CHAPTER 9: Jeremy Bryant

His brown uniform pressed, his nametag straightened, Jeremy Bryant rode the old metal elevator up to the sixth floor. The delivery wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, but seeing the address, he added it to his truck for today, wanting the excuse to get on this damn elevator, ride up to the sixth floor, and go through the same routine he had for the last three years. Ring, wait, sign, and leave. Not exciting enough to waste fifteen minutes on a day already jammed packed with deliveries. Yet, here he was.

The package was a small manila envelope with Jessica Reilly written on the front. Most deliveries to this address were for Deanna Madden, but occasionally the names on the packages changed; Jessica Reilly being a frequent recipient. The volume of packages she received was staggering, at least for a normal person who didn’t run a retail operation out of her house. They were frequent enough that he made almost daily deliveries to this ancient apartment complex and had become accustomed and unaffected by the dark elevator that barely made the climb to her floor. And she had consistently, for three years, refused to open her door, his first delivery a disastrous standoff that ended in her favor.

He hadn’t given a second thought to the box, other than the fact that it was incredibly heavy, over seventy pounds—a large box from an electronics superstore. He almost missed her door, starting to pass it and then stopping short, checking the address before knocking.

There was movement in the apartment; steps, a small commotion, and then a breathless voice.

“Yes?”

“UPS. I have a package for a Deanna Madden.”

“Just leave it at the door, please.”

He glanced down at the box. “It’s insured ma’am. Needs a signature.”

“So scribble my name.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. If you need some time to dress, I can wait or come back later.”

“I’m dressed, but I’m not opening the door. Leave the package and handle the signature however you want to.”

Her voice was strong, but had a sweet tone and enough sass that his mind begged for a look at the woman connected to it. Silence. He ground his teeth and looked at the door. “Ma’am, it’s insured for eleven hundred dollars. I can’t leave it without a signature. Would you prefer for me to deliver it tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to open the door tomorrow either.”

He fought the urge to groan in frustration. He looked down at the heavy box. “Ma’am, I’m not sure of your size, but the box is rather heavy. You will probably need help carrying it inside.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I will be fine. Thank you.”

Thank you. An assumptive statement that indicated her decision that he was going to leave the box. Decided before he had made up his mind. He sighed, torn between leaving a thousand dollar package in this mildewed hallway and taking it with him and trying this whole song and dance tomorrow.

He left the package, trying his best imitation of a girlish script on his scanpad and sending a long look into the dark peephole, trying to communicate his displeasure with the whole situation. Shaking his head, he headed toward the elevator, hoping he never had to deal with her again.

That was three years ago. Three years in which he had heard her voice through that door—lugged, toted, and swung countless packages with annoying regularity down that dim hallway. The woman seemed to even have toilet paper delivered via 2-day mail. He looked down at the manila package for Jessica Reilly. The sender was a mail-forwarding company in Des Moines, Iowa. About ten percent of her packages were mail-forwarded, most from senders with no return address. Yeah, not a shopaholic.

CHAPTER 10: Annie

There were three presents wrapped on the table. They were from her mommy and daddy. Annie already knew what two of them were. Last Sunday, after church, she snuck in her mother’s room, pulled back her winter coats and looked for presents. Her mother always hid her presents there. Behind the big, fluffy black coat with the hole in the bottom hem was a plastic bag. She reached in the bag as quietly as possible and pulled out the two items inside. One was a dark grey My Little Pony horse, the plastic package slightly dented, the cardboard colors faded. The other was a zippered pouch with sixty-four colored pencils. She squealed excitedly—before remembering where she was—quickly stuffed the items back inside the bag and left the room before she was caught and punished.

She now examined the third brightly wrapped package with interest: poking, lifting, and shaking it to try and figure out what was inside. It was a box, large and square, about the size of a basketball. It felt heavier than a basketball. Annie heard her mother call and turned. She quickly set down the wrapped gift and sprinted through the house, her tennis shoes making squeaking sounds on the cheap floor.

CHAPTER 11: HackOffMyBigCock

Mike is one of my few regulars that I know next to nothing about. Being a hacker, he makes sure that all of his personal information is locked behind impenetrable firewalls. I can’t get past a dinky normal firewall, but that is why I had cozied up to Mike. When I need research on clients, he’s my man.

Mike falls in the same category as eighty percent of my clients. He likes to jack off while he watches me touch myself. While some clients mix it up, he has a regular fantasy, and it never varies. As soon as his name pops up, I quickly undress, putting on knee-high white stockings, a plaid skirt, and a white, cropped sweater. Sometimes he wants me to wear glasses, or put my hair in pigtails, but traditionally I change into my schoolgirl outfit, sit back in front of the camera, and spread my legs wide. Then I slide a hand under my skirt, lifting it up for his eyes, and wait for him to type something.