Maybe he'd spit into his palm to ease the way, or squirted

a handful of lube. Maybe he stroked his bals at the same

time as he stroked, twisting a little at the head and groaning

at the pleasure.

I groaned, thinking of it, imagining how thick his prick must

be. How his pubic hair would be dark like the hair on his

head. In my head inches didn't matter. Length and girth

were a matter of sensation, of how his cock would fil my

hands and mouth and pussy.

I wanted something to fil me now but had only the bulet

vibe and my fingers. My hips lifted, pressing my cunt into

my hand. I didn't even need the lube, I was so wet. I

sought my G-spot with one hand and stroked it, shivering

as always from the gut-deep tingles that stimulation always

gave me.

Austin had always loved to watch me make myself come.

Sometimes we'd pretend I didn't know he was there as I

sat at my desk or lounged in our apartment's old claw-foot

tub. I could come sometimes more from the way he

watched me than by what my hand was doing. Now I

could only imagine his eyes on me.

I have a very good imagination.

Two men filed my head. One was jerking his cock but not

alowing himself to spil over into sweating, moaning

climax. The other watched me from a shadowy doorway

as I licked my fingertips and swirled them over my hard,

tight clitoris. One was dark, the other golden, and both

wanted me.

I wanted both of them, too, and the realization washed

over me as suddenly as my orgasm. Sweat tasted bitter on

my upper lip when I licked it. My cunt bore down on my

fingers and I came, hard. I opened my eyes as pleasure

fingers and I came, hard. I opened my eyes as pleasure

swarmed over me and swept me away. I shuddered with

it, that pleasure, so familiar and yet so different, every time.

It was al about control, in the end, and I had it.

I didn't see Eric the next morning at the crush for the mail,

but since I'd seen him every other place but the mailboxes

I wasn't surprised. I held back for a lul, though, glad I did

when I saw the familiar shape of a white note card waiting

for me. I held my breath when I puled it out, more aware

than ever of how wrong it was for me to read it.

It didn't stop me. I shoved the other mail into my bag and

slid the card from its envelope, my heart already pounding

in anticipation of what I'd find today and how different it

would seem now that I knew for whom the words were

truly meant.

"No." My mouth fel slack with the sound of disbelief and I stared harder at the card.

I folded it shut as though it might change what I'd read, but

as though they'd been written in flames, the words burned

my fingers through the paper.

No. No, no, no.

This is your last list.

It couldn't be. It shouldn't be. It was not alowed to be!

You've done wel, though I think you understand you need

more work on discipline. Should you desire further

instruction and encouragement, I might consider continuing

your service to me. But only if I see a ful commitment

from you. You know how to get in touch with me.

Don't feel yourself worthy of more of my time. Only I can

decide that.

Wow, and oh, no. I tucked the card back into the

envelope and pressed it to my chest as I stepped aside to

let the snotty woman who'd dismissed me several times

before get to her mailbox. She gave me a curious glance,

but something in my face must have looked formidable

enough that she glanced quickly away.

I turned my back to the row of mailboxes with the note stil

clutched to me. I wanted to cry. Or puke. I wanted to put

the note back and pretend I hadn't read it.

But instead, I did what I hadn't ever done before on

purpose. I shoved it in my bag.

I was keeping it.

Paul wasn't in his office when I got to work, but that was

fine. I didn't have time to worry about him this morning, or

his lists that could never take the place of the one in my

bag. I hadn't taken it out to look at it again, though I could

remember each swirl and whirl of every letter and line.

I made the coffee and set his cup by the pot with the sugar

and powered creamer already in it. In his office I lit the

desk lamp instead of the overheads that gave him a

headache, and I puled up al the files he'd need to work

on. I even set his radio, though not to the station he usualy

chose but one with alternative pop instead of the soft-rock

channel he usualy played.

I did al of this without a list and not because I feared what

would happen if he came in and found none of it done. I

did it, simply, because Paul needed these things in order to

be productive. If my boss was being productive, he would

have less time to hover over me, and simply put, today I

would not have been able to stand hovering.

would not have been able to stand hovering.

I fielded a few phone cals and settled some business by

the time he breezed in with a frown.

"Paige, I need coffee, please."

I pointed to the counter. "It's al ready, Paul."

"Thanks." He said it offhandedly, then looked at the mug

and back at me. "Thank you, Paige."

I nodded but didn't glance up from my files. I had a lot of

work to do today and not enough attention to give him

more than that. Most of my mind was stil caught up in

what I was going to do without the lists. Paul disappeared

into his office and shut the door, and I let out the sigh I'd

been holding.

Anger shook my fingers as I typed. What a fool Eric had

been! He'd asked for discipline and from the start he'd

made a mess of it! Turning in his essay late, not folowing

the lists. Why had he bothered? Why had he wasted his

mistress's time? Because there was no doubt in my mind

any longer the sender of the notes had been a woman al

along.

Men weren't so eloquent. Men weren't so perfectly cold in

dispensing their instructions even as they drew forth an

emotional response. Only women could dig so deep and

pul out so much.

I typed faster, making mistakes and going back to fix them

because I'd be damned if I turned in faulty work and gave

Paul a reason to judge me. From behind his half-closed

door I heard the music swel, but he didn't change the

station. The lights didn't come on, either. I concentrated on

my tasks, but today they gave me no satisfaction.

Fuck!

I sat back in my chair, muttering. Nothing satisfied me, and

I understood why. It wasn't only because the notes were

going to end, it was because I'd solved at least half the

mystery. I knew who the notes were for, if not who was

sending them. And knowing, I couldn't stop thinking about

it.

If I hadn't found out it was Eric, a man. If that hadn't

changed my perception of what it meant to be on the

receiving end of the lists. If. If. If!

"Paige?" Paul caled. "Can I see you in here for a minute?"

He certainly could, though I doubted he'd be as thriled

with quiet, subservient little Paige as he'd been. I pushed

back from my desk and stood tal in my expensive shoes.

The list had told me to buy these shoes. This blouse and

skirt. My armor, what I put on when I wanted the world to

see me as who I wanted to be and not who they might

think I was.

"Yes, Paul."

For the first time in many weeks, I didn't sit to talk to him.

He had to tilt his chair back a little to look up at me. I

noticed the difference, and I thought he did, too, because

when he spoke he sounded a little uncertain.

"Thank you for setting up my office."

"You're welcome."

I thought he would say more, but Paul just turned his

attention back to his computer and dismissed me with his

silence. I had time to think of what it meant when I went

back to my own desk, but I didn't care enough to bother.

When my cel rang just before noon, I almost didn't

answer. I didn't want to talk to Austin, but it was my dad,

an even greater surprise. I flipped open the phone and

pressed it to my ear, though it wasn't my habit to take

personal cals at work.

"Dad. Hi."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I have caler ID, Dad. I have your number programmed

into my phone." Not that I used it much.

He loved gadgets but wasn't particularly tech savvy. "Can't

pul anything over on you, huh? What are you doing for

lunch?"

"I brought a sandwich."

"How about I take you out for lunch? I have to be up your

way today for a meeting. Stela's off shopping or

something. It'l just be you and me."

My dad had taken an early retirement a year before, but

though he'd suggested it a few times, this was the first time

he'd actualy invited me to lunch. We made plans to meet

he'd actualy invited me to lunch. We made plans to meet

at a chain restaurant not too far from my office. I knocked

on Paul's door to tel him I'd be leaving. He'd been

concentrating hard on his work, and I had to knock twice

before he looked up. He was going to get a headache that