Sex and the Single Hero
Giant and Impact
Helena slid a pair of dimmers at the top of the stairs, turning on the overhead lights, then flicked another switch, opening the curtains on her second story home office. It was still dark outside, and she loved seeing the sun rise while she worked. Taking up the entirety of what would have been a game room for a family, it was half a floor with several large windows and custom plush thick-piled carpet. A small three-quarters bath let her take care of immediate needs and a quick shower if needed, taking quick breaks for minutes at a time during her busy days. It was five-twenty, and a couple of her clients on the East Coast had been open for nearly half-an-hour.
Her primary income was as a software designer and security consultant, had been for nearly six years. She'd first worked out from a tiny apartment, then in a couple of houses before buying this one four years ago. She'd christened it her Fortress of Solitude for a few months, but the sheer size of the house was much more than needed if she had no-one to share it with. Now she just called it Home.
Her last relationship had been six months long, tempestuous and torrid, filled with long bouts of fucking on every single horizontal and against nearly every vertical surface. It had been so satisfying on a physical level, and, for a time, emotionally. He wasn't right for her, and she knew it almost from the outset. Thad had been in his late twenties, voracious in his appetite for her, and they spent long hours satisfying both their deepest desires. They said they loved each other, but it hadn't been enough.
It was what he called Helena's mania for secrecy that did them in. She'd spent long hours away from him, traveling on one undisclosed assignment or another, led him to accuse her of cheating, of leading a double life. She had never cheated on a boyfriend, or her one brief girlfriend, and his anger and distrust hurt her deeply. Thad never physically hurt or even threatened her, but it was the growing anger towards and dwindling faith in her that had finally driven a stake into the heart of their relationship, their love.
He'd walked out over two years ago.
Firing up both of her work laptops, she sat down at the ten-foot long polished and curved wooden table that served as her desk. Settling into her executive chair, Helena's eyes widened when she saw the dildo, still slick with lube and pussy juices, on its side next to her personal laptop, which had seen some very personal use the night before. Muttering a quiet curse, she took it to the bathroom and washed it off in soapy warm water, patting it dry before slipping it into the cabinet beneath the sink with the others. She wiped the thick, clear goo off her table, and sank into her chair, contemplating the day ahead.
Out in the middle of not quite nowhere, her nearest neighbor was a quarter-mile away, and she carefully kept her curtains closed when she felt the need to masturbate, which was every two or three days, often online in a teddy or completely naked, always masked to conceal her identity from anyone she played with online. She wasn't recognizable to her neighbors, had few casual acquaintances, and for now she avoided being known by anyone who could get inside her heart and wound her.
Last night she had played online with three anonymous cocks on her screen, fingering and later using her dildo to cum when their jizz spurted out onto keyboards and towels. Her last e-tryst had been with a blonde with a shaved pussy. They'd played together for an hour, enjoying simultaneous climaxes; both were squirters, and Helena's own arousal had spiked watching her virtual partner spilling her juices onto the leather chair she was seated on. It had been almost one a.m. before she went downstairs to bed.
Helena Harper wasn't just beautiful, but stunning, nearly a goddess among mortals. Her brown hair was cut short now, and had been past her waist in college. She didn't regret cutting it to a shorter length, but recalled the longer tresses fondly. Her eyes were an almost unearthly cerulean blue, atop high cheekbones, a slender nose and full sensitive lips over her strong chin. Her skin seemed carved from the finest marble by a master craftsman, and if she didn't tan, no-one commented on it. She had breasts of spectacularly average size, firm with nipples that pointed in a perfect horizontal line forward, her figure a slender hourglass.
With a confident but not arrogant gaze, she stood out in a crowd, despite being barely a breath over five feet tall. Anyone who met her apprehended her beauty and poise, the latter borne of a long history of seeking above all the comfort of anonymity. The men and women who traded nudity and self-pleasure with her never saw her face, and she always hid her IP address, an easy task for her, almost expected by her virtual one-night stands.
She had just settled herself in when the first call of her day came in, and she slipped her headset on, keeping her camera off. The robe she wore was diaphanous with purple satin demi-cups concealing the bottom half of her breasts, gauzy lace everywhere else. She'd grabbed a random pair of clean panties from her drawer and slipped them on before heading up the stairs, but didn't want any of her clients to speculate how she spent her off time, or see her this relaxed.
"Crucible Software Management," she answered crisply, and listened. It was Hal, an executive with a small investment firm in Hartford, Connecticut, and he sounded a little panicked, a lot angry. A hacker had brought down their website with a Denial of Service attack, expertly executed two hours before, piercing the carefully constructed protection she had built for them. Her card and platform gave her hours from seven a.m. to three p.m. Monday through Thursday, and by appointment, carefully expressing the time as Central, not Pacific where she really dwelt. Concealing facts about herself was second nature, had been for years.
Reviewing the data dump from their stymied IT department, her eyes and mind dove in and swam through the information, making instant sense of what had happened. It took twenty minutes to find the breach and seal it, and after testing system integrity twice, she uploaded a patch that would give her time to manufacture a complete reset of their system and website and called him back.
"Hal, I found the problem. One of your people fucked up." She let just a little bit of anger seep into her words. "They violated three protocols,
three
of them! I found the website, and it's something they should never be looking at from work!" She transmitted the name, though not the link. Hal looked at it, frowning. The offending site was heavily man-oriented, meaning men with men, doing all sorts of things she personally found...intriguing if she admitted it to herself.
Stifling that thought, she bit out the next vital bit of data. "User BAT01767." It was the three first letters of the last name and a random sequence of numbers. She didn't bring up their roster and wouldn't unless requested.
Her client sounded as if he was choking. "That's our controller!"
Grimly, she gave her prescription. "Well, he's a pervert, or at least has very little control, playing at work like that. I can't and won't tell you how to run your business, but your best options would be either A, fire him, or B, fully train him on your sexual harassment and porn protocols, get that sick puppy to keep it in his pants at work." She detested unprofessional conduct, even though she did the same at home in off-hours.
Her
protocols were bulletproof, and updated nightly, and she never indulged in self-pleasure when working.
She heard Hal's voice waver, imagined his face crumpling a little. "You don't understand. That's my
wife
getting off on men...doing that on camera." Hal sounded mortified, not only by his wife's choice of erotica, but doubtless her doing it in her office. It occurred to her abruptly that Hal's last name was Bates.
Oh, fuck...
Her employer couldn't see the perturbed look on her face as she went on, voice calm and above all professional. "I understand, Hal. You need to talk to her, see if she's...unfulfilled..." She let her work voice slide off her as if it were a mask. "Hal, you're one of my favorite clients. You personally. I'm no expert, but she's obviously missing something, needs something.
"Or...it could be one of the janitors on her portal while she's out." Helena didn't really believe it; the security protocols for anyone using any of her systems were also, if not bulletproof, well outside the ability of an above-average genius to penetrate. "I don't mean to...pry, Hal. Just look into it. Privately. See what's going on."
He responded soberly. "I will. Thank you, Helena." and disconnected. She pulled off the headset, laying it gingerly next to her keyboard, then laying her head back against the headrest, just breathing for a moment. She swore nearly silently, thought about a break for coffee, then resolutely pulled the headset back on, and proceeded to her IT maintenance calls and updates.
********
Around two o'clock, her East Coast clients were all closing up shop, at least their front offices, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Standing, she stretched, hearing the vertebrae in her back snap, crackle and pop when she twisted them. It felt good, and she realized she was famished. Walking downstairs to her kitchen, she grabbed a quick snack, devouring it in less time than it took to make it.
Then came the sound. A soft, ululating high-pitched whine, audible only to her ears. When she started her second job in the evenings was when it usually arose, but it was earlier, therefore urgent. Pressing buttons on the opposite side of her watch, she withdrew the small earbud and inserted it in her right ear. It activated on contact with her skin. "Go, Point Man."
Point Man was the name for the covert operative that doled assignments out to her and a select handful of others. His voice, like hers, was scrambled, so neither of them could recognize their voices if they stumbled across each other in real life, a vanishingly small likelihood. "Minnesota, Big Red Fucker, co-ordinates to follow."
Helena tossed off her robe and mismatched panties, then removed her watch, standing naked in her living room. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and a blur gathered around her, solidifying in moments to her other work outfit. It was form-fitting, a vibrant green with purple diagonal slashes across her breasts, her groin and buttocks. Opening a hidden wall cabinet keyed to her DNA, out of the sight of any windows even if they were open, she pulled out her boots and vambraces. They were the same purple and green motif, her hands, specifically her palms, uncovered. The facemask and helmet were also purple, the bug-like eye covers green and transparent to her sight alone. She pulled it over her head swiftly, and In a few seconds, she was ready for action.
"Point Man, I'm en route." She pressed a stud on her right vambrace, and faded from view, briefly invisible to all sight and radar. Another switch directed her house to slide the skylight open on lubricated tracks, then she shot up vertically into the brilliant blue sky, the skylight sliding silently closed in her wake.
When the altimeter display in her helmet told her she was close to five thousand feet, the invisibility aura discharged, her form appearing out of thin air without witnesses. Helena headed east at Mach Three, slipping past the sound barrier with ease as she'd done so many times before by manipulating the gravitons around her, forcing them to gather and pull her along. A quick glance at the oxygen gauge told her she had four hours at this altitude and speed. The coordinates were already dialed into the helmet, and she quickly calculated it would take less than forty minutes to arrive in the general vicinity.
