Megan Hart - Switch

scream."

Dead silence greeted this. My eyes, which had been

languorously closed, flew open. Too far?

"Uh…" Austin coughed. "Fucking hel, Paige!"

Apparently not.

Apparently not.

"Good night, Austin," I said sweetly. "I'm going to get back to getting myself off now. Have a nice shower."

"Paige, don't hang up!"

But I did, because I could. Because there was power in

that, too. And then I lay back and looked at the ceiling, my

vibe stil abuzz in my fingers, and thought of Austin. And

Eric. And then some nameless, faceless stranger who

would do everything I wanted him to do without talking it

to death first or ruining it after with words.

My hands became his hands, running over my shirt and

under to cup my breasts through the bra. Then under that

to stroke and tweak my nipples. The vibe buzzed lower as

I adjusted the setting and slid it between my legs, where I

kept it clamped close to me by closing my thighs. I only

wanted a tickle there, not a ful-on buzz.

I'd used this vibe at the command of a note. I'd set it at the

low speed and rubbed it on my clit and down over my lips.

I'd rubbed it on my nipples, too. I'd brought myself close

and eased off, then close again, but obeying the note, I

hadn't made myself come.

hadn't made myself come.

What had Eric done?

Had he spread his legs in the shower, leaning forward with

a hand against the wal while the other pumped his prick

slowly? Did he bend his head beneath the spray, eyes

closed, picturing some nameless, faceless woman on her

knees sucking his cock? Or maybe she had a name. Had a

face. Maybe he had someone who made him crazy the

way Austin made me.

Or maybe he'd lain back on his bed the way I was, his

hips thrusting upward into the cunt made of his curled fist.

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