by Jamie Knight
“I wouldn’t have thought so but, yes.
“Come,” I instructed.
“Promise?” she quipped.
The smack echoed. The spank a playful reminder of who was in charge. She let out a yelp but more of surprise than pain. “Smart ass,” I muttered
“Sorry,” she giggled, rubbing her ass
“You’re forgiven. I will show you to the dining room.
The places were set. I always got up at the same hour and tended toward fruit and yogurt. The staff were likely back in bed. Alarms set for the lunch preparations.
I could smell her as I pushed Vega’s chair in. Unable to resist, I went in for a whiff, nuzzling her neck in the process. To her credit, she took it in stride. Even stroking my hair as I did so. The energy between us undeniable. No matter how much I tried.
It sat between the empty breakfast bowls. Looking to all the world like a gift. A theme Vega caught onto quickly. The heart falling out of the box into the palm of her hand.
“It is the first of many,” I told her.
“Chocolates?
“Gifts. One for each day you are here. It was part of the contract.
“It was?
“Counts under reciprocity,” I replied simply.
Pulling up the thin foil from the bottom, she unwrapped the fine Swiss chocolate like an archivist, folding down each corner just so. Breaking off just a bit, she brought it to her mouth, sucking the excess chocolate from her fingers. She inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet smell.
“Can I try something?” I asked as she took a bite.
“Of course,” she said, covering her partially full mouth.
“Get on the table.”
Vega was a vision, even despite the slightly absurd situation, perched on the edge of the table like an empress. The kiss was as natural and warm as a sunrise. Vega leaned back onto her elbows, opening her legs as I stroked her thighs through her jeans
Using the inseam like a railroad, I arrived at the small brass button, making quick work of it. The momentum continuing down the fly. Vega lifted like a boat on a gentle ocean as I eased them, along with her panties, to her ankles. Her sweet scent filling my mind.
Softening chocolate melted onto my fingers as I broke a piece away, my fingers sinking in as I tried to keep hold. Working the piece between my fingers, I was able to then smear the melted treat along her inner thigh. Vega giggled. A beautiful, girlish sound, reminding me how innocent she was in some ways.
The second piece went better, remaining slightly more intact as I got it from the foil to her skin, but it quickly melted against the heat of her thighs. Vega whimpered and moaned instantly from the contact. Teasing her once again, I didn’t go for the main event right away. No matter how delicious her pussy looked. Instead, I kept going for the thin, chocolate smears, dangerously close, but just out of reach. The sweet veneer disappeared under my hungry tongue and I was careful not to miss a single spot.
But when her cries and moans reached a crescendo, I decided to give in. The taste of chocolate vanished slowly from my mouth, replaced by something even sweeter as I ran my tongue over her pussy.
Vega moaned in sheer delight as she raked her fingers through my hair which had gotten longer recently. A good few inches more than the most recent promo photo of me. Staring at the camera in youthful defiance. Cigarette still hanging rakishly from my mouth. How I had cared about my image then.
I could feel her. Every movement, every moan, every heartbeat. Echoed and amplified, not least by proximity, as I lapped at her silken pink folds. In some ways, I preferred licking a pussy to fucking it. It felt more intimate, even if ‘intimacy’ tended to be a wimpy euphemism for sex, to leave out all other things that could be done, if given the opportunity.
A familiar shudder passed through her. Vega’s pussy getting even tighter than it usually was, even after her deflowering. I knew that orgasm was close. Slowing my lapping speed, alternating between licks and kisses, I teased her relentlessly, making the moment last.
Just when she had calmed to a gentle ebb, a soft breath escaping her chest, I dug back in. Devouring her sweet pussy until she was shuddering with orgasm, holding onto me for dear life.
Her trembling subsided in soft vibrations. When I was confident she could stand, I planted Vega back on the floor, pulling her panties and jeans back into position. Refastening the fly, then button, planting a kiss on her forehead with the last.
“To work,” I declaimed, leaving the dishes to the staff.
It wasn’t quite usual for even someone of my relative standing to be in possession of an office as well as a study and a bedroom, although the first tended to be combined with one of the latter.
Though I’d never been known for doing things the usual way. Since I was a child and an evaluator told me to use a bridge with blocks, and I put down two blocks with the box they came in across them, I’d found different ways of getting the same result. A pattern of alternate processing I’d come to think of as ‘with the box thinking.’
“Wow.
Her surprise was predictable but appreciated. Not as grandiose as the bedroom, nor elaborate as the study, the office still had its charms. By far the most ‘modern’ space in the faux-historical house, it was where I’d run the publishing house.
An easier endeavor than one might think, the main operations of Boucher Books being decentralized from its founding. Everyone worked in their own space, according to the company line. We used the best managing and collaborating software available at the time. All printing and shipping was done by a company in Vancouver. A model that lowered overhead, a fancy but ultimately useless, office space in no way needed. The office politics were also kept to a minimum, which was a nice bonus.
The lock made a soft pop, the lid lifting slightly. “Guaranteed 85 percent theft proof. Even if they think to go after the hinges. There are four pairs. Two outside, two inside.
“Explosives?” Vega suggested.
“Most of the other 15 percent, but that would ultimately defeat the purpose.”
By way of explanation, I withdrew the manuscript. It consisted largely of fire-prone paper, the metal and plastic clip in the upper left corner the primary exemption.
“Is that - ”
“It is.
“I thought ‘project’ was a euphemism. Like that’s what we said when we would actually just be fucking for a fortnight,” she admitted sheepishly.
“A common misconception. Particularly on the part of the hopefuls. There is sex if desired. Stands to reason given the circumstances, though, there is also always a project that requires a second pair of eyes. I thought you were best suited to this one.”
“Thank you, sir,” The humility showed on her face. Not quite a blush but close.
“Pull up a chair.
“Okay,” she whispered.
She accepted the manuscript like a holy relic, laid across both hands. She placed it gingerly on the desk before turning the pages. As though to hold it too long might sully it. A further proof, if any were needed, that I had made the right choice.
Chapter Nine - Vega
Cold sheets greeted me the next morning. The notion, idealistic sure, was to get in a bit of a cuddle, or maybe more, before we went down for breakfast. An ambition made difficult by the lack of Hugo. Unsticking my eyes, I checked that my sense of touch wasn’t deceiving me, but there was only terrible confirmation to be found.
Panic struck slow, making itself known in small stages. First my heart then my breath changing tempo. From reverie to crescendo. I never thought it was too good to be true. Too caught up in the moment. The fact it had been a dream eluding me until that moment of clarity.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he remarked.
It was strange what panic could do. I could have sworn I’d heard Hugo come in. Even though it wasn’t possible. Still, being part of a dream made some aspects make a lot more sense.
“I gave Matilda the day off. She didn’t
want to go of course but I insisted. She works so hard and deserves some time to herself. Did you know she is one of only three house staff I have left? Came as a surprise if I’m honest.”
It seemed real. The smell of the food on the tray. The slight dip of the bed as Hugo got on.
“You were gone.
“I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully. Besides, I had to go and make breakfast.”
“Wake me. I’ll go and make the breakfast. Just never leave me like that again.”
I expected to sound angry, or at least upset. But instead, my words were coming out with a cold, steady efficacy that frightened even me.
He looked startled, but his expression quickly softened as my face crumbled. “I’m so sorry.
He took me in a hug I returned ten-fold. My sobs were muffled by the front of his shirt as he held me. I’d lived alone since I got to America. I should have adjusted, but reality was different than expectations. No matter how strongly held.
The first year, I would look for my parents every morning. Then call Maya, gladly accepting the ding on the long-distance fees, just wanting to hear a familiar voice. Maya at least feigned concern, despite the radical difference in time-zone between San Jose and Barcelona.
It had gotten better. Half way into the second year, it came to be just a short, sharp shock until I realized where I was. Moving in with Hugo and getting used to it, even in so short a time had been enough to bring it back.
The smell drew me. Freshly cooked and alluring, Hugo had made a tray of some of my most favorite food. Even if he had watched me cook, it would be quite a guess to get it all right. Maybe it had been a lucky guess, like the last book he had me do before bringing me out. Did I remind him of a particular cook?
At the corner of the stoneware plate, half hidden under it, was a box. Glossy white with a pull off lid. I did my best to ignore it as we ate. Trusting Hugo would go into it in due time. In the meantime I had bacon, cooked to absolute perfection.
“Curious?”
He must have caught me glancing at the box again. No matter how much I tried to resist, curiosity was indeed getting the better of me.
“Open it.”
There was a small rattle from inside the box as I extracted it from its hiding place. A sound that sent my mind running faster as to what it could be. It sounded a lot like metal. Pure sterling silver perhaps?
“It’s a collar.”
“Like for a dog?”
“The usual term is ‘pet.’ It is a sign of trust, nothing more.”
“How do I take it off?”
I ran my finger around the solid silver ring. It looked barely big enough to go around my neck.
“You don’t. Once it is on, only I can take it off. It is designed that way. You don’t have to wear it, I just thought it might be edifying. You’re interested in learning about all aspects of sex, right? Power exchange is one of them.”
“I’d be surrendering my power to you?”
“Only symbolically,” he interjected quickly, “I won’t spank you or anything, unless you think you’d like that.”
“Um, no. To the spanking, I mean. I’m sensitive and it would probably hurt. I’ll wear the collar though.”
The silver was cold against my skin but not unpleasant. With a soft pop, and the twist of an Allen wrench, it was locked in, as was I. At the very least I knew he could never leave me. It bound him to me as much as me to him.
Keeping a hand around the back of my neck, keeping me perfectly still, Hugo caressed his hand down my belly making me quiver. My wet pussy giving way as he slid a finger inside.
“Thought so.”
I reached under the blanket, his hard cock defined in his pajama pants.
“Yes?” he asked, making sure.
“Yes.”
It felt like flying. No sooner had the single, three-letter word left my lips, than I was on the other side of the room, facing the wall. Never once fearing for my safety.
“Bend over, put your hands against the wall.”
The stone was cool and rough under my hands. My eyes stayed locked on the floor as I tried to keep my breath steady, Hugo’s fingers working inside me.
Joy ripped through me, threatening to put me to the ground. It still startled me how hard I was able to orgasm. Not sure if it was me or Hugo. Likely a combination of the two. Our synergy already demonstrating itself time and again.
“This is called ‘doggy style,’” Hugo explained, stroking his cock against my pussy.
My pussy hugged his cock as he eased inside. Holding me by the hip for support. It also had the bonus of maintaining contact.
“Wow,” I gasped, as I felt his pelvis press up against me.
It hadn’t been a fluke. I could take him all the way. Another set of overwhelmed tears threatened to fall, but I held myself together.
It wasn’t difficult. Despite my nerves and the new position, it was mostly a matter of keeping still. Once I was bent low enough for Hugo to slide in, he’d taken control, tenderly fucking me toward ecstasy. As he went and my confidence grew, things started to change. Our bodies were beginning to move together as we worked toward a common end.
It was like poetry. I hadn’t even noticed him putting on another condom, but when he tips over the edge with me, I feel the familiar heat from before.
He pulled out, and I flipped over onto my back, panting hard as I gazed up at him.
“Back to work?” I asked, slowly catching my breath.
“No, you’ve got the day off too. From the project, that is,” he added with a chuckle, “We all need a break on occasion.”
By luck or coincidence, we managed to assemble a second, non-hideous, outfit for me to wear from the meager selections I’d packed, Hugo dressing me from the underwear up. Just for fun, he let me do the same with him.
“Good choice,” Hugo agreed, as I cinched up his thin black tie.
Given the choice of everything the house had to offer, it would surprise no one who really knew me that I elected to spend my day off in the study, plunging as far as I could into Hugo’s immense collection of literature.
It was difficult to tell time passing, cozy in the study. There were no clocks to speak of and no windows. nothing to distract him from his work. It was little surprise then, when a different sort of darkness fell.
Chapter Ten - Hugo
Skeletons in the yard. The usual phrase used for my home town. A place so small and intimately involved, most didn’t even try to keep secrets. It was just a lot of unneeded stress. The millennium had turned. Many of the old ideas at least gone underground, if not done away with. Things once considered shocking, or scandalous, had become a part of modern life. Like a single woman of 30 having her second child in ten years.
There were no illusions. I hadn’t been planned, very few 20-year-olds thinking that far ahead. I was also kept. Not only kept but loved. As much as a kid could be. A love I felt responsible to pass on. Particularly after Delphine.
It was a grass scented afternoon in the dead of August. Summer expending but still with more to go. The long days of lemonade on the veranda not behind us yet.
“Here they come,” grandma said, the swing creaking lightly.
She seemed interminably old then. I was nearly in my 30s myself before I realized my grandparents must have only been in their late-30s when I was born. Young mothers were a family tradition of sorts.
It didn’t look like much. Just a white blanket Mom held bundled in both arms. Whatever it was, didn’t make a sound.
“Be gentle, honey,” Mom said, handing me the blanket.
The blanket started to move, and I immediately knew what all the fuss was about. That tiny, helpless human entering my life as the person I would become was still being calibrated. I wouldn’t have wanted to meet the me I’d have been without her.
***
The blackened inferno smoldered. Wafts of smoke curling ethereal f
ingers up the stone chimney by the soft orange light. Time itself seeming to stand still. Vega shifted in my lap. I stroked her hair, coaxing her back to sleep. The work could wait. It wasn’t worth shattering her peace.
I spied The Plague, still on the coffee table. I hadn’t picked it up since Vega first arrived. Getting too occupied with other concerns. Through a daring feat of ingenuity, I got the pristine edition into my hands without so much as a stir from Vega.
It had become something of a tradition. Once a year, during the darkest days of winter, I would re-read Camus’s masterwork of relative absurdism. Just to remind myself of how bad things could get. A more empathetic form of Schadenfreude. Taking comparative comfort, rather than immediate joy, from the misfortune of others.
I read in the sounding silence, unconsciously stroking Vega’s hair. A feeling very much like love stirring in me. Protectiveness at the very least. I wasn’t sure she quite got the idea of the collar. Most think it is about ownership which was, admittedly, one of the possibilities.
Though it can also be about trust and connection. Trusting someone literally with your neck, one of the most sensitive and delicate parts of the body. The basis of the phrase ‘stick your neck out.’ There was an element of marking, but it worked both ways. I was hers as much as she was mine. An idea I liked ever more.
As I read, my hand drifted down. Marking the curve of her ear. The angle of her jaw line. riding at her neck, tracing a line around where the solid, warmed metal met her soft skin. A hum exhaled from her as she stirred. Lifting her head from my lap. I wrapped my arms around her, just to let her know I was there. Resisting the urge to kiss her on the cheek. It still felt a bit too intimate for where we were.
“Morning.”
“Indeed it is. At least I think. No windows, you know.”
“I noticed. What time is it anyway?”
The gold hands stood out against the white face. I’d gotten a watch with lines instead of numbers, because I’d been told it was the thing to do. The first and last time I tried to follow a fashion trend.
“Just after six,” I said, checking my watch.