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  I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

  I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

  shaved my legs, though it seemed utterly unlikely anyone

  was going to be touching them, since I'd turned Austin

  down and Mr. Mystery had only felt me up a little bit. By

  the time I got out of the shower, my nipples had peaked

  into tight, hard nubs that defied me not to tweak them as I

  dried myself with a soft towel.

  In my bedroom I shed the towel and stood in front of the

  bed. The lonely bed. It was king-size, and even though I

  never shared it with anyone, I stil slept only on one side.

  Some habits are harder to break. I smoothed the quilt,

  then puled it down to reveal the crisp, white sheets I'd

  paid too much for. It had seemed like a good thing to do

  at the time, spend money on fancy sheets for my new

  place. I'd regretted it the next time I was hungry, but that's

  the way it goes.

  The window had nothing but a sheer curtain covering the

  glass, but I wasn't too worried about being seen. The

  parking garage across the street was the only building high

  enough to give anyone access to peep at me, and my

  apartment was set a little too far back to make it worth

  anyone's while. Stil, the thought someone could be

  watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

  watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

  for just a moment.

  I cupped them, the weight familiar. I'd gotten tits in fifth

  grade but hadn't realy grown into them until I was a junior

  in high school. I couldn't realy remember a time when I

  didn't curve this way. I could recal being thinner, yes, but

  not flat-chested.

  Under my palms, my nipples stayed hard, tight peaks. I

  wished for a man's mouth on them, but had to settle for

  licking my fingers and circling the hot flesh. A whisper, a

  sigh, a moan leaked from my throat. I saw the ghost of my

  reflection in the glass. Faint and insubstantial, nothing more

  to me than a slash of dark where my eyes should be and

  the white, curving shape of my body.

  "I've been watching you." His dark eyes gleam and his

  mouth twists up into a smile I can't resist returning. He

  moves closer and I can smel him, warmth and spice,

  purely masculine.

  He holds out a hand and I take it. His fingers are long and

  strong and entwine with mine so tightly I can't pul away.

  Not that I want to. I want him to tug me close, up against

  his body. I want him to put his other hand on my ass to

  press me against his crotch. And I want him to dip his

  mouth to stroke along my neck and settle his teeth briefly

  at the curve of my shoulder.

  He licks me with a quick flick of his tongue and my

  nipples get hard and tight. He can see them through

  the soft fabric of my blouse. His lips part. He sighs.

  I press my body to his and he kisses me. Hard. He backs

  me up against a wal and pins both my arms above my

  head with only one of his hands. When the other slides up

  my thigh, beneath my skirt, and finds me wet and ready, he

  smiles again.

  Before I know it he's turned me. Pushed me. The bed's

  soft and my cheek presses onto the pilow. My ass feels

  cool in the breeze made when he flips up my skirt. His

  hand cups each cheek, maybe measuring, maybe just

  caressing. I don't know. I don't care. I push myself into his

  touch.

  He blindfolds me. Darkness weighs my eyelids and I close

  them beneath the cloth. He ties my hands; excitement

  surges in every breath from my throat, past my lips. My

  tongue darts out and I taste sweat.

  It's not that I can't move if I realy want to. It's that I'm

  bound to his whim, that I'd have to fight and struggle

  against him if I want to get free. And I can, he hasn't tied

  me so tightly I can't.

  I just don't want to.

  His cock is long and thick. It fils me, al the way. I'm

  stretched from the inside.

  I don't have to do a thing. He takes control, he sets the

  pace, and it's perfect. I don't have to direct him. He just

  knows. Every thrust presses something sweet until I cry

  out.

  I ride the waves of pleasure. I lose myself in it. Up and

  over, writhing on his dick as he slaps my ass once, twice.

  It doesn't hurt bad enough to keep me from coming al

  over his prick and al over my hand.

  It wasn't a unique fantasy, as far as fantasies went. What

  made it different from others I'd had was the man in it

  wasn't an actor or an anonymous quiltwork of features. It

  was Mr. Mystery, of course, and though my own hand

  had done the work, it had been his face that set me off.

  had done the work, it had been his face that set me off.

  And with that in my head, I went to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning I woke with a craving for oatmeal.

  The power of suggestion, I told myself as I mixed water

  into the contents of the packet I found shoved way back in

  my cupboard, formerly ignored in favor of diet soda and

  junk food. That was al. But when the maple-syrupy

  goodness hit my tongue, I knew that wasn't al it was.

  It had been a simple command. Eat oatmeal for breakfast.

  Sweeten it however you like. Straightforward and

  uncomplicated.

  It had taken away the issue of what to have for breakfast,

  a problem I faced every morning as I rushed around trying

  to get ready and spent precious minutes staring without

  enthusiasm into my refrigerator. I didn't have to think about

  what to have, or waste time concerning myself. Eat

  oatmeal for breakfast, the list had said, and I did.

  I'd eaten oatmeal every day as a kid. Sometimes for

  dinner, too. My mom bought it in bulk from an Amish

  market. Great huge tubs of big, roled oats. Not the fancy

  kind with Benjamin Franklin or whoever he was on the

  kind with Benjamin Franklin or whoever he was on the

  front. The kind you had to slow cook. Funny how I hadn't

  thought about how easy, filing and tasty oatmeal could

  realy be until I got that note.

  Even though the mail almost always was delivered or in the

  process of being delivered before I had to leave for work,

  many times I didn't care to brave the crowd flocking

  around the mailboxes and just waited to pick it up after

  work. Until recently, I'd never had anything exciting to

  pick up.

  This morning, though, I muscled my way through the

  crowd and puled my mail from the box. My heart

  pounded as I flipped through the junk and bils. I had a

  postcard from my dentist reminding me I was due for an

  exam.

  And a new note.

  Today, you wil be strong and know you are beautiful.

  Wow.

  I closed the card, returned it to the envelope, and slid it

  through the slot of mailbox 114. I didn't stop to hide what

  I was doing, not caring if anyone saw me do it, though at

  I was doing, not caring if any