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

by Jamie Knight

  As good as my English had gotten over the years, parts of the conversation were lost on me. Opening another window, I tried to keep up as things went by, translating any words I didn’t understand. Slowly, things became clear.

  The heat returned to my cheeks, joined by another heat considerably further down. My embarrassment collided with a deep desire. From what I now understood, Hugo Boucher wasn’t quite as reclusive as some people believed.

  Every year, he brought a single female employee to his vineyard to work on a ‘special project.’

  Even if I hadn’t read between the lines, the gossip from the others in the group made things clear, and I couldn’t help but feel an immediate stab of envy. They’d not only gotten to meet my idol, but they’d gotten to live my fantasy.

  They’d gotten to sleep with him.

  I didn’t honestly think I was even in the running, not least because I was so new, and it was deeply disappointing to think about. But after all, why would he pick me?

  Chapter Four - Hugo

  Everything was set. The table as well as otherwise. I liked everything to be just so. I didn’t think of it as being fussy, so much as organized. The ease flowed in my life, an argument in favor of the approach.

  There were still problems. As there were in every existence. At least I had the comfort of knowing I hadn’t created any of them for myself. The psychological set would, no doubt, have some fascinating theories on the roots of my need for order and control. Though the truth was much more boring and sad. Not the sort of thing that papers tend to get written about.

  The great room was on the small side, compared to other examples. Mostly named so in relation to the other rooms in the house. Sizable in its own right, built in an 18th century French vineyard style, it fell just short of a palace. Still more than enough for my needs, even with the in-house staff. Most of whom knew enough to keep out of the way. I’d honestly lost track of how many there were. I remembered there being ten, though it was anyone’s guess whether that was still accurate.

  The pattern on the rug pointed the way as I made my way down from my quarters. Winding down the levels, which seemed longer until they usually did, until I eventually touched down on the solid floor of the ground level. The plush, Persian carpeting gave way to smooth stone floors, the occasional rug still making an appearance here and there, mostly for show.

  Not that I particularly had anyone to impress. Other than the live-in staff, there were maybe forty people who had ever been to the vineyard. And the majority of them were kept under the strictest secrecy.

  It was a joyful day. The enthusiasm barely contained within me. Were it not likely to be considered a crime against humanity, I would have burst out in song. While painting and writing came easily to me, music definitely did not.

  The clocks had timed tortuously, counting down the teasing minutes until her arrival. I looked forward to meeting her face to face, and not only so we could get started. I’d been through so much conjecture. So many scenarios of how things might go. I wanted to know if any of them were correct. Or if the universe had something else entirely in mind for us.

  I had put in my best effort. Though any improvement was likely to be immediately noticeable, and more than likely shocking. The general state of affairs, particularly in terms of my appearance, could typically only be charitably described as ‘disheveled.’

  Freshly bathed with my hair combed, encased in a suit I hadn’t worn in literally years, I entered the dining room., resisting the urge to jig as I did so. I perched on my chair at the head of the table. Eyes closed and mind attuned. I could almost hear it as the limo approached. A physical impossibility, considering how well I kept it maintained, but a nice illusion nonetheless.

  The doors, I did hear. As well as two pairs of shoes as they approached the house, one set of footsteps slightly lighter than the other. She had arrived. It was time for the preliminaries to commence.

  She glowed like a goddess from a long forgotten religion. The candles caught her at just the right angle to create a soft halo around her silhouette.

  So this was Vega Alejo face to face. While I wanted to say something witty, something charming, my mouth went dry and my mind went blank at her approach, and the only words I could conjure were: “Please, take a seat.

  She sat down gingerly in the chair I’d pulled out for her. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says shyly

  “The feeling is mutual,” I replied with a smile.

  Vega looked up, her brown eyes wide in surprise, but her lips curling up into a smile both flattered and a little nervous.

  I know I’m being hasty, but I can’t help myself. “This project is on contract,” I said, sliding over a hard copy, “please read it over carefully and ask any questions you may have. You do not have to agree if you are uncomfortable.”

  She already knows what this “project” of mine entails. For the next two weeks, Vega Alejo was going to be my “Valentine.”

  Some might find the arrangement disagreeable, sleeping with my employees, but the women who come out are always informed beforehand, and willing. And Vega, at least from the e-mails I’d exchanged with her over the last few weeks, was more than willing.

  My initial instincts about her had been correct, and her work had been more than impressive, too. Something even in those simple digital correspondences with her had been enchanting, so I’d broken my own rule, and extended the prized invitation to her in spite of her newness.

  For an additional five, torturous minutes, she read the contract, taking care to go over each page, her lovely face unreadable until finally, a smile spread over her lips. “Do you have a pen?” she asked, looking up from the last page.

  Using the 1956 Waterman I always kept in my shirt pocket, Vega signed the contract, her hand gliding across the page like a figure skater.

  “When do we start?” she asked, replacing the cap to the pen like a punctuation.

  “Now, if you’re up to it,” I said, curious to see just how willing she is to dive into this

  Her eyebrows raised in surprise, but the excited sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable. “You don’t mince words, do you?

  I shrugged. “Do I need to?

  “No,” she admitted, “I know why I’m here.

  “Good. Stand up.”

  At my word, Vega got to her feet. Not so fast she knocked over the chair, nor so slow she prolonged my suffering. A simple straight, upward stroke, that let me see her in beautiful profile. Her chest and ass were the most prominent of her gentle curves. She had worn a dress to see me.

  Even if she didn’t particularly like them. Then tension in her shoulders betrayed this immediately. As an act of mercy as much as lust, I unzipped the back, letting it drop from her shoulders, falling around her feet. In spite of being exposed to a man she’d only just met, she honestly seemed more comfortable in just her underwear. Sheer white, soft cotton things. Virgin white. Speaking to her youth and inexperience

  The first touch was light. I didn’t want to shock her. A gentle hand on her shoulder, I watched and listened as I caressed her from behind. My other hand joining in the exploration as enjoyed her tender, untouched body. Easing her back so she was pressed up against me, I slid a hand down over the front of her panties, tenderly cupping her pussy through soft cloth. She let out a soft gasp but didn’t pull away. In fact, she arched back into me and her hips bucked against my hand

  Stroking the tips of my fingers inside the waistband of her panties, from hip to hip and then back again, I went down inch by inch. Kissing her on the neck as I did so.

  She did not sigh. It was more of a deflation. Her body relaxing, pressing back against mine as I caressed her silken lips. Tender, yet rigid under my finger tip. Her clit, well closed off.

  I added another finger and eased her pussy open experimentally. Her lips barely moved, instantly returning to their previous position when I let go.

  Removing my hand from her woman
hood, I looped both though the sides of her panties, easing them slowly down. Ending up on my knees beneath her as I lifted each of her feet, getting her panties free.

  Stroking both hands all the way back up the length of her, I undid her bra. Her full, firm breasts were liberated in short order. My hands explored her upper levels, sliding over the peaks and valleys of her chest, making her hum softly with gentle pleasure.

  She turned like a dancer. Smooth and tight. My hands on her ass, lifting her up onto the edge of the table. Vega moved with me easily as I lay her down flat. She propped her feet up on the edge of the table, giving me the most beautiful view. I ran my hands tenderly along her inner thighs to help calm her. Vega palpably relaxed as the reactions of her body synced with the intentions of her mind.

  Lowering my head as though to pray, I worshiped at her altar, devouring her sweet young pussy like a starving man and causing Vega to buck and moan beautifully in response. Her delicious responses only made me more emboldened. I reached up and held her hands with both of mine, Vega squeezing back with more intensity than I would have expected. I could tell that she was already getting close.

  She came so hard her whole body trembled, making the solid oak table shake. Were there any dishes setting places, they wouldn’t have been there long.

  I licked and kissed her pussy, still holding her hands as she returned to equilibrium. Her pussy relaxed considerably, while still remaining rather tight. Wetting a finger, I pressed the tip lightly against her vulva. Taking it slowly, I slipped my finger in inch by inch, stopping on occasion to give her time to breath. Eventually getting in up to her sweet cherry.

  “Good girl,” I cooed.

  Taking things very easy, I started to move. I slid my finger lovingly inside her, lightly brushing her clit on occasion, making her moan joyously with every instance. I was rapidly easing her towards another orgasm. Her hips moved along with me, in a gorgeous synchronicity.

  Working her pussy with one finger, and then two, I decided to add in another element, sucking first one nipple and then the other. Alternating regularly, doing my best to give each an equal amount of attention. Her sweet moans became even more ecstatic.

  Vega’s hips raised from the highly polished oak, the full force of orgasm seizing her. Her nearly haunting moans gave voice to the ineffable power of her pleasure. Her pussy squeezed hard around my fingers as she shook.

  Equilibrium returned like a fallen leaf landing on the ground. Vega opened her eyes, calm and happy as anything, panting before me. Withdrawing my fingers, three at that point, I tried again to spread her pussy. It went easily, the light, soft skin of her vulva giving way to the bright pink, sweetness of her inner lips.

  She was still tight, but much more manageable now that she was nice and relaxed. I no longer feared I might break her simply by trying to penetrate. First though, I had to give a concession to sweet temptation and lick her pussy once more. Her sweet taste and smell filled my senses, enveloping me until they became my world.

  Returning to the heights of pleasure, Vega relaxed again, easing down against the table like slipping into a warm bath. I got adventurous and tried three fingers. Getting them almost all the way inside. It was time.

  I pulled Vega even further toward the edge of the table. So far that her ass was partially hanging off. She put up no objection or resistance, surrendering her body to me entirely.

  When she was in position, I took her legs one at a time and put them over my arms so the joints of her knees were resting on the crooks of my elbows. An elaborate position that was a lot more comfortable than it looked.

  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 pare
nts 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.