The Story of F, Part One

Up until that afternoon, no one in the office had seemed to pay me more than a passing glance•so it surprised me, a little, that someone had even noticed me, but it was quite obvious that I’d more than caught their eye from the very first sentence of the email.

From: f@pacenterprises.com
Subject: Indecency
To: eworth@pacenterprises.com

Elizabeth-

Could you please stop wearing those low-cut shirts? I don’t think they’re appropriate attire for a company such as ours. They draw the eye far too much, and I find I just can’t concentrate when you’re walking the halls with your décolletage so heavily on display.

Yours,

F.

Well, this wasn’t exactly the most polite•or tasteful•email I’d ever received, but this “F” person obviously wasn’t trying to be polite. Not that I minded, exactly. I really hadn’t been feeling all that attractive lately•my boyfriend of three years had said he “wanted some time to think about you and me” just a month ago, and it felt almost as if no one would ever notice me again, much less notice my “décolletage.” After a few moments, I decided to write back, partially to see if I could get a clue or to about who had written me.

From: eworth@pacenterprises.com
Subject: Re: Indecency
To: f@pacenterprises.com

F. (which is not exactly a name!)-

You have quite the nerve. I almost think I should arrange a meeting with my supervisor and see what they have to say about this inappropriate attitude you seem to have towards me. Please be careful in future emails, and reign yourself in.

Elizabeth

That was settled, then. I went home and ordered in Indian. For some reason, I was in the mood for something spicy.

The next day, I made a point of wearing a blouse that was unbuttoned just enough to show the black, lace-edged camisole I’d worn underneath it. I kept my eyes peeled for other people’s wandering eyes, but no one seemed to pay more than a second’s attention to me all day. I tried not to check my email too often, even though I was dying to see if there would be a reaction. Then, right around the same time of day, “F” wrote me again.

From: f@pacenterprises.com
Subject: Further Indecencies
To: eworth@pacenterprises.com

Elizabeth-

You really have outdone yourself today. I got hard just looking at that beautiful show between the buttons of your shirt, and had to hide myself in my office until my dick went soft again. The things you do to me…and the things I would do to you, if I only could…

Yours,

F.

 

Well, this had just gotten a whole lot more interesting. I got back to what I was supposed to be working on while I thought about how to reply•but my sudden wetness caused by his choice words certainly didn’t go unnoticed. About ten minutes later, I was ready with my reply.

From: eworth@pacenterprises.com
Subject: Further Indecencies
To: f@pacenterprises.com

F.-

You really shouldn’t be allowing my cleavage to distract you so. What we do at this office is serious business, and your dick, hard or not, should not be paid any attention while you’re supposed to be working. I figure since you said you have an office you’re higher up in the company, and so you should be ashamed of your level of distraction. I will be sure and wear something far less suggestive tomorrow, and if your dick gets hard at all, that is your own damn fault, and not mine.

“Yours,”

Elizabeth

Signing the email “Yours” gave me a momentary high, as did putting this pervert in his place. For all I knew, he was the overweight, combed-over jerk who ran our whole section of the company. His armpits were always damp, and bits of spittle would occasionally land on my face when he told me what to do. But he was not an F-anything•his name was Arnold Hall•so hopefully that counted him out. I ran over all the names I knew of the men who had offices, and came up blank. I’d only been here a month, and had only spoken to a few of them•at least six men here had offices, and luckily, a few were certainly good-looking.

That night, I got swept up in thoughts of who it could be, and I wound up rubbing my far-too-swollen clit while thinking of two mysterious bosses (they looked like my favorite movie stars) ganging up on me, filling all my holes, and I came quick and hard.

The next morning, a pale, lavender envelope was on my keyboard, with my name written across it in script reminiscent of a fountain pen. Who on earth still used those? Then I pictured myself, sneaking into office after office, to see if any bottles of black ink were left out on any desks,  to see if “F” had forgotten to hide the evidence. Because this was obviously from him, no doubt about it. Inside the envelope was a piece of paper, and a gift certificate from a luxury sex toy shop that I’d wandered by a few times, but never entered. It was for a ludicrously high amount, more than I made in a week at my job. The note said, in the same elegant, cursive penmanship,

Elizabeth-

I hope you’ll think of me while you’re wandering through this store. I hope you’ll blush a little, and that maybe one of the women working there will notice you blushing, will find it appealing, and that she will decide to lure you into the back room. If this does happen, please email me all the details. If not, at least tell me what you buy.

Yours,

F.

If only I could decipher something about this “F” from his handwriting. I’d heard that you could figure out almost everything about someone based purely on the way they crossed their T’s and looped their G’s, but all I could tell was he had very nice handwriting and that he was an even bigger pervert than I had previously thought. A very generous pervert, though.

It took me almost a week to work up the nerve to go into the store, and when I did, I shopped quickly, not giving any of the women working there a chance to see me blushing•not that I did blush. Not really, not noticeably, or so I hoped. The women working there were cute, though, and I found myself, strangely (or maybe not), entertaining fantasies about one of them, probably not unlike the ones this “F” character had imagined himself. I pictured her laying over me, running her long, strawberry curls down my breasts, her tongue licking me, her fingers thrusting into me and getting me off, all in front of the other customers, surrounded by all the sex toys and lingerie.

Now I was certainly blushing noticeably, so I grabbed the closest three things•a silver butt-plug with a faceted black jewel on its bottom, a remote controlled, pink butterfly vibrator with a short, insertable dildo attached, and a sleek, leather corset with shiny black ribbons running back and forth across the back. I hoped it would fit, because there was no way I was sticking around long enough to try it on, not with that woman within arm’s reach. Not with the thoughts of asking her to help lace me up in the dressing room. Oh, no, that wouldn’t do. I was left with about a fourth of the gift card, and I exited the store and started towards home. I surprised myself by realizing that I couldn’t wait to tell “F” what I’d bought. Maybe he’d have some ideas about how I should use my new things.

I wandered around my apartment for awhile after I got home, after I’d placed the three things on my bed to admire them. I dusted a little, read a few pages of a Nikola Tesla biography, and the whole while, my laptop, sitting on my desk in my bedroom, taunted me mercelessly. Finally, I gave in, booted it up, and began to compose an email to “F” from my personal email account.

From: elizab3thworth@revmail.com
Subject: My trip to the store
To: f@pacenterprises.com

F-

I guess I should start by thanking you for the gift certificate. It was very generous of you, albeit rather fucking innapropriate. But I did use it, and no, I did not fuck anyone at the store, although, I guess I can tell you that there was a lovely woman with curly, strawberry blond hair there who caught my eye. I fantasized about her, about what we might do, but in the end, I blushed furiously and rushed out of the store.

Now, onto my purchases. I brought home a wearable, butterfly vibrator with a cock-shaped protrusion that I believe is meant to penetrate the wearer while she’s being vibrated away to ecstasy, and I can certainly picture how wonderful that might feel (but I haven’t tried it yet). I also got a silver butt-plug with a beautiful, black jewel on its end, which I’d imagine would look quite pretty resting between my asscheeks, the plug itself buried deep within my ass. And, last, a corset, but I don’t even know if it’s the right size. I was too nervous in the store…you may be surprised, but that was my first time in a sex store, and it was a very curious experience. I await your reply.

Elizabeth

To be continued…

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Maggie Morton

Maggie Morton's first novel, Dreaming of Her, is published by Bold Strokes Books - it's an erotic, lesbian, fantasy novel, and has a fair share of romance as well. Her gay, fantasy novella A Fairy's Embrace is published by Xcite Books, and her writing appears in various anthologies, including Eve's Big Bang, Kinky Girls, and Dark Desires. She lives in Northern California with her partner and their Japanese Bobtail.

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