by Jamie Knight
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 usual, 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.
Time began to blur, my excitement leaving me unable to tell if it was minutes or hours passing me by. I hadn’t really thought about how long the drive would be. All I knew was that Hugo lived in California, which narrowed it down a bit. Even if it could still be hours.
I hadn’t exactly done much exploring of the state, spending most of the last five years in San Jose and rarely venturing out. It seemed longer, of course, it always did without a reference point, but it was actually just under two hours on the road. The green expanses of the wine country appeared like an oasis in the desert.
The car took a turn, its first in over an hour. The smooth pavement of the highway turned to the bump and grind of gravel as we rolled up on the house. Just as a light rain began to dot the windshield.
Standing like a footman outside a carriage, Cassidy opened an umbrella at the same time as the door, giving me shelter as we walked from the car to the house. I gazed in awe at the remarkable structure, which was built in an 18th century French style. A beautiful building out of place and time. Suddenly, the term ‘anachronistic’ had a new dimension of meaning.
Delivered safely to the door, I was left to my own devices. Cassidy ventured back out into the gathering deluge to put the car in the garage. Better to prevent rusting. Even that far from the open ocean.
“You must be Vega.
I’d never heard my name so much outside of school. It was disconcerting, but kind of nice as well. This most recent instance had originated from a pleasant looking older woman who had appeared out of nowhere.
“Yes,” I said, my vocabulary still handicapped by wonderment.
“This way please, he is waiting for you.
“Are you his maid?” I asked as we went deeper down the hall.
“Maid, head cook, gardener, surrogate mother, you name it,” she chuckled, “Here we are.
The door was as heavy as it looked. Creaking dramatically on old hinges as I entered the study. A true paragon of the type, complete with roaring fire, and bookcases so high they required a ladder. The door closed behind me, leaving little choice but to approach.
Inch by inch, he came into view. Like a rotoscope as I came around the couch. Looking like a painting as he read on the antique couch. Dressed more casually than I expected in slacks and a black sweater.
“What are you reading?” I choked out, my mouth going a little dry at the sight of him
It seemed like as good a place to start as any. Books, and their creation, particularly as a physical object, were our major point of commonality.
“The Plague.
“Sounds depressing.
“It is Camus,” he said with a shrug.
His eyes never left the page. A compulsion I understood more than I probably should have. Glass houses and all that.
“May I sit?
“Please,” he replied, gently patting the cushion to his right.
I curled up next to him as he continued to read. Basking in the warm crackle and pop of the fire as it devoured the logs. It was odd, but even his silence was oddly comfortable. I was almost resisting the urge to lay my head on his shoulder
“Is that a first edition?”
I meant to remain silent, but when I saw the page I had to wonder. The text was French, which came as a little bit of a surprise. More unique were the font and imprint depth. Indicating a pre-1980s printing process. Camus died in 1960, so the dates fit.
“Tres bon,” he said warmly, his accent flawless.
He put the book down on the low coffee-table. Setting it next to a clipboard I hadn’t noticed until then.
“There we go,” he said, turning his beautiful gaze to me, “my apologies, I wanted to finish that chapter.
“I understand all too well,” I replied with a laugh.
“Shall we go over the contract?”
“Please.
I may well have been the only person in recent history to beg for a business contract. Yet that was what I had come to.
He handed me the clipboard with attached pen. Much like the one Nina had brought. I wondered if he did all the paperwork. A pondering I soon confirmed as I read over the contract. By far the most beautifully put legally-binding document I had ever encountered.
For all its elegance, it also laid things out plainly. What would be expected of me and what he would
do in return. I had expected something more one-sided. There seemed to be a fair amount of reciprocity baked into the DNA of the agreement, besides the bonus he was offering. It was always nice to find a way for everyone to benefit.
Hand steady as a rock, I plucked the pen from its perch and signed on the dotted line. My usually clean signature coming out as a quick scribble.
“Excellent.
Hugo took back the clipboard, returning it to its previous place. Never taking his eyes off me.
“Are you ready?”
For my dreams to come true? My wildest, craziest fantasy? The word burst out of me before I could think twice. “Yes.
It was absolutely surreal, a whirlwind, too fast, but somehow perfect. We fell into each other. Kissing passionately but also gently, Hugo giving me time to keep up with him as I learned. It was my first experience after all, and he was wonderfully patient. I thought he might take me right there on the couch. In front of the roaring fire, surrounded by books. Awkward as it was sure to be in terms of maneuvering, I couldn’t think of anywhere more perfect.
I barely sensed it as he lifted me from the couch. My entire body weight supported by his powerful arms as he cradled me like a baby. Continuing to kiss me all the way along, even up the old staircase, Hugo brought me to the master bedroom.
As the mattress of the Edwardian four-poster came up beneath me, I wondered how many people had been in that room. Let alone that house. Not only for the purpose for which I had arrived, a towel already laid out on the duvet, but in general. I got the feeling I was part of a very small and select group. One of the few Hugo thought he could give himself to. I was determined not to disappoint.
My shirt was lifted up over my head. Unveiling my breasts as I’d neglected to wear a bra. I’d still been naked when Cassidy called and didn’t want to take any extra steps. A decision which had apparently worked to my advantage.
Moving down my neck, Hugo worked his way along to my chest, his warm, gentle breath delightful on my bare skin. A lovely tingle ran through me as he licked gently along my right breast, taking my tender nipple in his mouth.
