Professor's Little Pet

As I read the new email, I gritted my teeth in frustration. My insides were churning with annoyance. There's no need to meet in person, I said to myself. And, "every fucking week, to boot." There was a lot of cursing, but it was necessary at the time. I had no one but myself to blame for my predicament. I had only lately begun consulting for a Silicon Valley tech firm. I won't identify any specific areas, but let's just say that search engines, internet advertising, and more may all benefit from the insights provided by pure mathematics. I wanted to get a grant from the IT giant because of all their money. With the funding from the award, I could employ two more PhD students and put together a solid team to take on the topics I care about. To that end, we had planned a joint endeavor. The project was sponsored by the VP of Technology, and weekly status meetings were requested through email from his assistant. Oh, man. I knew the project would get a lot of attention, but the weekly trips to San Francisco were simply too much of a hassle for me to bear. And Friday was the day of the meetings. This was going to cause a major upheaval. When asked, "What's up, Oren?" I heard a voice inquire in a humorous tone. I had just gotten a cup of the sawdust-flavored coffee that was essential to keep me awake and was in the break room when the email came through. When I raised my eyes, I saw Colin Baker. In addition to being an excellent professor, Colin was also a wonderful friend. Colin and his wife Karen were frequent diners with Jenny and me, and he was understanding but not shocked by our breakup. I presented the email to him. My masters insist that I show up to meetings in person. It's located in the heart of Silicon Valley. Weekly on Fridays at 2:00 p.m. Regarding the next four weeks." He gave me a grumpy look. What business, he inquired. I identified the dominant company in the IT industry. Chloe is employed there, he said. You must have heard of Chloe Pond, right? My former doctoral student who just finished up this past summer? Please search her up and deliver the remaining letters to her at her earliest convenience. I said, "No worries." Something interesting was happening for once. Chloe was an unusual contradiction of brashness and shyness; when she was undressed, she was forthright, upfront, and loud about her wishes, yet in public she normally stutters and stutters over her words. There was a tiny rumbling in my underwear as my cock moved about. In my mind, I couldn't help but worry whether she had found love yet. *** Chloe: After spending the night at Oren Bretton's, I considered dropping by his workplace to see if I'd be asked back to his home. But I hadn't said anything, and I think it was because I had a sneaking sensation that Oren may be extremely dangerous. The heart, not the body, is more important to me. Whatever the case may be, things moved at a rapid pace. A week later, I left to travel around Thailand and Vietnam as my graduation gift to myself, thanks to the hefty sign-on bonus my new company gave me when they hired me to lead their search analytics team. After being away for six weeks, I packed up my things and relocated from Bismarck to San Francisco, which is on the other coast. Time sped by as the weeks went by with little notice. When I first arrived in my new city and state, I had a long list of tedious tasks to do. Changing my address on my driver's license, finding a new place to live, and being hooked up to utilities like power, heating, and the internet. All of them worked well to make me forget Oren's mocking laughter, hot, hot touch, and delighted gaze. In other words, it's virtually efficient. Daytimes, I had the thrills and challenges of my new career to keep me occupied; evenings, I was left to my own devices. Even after three months, the memory of the night Oren spent the evening with me is shockingly fresh. I had to cope with the truth that, despite my best efforts to block out Oren's influence, I had liked every single thing he had compelled me to do. To the contrary, I had pleaded with him to take advantage of me sexually. I was just as responsible for my capitulation as he was. Submissive. A filthy and nasty term, that. My inner feminist turned on me. The question was posed, "What type of progressive, contemporary lady wanted a guy to treat her as he was playing with a toy?" Inwardly, I was scolding myself. And the same unwavering response came back from me every time. What my body had conveyed to me was not a mystery, and I was aware of this. Extreme pleasure, the likes of which I had never previously known. It nagged in the back of my mind until one day I accepted it. My first question to a close friend who came to me with a similar situation would have been whether or not the man in question treated her properly. In such case, I would have informed her that their bedroom business was none of anyone's concern except their own. It was then that I made the decision to be more compassionate toward myself. *** "Have you made any weekend plans yet?" Apparently Agnes wanted to talk to me. Few of us in the high-tech industry of Silicon Valley could afford the luxury of dedicated office space. We had an open space for our eight-person statistics team with cubicle walls at waist level to give us the impression of seclusion. I turned to see Agnes, who was sitting next me. She was standing, her body angled to see over the partition at me. It was Friday at 4:30 o'clock and time to wrap up for the week. I pushed the computer away from me and leaned back in my chair as I said that I was considering hiring a vehicle and driving to Kentucky or somewhere. Last night I had unpacked the last of my belongings; today I felt free to finally get out of my flat and do some exploring. It had been a month since I had left my apartment in San Francisco other than to go to work and pick up takeout from the several inexpensive Indian and Chinese eateries near my workplace. She was halfway through reciting the names of a few of her favorite vineyards when she stopped abruptly. Instead, she said, "Holy crap, Batman, attractive guy alert." "Tormodagain?" In an effort to hide my boredom, I attempted to seem interested. Agnes had a thing for Sanjay, my superior at work. She raved on and on about what a fantastic guy he was. I could see why; he was stunning, although emotionally empty. She answered, "Yes," and she continued to stare intently at the person who had caught her attention. But he isn't alone. Really, really, hot company, to put it mildly. I wanted to see what was going on, but the orientation of my cubicle made it impossible for me to sneak a peek. Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she shouted, "Shit, they are heading this way," and dove inside her cubicle. The blue eyes that had been following me around in my nightmares for the last three months finally met mine as I swiveled in my chair to look up. That would be Oren Bretton. The words "Chloe," spoken by my supervisor, penetrated the sudden sweltering that had settled over my body. Oren has informed me that "you two are familiar." I forced myself to glance up and tried not to flush. He said to me, "Hello Chloe." His speech had a slow drawl that made my skin crawl. When he asked me whether I wanted to be taken in the cunt or the ass, the memory of that moment from three months earlier flooded my mind. I forced down a gulp as a surge of want travelled up my throat. My face reddened rapidly as I said, "Professor Bretton," and then remembered I was still playing by his rules. His lips trembled as though he were attempting to suppress a guffaw. Jerk. When I stared at him, my face flushed with shame and rage. Oren, I replied, trying to sound calm and collected. "This is really unexpected." Oren is helping us with our search engines, as Tormodexplained. "He'll mostly be on Anya's squad, but there might be some overlap with ours." As a result, I let out a sigh of relaxation. The thought of spending each day at the office with him gave me a brief but palpable case of terror. My happiness, however, did not last long. Why don't you come with us to the pub next door on Friday nights like we always do, Oren? Oren looked at my face and grinned, laughter clearly visible in his eyes. It was a slick "I'd love to" on his part. The question, "Chloe, coming?" Unfortunately, Tormod was present, so I had to pretend nothing was amiss lest I become the subject of rumors and suspicion. "Sure thing, give me ten to fifteen minutes to wrap this up." I'll give you a ride," Oren said. Sanjay, will you be joining me?