Under Cupid's Contract (Love Under Lockdown)

It was kind of crazy, considering I’d never met the man, but somehow I felt like I knew him, like he understood me. And I’d had a torrid crush on him since I turned the first page

And now? Him being my new boss? It felt a little like fate.

I hadn’t meant to do it. My hand was moving very much of its own accord. Or so I told myself. To avoid the guilt if nothing else. Girls weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing. It was taboo for everyone, sure, but it was somehow more forgivable for guys. But as the button loosened on my pants, forgiveness, and indeed purity, were the furthest things from my mind.

My experience was short, but my imagination was vivid. It wasn’t long until I was on a bed, at least in my mind, my hand between my thighs, like it was in the waking world. The two versions of myself working in concert, striving toward the same goal.

I gasped as my clit throbbed, roused by the sudden attention, almost painfully sensitive.

The sound of the door made me moan in anticipation. A smell of musk filling my senses as he came in, naked from the waist up. His lower half clad only in a pair of silk pajama bottoms. A magnificent hard-on already outlined in the front of the pitch black material. As he approached, my imagined self slipped my fingers from my pussy. Allowing him full access for whatever he wanted to do. I was completely his, and he seemed to know it.

I could feel the edge of the bed dip with the extra weight, as Hugo climbed up. Starting at my feet, he kissed his way all the way up my open legs. Working his way gradually, teasingly up my thighs toward my waiting pussy. Aching for his tongue. A gift he was more than happy to give. Running the flat of his tongue against my tender, virgin lips, drawing a moan out of me in kind. Playing me like a slide-whistle.

The gasp ripped out of me, my back lifting from the chair as I lightly worked my finger inside myself, while imagining Hugo Boucher eating me out on the bed. His light blond hair bobbing lightly between my thighs as he made me scream, using only his tongue. Getting me ready for what was coming next.

Planting soft, wet kisses on my skin, Hugo blazed a trail from my pussy along my belly and up to my tits. Taking care to be gentle, he lightly sucked one nipple and then the other. Always making sure to stimulate the one not between his beautiful lips lightly with his fingertips. His other hand continued tenderly working my pussy, keeping me relaxed and ready.

The trail continued up between my tits to my neck. Plying tender licks and nibbles making me moan. His fingers working my pussy toward a second orgasm. The walls of my pussy drawing even tighter around his fingers. Agreeing with me in not wanting him to stop.

Moving up to my lips, he came to be right on top of me. The head of his cock pressed up against my pussy, kissing met tenderly. Stroking his head against me to help me relax even further, he eased inside me. The soft throb of his beautiful cock like a second heartbeat as he lovingly took my virginity.

Strength drained from me as my climax faded. Leaving me slack and heaving in the affordable piece of Swedish ergonomics. Some absent part of my brain noticed that the lumbar support was really first-rate. I carefully removed my fingers, sucking them clean. Finding I rather enjoyed the taste of myself. Sweet with just a bit of a tang.

I didn’t know when it would come. Just that it would. The obligatory wave of guilt that came with anything forbidden like this. I mean really, masturbating to fantasies of my new boss taking my v-card? But somehow an hour passed, with no such guilt. No matter how many times I looked over my shoulder, metaphorically, to see if it was approaching. I hadn’t gone blind. No lighting had crackled from the sky. It felt good, and that was all.

Chapter Two - Hugo

The image appeared as though by magic. Rising up out of the rough surface of the canvas. First as an outline, drawn in charcoal, then in full living color. The rosy flesh added to the cheeks, the light of life to the eyes.

It was like surgery. Each precise and practiced movement yielding the expected result. The pen might be mightier than the sword, the brush was sharper than the scalpel. Revealing the bones and skeleton of the world.

I’d gone through the usual motions. Feeling ever more like a fraud. Made a ritual of slipping into my pure silk pajamas and cap, looking much like a character from classic literature. Even if The Night Before Christmas had long ago passed. I did the thing with the warm milk, with if anything only made me more alert. I even, to my eternal shame, tried counting sheep. Getting to one-hundred thousand before I decided to give up.