LassardLost
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 28, 2013
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- 824
Harrington Pierce sat back in his black leather chair, looking out his office window at the university. It was raining outside. The sky was dark gray. It was one of those rare but magnificent days when despite the fact that it was one o’clock in the afternoon, there was an ominous lack of sunlight. It had always been exciting for Harrington to see the day turn dark, even as a child. When the malevolent sky opened up with torrential downpour, and when the people on the gray streets below started running across the street in opposite directions, up and down the sidewalks, newspapers and jackets pulled over their heads, it brought a smile to Dr. Pierce’s face. It was nature’s movement away from the banality of life and into the excitement it had to offer. Professor Pierce could relate to nature in this regard. Injecting something different into the run-of-the-mill was the only real excitement there was, as far as he was concerned. But that line of thinking had taken many a wayward teen into the realms of anarchy, and, then, shortly thereafter, to jail or a juvenile hall. That would never do for Dr. Pierce. No, that wouldn’t do at all. His position at the university as a respected member of the Department of History was where he belonged. Here he had the perfect vantage point. Here, he had all the excitement he needed.
A knock at the door. Harrington swiveled around on his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He sat behind his large oak desk, piles of books neatly stacked along its edges, his computer screen off to one side. He sat straight, his hands on his lap, on his khaki pants. His light blue collared shirt hid a strong chest and broad shoulders. In his mid-forties, with short, salt and pepper hair and clean-shaven, Dr Pierce commanded presence.
“Come in.”
Marie Kelsey, his twenty-something year old secretary, wearing a dark gray pencil skirt and a white blouse tentatively stepped inside his office and closed the door behind her. She locked it and then stood with her gaze directed to the floor in front of Harrington’s desk, her hands held behind her back. She spoke quietly.
“Sir, I came to remind you of your meeting with Dr. Sinclair. She is scheduled to arrive at 2:00pm.”
Harrington smiled. “Look up, dear.” Kelsey did as she was told. Her green eyes filled with apprehension. “You don’t have to worry, I will never expose you to our place of work. As long as you follow our rules, you have nothing to fear.” Harrington paused, then added, “And remember Marie, they are our rules.”
This seemed to assuage Marie, and her eyes let up their subtle anguish. She smiled subtly, almost playfully. “May I, Sir?”
“Marie?” He cocked his head slightly to the side, looking at her as if he was gently warning a child from their impending misdeed. “This is not the time or the place. Thank you for coming in.” Harrington turned away from her, swiveling his chair back to face the window, picking up a stack of papers from this desk before doing so.
“Sorry Sir, I’ll let you know when she gets in.” The sound of the door opening and closing. The sound of disappointment.
Harrington sighed as he leafed through the papers he had just picked up. It had always seemed to have been this way with the younger ones. For past several years, Harrington had cultivated the extraordinarily fine art of identifying, seducing and controlling women. Not just any woman. But the woman who herself loved control. He had found, through various life experiences and experimentations, both on the internet and in real life, that there were many women, who despite all outward appearances, desperately craved giving themselves up. They would of course never admit this, and to even ascertain whether a particular woman carried such a trait involved a carefully surreptitious psychological probing. In Marie’s case, it had been rather clear. She was a smart, young graduate student. Yet she, like many graduate students, needed some funds. She could have chosen any of the more common jobs that graduate students did on campus – at the library, the café, the sports complex – but no. She specifically, chose a secretarial job at the Department of History, while her subject of study lay a mile away on the farthest end of campus in the Department of Information Sciences. She was a smart woman. She was doing well as a graduate student. It turned out, during her interview, that she was the head of the debate team least year – and they had done quite well. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her taking a job as a secretary – a job that involved taking direct orders from a group of mostly men, to be involved in menial tasks. But Harrington had always seen things differently. He had always seen what was amiss when everybody else saw nothing but the mundane.
With the right relationship established, the subtle clues in conversation, the gauge of her response to his mental probes, and a little bit of charm, he had easily been able to open her up. In her particular case, he didn’t even have to force himself upon her. Not that doing so had ever posed him a problem. In fact, it was the ultimate litmus test. It was also the ultimate gamble. But it was what kept his life fresh, exciting. If very soon into his advances there was no evidence of mutual desire, he would have lost that gamble – and horribly. But that had never happened. Harrington knew his women. And he had not been wrong.
“Sooner or later,” he mumbled to himself as he started reviewing the papers in his hands, “they give it all up.” He took out a pen from h is breast pocket, and started reading.
A knock at the door. Harrington swiveled around on his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He sat behind his large oak desk, piles of books neatly stacked along its edges, his computer screen off to one side. He sat straight, his hands on his lap, on his khaki pants. His light blue collared shirt hid a strong chest and broad shoulders. In his mid-forties, with short, salt and pepper hair and clean-shaven, Dr Pierce commanded presence.
“Come in.”
Marie Kelsey, his twenty-something year old secretary, wearing a dark gray pencil skirt and a white blouse tentatively stepped inside his office and closed the door behind her. She locked it and then stood with her gaze directed to the floor in front of Harrington’s desk, her hands held behind her back. She spoke quietly.
“Sir, I came to remind you of your meeting with Dr. Sinclair. She is scheduled to arrive at 2:00pm.”
Harrington smiled. “Look up, dear.” Kelsey did as she was told. Her green eyes filled with apprehension. “You don’t have to worry, I will never expose you to our place of work. As long as you follow our rules, you have nothing to fear.” Harrington paused, then added, “And remember Marie, they are our rules.”
This seemed to assuage Marie, and her eyes let up their subtle anguish. She smiled subtly, almost playfully. “May I, Sir?”
“Marie?” He cocked his head slightly to the side, looking at her as if he was gently warning a child from their impending misdeed. “This is not the time or the place. Thank you for coming in.” Harrington turned away from her, swiveling his chair back to face the window, picking up a stack of papers from this desk before doing so.
“Sorry Sir, I’ll let you know when she gets in.” The sound of the door opening and closing. The sound of disappointment.
Harrington sighed as he leafed through the papers he had just picked up. It had always seemed to have been this way with the younger ones. For past several years, Harrington had cultivated the extraordinarily fine art of identifying, seducing and controlling women. Not just any woman. But the woman who herself loved control. He had found, through various life experiences and experimentations, both on the internet and in real life, that there were many women, who despite all outward appearances, desperately craved giving themselves up. They would of course never admit this, and to even ascertain whether a particular woman carried such a trait involved a carefully surreptitious psychological probing. In Marie’s case, it had been rather clear. She was a smart, young graduate student. Yet she, like many graduate students, needed some funds. She could have chosen any of the more common jobs that graduate students did on campus – at the library, the café, the sports complex – but no. She specifically, chose a secretarial job at the Department of History, while her subject of study lay a mile away on the farthest end of campus in the Department of Information Sciences. She was a smart woman. She was doing well as a graduate student. It turned out, during her interview, that she was the head of the debate team least year – and they had done quite well. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her taking a job as a secretary – a job that involved taking direct orders from a group of mostly men, to be involved in menial tasks. But Harrington had always seen things differently. He had always seen what was amiss when everybody else saw nothing but the mundane.
With the right relationship established, the subtle clues in conversation, the gauge of her response to his mental probes, and a little bit of charm, he had easily been able to open her up. In her particular case, he didn’t even have to force himself upon her. Not that doing so had ever posed him a problem. In fact, it was the ultimate litmus test. It was also the ultimate gamble. But it was what kept his life fresh, exciting. If very soon into his advances there was no evidence of mutual desire, he would have lost that gamble – and horribly. But that had never happened. Harrington knew his women. And he had not been wrong.
“Sooner or later,” he mumbled to himself as he started reviewing the papers in his hands, “they give it all up.” He took out a pen from h is breast pocket, and started reading.
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