was mounting a horse. It seemed rather appropriate.

  Using two mouth-wetted fingers to make sure my pussy was ready, I eased down his beautiful cock, until I was sitting flush on his lap. My pussy lips hovered lightly over his cock.

  I paused while he hastily retrieved a condom from a drawer and pulled it on, then Hugo took my hips as I leaned forward, planting my hands firmly on his strong shoulders. With the full support of his hands, I slowly started to move, caressing my pussy along his cock from balls to head and then back down again. I rocked my hips slightly at each end, trying to give him a different feeling with each pass. Not to mention it played merry wonders on my g-spot.

  Gradually, I gained in both speed and confidence, riding his cock with abandon. The slight turns of before evolving into full-on hip rotations. I’d been too afraid of falling the first time we’d tried the position, but had gotten well beyond that.

  I wanted him, I was going to have him, exactly how I liked. Just as I was his to do with as he liked. Both in terms of power exchange, as well as in general. Our relationship felt more like a partnership than anything else. Each helping and benefiting from the other.

  I could feel it. The distinctive heat as Hugo unleashed his payload. Only that time, instead of in my mouth for a tasty treat, it was tossed in the trash in a wrapping of latex.

  He kissed me as I collapsed against him. Both of us were a bit too happy to think about the implications of what just happened. Ordinarily I would have been frantic, but there was something about Hugo that put me at my ease. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure where we stood.

  Even though the end of our little arrangement was growing perilously near.

  Keeping me in his tight embrace, Hugo got carefully to his feet. My arms and legs going around him as he did so. Both his hands on my ass for further support, he carried me to the bathroom.

  “Will you wash my hair?” I asked hopefully, as the bath tub filled.

  I couldn’t quite make sense of the look that passed over his face, but he nodded. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, brushing his lips over my forehead.

  I didn’t know what this meant, but at least for now, I had him back.

  Chapter Twelve - Hugo

  The sandman was again absent. Fled from the scene those six days, it didn’t seem as though he would make a reappearance. At least not that first night. Whatever influence Vega had on the situation was at least at an ebb. We would have to reestablish our connection further before I regained any of the benefits. A fair penitence for my foolishness.

  It had scared me more than all the monsters in storybooks. The ones I’d used a nightlight until I was 11 to try and ward off. Three simple, loaded words. ‘I love you.’ ‘Je t'aime.’

  How many times had I heard that over the years? Said in a different context but with no less earnestness. If desire for sex was a manifestation of the fear of death, both fundamental aspects of the human condition, what was love? Sex was one of the primary expressions of love but not necessarily needed for it. Nor was love needed for sex, as had been clearly demonstrated by my past exploits. The term ‘making love’ not only a euphemism, but extremely limited. What happened to sex when love died and the fear of death was no longer a factor? A question I’d spent the past five years attempting to answer.

  I didn’t dare move. The serenity so perfect it would have been as to break a stain glass window to disturb it. The fact that I had my arms around her making the situation awkward indeed.

  Even with the miscalculation, it had been a great evening. We hadn’t come together again. It was mostly out of our systems, in every sense of the phrase, intimacy of a different sort becoming a primary concern. We stayed in the bath until the water was cold, then enjoyed the most leisurely dinner ever, after it finally came around.

  We even got more work done on the book. Vega read some parts out loud so I could hear how they sounded to someone else. Being a writer felt a little similar to being a deaf composer. I could write the words. Condense the feelings. Present the world as I saw it, but never with any idea about how it was being experienced. If what the reader saw was anything like what I had.

  The closest I used to get was during signings, when a reader would enthuse about a particular theme or another, showing they’d largely gotten what I intended but not if our views agreed. Listening to Vega read my words back to me, was like having a window opened into her mind. Giving new insight in to the work at the same time. Gently adjusting how I saw things.

  But after a while, her eyes had started to droop and I’d carried her to bed with me, letting her drift off to sleep on my chest.

  Stealth was required. Using my free hand to gently lift Vega from below, I managed to slip my trapped arm out from under her. Leaving the sleeping beauty none the wiser.

  Freshly liberated I reached, without looking, to the top drawer of the nightstand. Where I’d stashed some of my art supplies. Touch finding a sketch pad and a charcoal pencil, I reassumed my previous position. Greeted by Vega’s gently slumbering face.

  Touching point to the high-fiber page, my hand moved as though by powers invisible. The dark gray lines turning black on the off-white paper. Coming together to create an increasingly identifiable form.

  My chest was full with a love my mind didn’t know what to do with. The sort that left me feeling dazed like nothing had before. Vega had really spooked me by saying what she had. Not because I disagreed, or was even worried I might.

  I just didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling, love never coming into it before. I’d done the project with a chosen employee for the past three years. Initially to actually get specialized help on a particular project, but also to provide myself with a distraction. At the same time giving them what they might want. Be it the physical attention or the money. One usually being the cherry on top of the other. My criteria for choosing the candidate was based both on their fitness for the project, and my potential ability to engage with them, both socially and sexually.

  The pencil moved like the needle on a polygraph. Conjuring a photo-realistic replica of the scene in front of me. The first time I’d been able to draw anyone but Delphine.

  ***

  My little sister was so excited to be in the big city. My parents had relocated to Burgundy when housing costs in the capital got too high. About the same time I’d graduated from college, in one of those universal coincidences. A picture of provincial pastoral, the new homestead served well as a writing place. The rent was so cheap I wasn’t expected to contribute, though I did when I could. Giving me ample time to hone my skills. The click of my keyboard a near-permanent presence.

  I hadn’t been
back in a while, my move stateside coming soon after the success of my first book. The domestic sales had been strong. The American translation was a minor phenomenon. I needed something to do between writing projects, so I started Boucher Books as a sort of hobby.

  “Can’t she go by herself? She is 20 now.”

  “More the worry,” Dad had said, practicing his English, “Remember what you were like?”

  I knew he was right. Exploring Paris alone was sure to get my younger sister into trouble, and I had to admit, I liked the idea of showing it to her.

  “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

  It was like watching time elapse right before my eyes. Little Delphine had grown a shocking amount since I saw her last. To be fair she had been 15 at the time.

  But now she’d been accepted to college in the big scary city she couldn’t really remember, and my parents wanted me to show her around. Particularly in terms of the places to avoid. Clearly they were under the impression that anything I said could alter her course on the way to adulthood. A road often marked with broken hearts and broken bones, at least in my experience.

  Cafe Bonne Biere had been my idea. While she was still French, Delphine Marie Boucher was no longer a Parisian. If, in fact, she had ever been. She was 11 when we’d made the move to wine country, and our parents had been very strict about her movements before that. Leaving it mostly to me to be the enforcer and protector, while they both worked full-time jobs. Going so far as to find schools walking distance from each other.

  “Hugo!” Delphine crowed in delight, enveloping me in an attack hug the moment I walked through her door.

  The apartment Dad had found for her was cramped, but with a Parisian flair. She could have had a bigger place if she’d gotten a job, but Dad didn’t want her to have any distractions. If she was going to be going to university, that should be the focus. Mom didn’t want her to go at all.

  I remember a similar scene when I left for America. The first born, off to seek his fortune in the New World. Our sweet mother bawling her eyes out like I was going to the afterlife instead of New York. It would take a tragedy, but I finally understood her urge to hold on. Even if it wasn’t healthy in the long run.