The Gift
by Virago Blue


     Simone noticed the handsome, dark-haired man
trudging up the stairs to the old cottage as if he were
bearing a great burden on his shoulders.  Yes, she
sensed pain clearly in this young man.   She adjusted
her slight weight within the low-lying branches of the
old magnolia, admiring him through the heavy leaves. 
He tried to disguise the torture he felt within, and
most would not notice his anguish, but Simone felt his
pain.    

     Simone's delicate fingers combed back several
sinuous tendrils of chestnut hair heckled by the sultry
breeze.  She retied the errant locks back into their
satiny restraint.  The ends of her burnished hair
reached nearly to the gentle curve of her hips.  She
liked to keep her hair tied back loosely at her nape
with the blue ribbon Luke had given her before she went
away.  

     Her Grandmere said Simone was born with the gift
of inner sight, much like many of the kin of old Pierre
LeVay.  She was able to inhale an impression, weeding
through the falsities until she found the truth.  She
sought the weakness or the pain and was able to soothe
away the blemish on the soul, that is if she felt the
person was worthy of her gift.  Simone was born with
the gift of inner sight, yes, but she was also born
into a world of fear.  Many fights she had against
those who feared her differences, but no battle was
worse than the last one.

     Mitch Vargas needed a vacation.  Maison Cadeaux
seemed to be the place he could be alone to think and
forget about the downward spiral his life had just
taken. He was heartbroken after last week's emotionally
draining fight with his fianc‚e, or his ex-fianc‚e now. 
She had begged and pleaded, said how much she had
regretted it, that it would never happen again, but he
just couldn't get the picture out of his mind.  He
broke off with his fianc‚e and for a damn good
reason.  He had walked in on her giving his best friend
a blow job.  What hurt even worse than their betrayal
was the fact that she had never given Mitch a blow job
in their fourteen months together, saying she could
never do "that."  He was forced to realize Eve was a
no-good, dirty bitch after his money and nothing else. 
She even admitted she felt more for his bank account
than for him when she came to realize that Mitch was
standing firm and wasn't going to forgive and
forget.  

     His secretary had looked over all the travel
brochures for him and convinced him to stay at
Maison Cadeaux, a whitewashed plantation which lounged
beneath centuries-old moss-draped oaks, and a four star
kitchen with a world renowned chef overseeing the
preparation of fine creole cuisine.   The place was
beautiful and  historic with more than a little scandal
surrounding the past to make the trip interesting. 
What the hell, he thought.  Something different.  

     Mitch requested the isolated cottage behind the
main house.  He was not in the mood to chat with any
well-meaning tourists or locals about the weather or
other mundane subjects, he just wanted to be left alone
to think.  The recent blow to his self-esteem had
depressed him more than he wanted to admit.  

     Once Mitch crossed the threshold of the quaint
cottage  a feeling of relaxation began to
ease through his exhaustion.  The cottage was
luxurious.  The main room held a cherry wood
dining room table adorned with an old lace runner, an
ornate silver and crystal candelabra holding
court over a bowl of polished fruit, sugared pecans and
butter mints.  A large sideboard set with
sparkling crystal goblets and other glasses stretched
along the left wall.  He caught his haggard
reflection in the mirror above the sideboard, pausing a
moment to push a strand of dark hair from his forehead. 
Several impressive antiques were placed among freshly
polished wood floors and side tables strewn with old
volumes of some long forgotten book.  Every piece
within the cottage was placed with a loving and expert
hand.  The kitchen was small but efficient.  The
bedroom impressed him the most.  An antique rice bed
rose up from the hardwood floor, its tall, phallic-like
four posts nearly touched the ceiling.  Mosquito
netting draped over the posts, framing the beige
and gold silk lover's nest, giving him another reason
to feel depressed.  He will be sleeping alone,
again.

     Mitch climbed the small step stool into the
massive bed.  He tried to gather an image in his
mind, an image of he and Eve in happier times, making
love in his sleek-lined bed, a bed so different from
this giant.  He couldn't picture their times together
anymore, he only felt pain.  His thoughts were
interrupted by a knock at the door. 

     Simone left the shade of the ancient magnolia,
fondling one of the fragrant saucer-sized
blooms.  Sun warmed the grass under her bare feet as
she strode closer to the cottage.  A lazy
breeze licked her bare skin, its tongue the diaphanous
gown she favored.  The touch of the fabric
against her skin brought a sigh from her mauve lips. 
Light brown nipples rubbed against the thin
material as the breeze playfully wrapped around her. 
The dark hair at the juncture of her thighs
stood out under the clingy pale gown.  

     Simone wanted to ease this handsome stranger's
pain.  She didn't want him to grieve any
longer, not if she could make him forget for a few
hours.  She walked to the cottage door and
knocked  lightly against the red panel, plucking a
gardenia from the potted shrub by the door. 

     "Yes?"  His warm cinnamon eyes questioned.

     "Good morning, cher'.  How was your journey?  I
trust it was well?"  Simone edged by
Mitch before he could protest, making her way to the
tiny kitchen and the pitcher of Mimosas that
was kept chilled for all the new guests.  She placed
the pitcher on the sideboard, reaching for  a
crystal goblet.  

     Mitch was momentarily speechless as this slight
woman strode past him as if she owned the place. 
Weren't southern women supposed to be demure?  "Hey! 
What the . . . " Mitch stammered as he looked her over,
stopping momentarily to gaze at a brown nipple peeking
at him through her garment.  

     She tilted her head and smiled slowly, waiting for
him to look from her breasts up into her
brown eyes.  When he finally did, she continued on in
her soothing way.  "M'sieur, you were not
told?  I come with this cottage.  I am here to make
your stay pleasant and relaxing.  My name is
Simone."  She held the cut glass goblet for him to
take.  "Mimosa?"  Simone smiled into his
confused eyes as he sipped the orange juice and
champagne. 

     "Thanks...uh...this is good."  

     "You have never enjoyed a good Mimosa, cher'?"

     "No.  I don't think so."

     "Ah, cher' . . . we drink these for breakfast on
Maison Cadeaux.  It is a tradition.   Before,
during and after our morning toilette.  You must not be
from around here. "

     "Actually, I'm from Denver.  Read about this place
. . . wanted . . .um. . .what are you doing?"  

     Simone slipped the gown from her shoulders,
letting it puddle to the floor.  She stood in front of
him confidently, a slight touch of coyness added for
his enjoyment.  Her skin warmed under his stare.  She
hoped his morals would not stop him from taking her
gift.  "Why don't you let me show you how we live on
Maison Cadeaux?  Is this not your vacation?  You must
enjoy your time spent here.  Let me  help."  She turned
and padded into the bathroom, kneeling at the
claw-footed tub to draw a warm bath.  

     "I . . . ah . . . I don't think all this was part
of the package."

     "You are weary from your journey, let me bathe you
and feed you.  You did not realize room service meant
me?"  Simone pouted prettily up at him, her firm rear
resting on her heels.  She could see that he was
battling with himself, wondering how he could possibly
take advantage of this situation after his recent
experience.  

     She raised up off her knees and leaned over the
tub, reaching for a bottle of bath oil. 
Wantonly, she arched her slender back enough to lift
her dainty rear, revealing a glimpse of what
could be his.  

     Simone watched the iridescent ribbon of scented
oil become engulfed with the warm running water.  He
needed to be undressed, perhaps that would sway him her
way.  

     Her sinewy legs unfolded into a stand.  Her
profile was one of grace and dignity, primal and
animalistic at the same time.  She felt his eyes drink
in her nakedness, from her tiny feet to the heavy
curves of her breasts.  Her color was the same all
over: pale cafe-au-lait.  Her brown nipples stood taut
and erect as she walked slowly toward him.  She
couldn't stop the smile which threatened to bubble
forth into a laugh when he blushed at her show.  She
flirted with those warm cinnamon eyes as she unbuttoned
his shirt.  She eased it off  his shoulders, sliding
her hands up his chest and shoulders before slowly
traveling down his arms to push it from him.  She
placed a tender kiss on his chest over his heart,
hesitating long enough to feel it quicken.  He smelled
so good, much like Luke did, sandalwood and soap.  She
dabbled his chest with more soft kisses
while she unbuckled his pants.  

     She rubbed her palm against the hardness of his
cock before springing it from the confines
of his clothing.  His cock stood tall and proud, a dewy
drop of his juice balancing on the tip. 
Simone took that as a good sign and began plying him
with her lips and tongue.  Lower and lower
she slid until she knelt before him and his engorged
cock.  His unbridled groan further encouraged
her as she played gently with his scrotum, pulling it
closer to the thick shaft of his cock.  His
fingers dipped into her unbound waves which drifted
against her face and back.  She pulled him in
deeper to her mouth, rolling her tongue up and over the
shiny head of his cock.  She splayed one
hand across the back of his thigh for support, resting
her fingers on the hardened muscles of his
rear.  She could feel the tension building within him,
ready for release, physical release.  She
moved her free hand rhythmically up and down his
slippery shaft, moaning a little here and there
when his cockhead hit the back of her mouth.  The
throbbing started, slowly at the very base of
his shaft.  Mitch moaned and shuddered, pulling from
her mouth.  His cock jerked several times,
pumping  heavy spurts of semen on her neck to drip over
and between her breasts.  

     "I'm sorry. . . " He looked down at her
apologetically, his breathing heavy, a fine sheen of
sweat covering his chest.

     "Sorry?  For what, cher'?"  She studied his body
from the tip of his chocolate brown hair
which curled sexily at the nape of his neck, down his
meaty build, and back up to meet his warm
cinnamon eyes.  Delicious.       

     She perched precariously on the edge of the bath
tub, dipping one foot into the warm
scented  water.  She could feel his eyes on her back. 
She slid into the tub with a delicate splash,
looking up at him with a giggle.  "The water is fine,
cher'.  Join me?"  

     The tub was a little small to hold two people
unless one was on top of the other.  He was
still a little shocked, she could tell, yet he slid
into the tub without further urging.  Mitch slid
forward, bending his knees, pulling Simone in to nestle
between his legs, her own legs wrapped around his
waist.  From this vantage point he could see clearly
the pink of her sex nestled within the dark hair
between her thighs.  

     The look on his rugged face spoke to her, telling
her she was welcome.  The look from this man, Mitch,
made her exile worthwhile.  If she could, she would
spend more than a few hours  with him.  She wasted no
time finding a bath sponge and soap, lathering herself
as she watched his reaction.  The scent of the soap
tickled her nose with its magnolia aroma as she
lavished her breasts with more.  He didn't take his
eyes off her breasts, watching as her erect brown
nipples peeked through the lather.  She took his hand
and placed it on her breast.  She writhed against
him, pressing her warm sex against his hard thigh as he
tentatively squeezed her nipple.  She moaned when he
squeezed her nipples harder.   He took the sponge from
her and rinsed her off.  Her breasts bounced slightly
with each passing of the rough sponge over her skin.  

     Encouraged by her whispered pleading, he lifted
her from the water, cradling her in his arms.  They
both fell onto the bed, hungry for each other.  Simone
slid up and down his slippery body, teasing his chest
and stomach with her nipples, tickling his muscular
thigh with the curls between her legs.  

     "Wha--What is your name again?"  Breathing between
kisses, Mitch asked.

     "Simone."  She nipped hungrily at his nipple.  

     "Angel of mercy."  He whispered before rolling her
on her back.  Simone's ribbon had long since been lost
from her hair, the tousled mane now spread beneath her. 
Her breasts flattened and spread as she lay on her
back, her nipples erect and pointing at the ceiling, a
smaller match with the bedposts.  His mouth found a
nipple, flicking it slowly with his tongue.  She
writhed as the flicking quickened, interspersed with
sucks and bites.  His hands explored every
inch of her body, pausing briefly at the curious
scarring on her hip.  His thick fingers sought out
her glistening pussy.  She cried out as he brushed
across the sensitive erection of her clit.  

     "Wet."  Mitch murmured.  His mouth burned a lazy
road down her belly and thighs, his fingers gently
playing with her slick clitoris.  She raised her hips
up to meet his fingers, the desire and need in her
building to a ferocious peak.  He slid a finger inside
her.  Then pulled it out.  His tongue finally answered
her pleas and lathered her clitoris and pussy with the
warm, wet attention she craved.  Her hips began to rock
with the motion of his tongue, her moans matched the
wet sounds coming from her pussy, all in sync to bring
her closer to exploding.  Just when she thought
she would cry out he inserted two of his fingers into
her and began to rub.  That was all she could
take before exploding, shivering and quaking until her
release was spent.  

     It took a while to catch her breath, all the while
he stroked her while she stroked him. They fit together
so well, so much like it was between her and Luke.  She
could feel his erection prodding against the small of
her back.  She rolled him over and impaled herself on
his stiff cock.  She arched her slender back and began
to ride him with an easy rhythm, delighting in the way
her breasts swayed with every stroke.  A few times his
mouth would capture a passing nipple and bite,
causing her to quicken the force of her downstroke. 
She wanted to draw him deeper and deeper
inside her.  She clenched her sex over his plundering
shaft, sheathing his heat with her fully
awakened nether grasp.  Again he came with a groan  as
she undulated above him.

     Simone lay awake next to this handsome stranger
named Mitch.  She smiled sadly as when his hand brushed
over the 'S' shaped scar on her hip.  She felt his pain
more than he will ever understand.  What came to pass
these few times she felt the call back to her cottage
was always beautiful and passionate.  Many could not
understand that a soul reaches for another soul, the
inner strength the only requisite.  We all bleed red,
she thought wryly as her fingers caressed his
smooth chest.  The smell of their lovemaking clung to
their skin.  Their legs  entwined in sleep
much like the roots of the old Oaks mingle with the
roots of the Cypress.  

     They made love many times that long, sultry night. 
Mitch was gentle and sweet, not timid with his thrusts
nor his words.  He sought to fill her from the very
beginning, lasting longer than any man she had known
before.  His stamina brought her to orgasm again and
again. He truly was a great lover and she told him time
and again with her mouth and her body. 

     Mitch awoke the next morning to a fresh pitcher of
mimosas, a fragrant gardenia floating in the sweet
mixture.  He reached for her silken hair ribbon on the
nightstand.  He didn't hear her leave in the middle of
the night. Hurriedly he dressed and ran to the main
house.  He strode through the gallery, past a tour
group to the servant's kitchen near the rear of the
house.  He caught up with one of the cooks.

     "Excuse me, miss . . . who do I speak to about . .
. uh . . . my room service."  He felt faintly
embarrassed calling Simone his 'room service,' but that
is what she had called herself.  "She was. . . ah . . .
very helpful . . .  and I would like to find her.  Her
name is Simone."

     "Simone, ya say?  Nope, don't recall a girl  by
that name here.  You sure you got the name right?"  His
eyes fell on the name embroidered across the left
pocket of the young servant's starched white apron.

     "Yes, Miss Thibodeaux, her name is Simone,
somewhat petite with very long dark hair,
spoke with an accent of some kind."  Mitch smiled down
at MarieThibodeaux.

     The cook smiled coquetishly back at Mitch with a
shake of her head.  "I'm sorry, cher',
this here is a big ole' place with lots of people
comin' and a goin' . . . A tourist, maybe?"    

     "No, I don't think so.  Thank you for your time,
Miss Thibodeaux."  Mitch turned away. 
The young woman had a sweet accent much like Simone's.  

     "Ah, no cher, ya no bother t'me."    The cook
scooted off into the kitchen, admiring the
handsome man as she turned the corner.

     Mitch stepped from the kitchen into the main
gallery of the plantation home.  He needed
to find Simone.  He caught part of the tour guide's
speech to the straggly group of tourists in the
parlor.  

     "--- Jean Luc Sazerac ran a lucrative sugar cane
business on this river.  He was also a lusty man in his
own rights.  Old records dug up in the St. John the
Baptist Parish Courthouse told the story of one slave
who he sought to free to become his wife, but was met
with outrage by the community.  Not one to be swayed by
the opinions of others, Jean Luc built his creole
beauty a cottage near that huge old magnolia tree out
back.  The scent of magnolia blossoms still hang in
the old cottage, despite the fire in 1843.  Outraged
that a prosperous businessman would boldly declare his
love and devotion to one of his own slaves, a group of
ne'er do wells set the cottage ablaze while Jean Luc
and his love were in the throes of passion.  Jean Luc
escaped the fire but his beloved Simone did not.  He
painted this portrait of the creole beauty and I would
like to direct your attention to it at this time.  Here
is the only likeness we have of the legendary Simone
Hebert.  As you can see, she was a beautiful woman with
undeniable grace and dignity.  Many feared her, though,
not for her station but for the rumor of the practice
of Voodoo among her intimate family.  Her grandmother
was thought to be a high priestess.  During that time,
and most especially in this locale, such practices were
frowned upon and severely punished by the parish
priests.  It was customary in those days to brand a
slave with the owner's initial.  Sazerac slaves
had an "S" branded on their hips when they became old
enough to work.  Jean Luc could not
erase Simone's brand so he chose to brand himself with
an "S" also, signifying Simone instead of
Sazerac.  Now, let's continue on into the library . . .
"