I had a bad feeling about where this was going. 'No….'
'Good.' Paul looked down at his hands, now clasped
tightly. 'Because I'd hate to think you were unable to keep
up with the position, Paige.'
One mistake in six months, and he was worried I couldn't
keep up? I wanted to stand up and walk out, flipping Paul
the bird. I might have, had he sounded sarcastic or
condescending. He didn't. He sounded…cautious.
'I'm sorry I forgot the packet, Paul. It won't happen
again.' I knew it wouldn't. I might forget a dozen other
tasks, but I wouldn't ever forget to copy the fucking proof
packet again.
He stil didn't look at me. His voice quiet but not soft, he
said, 'I hope you won't.'
That was it. He nodded at me and I got up, and I went out
to my desk to shut it down for the night. My fingers had
gone cold and stiff and I mistyped the password I needed
to log out three times before I got it right.
You wil masturbate in the shower, but you wil not alow
yourself to come. Your orgasm is a reward for good
behavior, and you haven't earned it. You wil write, on
your best paper and with your best ink, how you
masturbated and how it felt when you stopped, and you
wil return it to me no later than tomorrow afternoon.
Disobedience wil not be tolerated.
You said you wanted discipline.
With shaking fingers and hot cheeks I passed the
mailboxes without looking to see if the note I'd shoved into
114 was stil there. I'd done what it said. Rubbed myself in
the shower that morning until my breath came tight and
close and my entire body tensed until I eased off. It had
been close. I knew my body too wel not to bring myself
off within a few minutes. But I'd stopped myself, because
unlike the intended recipient of the notes, I did know
discipline.
I'd written the letter, too, describing how I'd touched
myself with fingers slick with my saliva and tilted my clit
against the spray of water until my thighs shook and my
breath came hot and hard and fast. How I'd had to turn
breath came hot and hard and fast. How I'd had to turn
the water to cold to keep myself from getting dizzy as I
rubbed and stroked. I'd used the finest paper in my
colection, my favorite pen, and I'd taken such care with
each letter, every stroke, that I was almost late for work.
I didn't give anyone the letter, of course. But I couldn't
bring myself to throw it away. I put it in my nightstand,
instead, tucked into the pages of the book on movie
history.
The ache between my legs flared as I shifted the gears of
