A New-Age Sex Toy For Vanya
Joe Brewster
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Joe Brewster / TransgressiveFiction
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ooOOOoo
Vanya and I worked at a large design firm.
There was a small conference room in the basement and Vanya liked to use it whenever she and I had an assignment together.
As I waited for Vanya I could feel my body surge with anxiety and excitement. I liked my job and I especially loved working with Vanya because of the awesome feelings she inspired just being close to her. My body buzzed with emotion whenever Vanya was near; I felt like a human beehive.
You’d understand what I’m talking about if you’ve ever been blessed with the chance to be in the presence of a person like Vanya; someone that radiates energy from every pore; someone that walks into a room and jolts your body and zaps you with an electrical charge when you honestly didn’t want them to. I deliberately told my mind and body to settle down and relax but I had no control over myself where Vanya was concerned.
I’m telling you, Vanya was fantastic. I would look at her and see a stunning redhead with an awesome body. That is an excellent reason, all by itself, for a guy like me to reach some kind of emotional overload. On top of that-- if her invincible super-female physicality wasn’t enough-- she had a self-esteem strong enough to crush bricks with. I know I sound like a star struck fan gushing over their favorite celebrity icon and in a lot of ways that’s how I felt about Vanya. It was both thrilling and intimidating.
My eyes loved to wash over her fascinating beauty but when it came time to interact with her I was prone to stutter and blush. Vanya would look at me with her big emerald eyes and smile. She enjoyed giving my hormones a workout. My testosterone levels got sent to ‘Vanya’s Bootcamp’ the moment she appeared.
The best thing for me to do was to try to trick my mind into other distractions. I’d focus my awareness on my immediate surroundings to put a damper on my wide-awake wet-dreams of Vanya.
I sat and stared at the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the polished surface of the dark mahogany table; alone with my thoughts of Vanya. The ghostly hum of forced air, rushing through vents in the ceiling, masked muffled voices that belonged to my dreary coworkers making small-talk somewhere on the other side of the door; a world away it seemed. I could hardly wait to be alone with Vanya in this forgotten room.
Vanya entered the room cradling an armful of the long tubes that acted as containers for the specs for our latest project.
She tottered into the room on impossibly tall high heels, clacking them loudly against the tile floor, driving hot spikes of excitement through my heart with each sharp strike. She wore, as she always did, the tightest possible skirt she could find. It was one of those pencil skirts whose length actually added extra sex-appeal to Vanya’s walk; more so than if it were a thigh-exposing mini.
The way her snug pencil skirt hugged her incredible body, it gave the illusion she was bursting with sexual energy as her legs strained against the tight, fine fabric. It hobbled her motion as she coped with stiletto heels and the armful of drawings.
With a choreographed pratfall Vanya plopped the work-load on the table-top as she bent over the opposite side of the table directly facing me.
Vanya’s perfect white blouse revealed an enormous amount of cleavage straining to escape their confinement while she casually tended the specs; still bent at the waist.
She seemed to be heaving her bosom toward my face. She’d buttoned her blouse with an expert sense of decorum; skirting the edges of good taste. It gave me a double-barrel glimpse of her full precious breasts without actually showing a forbidden nipple.
My eyes locked on her fabulous chest with the unconscious zeal of a proverbial ‘deer in the headlights’. She looked up—suddenly-- while still in her bent-over pose, and said, “Hello, Sailor,” while casting a knowing smile my way.
We were eyeball to eyeball but my two eyes were still hypnotically fixed on her incredible breasts-- until she lowered her face into my line of sight.
“You’re busted,” she said.
“I could say the same to you,” I told her right back. “Extremely well-busted, in fact.”
She smiled seductively, as though she were seeing the ‘real’ me for the first time. I don’t believe I had ever been that bold with Vanya before. I had never given her sexual compliments—though they were obviously due. I had tried but as soon as I opened my mouth I would feel my excitement rise and then no sound came out.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she told me, “except into my panties.” She stood up straight and added, “That is…if I were wearing any.”
She stared at me candidly, eyelids heavy in a smoldering gaze that was frank in its sexuality, bluntly calling me out and throwing down a challenge for me to match her suggestive declaration with a lurid tease of my own.
I drew a blank.
“Ha!” she huffed derisively, “if you’re finished pretending you own a pair of balls, and I can safely say that we both know you are, then I suggest we get to work.”
Vanya sexually teased me for no reason for the rest of the morning. It was a trivial habit of hers. That’s how some women are. All women have their ‘ways’. Each one is different but they all have their own personal quirks.
Vanya worked ‘old school’ from hard copy drawings. She was very tactile—hands-on—she liked to feel and touch the things she worked with. I manned the laptop and input her ideas and alterations into computer graphic illustrations.
She practically climbed over my body as I sat in my chair while she stayed on her feet continually roaming around. Vanya liked to kick off her heels and keep moving about. It helped keep her creative juices flowing.
She was like a cat that continually rubs up against you. She set the drawings on the table so they were directly in front of me as though I were the one working on them. The truth is, though we were equal partners on the project, Vanya was the one that dictated what we created. I put Vanya’s ideas into digital form. Vanya ruled. I was her peon by default.
So what I’m telling you is even though Vanya took charge of the project, and had total control over me and everything we did, she paradoxically put me in the center of it all. I was totally in her way as she examined the specs that were spread out in front of my chair. That was how she wanted it.
We spent 90% of the time either actually touching or so close I could feel the heat of her body radiate between us. So close I could smell her soft personal scent mixed with a touch of her exotic perfume.
At times she would forget herself and be lost in concentration as she stared down on the design drawings while standing next to my chair. She would absent-mindedly put her hand in my hair and fuss with it. Tousling my hair into new ‘bed head’ shapes as she worked a problem in her mind.
She might pull me close so that my cheek rested on her hip; I’d feel the fabric of her fine linen skirt. Then--just as suddenly—she’d turn me loose and shove me to one side of my chair as she knelt on one knee next to me, both of us sharing the same seat, as she’d frantically scribble new sketches on the paper.
Vanya was basically all-over-me the entire time I worked with her once we got to the finishing stages.
When lunch break rolled around I headed to the nearest men’s room and masturbated—just a quick stroke-job to take the edge off my sexual frustration.
I came back from my bathroom break to find Romy in our conference room. She had brought lunch in for Vanya and the two of them sat and ate at the conference table.
“Where’s my boy’s sandwich?” Vanya asked Romy.
“I’m not his bitch,” Romy said, glaring at me. “Let him get his own food.”
Vanya shrugged and offered me half of her tomato and cheese panini and some chips. I was doing her a favor by not going out for lunch so we could stay focused on finishing the design. I’m sure she told Romy to get a sandwich for me but Romy was a wench. She deliberately ‘forgot’.
“You’re just being nice to the ‘boy’ because he massages your feet,” Romy told Vanya. “He just does that so you won’t think he’s gay. If he wasn’t gay he could have lunch on me.”
Vanya told her, ”Stop it.” I was kind of dazed. Where the heck did this ‘gay’ stuff come from? And massaging Vanya’s feet? I’d never done that.
“This guy is the best work partner I’ve ever had,” Vanya told Romy. “And he isn’t gay and he doesn’t massage my feet, so there!”
Romy just rolled her eyes.
“Why would you think he rubs my feet?” Vanya asked.
“Why else would you care if he starves or not?” she asked. “I mean, I know for a fact he’s queer as a 3 dollar bill so it can’t be because he’s going down on you or—heaven forbid—fucking you. So that leaves giving you foot massages. Why else are you barefoot every time I see you two down here?”
“I’m barefoot because I want the natural magnetic energy to flow through me from the floor,” Vanya said. “It grounds me electrically and keeps ideas mentally charged in me. It’s very healthy that way.
“And, furthermore,” Vanya said, “I can assure you my boy is definitely not gay but even if he were gay why would refuse to get him lunch just because of that? Since when are you a homophobe?”
“I’m not,” Romy said. “I said, ‘if he wasn’t gay he could have lunch on me’. That means if he were straight I’d let him go down on me. That way he could eat my pussy for lunch, duh.”
“Oh,” Vanya said. “I had no idea you were such a slut.”
“I’m not,” Romy said. “I was making a joke about that. I only said it because I know for a fact he’s gay. G-A-Y GAY! All right? He’s gone out with Doreena, Brynly and Seela and, with each of them, when it came time to fuck—which for those sluts is on the first date—your boy here couldn’t get it up. He’s a certified faggot, okay? No offense, but he is.”
“None taken,” I told her.
“Fuck you, Tinkerbelle,” Romy told me. “I said ‘No offense’ to Vanya for contradicting her a bunch of times. You can kiss my ass for all I care, you lying sack of shit.”
“Stop it!” Vanya told Romy.
“Your boy is a closet case,” Romy said. “I hate that.”
“You are polluting my workspace with your bad vibes, Girl” Vanya said. “That’s what I hate. Either show some respect for my work partner or take your negativity somewhere else.”
“Fine,” Romy said as she got to her feet, “I’ll leave you alone with your Fairy-Fruitcake and all your ‘New Age’ bullshit. Fung Shway to you, too!”
“It’s Feng Shui and it’s not bullshit,” Vanya said.
“Whatever!” Romy slammed the door on her way out.
Vanya and I sat in silence for a while letting the place ‘air out’, so to speak, from Romy’s foul presence.
Vanya explained to me about Feng Shui and how it means using your environment to facilitate the flow of ‘good’ energy or “Chi”. It’s a real thing. Go ahead and Google™ it if you want.
This particular conference room was situated in a favorable location. According to Vanya, positive energy entered our building from directly under the floor of this room. Usually this good energy would get ‘blocked’ as it moved through the rest of the building and encountered negativity or ‘bad vibes’ like Romy was creating. The building was overrun with all kinds of negative energy. That is why Vanya liked to work here at the source before the ‘Chi’ became diluted and destroyed.
Another great thing about the room was the mahogany table. Vanya believed it accumulated positive vibrations. It was the original conference table used by the company founder when he just started out.
Vanya told me she was a certified Wholistic Practitioner. Part Shaman, part masseuse.
The company founder had been an early client of hers. That’s how she became aware of our company.
The founder saw examples of homemade crafts Vanya created to decorate her massage studio. He was impressed and encouraged her to study design as a profession. She did and he gave her a job.
The man retired at 50 just a few years after Vanya started working here. The sturdy ‘old school’ table had long ago been relegated to this basement room; replaced with a minimalist model that fit the look of the rest of the building when the ‘young bucks’ took over.
Before he retired the company founder and Vanya would regularly fuck on top of this very table. Their commingled vital essence had seeped into the fine grained wood over the years. It became magnetized with their combined sensual essence. Vanya took care to wipe the excess of their precious bodily fluids from the table after every tryst; then polish the table to a gleaming shine sealing their essence with high gloss furniture wax.
The founder, who Vanya claimed was a creative genius, died in a fluke skydiving accident and now all that was left of him was the creative energy trapped in the wood-grain of this historic table.
This was the first time Vanya had ever told me any of her personal history. She felt like opening up to me all of a sudden for some reason. It was a lot for me to mentally process all at once.
Vanya came over to me and sat in my lap. She put her arm around my shoulders and asked, “How long have you had difficulty getting it up?”
I was stunned. She’d never been this personal. I wouldn’t think she’d care.
“Was it right after you started working with me?” she asked.
“Yes, actually,” I told her. It had never occurred to me to think of the coincidence but she was right.
“Oh my God,” she said, “and now these gossips think you’re gay. It’s entirely my fault. I’ve been using you for my own creative purposes and it’s blocked your Chi. We’ll have to fix that.”
“Using me?” I asked, bewildered. “How have you been ‘using’ me?” We had never had sex so it didn’t make sense in that context.
Vanya went on to explain that she manipulated my personality because I was an ‘energy capicitator’ personified. She used me to regulate her own creative life-force. When she had an excess charge Vanya would ‘store’ her energy in my body. That’s why she was always touching me. When her energy was lagging she could draw extra strength from my stored ‘life-force’.
Vanya had ‘trained’ my mind and body to do this for her without my conscious awareness.
She now believed that by doing this she had inadvertently caused my body to ‘trap’ vital energy until she drew it from me, thus blocking the natural organic flow through my bodily channels; causing me sexual dysfunction when I encountered other females.
Vanya stripped me naked and had me lay down on my back on the great mahogany table.
She ran her hands over me and traced the outline of my body with her index fingers.
I became completely relaxed. I nodded off to a pleasing state of half-sleep.
I slowly became aware of Vanya’s warm and beautiful body lying naked directly on top of mine; a mirror image of my body.
The way we were situated was like two planks piled atop one another. My legs were closed together so it’s not like we laid there in the ‘missionary’ position. Vanya’s thighs were on mine and so on. Where my feet were pointed out hers were pointed in so that her insteps rested on my arches.
Vanya put her head on my chest as though listening to my heart beat.
I could feel my cock pressed between our bodies nestled in her silky pubic bush.
“Let our energy flow together,” Vanya told me. “Relax. Your penis can get as hard as it wants because we are only relaxing together. Sharing energy. Getting used to the feeling of vital urges passing through our bodies and letting them go. I’m not going to fuck you no matter how stiff your dick gets. Your cock can get as big and hard as the Rock of Gibraltar and I’ll keep still.”
Vanya kissed my cheek. And my neck. And under my chin. My cock grew firm.
“Yes,” she said, “even as my breasts tingle with excitement from the touch of your skin on mine, so warm and strong, and my sex gets wet with the stirring sensation of your safe cock pressing my liquid, hot, cunt, just let our energy do what it wants with us.”
Vanya kissed me, soft and full, on my mouth.
“A kiss can be soft and perfect,” she said, “or harder.” She gave me a strong lip-lock. “Soft is good. Hard is better. Either way is fine.”
She started making out with me for real. Giving tongue and swapping spit. My cock felt like a warm steel rod.
“Let your cock get as hard as it wants,” she said, “I promise to let it be. I will do without your giant, rock-hard, cock deep inside me. No matter how huge and stiff your cock gets I will just lightly rub against it a little like this,” she flexed her hips and slid her wet cunt lips up and down my shaft slightly, “if that’s all right.” I responded with a moan it felt so good.
“Yes, it feels so good doesn’t it?” Vanya said, not asking. “You have no idea how good it makes a woman like me feel. Vanya is the luckiest woman alive right now to have your perfect penis pressing against her. Feel how wet I’m getting? We can create pleasure for each other and I can get wet in my pussy and drip all over you and it’s nothing more than the natural reaction of a sexually healthy woman to a sexually healthy man. Natural reactions happen when we let go and feel strong energy moving between us. We can become warmer, wetter, hotter, and harder and deal with whatever pops up in our minds, or our bodies, whatever comes, comes. I feel strongly about that. I feel how strongly you feel, too. The strong, silent, superman inside you is now a man of steel.”
My cock felt like it was going to burst into orgasm; it felt like a space shuttle launch-rocket.
Vanya reached down and guided my cock into her incredibly wet pussy. It was tight and electrifying.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve made Vanya into a liar. You and your big, hard, cock.”
Vanya barely moved as she lay with my cock inside her. Just rocking slightly.
“Can you forgive Vanya for being such a lying slut? A lying fucking slut that can’t resist having your big, enormous dick deep inside her tight, wet cunt.”
Vanya started moving earnestly now.
“Vanya loves having her slutty little pussy totally filled and stretched by her man’s big, bad, dick until it feels like she is being ripped to pieces from shear, total, pleasure.
“Do you mind that Vanya is fucking you like a screaming bitch in heat with her dripping wet pussy that is burning up? Please don’t hate Vanya for quenching her burning lust by riding her man’s huge dick like a fucking horse. Like a fucking stud stallion. It feels so good it hurts.”
Vanya commenced energetically humping my cock. Twisting and flexing her agile hips adroitly around my iron-stiff penis. Working her ass off to get every last bit of pleasure my rigid dick held for her hot, tight pussy; drenching my churning balls with her sizzling slippery wetness.
“Fuck me. Fuck Vanya. Fuck your slut hard with your hard, hard cock. Fuck your evil slut, Vanya, like a dirty little bitch. Fuck her stinking cunt. Fuck her smelly, wet, cunt to pieces! Fuck me! Fuck Vanya with your hot steel cock! FUCKKK!!!”
We came like live electrical wires arcing in a rain storm.
Vanya collapsed flat against my body once more and told me, “You came so hard I thought you’d blow my fucking head off— I felt it blast through my body.”
“You should talk,” I told her, “you got off like an atomic bomb. My cock is radioactive with your molten fuck juice.”
“God help me,” she said, ”but I want your filthy dick in my mouth so bad right now I can taste it.”
After we each caught our breath, a few minutes later, Vanya did taste it. She went down on my cock, still slick with her juices, until it got hard again and we found a better use for it than her sucking me off.
I laid her down and fucked her juicy pussy ‘plain-vanilla’ missionary style on the great mahogany table. We left a burn mark where Vanya’s blistered ass had been by the time we were through.
Feng Shui and all of Vanya’s ‘New Age’ energy theories may, or may not, be all in her mind. But I think they’re real. I certainly never had such energy reserves to fuck as much as we did in that room, on that table, in one afternoon. No sooner did we finish fucking than one of us would go down on the other and be revived. Oral sex invigorated our appetites for more hardcore fucking. We fucked and fucked like uncaged animals in heat.
Eventually our muscles became fatigued to the point of physical collapse but our spirits were willing; our flesh got weak.
Our creative collaborations reached new levels of success. Previously Vanya would pause and stroke my head if she were stuck for an idea or unable to see a solution to a design problem. That trick was history.
Now she’d say, ‘Let’s fuck’ and we did. Then the ideas came like her gushing pussy did--explosively.
In the end I have to admit if it weren’t for Romy’s negative attitude Vanya and I might never have broken through to new heights of creativity in our work or in our sex lives.
I suppose gossiping wenches have their place. Like Yin and Yang maybe. I’m still not up to speed on all that ‘New Age’ stuff. Like everything else in my life, I let Vanya handle that for me.
The End of ‘Vanya’