When Xenia awoke the next morning, she still didn't find herself bubbling with a plot for a the book.But that was okay, she assured herself. After a cup of coffee and a bagel eaten while peering out on the snow encrusted mountains in the distance, she put on a pair of jogging pants and a comfy long sleeved T-shirt and situated herself before the computer, still convinced last night's release would surely be followed by a burst of creativity.
On some level, she'd decided to believe Monica's theory since maybe believing would make it so, helping her put some words on the computer screen today.
As she pulled up the file in which she was utterly determined to start writing a novel within the next few minutes, she glanced out the window, the view too beautiful to be ignored for long. But then her gaze stuck on the presumed webcam. A sense of relief washed over her when she saw that, yes, the little green light remained lit, meaning it was always lit and that no one had really been watching her last night.
Slowly, the first seed of an idea began to grow in her mind. And whereas her plots were usually well thought out before she ever committed a word to the page, she knew that this time she needed to simply take this kernel and run with it. She began to type.
Just then, the computer let out a beep and a window appeared. An Instant Message box.
FLYBOY1: Good morning.
Xenia couldn't have been more stunned. Flyboy. Must be Monica's pilot , corporate raider cousin.
Well, maybe he was being polite enough to check on her arrival like this rather than with the webcam. Even so, given her exploits last night, it was unsettling.
The reply box that automatical y opened was labeled FLYBOY2. She figured she had no
choice but to answer. After all, the guy was letting her use his vacation home for free.
FLYBOY2: Hello.
FLYBOY1: I trust you arrived okay. How do you like the house?
FLYBOY2: The house is fabulous. A perfect retreat. Thank you for letting me use it.
FLYBOY1: Glad to have you there. Monica told me you were having some trouble writing in your usual environment. Are your creative juices flowing yet?
FLYBOY2: Starting to, I think.
FLYBOY1: Good. Are any other juices flowing?
Xenia's stomach pinched tightly. She hesitated, trying to figure out how to respond.
FLYBOY2: Um, not sure what you mean.
FLYBOY1: Come on, Xenia, you can be honest. Your secret's safe with me .
Her pussy clenched, along with the rest of her body. She simply sat there, frozen, unable to think clearly. or reply.
FLYBOY1: I saw you last night, Xenia. I saw you make yourself come.
Her breasts ached as her chest tightened. Her heart threatened to pound right through her rib cage. Again, she couldn't answer. She couldn't fathom that he'd really seen her, that she'd really been performing, touching herself, for a real, live voyeur.
Yet another message appeared.
FLYBOY1: Forgive me. I didn't do it on purpose. Was just up late working and it occurred to me I hadn't checked on your arrival, so I flipped on the cam, and there you were. I shouldn't have watched, you're an incredibly hot little houseguest, honey.
Xenia stared at his message in awe. Sensible responses to what had just happened raced through her mind. She should shut down the computer right now. More than that, she should pack up and leave, head right back to Seattle.
Every logical instinct told her to run, to take whatever measures necessary no matter how extreme to get herself out of this situation that was so very un her.
Yet her pussy pulsed under her jogging pants.
And Monica's description played back through her head. Handsome. Twenty something.
How handsome? she should have asked Monica.
She bit her lip, felt her heartbeat speed up, and dropped her gaze to her fingers because she was nervous and wanted to make sure she hit the right letters. She could barely believe the reply she'd typed, even as she hit Send.
FLYBOY2: Did I make you hard?
FLYBOY1: As a rock.
Mmm, the words on the screen turned her breasts heavy, achy. She wasn't sure what had gotten into her, but to her surprise, maybe she could.
FLYBOY2: Did you suffer all night?
FLYBOY1: No, honey, afraid not. I took matters into my own hands, just like you .
The image that entered her mind turned her pussy even warmer than it already was.
FLYBOY2 : Right at the computer? Or later, in bed?
FLYBOY1: Right at the computer. I came just a few seconds after you. Watching the pleasure wash over your face while you worked your hot
little pussy pushed me over the edge.
FLYBOY2: Did you come on the screen? The keyboard?
FLYBOY1: No. caught it in a tissue. Computers are expensive. ;)
If his computer at home was as extravagant as the one she worked on right now, he was right. She typed the first thought in her head without
weighing it.
FLYBOY2: I would like to have seen.
FLYBOY1: Sorry, honey, the webcam only works one way.
FLYBOY2: That's not exactly fair.
FLYBOY1: Is your pussy wet right now? From talking about this?
Oh God, was it ever. And her heart beat so hard it hurt. But maybe she should lie. Maybe it would be wise to say something jocular, or sarcastic, something to lighten the mood from the deep and dirty direction it had taken.
Only . . . she slowly realized that she wanted
to tel him, wanted him to know.
FLYBOY2: Yes. My panties are already soaked.
FLYBOY1: Mmm, nice, baby.
Then a rather horrifying thought occurred to her.
FLYBOY2: Can you see me right now?
FLYBOY1: Yes, Xenia. I'm looking right at you.
The knowledge made her want to shrink away. They weren't on equal footing he seemed to have al the control.
FLYBOY1: In fact, while we've been talking, your nipples have gotten hard. I know you're wearing a bra I can see the outline through your shirt, but those pretty nipples are jutting through anyway.
FLYBOY1: You're blushing.
FLYB0Y2: I feel like I'm on a stage.
FLYBOY1: I'm the only person in the audience.
She bit her lip.
FLYBOY2 : Is that supposed to make me feel better?
FLYBOY1: Yes. I like watching you.
Even that fed her desire, making her pussy flutter. Stil more nervousness flitted through her as she asked the next thing that came to mind, arousal beating out embarrassment, at least for this brief moment.
FLYBOY2: Are you hard right now?
FLYBOY1: Very.
She didn't know why, but she chose that second to finally glance down at her breasts, shrouded in a comfortable cotton bra today. Maybe she'd thought now that they'd turned the attention to his body, he wouldn't notice if she looked at hers? As he'd promised, the taut peaks poked visibly through.
FLYBOY1: They're beautiful, Xenia.
FLYBOY2: What are you talking about?
FLYBOY1: Your breasts, of course. Fucking beautiful. Watching you play with them last night made me want to slide my cock between them.
Now her heart beat between her legs. And her breasts felt huge, bigger than their C-cup size. This situation was already insane.
FLYBOY2: How big is it?
FLYBOY1: My cock?
FLYBOY2: Yes.
FLYBOY1: Big enough. :)
FLYBOY2 : Big enough for what?
FLYBOY1: Big enough to satisfy you. I promise.
FLYBOY2 : Too vague. Could you be more specific?
FLYBOY1: Well, at the moment, it feels about the size of the Washington Monument.
She couldn't help laughing lightly.
FLYBOY2 : I'm looking for a number in inches, please.
FLYBOY1: Sorry, honey, can't say I ever measured.
She decided to push her luck even further.
FLYBOY2: Do it now. If you feel as big as a monument, this is probably a good time.
FLYBOY1: Probably so, but you'll just have to take my word for it.
FLYBOY2: Why?
FLYB0Y1: I don't have a ruler long enough. :)
She lifted a grin in the direction of the webcam, amused, then posed the question that had just come to mind.
FLYBOY2 : If you can see me, can you also hear me? Am I typing all this for nothing?
She was suddenly trying to remember if she'd moaned very much last night.
FLYBOY1: The camera captures sound, but it can be muffled, so typing is better.
FLYBOY1: Well, hot and sexy Xenia, as much as I'd love to talk dirty with you all day, I have to sign off now.
FLYBOY2: Companies to take over? Empires to topple?
FLYBOY1: Something like that.
She couldn't help feeling vaguely disappointed that they were suddenly done. But then he typed again.
FLYBOY1: Will I see more of you tonight?
She pulled in her breath at the loaded question.
FLYBOY2 : What do you mean?
FLYBOY1: Exactly what I asked. But let's make it earlier tonight. Ten, your time.
Ah, yes. it was an hour earlier in L.A. She considered the various ways she might respond, final y settling on simple clarification.
FLYBOY2: Are you suggesting something similar to last night?
FLYBOY1: Yes, honey. That's EXACTLY what I'm suggesting. Except more.
FLYBPY2: More?
FLYBOY1: I want you to show me your wet pussy.
Xenia pulled in her breath, forced back to reality.
FLYBOY2 : I can't.
FLYBOY1: Why not?
She hesitated, thought it through then told him the truth.
FLYBOY2: I thought I was alone last night. I don't think I could do that again or more knowing you were watching.
It was a slight lie, but last night had been more fantasy to her than anything else. Only just now had she truly discovered the fantasy had been reality and she simply didn't think she was bold enough to do it again with the ful knowledge that he was really watching her every naughty move. And to reveal herself even further?
To show him the most intimate part of her, which only a handful of men had seen? And she had, at the very least, been dating
those men. Never once had she fooled around with a stranger.
His reply took longer than usual.
FLYBOY1: You don't know how much that disappoints me, Xenia.
Her, too in a way if she was honest. But she knew herself too well . And the fact was. as much as she'd just let herself slip wholy into this hot conversation, when she drew back and looked at it sensibly, it still seemed . . . dangerous.
FLYBOY2 : I'm sorry.
FLYBPY1: No, honey, I'M sorry.
The statement could be read two different ways, but she knew he wasn't apologizing for having made her uncomfortable he was bummed to hear the dirty fun was over.
She didn't answer, as there seemed nothing more to say. Although it remained unnerving to know he was stil watching her. A solution came to mind, given that she planned to spend the next ten days in his vacation home.
FLYBOY2 : Maybe I should move the camera, point it at the floor.
FLYBOY1: Don't bother. I can move the lens around no matter which way you aim it.
FLYBOY2: So you're saying you'll keep watching me, whether I want you to or not? Whether or not I'm even doing anything . . . naughty?
FLYBOY1: What can I say? I like watching you. You like it, too. I can tell. So just think of me like a fly on the wall. And who knows, if I'm patient, maybe I'll get lucky and you'll do something naughty for me anyway.
FLYBOY2: Don't bet on it. I know I just had a very dirty discussion with you, but I'm slowly coming back to my senses.
FLYBOY1: That's a shame. You do dirty very well.
Then an entirely new question hit her, the thought almost paralyzing her.
FLYB0Y2: Do you do this often? Watch women this way? Other people who come here?
She wasn't sure why the notion upset her so much, but it did. Maybe it made her feel less consequential to him than she wanted to even if she didn't know him at all.
FLYBOY1: No, I told you this happened by accident. But now that I've seen you, I want to KEEP ON seeing you.
She bit her lip, torn between relief, flattery, and . . . what felt like a very sensible worry that prompted her next reply.
FLYBOY2: I suppose I could unhook the webcam from the computer.
FLYBOY1: You won't.
FLYBOY2: You don't think so?
FLYBOY1 : No.
And for some reason, she knew he was right. This was his home, and he'd been generous enough to lend it to someone he didn't know. Despite the circumstances, it seemed wrong to mess with his equipment and risk breaking something or somehow screwing up his expensive computer.
It would be daunting to sit here working, knowing he might be watching her at any time, but so long as she kept her clothes on, it was no big deal. Logically, anyway. In fact, before long, he'd probably get bored and stop watching her at all.
As she sat contemplating that, he sent another message.
FLYBOY1: If you change your mind, I'll be here tonight at ten.
She drew in her breath, then simply lifted her gaze to the camera and quietly shook her head.
FLYBOY1: By the way, assign yourself a new I.M. name other than mine. Flyboy2 just doesn't suit you. ;)
She felt a bit numb as she typed.
FLYBOY2 : What does ?
FLYBOY1: Something sexy. Goodbye for now, sexy.
FLYBOY2: Goodbye, Flyboy. Happy empire toppling.
FLYBOY1: I'll see you tonight. ;)
* * *
The story finally took off in leaps and bounds. By the time darkness fell around the mountainside home, Xenia had written a chapter and a half and had outlined approximately a third of the book in her mind.
She walked away from the computer with a familiar sense of satisfaction and progress thank God, she was back on track.
She still didn't know his name. They'd shared an intimate exchange about her pussy and his cock, but she didn't know the man's name. Ridiculous.
No, more than ridiculous. More like shocking. What had driven her to continue the conversation when she'd known good and well that the safe move was to ignore his suggestive comments and questions? Watching the pleasure wash over your face while you worked your hot little pussy pushed me over the edge.
Okay, way more than suggestive.
He'd been downright obscene. What she'd done this morning was so dangerous that she could scarcely believe she'd been so foolish, or so bold.
Moving into the kitchen, as spacious and lavish as the rest of the house, she dug in the refrigerator for the leftover spaghetti she'd cooked last night, trying desperately to ignore her physical response to the memory of this morning. Like it or not, thinking of him had her body humming again.
But then, hadn't her body been humming all day? Her voyeur. Her companion in dirty message exchange. Her pussy tingled at the admission.
You need a shower a nice, cool shower.
Despite the deep snow outside, the house remained warm from afternoon sun having blasted in through all those enormous windows.
So first she ate her spaghetti, hot from the microwave, accompanied by a glass of wine from the bottle she'd opened last night, then she placed her dirty dishes in the sink and headed toward the master suite, to the immense marble shower.
As she reached the oversize bedroom, complete with oversize bed, oversize Jacuzzi tub, and oversize closets with mirrored doors, she stopped and looked around. She'd slept in this bed last night, of course. And she'd showered here this morning.
But all that had been before their online conversation, before she'd found out he'd watched her rub between her legs until she came, before he'd told her he wanted her to do it for him again.
Now she almost felt him here. She was sleeping in his bed, after all, on the same sheets, the same pil ows. She would undoubtedly dry herself off with a towel that had dried
his skin.
Suddenly, a shower didn't seem like such a great idea. It only stood to make her al the more aware of her body, how sensitive it was feeling since last night, how ready, how needy. "Fine," she murmured. "No shower."
As she moved back to the living room, she paused next to a set of tal oak bookshelves. She'd been meaning to inspect the books in the house since she'd arrived yesterday but hadn't gotten around to it. And it seemed as good a distraction as any.
Her breasts felt heavy just looking at the titles, thinking of her flyboy voyeur reading them, getting excited, getting off.
The gentle sensations in her cunt urged her to reach for one of them but no.
Tonight was all about sitcoms and news and maybe something by Hemingway a little later. Tonight was about ignoring the tender throb in her pussy when she thought of the nameless, faceless man to whom the books belonged. In fact, it would be a good time to stop thinking of that part of herself as her pussy. Time to be the staid, dependable, sensible you.
Just then, her gaze fellon a small framed photo on the shelf above the erotica. She gasped at the sight. Two men dressed in cargo shortsheld up a gigantic fish between them. One wore a T-shirt that said FLY ME, BABY! along with a graphic of what looked to be an old biplane with a big propel er in front. He was darkly handsome, as Monica had promised, his chin covered with a few days' stubble.
Although in the photo he appeared lighthearted and casual, his dark eyes were piercing. And she couldn't help noticing that, despite his loose, baggy shorts, there was a nice bulge visible in front.
The other man was lighter in coloring, light brown hair with blonde highlights, a pierced ear ring piercing and light brown hazel eyes. Xenia knew without doubt that the first guy was her guy, the man who'd spied on her last night and talked nasty to her this morning. God, he was gorgeous.
Her nipples tightened within her bra as she studied him, wishing the photo were closer up.
Her pussy responded, as well, seeming to swell beneath her pants.
Finally, she set the picture back down and let out a sigh. Him being gorgeous really had nothing to do with her quandary. It made it no less frightening and dangerous to exchange dirty talk with a man she didn't know.
Nope, no less dangerous, but certainly even more of a turn-on now. She let her eyes fall shut, feeling doomed.
But then she regained her strength and told herself to stick to her original plan. She padded to an easy chair that sat adjacent to the sofa where she'd sprawled so brazenly last night, then reached for the remote and flipped on the big-screen TV She was in luck. World news.
Another glass of wine and maybe she'd get sleepy enough to go to bed early as in before ten o'clock.
A few hours later, Xenia lay in bed in her snowflake pajamas, tossing and turning. Like last night, the wine had left her more loopy than sleepy, but she'd gone to bed anyway. Of course, she'd taken a volume of Anais Nin with her and, before turning the lights out, had read about a woman having her "sex" shaved by two men.
They'd touched the freshly smooth skin there, then teased her open with erotic brushes of a feather. Another story had featured a woman riding a large rocking horse with a knob built in to rub her clit.
God, what a stupid thing to have let herself read!
She couldn't resist shifting her gaze from the vaulted ceiling to the digital bedside clock. 9:54.
She tenderly bit her lip, trying madly to ignore the way her own sex pulsed, begging for her touch. Or his touch. Any touch.
Of course, she couldn't do what he'd asked of her. There was simply no way. Last night had been bad enough, but to know for sure he was
watching? And to reveal herself to him fully. She shook her head against her pillow. You can't. For God's sake, you don't even know his name.
Even so, she found her breath trembling and her bel y clenching way down low as she reached to push back the covers.
Maybe she didn't know herself as well as she thought