Jay Friday
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The Thaumaturge [Chapter 1: A Brief First Date]
🕑 Added 2024-12-14 13:47:00 +0000 UTCThis is the start of what I'm hoping is a new, long smut series. It's going to have an urban fantasy theme.
This is the start of what I'm hoping is a new, long smut series. It's going to have a bit of an urban fantasy theme. There'll be some "choose your own adventure" decision points -- the first of which is already posted. Read the first three chapters and then go vote on what Matt does next!
The themes I typically focus on will still feature prominently (...as you can presumably see from the first chapter) but it's going to have a slower burn at points (hopefully not too slow!), be more thoughtfully plotted, etc. There will be >gasp< actual worldbuilding.
If that's not your vibe, well...don't worry, there'll still be stories that are, y'know, a little more straightforward. Quicker reads, you might say. ;)
As always: all characters are 18+. This is a work of fiction. I welcome your feedback.
---
I'm not exactly sure where to begin. So much has happened; it's hard to find the beginning.
But I'm going to try to start by telling you about that first date with Lauren. It was a while ago. The story will be longer, this way, but I think it'll make more sense.
Also: if I'm honest with myself, I don't think you'll believe me. You will at first, I'm sure, but some unbelievable things have happened.
The only thing I can think to do is to be totally honest. The story has some...well, it has some embarrassing moments for me. Quite a few of them, really. But they're important to include. You'll see what I mean.
Anyway, I'm going to tell you everything, without leaving any of those out, in the hopes that it makes some of the fantastical parts more believable.
---
So. It all started with Lauren.
The dating apps were all usually hotbeds of activity on Friday, but this was the first Friday after the end of the semester, and it was a bit slower. Many students were leaving or had already left, headed home for the summer.
I was sticking around this summer. I had a lab internship and two courses to take to stay on track to graduate.
But none of that began until Monday, and so I was looking for something -- someone -- to occupy me this Friday.
I swiped through the various apps, sending a few messages, replying to others. I always did pretty well on the apps.
And then I realized I had a match I had really been hoping for. And she had messaged me already.
LAUREN, 20. 5'2". Green eyes, black hair; pale skin, but with warm undertones; maybe some middle eastern ancestry, or something. A toned body. She was hot in every single one of her photos: her on a night out with girlfriends, in a stunning cocktail dress that showed off pale, smooth arms. Her, in the woods, in athletic attire, looking back down the trail at the photographer, laughing -- she had a great butt, appealingly round in a pair of leggings. Her, in what was probably a bridesmaid's dress at a wedding, holding a drink on a dance floor, one hand raised up like she was dancing.
I had been smitten swiping through the photos the first time and had instantly swiped right without reading her bio; it had been a no-brainer. Now, I read her bio more carefully:
Quiet reader, looking for my next story. Are you a sweeping epic romance, a spicy bodice-ripper, or a sexy mystery? Excited to find out.
I mulled it over. It wasn't ordinarily a bio that would catch my eye...but she was hot enough that I kept scrolling through her profile.
The app had a spot for her to list interests: cats, hiking and the outdoors, reading. She was in school still, went to our university as well. A Scorpio. She had checked every available option in the "looking for" section: friends, casual, serious, hookup, dating, long-term.
And most importantly: she was hot as hell. She had to get hundreds of matches a week. The fact that she had matched me and messaged me first was utterly astonishing. Now I was staring at her first message:
Lauren: Hi! That's a cute cat -- is it yours?
Well. I wasn't going to question my good fortune. Including the photo of my roommate's cat had been a stroke of genius.
Matt: No, it's my roommate's. Her name is Pike!
Matt: the cat's name is Pike, I mean :) do you have a cat?
Almost immediately, Lauren replied. A good sign for my Friday night plans -- she was on the app currently and responding quickly.
Lauren: I do! This is Luna!
She sent a photo -- Lauren's face, luminous green eyes practically glowing, smushed up next to a black cat's. The cat's yellow eyes were glaring bloody murder at the camera.
Matt: Damn, look at those eyes!
I waited about ten seconds, and then added:
Matt: The cat's, I mean. She looks pissed
I hoped it would go over well, and it did.
Lauren: LOL
Lauren: Yeah Luna doesn't like to be photographed much. Maybe you'd make her happier; based on Pike, cats seem to like you
I recognized a fast-track-to-a-hookup opportunity when I saw one, and spent a minute considering just how heavy-handed to be. Lauren was hot enough that I suspected my attention was likely just an ego boost for this hot girl anyway, and she wasn't really serious about me.
So I decided: pretty heavy-handed. I was willing to risk alienating her to establish whether she was really interested in me or not.
Matt: Aw, thanks. Do you invite all the guys over to make your kitty happy, or am I special?
Lauren: I mean, it does take a special kind of guy to make my kitty happy...
Well then.
Matt: Sounds like we have to find out if I'm the right kinda guy. Meet you at Dew Drop Inn tonight and you can decide whether you think I should meet your cat?
I had picked a dive bar just off campus; one of my go-to date spots. Casual, cheap drinks, not a big commitment. Either of us could leave easily if it wasn't going well...or we could both leave easily if it was.
She hearted that comment.
Lauren: Love it. How about at 9?
Matt: It's a date.
I had a little anxiety as I got ready. I'd like to tell you that it was some premonition of what was to come, the importance of what was about to happen, the road it would set me on.
But the honest truth is that just that she was really hot, and I really wanted to get my dick wet tonight.
I just didn't want to fuck this up.
---
I didn't fuck it up. (Not yet, anyway.)
The date had gone well from the very beginning. I hadn't expected that.
We traded first-date small talk. She was from the Pacific Northwest, a small town in Oregon I had never heard of. She was very impressed that I was from New York City. She laughed at one of my go-to first date stories, about the time I had gotten separated from my parents in Times Square when I was eight. They found me an hour later, helping a local street vendor hawk shitty t-shirts to tourists. The street vendor had given me five dollars and a free adult size t-shirt that hadn't fit me at the time, but that did now -- plain white, with I [HEART] NY on the front.
Lauren was an English major; she hoped to head to grad school. Maybe for creative writing. Maybe library science. Maybe just start writing a novel and try to get published right after college. She liked my art and engineering double major, thought it was interesting. We had been in the same Writing 101 section the first semester of freshman year, apparently; it had been a huge lecture class, and we didn't remember each other.
I'll spare you the rest of our relatively unremarkable small talk, first-date banter, and flirting; suffice it to say that the small talk never got too deep, and the flirting and banter was well-received.
I'll admit: I didn't learn a lot about her. She was pretty quiet, a little introverted, maybe. But that didn't bother me. The most important thing, from my perspective, was that she was just as hot as her photos -- oval face, green eyes, dark hair. Sexy body.
I had really gotten lucky, I thought, watching as she stood up and went to the bathroom, eyeing the way her round ass flexed in her tight jeans. She glanced over her shoulder back at me, and absolutely caught me looking. I didn't mind.
When she came back, she had a little smile on her face. "So. I have to get up early tomorrow, I can't be up too late...But I was thinking we could get out of here, and you could come meet Luna."
I made a show of mock surprise. "You think I'm special enough to make your cat happy? I'm flattered."
She let out a little laugh. "I don't know yet. Want to go find out?"
I did.
---
She led me into her apartment, in one of the nicer off-campus apartment building. I had a dim impression of a tastefully appointed living room.
"You can meet Luna later," she murmured, wrapping her arms around me.
I had the same idea, and the tension that had been building all evening boiled over. I pushed her up against the wall by her front door, kissing her deep, long. I reached down, squeezing her ass with both hands through her jeans. She made a pleased sound in the back of her throat, pulled me further into her apartment, into the bedroom.
I was rock hard already, and she reached down, palming my length. She made another pleased sound, a deeper purr. "Ooh. I want to see it..." She whispered the words, pawing at my belt.
Watching her unbuckle my belt, I realized with a spike of anxiety that I was really turned on.
...So remember how I said this has some embarrassing moments? Well, now's probably a good time to mention to you that I sometimes, uh, finish a little fast.
Not like, every time, okay? I can go the distance.
Sometimes.
As long as the distance in question is a 5k, not a marathon.
Anyway, if I haven't taken care of myself in a little while, if the vibe is right and I'm really turned on...I can be really quick.
And the vibe was especially right. She was hot. I had been imagining her naked all night.
I didn't want to get in my own head about my performance; I knew from past experience that the only thing it did was make my performance worse. So I closed my eyes as she knelt in front of me. I took a few deep, slow breaths.
I opened them again almost immediately at the sound of a quiet mew from the corner of the room.
The cat from the photos. I glanced over at Luna before looking back down at Lauren.
"And now you've met the cat." She tugged my boxers down.
Now, I don't mean to brag. But -- in spite of my stamina -- I'm big enough that most women hesitate, at first. They start by kissing the length, or use their hand for a bit, deciding how to tackle me.
Lauren just let out a pleased sigh at the sight of my thick, erect length, tip glistening with precum, and -- not even breaking eye contact -- lowered her mouth onto me.
The sight of her pretty face, lips wrapped around my shaft, the wanton look in her eyes as she met mine, bobbing up and down, was impossibly hot. I was glad I had taken a moment to calm myself down, because damn. She might be introverted, but she obviously knew what she was doing.
I moaned out a helpless "oh, fuck," as she swirled her tongue around me.
As I stared down at her, working my shaft, she made a little purring sound. And then she wrapped one hand around the base of my shaft, and the other hand around my balls, and started working everything in unison with her mouth.
Frankly, in my experience, most women don't know what they're doing with balls. They're too rough, or just kind of tug on them.
Lauren knew just what to do. Her touch was soft, gentle, more like she was stroking them than fondling them, the sensation timed precisely with her movements up and down my shaft.
As a result, this was all racing me towards an orgasm very quickly. Exactly what I had been worried about happening. "I, uh, can you, slow down a sec--"
She pulled off of me with her mouth, but her hands kept moving. "Sorry, does that not feel good?" She asked the question innocently, biting her lip in consternation.
"N-no, it does, i-it feels really good..." I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, slow down the racing arousal. Fuck. I looked down at her, trying to get ahold of myself. Her hands felt so good, but pulling her mouth off me helped a little.
She smiled. She was amused, but it was a gentle smile. "Oh, I see. Okay. I like going down on you, though...you've got a nice cock, Matt. Let me play with it a bit longer and then you can, um...meet the cat."
I let out a helpless laugh -- who was I to argue? -- that turned into a moan as she resumed her handiwork.
She was working me faster, more urgently than before, staring up at my eyes. She didn't look shy, now.
She looked determined. Like she was trying to make me blow my load.
I tried to resist -- the reprieve had helped -- but I was too close. She was way more talented than I had expected and incredibly hot. I watched her, openmouthed, as she bobbed vigorously on my cock in time with her hands, trying to keep control of myself. Another ten seconds of that treatment had me almost at the point of no return.
"Lauren, fuck, just slow down a sec, or you'll..." I pulled away a little. She was the hottest woman I had been on a date with in a long time. I wanted to fuck her.
She pulled her mouth off my length. She was still stroking me with one hand, though, the other still massaging my balls. She glanced down, watching as she worked me with her hands. "Oh...sorry...I didn't realize you were that close...don't cum yet..." She bit her lip in consternation, staring at my cock.
When she pulled her mouth off of me, I felt a sense of relief; I thought it'd help me last longer, spare me an embarrassingly fast ejaculation.
But there was something in the way she said those words -- don't cum yet. She had a little smile on her face. Her pretty eyes flicked back up to mine, then back down to my cock, as if it was a little game for her to see if I'd cum or not.
She was playing it coy. But she obviously knew I was close, wasn't going to last. Was pleased with the effect she was having on me. And those hands, moving relentlessly.
"Lauren, I-I'm --" I was so preoccupied at holding back the floodgates that I couldn't even get the sentence out.
She just raised an eyebrow, and said, "Hm?" innocently, and then, "Oh -- is this still too fast?" like she hadn't been sure what I was getting at. I tried to fight it off, but a few more pumps of her hand was too much.
"Fuck--"
And like that, it was over. I felt myself crest over the edge. With a moan, I started bucking my hips. She pumped the load out of me expertly, hands moving in time as I thrust into her grip. She let out a delighted gasp as I sprayed across her face, mouth, neck, and upper chest, coating her. It was an incredible, intense, orgasm, and she stroked me through the whole thing, milking me with both hands. Eventually I had to pull away, my cock too sensitive to take more.
She smiled, and stood up. "Wow." Her voice was soft, gentle...pleased, as she pulled a box of tissues off her nightstand to clean herself up with.
---
I watched her clean up a little, dazed, feeling a little humiliated. I had been in her apartment for less than five minutes. She was still fully clothed. She picked up her phone, a slight smile playing across those perfect lips, and sent a text before putting it back down.
My face flushed with embarrassment, imagining what she was typing. Like I said, this sort of thing had happened to me before. I wasn't an idiot; I knew that performance was absolutely fodder for whatever girls group chat she was messaging.
But nobody had ever immediately just started texting their friends about how I had cum too quickly.
Pretty fucking rude, if you asked me. I knew I was bright red, a mix of embarrassment and anger coloring my features. "Lauren, I--"
"Shh. I'll be right back. You relax." She patted the bed, indicating for me to lie down, and went into the bathroom to clean up further, pulling the door shut behind her. That was probably for the best -- I have no idea what I would've said to her.
And then, I glanced over at her phone. I realized that I could see the screen was lit up, a text conversation open. She hadn't locked it when she set it down again.
Fuck it. It was an invasion of privacy, but in the moment I didn't care. I was sure she was talking shit about my stamina, and my embarrassment got the best of me. Quietly, the moment she closed the door, I rolled over and picked up her phone, scanning it quickly.
The open text thread was with someone named Viv in her phone. There were sparkle emojis on either side of "Viv."
I read what was on the screen. The topmost message was timestamped just after 9; right around when our date had begun. She had been on her phone a little bit at the start of our date, I remembered.
Lauren: so I think I found one
Viv: !!!!! no way
Lauren: I'm taking him home for sure so I'll know soon (There was an emoji tacked on to the end of the message: a monkey, covering its face with its hands, but one eye peeking out between the fingers.)
I looked at the time stamp on that message, and flinched a little. She had decided I was going home with her three minutes into our date. I felt weird about that. Knowing she had planned on bringing me home from the start. It hadn't been my sense of humor or personality or our chemistry or...
...I realized that I had no idea what, or who, Lauren thought she had "found." It wasn't really clear. I kept reading.
Viv: fingers crossed for you!
Half an hour after that:
Viv: well???
Lauren: the odds are good. heading back to my place now and we'll find out
Viv: attagirl
The odds are good? It...didn't make sense. I kept reading. The next text was from about twenty minutes ago:
Viv: omg any updates???
And then Lauren's latest reply -- from just seconds ago, what she had obviously been typing before she went into the bathroom.
Lauren: he is!! it's like you said, I could tell. will confirm for sure after hes gone
I was confused, as I read the last message. I had expected that maybe she'd been texting about my...lackluster performance, or something. Updates on what? Maybe it was about my performance...or my size? I re-read the message, trying to make sense of it. What was she going to confirm after I was gone?
As I was mulling all of this over, two things happened at once.
First, I could hear her finishing up in the bathroom. I hurriedly moved to put the phone back on her bedside table.
But just as I went to set it down, one more text from Viv came through. In a moment that was going to change everything, I glanced down at the phone.
Viv: little Laur's first thaumaturge! Finally! LMK when you know for sure
I paused, heart pounding, reading it quickly before hitting the lock button and lying back down on my side of the bed, plastering a smile on my face. Lauren came out of the bathroom, and lay down next to me, sighing contentedly.
I rolled to face her, but internally, I was turning the message over in my mind.
Thaumaturge? The word didn't mean anything to me.
Her phone buzzed -- probably more follow-up messages from Viv. Lauren paid it no mind.
"Are you embarrassed?" Lauren's voice was soft. She was staring at me intently, her expression...curious, maybe? I wasn't exactly sure.
I didn't know what to say. Let her know I had read the messages? You should really text Viv back? Just ask her what a thaumaturge was?
But what would that achieve? She'd be pissed. Kick me out. And...what was she talking about with her friend, anyway?
So put on my best smile. "Honestly? Yeah, I am. I usually don't, um..." I trailed off. I certainly didn't have to pretend any embarrassment at how quickly she'd gotten me off. Fuck, that had happened fast. In spite of my best efforts. It was fucking embarrassing.
She gave an understanding smile. "It's okay. It was flattering. I liked it. I'd like to do it again."
Suddenly, looking her in those gorgeous green eyes, I grappled with an emotion I didn't normally associate with casual hookups.
I was wary. Maybe even afraid.
I didn't feel physically unsafe, exactly. Lauren was a solid eight inches shorter than me. But behind the quiet gentleness, even behind the mild amusement, she had some ulterior motive here, and I didn't understand it. It made me worried. Cautious.
I couldn't get the text message out of my head. Say whatever she needs to hear and get out of here.
So I just nodded, trying to keep up the facade. "Yeah, I'd...like that too. I, uh, know you said you had an early morning...can I get your number? Or put mine in your phone?" I offered it out of habit. My experience was that most girls preferred that -- that way if they really wanted to reach out, they could. And if they didn't really want to, well -- you didn't have their number.
Lauren, however, was very happy to put her number in my phone. Almost eager. Probably didn't want me seeing anything I shouldn't on her phone.
"You have to actually text me, though, okay? Seriously, Matt. This was fun. I want to do it again." She looked expectant. Perhaps hoping I'd send her a text so she had my number, or just ask her for another date right then.
I didn't, though. She was too eager, and the mismatch between my performance and her interest, that text message exchange I'd seen...well, it all gave me pause. The silence stretched out, became awkward.
Time to go.
"I definitely will," I said, trying to sound decisive. Part of me meant it. She was funny. Sexy. Clever. Incredible in bed. Seemed game for another go in spite of my lackluster performance.
But there was something else going on here.
I avoided eye contact as I dressed. She watched me pull my pants back on quickly, a quiet smile on her pretty face.
I got the hell out of there, feeling unsettled.
---
Back at home, comforted by the familiar Saturday night sounds of my roommates in our tiny apartment, I felt safer. Chris was playing a video game in the living room. Alyssa was...well, I wasn't sure what she was watching in her bedroom, but it was making her laugh, a comfortable sound. Pike, whose photo had prompted the interaction with Lauren in the first place, was roaming about, and came up to me as I arrived in the living room, purring and rubbing against my leg.
I grabbed a beer, politely declined Chris's offer to join him in Call of Duty for the moment, went into my bedroom, shut my door, and breathed a sigh of relief.
What the fuck was a thaumaturge? The word had a vaguely...mystical, fantasy quality to it. I had read it before, I thought. Maybe in Lord of the Rings or something?
I pulled up the definition on my laptop. It wasn't helpful.
Thaumaturge
n. One who channels power to work wonders. A magician or miracle worker.
From the Greek, "performer of wonders." Thaumat-, thaûma "wonder, object of wonder or admiration, marvel" + -ourgos "performing, carrying out, working."
It did kind of confirm the...Gandalf-esque vibe the word gave me. I mulled it over, sipping at my beer. I couldn't remember the exact wording of their exchange, now; I had been in a hurry, stressed out. I wished I had taken a photo of the chat with my own phone, or scrolled up further to see more of what they had said before that. There hadn't been time, obviously, but it meant I wasn't operating with much context. It was just so...odd. They had both seemed excited that Lauren had found a thaumaturge, so they must be rare, unusual....
And they'd been talking about me?
It felt weird. I mulled it over a while longer, but eventually I gave up trying to figure it out. Maybe it was slang. Maybe they were fetishizing me in some weird way. I could decide whether to text Lauren back later. Right now it didn't feel like a good idea, that was for sure.
I could hear Chris, obviously losing badly, cursing at the game in our living room.
I picked up my beer, closed my laptop, and went out to lend him a hand.
