by Jamie Knight
A soft moan escaped her as I stroked my cock against her pussy lips. Prepared as she was, Vega was still very sensitive. I would have to be extremely careful. Though I knew that anyway.
I’d never really been a ‘pounding’ kind of guy, seeing sex more as an art form. Similar to music, and while I might have a terrible voice, I did have some sense of rhythm. Each part of the act had its own sections and movements. I treated the first time with any woman as though it were her first time, giving me the chance to learn her body.
Vega shifted her hips. Just enough for the tip of my cock to slip between her pussy lips. The contact with her eager clit made her pause as she cried out in ecstasy. Her desire getting a bit ahead of her. Still, she was ready, or at least thought she was. With almost imperceptible movement, I eased my cock inside her, feeling her heightened heartbeat as it throbbed through her pussy walls. I hoped she could feel mine through my cock. Our lives becoming as one.
I got the head in with no major trouble. Her pussy seemed to be adjusting to the feeling of having me in there, so I was able to keep going. I eased in, slowly getting my thick shaft inside her. The pace was achingly slow, but worth every moment
My pelvis pressed up against her pussy, marking the end of the line. She hadn’t even reacted when I slid inside her, no gasp or shudder or whimper of pain. She just continued to lie beneath me, dark yes looking up with absolute trust and supreme pleasure.
Withdrawing to about half-mast, I started to move, rocking my cock in and out of her freshly deflowered pussy. Her gentle hips and soft moans following each ebb and flow. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as I moved in her, as if she never wanted to let me go.
As the climax shuddered through me, my eyes opened, and I realized that I was alone on my own couch
Sleep, at least the dreaming kind, had been such a stranger, I hadn’t recognized it when it came back around. There were many who held that dreams, even wet dreams, were prophetic. A window into intent, if not the future. The fates sending directions to help things along their way. I couldn’t be sure, but also wasn’t willing to take the chance. Gambling with forces unknown rarely turned out well, and this draw to Vega surely meant something.
Chapter Five - Vega
The bacon popped and sizzled like a fireworks display. I kept a watchful eye, chrome flipper ever at the ready, as I swayed in time to some classic Django Reinhardt. The night had brought some strange and wonderful dreams, leaving me in the mood for dancing. If nothing else, it was a satisfying physical outlet for the happy feelings bubbling through me.
The heavy plate weighing on my hands, I marched the short distance back to her center of my existence. My father would have a fit. Generally, he couldn’t tell a keyboard from a keychain, but even so, he had some very specific ideas about how to conduct oneself around the computer. Like a convert to a religion who becomes more devout than those who were raised in it. Almost as though they have something to prove.
Never mind that his concerns were almost entirely economic. The price of a new computer, on the off chance anything went wrong, was really his primary motivator. I’d never really noticed it made much difference. Mostly because I didn’t actually drink around it, liquid damage being the biggest issue.
Even then though, I only had to replace the Bluetooth keyboard, not the entire system. Daddy was still getting his news from the 1980s. Much like his hair, music and fashion sense.
Drawing me out of my thoughts, the computer beep-booted in a very specific and familiar way, instantly reminding of submarine sonar.
It wasn’t until I saw the signature, there was only one person I knew who signed their texts, that things came into focus.
It was the first direct, personal contact I’d had with Hugo since he sent my acceptance. There were notes on the assignments he gave me, but they were more instructions than communications. They might as well have been sent by a bot for all the emotion they contained.
My mind still went back to that first email though. As well as the photograph. I’d found more after a lot of looking. Even so, the black and white shot was still my favorite. It was like that one revealed the most of his soul. To think, there were once people who thought cameras stole them.
I was absolutely into him and we’d never actually met. One of the oddest conundrums of the digital revolution. Socializing from a distance. A notion my parents would have thought mad, but where really did correspondence start and socialization end?
People socialize on the phone. Granted, it was usually people they already knew, but that just went to demonstrate that the phone was the tool. The thing that established contact. Were computers really so different? Particularly with the voice and video capabilities they had? Did not sharing a physical space really preclude the possibility of ‘proper’ socializing? Or did the traditionalists just have bug up their butt about how things had changed since their day?
True, Hugo and I had only ever communicated through text, though that was enough. At least enough to tell me I wanted more.
I tapped out a reply as fast as I could. It was, no doubt, filled with mistakes. One that probably would have embarrassed me under most other circumstances. I was an editor after all. Still, if felt imperative that I reply as soon as possible. Let him know that I was there.
He responded within seconds. Nothing too serious. Just asking how the book was going and if I’d looked it. He could have just been trying to get a feel for the kind of thing I liked. Particularly as he’d likely figured out I’d been shot-gunning my assignment requests. He might just have been trying to get a feel for the real me.
Me: It’s great! I’ve barely remembered to eat.
Hugo: Glad to hear it. I thought it might be something you’d like.
Me: How so?
Probably too pointed a question to what could have been a perfectly innocent statement, but I wanted to know.
Hugo: Just a feeling.
It was a little eerie, but somehow I liked it.
Me: Well, you got that right, at least.
Hugo: Glad to hear it.
Me: Is this the first time?
Hugo: For what?
Me: That you’ve talked to someone. Not about work. This isn’t about work, is it?
Hugo: Right, you’ve caught me. Yes, to both. This wasn’t about work. Not entirely, and no, I haven’t really talked causally to anyone in a while. Seems like I’m doing a decent job.
Me: You are, actually. Better than decent.
My hand was already rubbing my pussy through my pants. I knew it was unprofessional, but that was the advantage of working remotely, I guess.
I couldn’t really explain it. Nothing particularly arousing had been said, there was just something about talking to him. Even distantly, even over text, it had made me really wet. Probably because I kept thinking about that sexy photo of him.
He probably didn’t look like that anymore but that was the image I had in my head. The 25-year-old him. Looking out at the world, not with defiance so much as an interested amusement. Like he was in on a joke he wasn’t telling.
Me: I’m still curious how you knew.
Even though typing one-handed, the other quite occupied down the front of my pants, I was still pretty adept at it.
Hugo: Promise not to laugh?
Me: No, laughing is an involuntary reflex. Besides, we’re at a safe distance. I promise not to do the digital version. How about that?
Hugo: Deal. The thing is, you remind me of a character from a book I like. She’s My Witch by Stewart Home.
Me: I don’t think I’ve heard of that.
Hugo: Wouldn’t be surprised. He’s kind of underground. Home is actually trained as an art historian and artists. Has lots of non-fiction books and installation pieces. Sometime in the 90s he got into writing novels and has mostly done that since. Some really weird, next level stuff. Anyway, long story short, you’re younger than the character I’m thinking of, and seem more stable, but
there is a similarity in spirit. She could be your sister. Spiritually anyway.
Me: I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended, especially considering you’ve never actually even met me.
Hugo: Flattered, for the most part.
As both my hands were full, one of phone, the other with pussy, I made a mental note to look up Stewart Home, and She’s My Witch as soon as I could. I must have really been going to town on myself, because his next text was uncanny.
Hugo: Turn on your webcam.
I gasped and flushed. The shame that he might know, colliding with the thrill that he seemed to want to watch. Did it mean I’d been chosen for his special project? Or at least that I was in the running? I was nervous, but not so much that I wasn’t willing to take the chance.
So I hit the button and answered his video call.
“There you are.”
He looked much the same as in the old photo. A bit wiser and somehow milder, but no less handsome. I’d left my hand down my pants, not wanting to hide what I’d been doing. I decided to own it.
“Yes, sir,” I said, my breath still a bit heavy from the exertion.
“I thought so,” he said, looking where I guess my crotch would be on his screen.
“Good?”
“Great.”
I could have powered a house with my smile. The relief turning into elation.
“Take off your pants,” he instructed, “I want to see you.”
My head spun. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. “O-okay.”
My heart slamming inside my chest, I stood from the chair, filling the camera with my hips and crotch. Backing up a bit so he could get a clearer view, I took down my jeans and my panties. Clad in only a black turtleneck, I sat back down in the chair, putting my feet up on the desk, on either side of the computer so the web cam looked right down between my legs.
Slowly, I started to touch myself again. Lightly at first, two fingers working the outside of my pussy. My taut vulva barely moving with the motion. Almost no one saw my pussy, short of the occasional check-up at the gyno, but I kept it clean and bare. Not a hair anywhere.
It was mostly a matter of comfort. My pussy was so sensitive anyway, I could be really irritating to have hair down there. Particularly when I wore pants, which I loved. I never really took to dresses and only owned two. Both of them bought for me by my grandma.
When I’d gotten back into things, and my pussy was even wetter, I slipped a finger in. Resting the other three on the side of my pussy, near my inner thigh, I stated to move it. Gently fucking myself, stroking my hard little clit, moaning with pleasure.
When I was ready, I slipped in a second finger, moaning slightly as I did so. My little, virgin pussy stretching to accommodate it. After a few deep breaths, I started to move again. Thrusting both fingers deeper and deeper inside myself. Getting up to the third chuckle on both.
I wanted to scream. Let out my joy. Let him know how good it felt. Particularly with him watching. Yet I stayed quiet. Moaning desperately as I bit my lip. Trying not to make too much noise, as if I was afraid I might get caught if I did.
“Let it go, Vega. Let it all go.”
Hugo’s words were like a quick release. Instantly I stopped biting my lip. Letting my jaw drop open releasing all the pent up pleasure into the world. No longer caring who heard it, even though it was only meant for Hugo.
“Good. Now angle your fingers a bit. Stroke the tips in a sort of ‘come here’ motion.
I obeyed him, and the effects were immediate. I moaned and bucked like crazy. While he watched me from afar, I brought myself to orgasm several times, each more intense than the last. Coming all over the place with each instance.
This was something I didn’t even know I could do. I’d always thought orgasms were sort of a one-and-done thing. Then again, I really wasn’t an authority on the subject. I didn’t even really know what the g-spot was, let alone how to make myself orgasm with it. Hugo clearly had a lot he could teach me.
I collapsed in the chair, red-faced and panting. Absolutely spent but also supremely satisfied.
“Good girl,” Hugo said, making me feel even better.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Ordinary I would have covered myself by then, or at least left my fingers in. Instead, I’d rested my still-slick hand on my thigh, my stretched little pussy right there for him to see.
“I want you to come and stay with me,” he said, looking me in the eyes.
An act of respect that made my heart do flips in my chest.
“For how long?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
My heart was soaring, was this really it? Had he really picked me? How was that possible?
“Two weeks. Starting on Valentine’s Day. It is a contract position with a bonus at the end.”
I knew about the contract, but the bonus was a pleasant surprise. Only adding a cherry on top of losing my cherry. To my idol. And my boss. The idea made my head spin, but I was practically buzzing with excitement.
I struggled to find the right words and finally just settled for: “Okay.”
“I’ll send the doctor tomorrow for the tests. Need to be careful.”
“Of course,” I agreed, my cheeks reddening.
I assumed he meant a virus test, though didn’t actually know that. Even if the examination turned out to be a bit more invasive, I was more than willing to go through it, just as long as the end result was two weeks alone with that beautiful man.
Chapter Six - Vega
The knocks were measured and light. A professional who knew how to be gentle. It was the morning after my little webcam adventure with Hugo. This close to the crack of dawn, there was only one person it could be.
“Coming,” I called, hopping into my sweat pants on the way to the door.
Statuesque was the first word that came to mind. Tall and lean, all sharp angles and smoothed down blond hair, she really did look like a marble statue granted the gift of life. Were it not for the white coat and name-tag, Dr. Nina Harlow, she could have easily been mistaken for a model.
“Vega Alejo?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She wasn’t that much older than me. Maybe 30 but even so, she commanded an instant respect. “I am Dr. Nina Harlow. I’ve been tasked by Hugo Boucher to conduct some tests. Do you consent to this?”
“Ye-yeah, sure.”
“Sign here, please.”
At the end of her slim arm, held in a well-manicured hand, was a clipboard, a pen hanging from the clasp.
A quick skim of the document revealed it to be a basic consent form. There was nothing about insurance, which struck me as slightly odd. Until I remembered how rich Hugo was. He must have been paying her amazingly well for Dr. Harlow to make a house-call.
“Very good,” she took the clipboard from me as I passed it back
Keeping her legs primly crossed, Dr. Harlow conducted the expected tests, from a kitchen chair placed in front of the couch. There was a throat swab, as well as blood samples. I had my guesses what each were for and couldn’t really blame him. He had no way of knowing I was a virgin.
“Lie down, please,” Dr. Harlow said, getting out a pair of rubber gloves.
I was expecting a pelvic, which in a way it was. Only less invasive. I didn’t even have to take my pants off and the whole thing was over so fast, I didn’t even have time to get embarrassed.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Hugo had asked her to do that or if it was down to Dr. Harlow’s prerogative. Either way, it felt like she was mostly just checking for any obvious, physical issues.
“Very good,” she said, snapping off the gloves.
“That’s it?
“That’s it,” she said pleasantly gathering up all of her things, “I should have the results in a day or two.”
The next twenty-four hours felt like the world had stopped. Even food had lost its inherent appeal. I would cook like us
ual, but then just end up moving things around the plate. My mind was always elsewhere entirely. Unable to muster even the focus to chew and swallow. Drinks were a life-saver. Possibly in the literal sense. At least they took the chewing out of the equation.
I tried to function normally, I really did., trying to put all the questions and anticipation out of my mind. Like trying to resist the last cookies on the plate, it didn’t go very well. Every time I tried to do something else, even essential things like sleeping and eating, my mind went back to the tests. It had been a day, and there could be another to come.
The bell of my cell’s ringtone tinkled like fairy laughter. My glass falling into the sink as I reached for it, hoping for good news.
“Hello?
“Hi, am I speaking with Vega Alejo?
“Yes,” I said, my heart pounding, “This is she.
“Great. My name is Cassidy. Mr. Boucher sent me to pick you up.”
“Wh-wait, you mean, like, now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’d been chosen. This was real, and I was going to be Hugo Boucher’s “valentine.”
This was insane, but the excitement flooding my veins was more intense than the most powerful caffeine buzz. I’d never packed so fast in my entire life. The single suitcase was still revealing new and interesting surprises days later.
“Packing light?” Cassidy asked.
Short but powerful, she leaned against the classic Coup Deville. Resplendent in a sleek black suit with crisp white shirt. Her copper hair was artfully cropped into a pixie cut that flattered a pretty face.
“I like to keep things simple,” I replied breathlessly
“Me too.
She opened the back door with a flourish, even throwing in a little bow that made me laugh. The soft leather creaked under me as Cassidy closed the door, sealing my fate and resigning me to the future.
The landscape rolled outside the window like a film reel. Switching from downtown streets, to manicured suburbs, and finally to open highway. An expanse that would follow us the rest of the way there.