A Gift for Simone

I look forward to hearing from you and learning about your requirements if we are to progress.

Simone's insides flipped when she read through the brief message the first time, her jaw slackening with each line during the subsequent, inevitable second read.

"Oh. My. God..." she breathed, eyes fixed on the screen.

So there it was in black and white! Jake had finally broken cover. Okay, he was using a blind email identity, but she could understand that, after all, Jake was right to be cautious.

Too bad Jake had already left the building -- heading up to Shropshire for the weekend with that dollop. If he'd still been ensconced in his office Simone would have simply thrown over the email suggestion and boldly walked in and offered herself. Wife or no wife, she would have made her move on Jake Morris, TheMainMan@savernet.com himself.

Instead, since the physical option wasn't workable, Simone, appreciating Jake's requirement for discretion, carefully noted the email address before deleting the message from her inbox.

From then on she'd use her personal laptop and a savernet.com address as suggested by Jake.

But what could she call herself? She needed an identity that conveyed her desires. Nothing too slutty, but something dirty enough to fire up Jake's imagination. She wanted Jake Morris to experience a surge of excitement when he logged into the email provider's site and saw her reply in his inbox.

Her first response had to be something that made him crazy with desire for her. Simone needed to compose a message which would make TheMainMan desperate. She wanted him sitting at home, with the smug-faced fat cow downstairs, fisting his dick and wishing he was with Simone.

Simone packed her bag. She would think something up during the train journey home.

Five

5 July. 20:37 From: <CommandoGrrl@savernet.com>

To: <TheMainMan@savernet.com>

Subject: Your Gift email.

So, you got your gift? Sorry to be so forward, but I've been trying for weeks to give you the hint.

*pout* - I thought you'd never notice me!

Please let me know what you have in mind. You can be as open as you want. You won't shock me!

But you can try!

CommandoGrrl xxx

Simone dithered. It hand taken much longer than she could have anticipated to first come up with an identity and then to compose a reply.

Even then, with her finger poised over the mouse, the message a click away from being sent, Simone wasn't entirely happy.

CommandoGrrl? Really? Was that handle the best she could come up with?

And what about the body of the text itself? Should she include some smut in amongst it?

"For fuck's sake," Simone snarled eventually. Her own prevarication was growing tedious. "It is what it fucking is ... Who gives a fuck about the name? Who gives a shit about the message? If he wants to reply, he will ... If not--"

And then it was too late. As though it were an independent entity with a mind of its own, Simone's index finger tapped the mouse. The screen hung for a blink before Message Sent flashed up.

"Oh shit..." Simone muttered. "I need a drink."

Six

"You fucking bastard," Simone growled. "You arsehole. You wanker."

With a snort of derision she brought the side of her fist down against the table, her face a twisted and ugly mask of frustration.

It was Sunday and there was still no response from Jake-fucking-Morris. Not a cunting word!

"BASTARD!" Simone bellowed, uncaring that the man in the flat below might hear.

Fuck the world. The bloke in the downstairs flat could fuck off, too. And fuck Jake Morris most of all.

"You fucking shithouse," the woman hissed, teeth bared while she vented her frustrations. "That's it. I'm not playing this game. Who the fuck do you think you are to keep me hanging around like this?" Simone stalked through the flat, moving towards the kitchen and the vodka bottle nestled in the freezer. "A weekend wasted," she raged. "Jesus Christ! What a fucking mug!"

Two fingers of harsh spirit in a tumbler disappeared in a single swallow. Simone coughed, eyes watering. "Fucking hell," she spluttered. "That fucking stings."

Another generous measure glugged into the glass before, slightly calmer but still fizzing, Simone returned to the living room.

The laptop, evidence of her idiocy, mocked her.

Simone glanced at the clock on the DVD player. "I'll give you until two o'clock, Jake. Then, that's it. If I haven't heard by then I'll be sending a message telling you to fuck off."

At ten minutes to two, a fourth tumbler of vodka on the table, an ashtray containing two half-smoked cigarettes lay alongside -- crushed victims of Simone's ire -- she sat down in front of her laptop.

"Fuck off," slurred Simone when the machine chirruped cheerfully to life. She was resigned to the fact that there would be no response from Jake, already composing the hate mail she would send.

"Oh, Jesus," she muttered and reached for her cigarettes. It was the emergency packet she'd forgotten all about during her giving up period. She lit up, sucking deep, the harsh smoke stale and ugly before she cursed and crushed the vile-tasting thing into the ashtray. Simone didn't need the nicotine anyway; she got enough of a buzz from seeing that little envelope blinking away.

The cursor moved across the screen and Simone clicked the mouse once.

7 July. 13:10 From: <TheMainMan@savernet.com>

To: < CommandoGrrl@savernet.com>

Subject: Re. Your Gift email.

Simone.

Weeks, eh? You naughty grrl -- BTW, are you going to be commando from now on? After all, I have your underwear ... and the thought of you all bare under your skirt is such a turn on.

Although, before I continue, please, for the sake of professionalism -- and in order to ensure we don't get caught in some sordid, deeply embarrassing and potentially career-breaking compromising position -- I would prefer if we kept this, and what may develop in the future, completely separate from our working relationship.

There MUST be nothing between us at all when we're together. No looks, smiles, veiled comments or private jokes. Nothing. If we allowed ourselves to indulge, someone would notice. Rest assured, Simone, somebody would spot something.

And then it would be over. Before it even started.

I don't want it to be over, Simone. I want to have fun ... a LOT of fun, with you.

Besides, I think that doing things that way makes it so much hotter! The denial will only serve to inflame us both. Don't you think?

So, I hope you can agree. Nothing between us when we're together. Not even if it's the two of us alone. Not a thing.

You said I couldn't shock you? I'll tell you what -- It'll be a thrill to try!

You'll have to give me a clue about what you enjoy, but to start us off I'll share something with you.

What I've been thinking of this weekend is the two of us at a very expensive, very exclusive hotel. I want you dressed in lingerie, Simone, something that shows off your legs and breasts. I'm a sucker for a hot, sexy woman in heels and stockings. I'll bet you'd be irresistible dressed as my little whore.

I hope I don't offend you by saying that. I don't think you're a whore, but I'd love you to role-play that part if you would.

Anyway, I'd better not go too far, not this time. I'll wait and see what your response is to my suggestion. And feel free to let me know of anything nasty and dirty you'd like to do.

I can't shock you, you say? See if you can shock me, Simone. Give it your best and we can compare notes.

xxx

7 July. 14:42 From: <CommandoGrrl@savernet.com>

To: <TheMainMan@savernet.com>

Subject: Re. Re. Your Gift email.

God, I'm so horny for you right now!

OK. I get it about our not giving away any clues. It'll be difficult -- I just want to suck your dick and have you fuck me whenever I see you -- but what you said about it being so much hotter this way...

Fuck, the thought of it is making me so wet.

If you want me to be your whore, I'd love it. I'll do anything you want me to. You can have me anywhere you want at any time. You can use my mouth, my pussy ... even my arse. Would you like to fuck my dirty hole?

I could pretend to be a call-girl if you like. At the hotel, I could knock on your door and you could let me in. You can even pay me to fuck (I'll give you the money back, of course. Afterwards. But for the sake of the role-play, you could hand over a big wad of cash).

I'm going to sit here now and rub my pussy. I'm hot and wet and desperate for you. I'm so fucking horny that I can't stop myself from playing with myself.

Think about that. Think about me sitting here at home, my fingers curled inside my cunt while I get myself to a huge orgasm. I'll be thinking about you fucking my mouth while I masturbate. I wish it was your cock fucking me instead of my fingers.

Please, don't make me wait too long before we can play out our little games for real. I don't know how much I can take before I'll just jump you!

xxx

Simone left the laptop active, too impatient to close the machine down after sending her latest message through the ether. She stumbled into her bedroom, panting with desire, cursing when she tripped over her own leggings. Simone was in such indecent haste to get at her body she was hauling down the elastic leg-wear as she went.

"Yes!" she grunted, falling onto her bed. Her legs fell open and as Simone slid a finger through the gooey folds of her sex. "Oh, you horny bitch," she grunted. "Wet ... so fucking wet."

Simone slid a hand beneath her tee-shirt and mauled at her breasts, the fingers of her other hand describing frantic circles around her clitoris.

"Jake," she hissed, all clenched teeth and tensed muscles. "Dammit, Jake, if I don't get fucked by you soon I'll go stark, raving fucking mad."

Simone grunted and yanked up her tee-shirt, stretching the hem in her anxious desperation to haul her breasts from her bra.

"You want me to be your whore, Jake?" Simone whined, the sensations pulsing from her core almost too exquisite to bear. "I'll dress for you, you dirty bastard. I'll put on a show for you; I'll have you choking to fuck me. You wait and see..."

Simone groaned, her back arching, hips rising while she forced her body onto her probing fingers. Her sex sluiced around her digits, squelching obscenely, lust dribbling out of her body and sliding along the cleft of her buttocks, a stain widening beneath her.

"I'll be the dirtiest whore ever. I'll make your eyes pop out of your skull. You'll be so fucking hot for me, Jake that ... that ... Oh, fuck, you'll be so hot you'll come in your trousers..."

In her mind's eye Simone saw Jake Morris all hot-eyed with desire. She watched him unbutton his suit trousers and haul forth an erection of staggering proportions. The fantasy-cock was thick and gnarled, a terrible thing to behold, a magnificent example of its kind, a cock that would feel so good pushing into Simone's body, opening her and filling her with living, pulsing gristle.

"Lick my cunt, first," the woman mewled to the empty room. She had three fingers slotted inside her opening. "Suck my clit. Get me all worked up before I let you stick that thing inside me. Come on, Jake, eat my pussy."

The lewd images and undiluted indecency of her own imaginings took Simone there. Her fingers worked at her sex, probing, curling inside to rub at the special place therein, her other hand sliding over her torso, pawing at breast flesh and pinching tender nipples.

Simone revelled at the texture of her skin beneath her palm as she stroked her thighs, relishing the difference between taut, pliant muscle on her upper leg and the silky smooth of her inner thigh.

She rubbed her clit hard, two fingers working at the nub before she gasped and softened her approach.

"Please," she whined, a forefinger barely skimming the slippery nub. "Please, let me come. I've got to come..."

A few seconds more of softly-softly before Simone cranked up her engine. She worked at her sex, probing inside one second, two stiff fingers fucking her opening while she splayed the meaty flaps of her labia and diddled her clit before she then swirled a hand in its entirety around and around her mushy flesh.

"I'll be so much better than that dollop you call a wife, Jake."

Simone pictured herself squatting over Jake Morris's face, her gaping cunt hovering there just beyond his reach.

"I'll be so dirty you won't fucking believe it," she gasped. "I'll be such a filthy whore you'll do anything for me. Lick my cunt, Jake. Taste me. That's what a woman tastes of..."

And with that vision in mind, Simone grinding herself against her lover's face, her pussy dripping onto his skin, she grunted a huge cry of absolute pleasure and climaxed heavily.

The orgasm rolled on and on, with Simone on her side, thighs clamped tight around her forearm, insides clenching on her fingers.

"Oh, shit," she eventually gasped and rolled onto her back. Simone lay there with a forearm draped across her forehead, limbs sprawled and useless. Her chest heaved, breasts rolling while she fought for breath, her mind numb.

"When it happens, Jake," she finally managed to mumble. "It'll be so fucking good."

Simone lay there for a few indulgent minutes, her mind drifting into a fantasy where the current Mrs Morris had been rejected, thrown aside for the hotter, fitter substitute.

No more working -- imagine that! What a life, money to burn and with the added bonus of having Jake's cock on a whim.

A new plan began to form, one that not only concerned fucking her boss but also included Simone usurping her rival in Jake's affections.

Simone decided she wanted it all.

Seven

On Monday morning Simone didn't mind the crowded train in the slightest. Nothing could spoil her mood. She was ebullient that morning, buoyed by the email waiting for her when she checked her inbox shortly after waking.

It would be a good week, she knew it. In fact, if anything, after reading the message Jake had sent her late the night before, it would be a great week. The best.

As the train rattled towards King's Cross, with the skeletal finger of Alexandra Palace tower ignored by Simone, unable to resist another read, pulled the folded sheet of A4 from her laptop case. After a quick check to ensure the man sitting next to her had no interest in the document, her eyes devoured the words again.

7 July. 23:17 From: <TheMainMan@savernet.com>

To: <CommandoGrrl@savernet.com>

Subject: Re. Re. Re. Your Gift email.

A call-girl would be excellent. How much would you charge for your services? Is it by-the-hour or a flat fee for all night? Are there add-ons for extra services?

I like the idea of you masturbating, and I especially enjoyed your use of the word 'cunt'. I think when used sparingly and in the right circumstances that word is so powerful and stimulating.

I think I'd enjoy hearing you being a gutter-mouthed slut.

Would you be that woman for me? Would you masturbate for me and use filthy language?

I hope so. I really do hope you will.

In fact, I have an idea. I think we should make plans to spend the night together very soon. I think we should make it happen this week.

Would Thursday night suit you? I'll book a room and give you the details. You could arrive 'in character'. I want you in an elegant dress. We'll keep it simple. Black stockings -- hold-ups, no bra and (since you're CommandoGrrl) no knickers. Basically, beneath the dress, with the exception of the stockings, all I want you to wear is perfume.

I expect my whore to wear the highest heels she can possibly walk in.

I would love to watch you strut around, naked less shoes and stockings.

How does that sound? Do you think you could enjoy that? Would putting on a show for me get you going?

An idea has just occurred to me. You can expect a gift by courier this week. It probably won't be tomorrow, but possibly -- probably -- Tuesday. When you receive the gift email me and I'll tell you what I want you to do with it.

So, there are things to look forward to. I hope your knickerless today, my little whore.

Remember, discretion is all.

x

It was so difficult when Simone saw Jake that morning. He arrived just after eleven, looking cool and crisp and professional after his own commute from Shropshire, and it was only Jake's detached demeanour that reminded Simone that he'd insisted on no outward indication of their burgeoning affair.

"Morning, Jake," Simone replied when, dropping his own, "Good morning, Simone. Good weekend?" Jake strode past her desk.

Simone couldn't help smirking. "I enjoyed myself yesterday," she said.

Jake paused and then turned to face Simone. "Oh yes?"

Simone felt the heat rise in her face under Jake's scrutiny. Why had she said that? What had possessed her to comment on the weekend? Now he was looking at her and she wasn't sure if he was testing her. Was Jake checking to see if she could keep her word about discretion? After all, this was their first day, the first bloody second almost. Simone cursed internally; she'd stumbled at the first hurdle.

"C-compared to Saturday," Simone stammered. "Saturday was so boring. I ... uh ... I managed to get out and about on Sunday." Her eyes slid away from Jake's appraisal.

God, she wanted to kiss him!

"Good. Excellent. As long as you had a good time, Simone." Following the bland response Jake checked his watch. "Right, well, I better get on with it. Got a lot to do this week as you know."

Simone admonished herself as soon as the door to Jake's office clicked shut. "Shit," she muttered. "Shit and arseholes. Get a fucking grip of yourself, woman." Her nails dug into the palms of her hands.

A few moments later, settling at her desk, Simone decided to compose an email immediately.

She wrote:

8 July. 13:32 From: <CommandoGrrl@savernet.com>

To: <TheMainMan@savernet.com>

Subject: Sorry.

Oh my God! I'm such an idiot. Sorry for being so indiscreet. I didn't think it would be so difficult! But I promise -- cross my heart -- to do better.

Thursday night? I can't wait! Just thinking about being together and me playing the whore makes me shiver with delight. My pussy gets so wet when I think about how you want me. I'd love to strut around in heels and watch your face. I hope you'll be hungry for me. I want a bloody good seeing-to. I need fucking so much.

A gift? This week? I'm intrigued and I look forward to it.

Okay, I'd better get on with my work. My boss is such a demanding bastard! *grin*.

I don't know how I'm going to manage it but I'll do my best to leave my pussy alone. I'd really love to play with her right now, but...

I await your next email with eager anticipation. (Make it dirty. Tell me how bad you want me to be on Thursday night).

xxx

Eight

He told her how bad he wanted her to be. The email was so filthy, so depraved, and despite Simone's assurances she wouldn't be shocked -- she was. Nevertheless, regardless of the obscenities described in that email, or perhaps because of them, Simone found herself staggering, weak-kneed and desperate, into the unisex.

Her heels pecked at the tiles as she gave a little dance, hips wriggling while yanking her skirt up past her hips. She held the garment ruched at her waist and sat down on the cold ring of the toilet seat, thighs parting.

"Fuck," she mumbled, chewing on her bottom lip in an effort to stifle the moans bubbling out of her. "Oh ... Fuck..."

Simone's pussy was sodden beneath her fingers, desire sluicing from her opening. She rubbed her clit between the tips of a forefinger and thumb, rolling the flesh and wishing she could wank it like a cock. Looking down at herself, labia heavy and pouting, her core swollen, and with lust bubbling at the opening, hot and scarlet and yearning, Simone moaned.