tagNonConsent/ReluctanceCommand and Control Ch. 01

Command and Control Ch. 01


This is dedicated to KRR1957, one of the best authors on Literotica, whose stories have inspired this one.


I was jolted awake by the bump of the plane as the wheels hit the runway. My mind was foggy for just a few seconds, trying to remember where I was. Looking out the window of the plane provided no clue; it could have been almost any small city airport anywhere in the country. Then my mind kicked in enough for me to remember, "Oh yes, Kansas City."

I had begun my day with the clock radio going off at 4:30 in the morning in order to give me enough time to shower, shave, throw on some clothes, and make the short ride to the airport to catch my flight. I was off to yet another meeting, and I struggled to remember why it was being held in Kansas City. For the life of me I couldn't think of a reason, other than it's pretty much smack dab in the middle of the country and a not unreasonable location for the participants arriving from the west coast, the south, and like me, from the east.

The meeting was of an advisory board of a research project on which I served. There were too many of these over the course of the year, but one of my (many) weaknesses in life is an inability to say "no" to friends when they ask for a favor. Having been a professor for approximately two decades, I had developed enough of a reputation across the country that my services, knowledge, and advice were often enough sought out for events like this, as well as to share that knowledge at conferences and other venues. I tried to keep my ego in check, and not come across as one of those obnoxious professors whose head was somewhat larger than the basketball arena at my campus. I think I usually succeeded, though on an occasion or two I would find myself slipping into prima donna mode.

When Robert Roberts (yes, that was his real name -- I often thought what kind of parents would do that to their kid?) asked me to serve on this advisory board, I agreed, figuring it would not be so onerous, one meeting a year for the three year life of the project along with an occasional conference call, reading of progress reports, and the like. Robert -- jokingly called "Bobby Bob" by his friends -- had often responded to my calls for assistance, so I felt like I owed him this one. But now sitting on an airplane taxiing to the gate at 9:30 in the morning, I of course regretted my acquiescence. But having known Bobby since graduate school, where we were in the same cohort, I knew I'd do exactly the same thing the next time he called.

As the chime went on and the seat belt light went off, I rose with a sigh, grabbed my backpack from the floor, suitcase from the overhead compartment (which true to the warning of the flight attendant, had slid about three rows ahead upon landing), and trudged off of the plane. I made my way to ground transportation and grabbed a cab, telling the driver, "Hyatt Regency downtown, please." The driver nodded his assent, and without another word between the two of us, drove me to the hotel.


The first day of the advisory board meeting concluded right on time at 5:30p, just about as my attention span was at its nadir. The ten of us -- made up of Bobby, three of the researchers on his project team, and the six advisory board members -- climbed into three taxis and headed to the trendy French bistro for dinner. Well, "trendy," I guess, by Kansas City standards. This was a typical part of these sojourns. Most projects could never pay the advisory board members enough of an honorarium for the amount of time and inconvenience to which we were subjected, so they tried to make up for it by treating us as nicely as possible when we met.

I had braced myself to be taken to a steakhouse, befitting of the city's reputation as the land of the cow, so was pleasantly surprised by the restaurant choice. The food was actually quite good, I'm sure among the best meals you could get in Kansas City that did not revolve around a hunk of meat approximately a pound and a half or so in weight.

I was seated at dinner next to Noreen Taylor, a colleague who had known for some number of years. We were not friends, by any means, but knew each other well enough to be on a first-name basis, largely from seeing each other at professional events around the country. She was about my age, having also started her career two decades ago. We made pleasant chitchat during dinner, getting caught up on professional gossip, who was changing jobs, who was getting promoted, who had been embroiled in some scandal (sleeping with a student, cheating on expense vouchers, and the like) at their universities. The conversation was pleasant enough, though toward the end of the dinner the fatigue really began to hit, no doubt abetted by the three glasses of Bordeaux that had accompanied my French meal.

Noreen and I were in the same taxi going back to the Hyatt, and as we entered the lobby, she asked if I would like to join her for a drink in the hotel's bar. I tried to beg off, explaining the early start to my journey that morning, but she was insistent.

"Listen, Bob -- I really want to talk to you about something," she said. "I need some advice, and I know you can help me."

Even though I was tired, and wanted nothing more than to return to my room, get my clothes off, and get into bed to read a bit of my book before I went to sleep, I reluctantly agreed. I followed her into the bar of the Hyatt, where we sat at a table in the corner.

We each ordered a glass of wine, she switching to a white and I sticking with the Bordeaux on which I had started at the restaurant. Noreen began outlining her situation to me, involving a difficult graduate student with whom she was working. I listened, and asked a few questions, to which she filled in more information.

After the glasses of wine arrived, Noreen took a sip of hers and said, "Would you do me a favor, Bob, and go up to the bar and ask them if they have any pretzels or nuts or anything. I like to have a little nibble with my wine." I was well sated from the rich French food, and had no desire for anything else to eat, but said to her, "Sure."

I went up to the bar and asked the bartender for some snacks, and he returned in a minute or two with a bowl of some kind of Chex mix. I carried it back to the table, and Noreen smiled as I sat it down and said, "Thanks, Bob."

We continued our conversation, and I gave Noreen advice on how to handle the student. She seemed genuinely appreciative, and after finishing our glasses of wine, she signaled the waitress for the bill. When it came, I went to reach for it, but Noreen grabbed it before I could, saying, "Please Bob, let me -- I really appreciate your advice, so the least I can do is buy you a glass of wine."

"Thanks, Noreen," I replied, and we both rose and headed for the elevators. But as I stood up, I felt incredibly dizzy, and immediately plopped myself down in the seat again.

Noreen turned back, seeing me sitting there, and said with a note of concern in her voice, "Are you okay?"

I laughed it off. "Yeah, I think it's just the fatigue from being up so early, along with all the wine. I'm sure I'll be fine." I rose more slowly this time, and as I did, Noreen gently placed her hand on my arm to ease me. I still was dizzy, but felt like I could walk without falling flat on my face if I took it slowly. As we walked out of the bar, Noreen continue to hold onto my arm. "Thanks," I said to her quietly.

We got into the elevator, and she asked what floor I was on. "Five," I replied, and she said she was on the same. As we arrived on the fifth floor, I felt a bit dizzier, and hesitated as we got off the elevator. She turned to me with a look of concern on her face. "You going to make it?"

"I'm not sure, but let me just get to my room and I'm sure once I lie down I'll be okay," I said. We continued to walk with her holding my arm and me now leaning on her just a bit more, as the walls of the hotel corridor seemed to be moving in and out on me. We arrived at my door, and while I was able to get the keycard out of my pocket, I was so woozy that I couldn't get it in the slot. Still holding on to me, Noreen took it out of my hand with her other, and slipped it in and out of the door.

She reached past me, turned the handle to open the door, and guided me into the room. I held on to the wall with my free hand, and managed to make it to the bed, where I fell backward on to it. As the room continued to spin, I felt somebody at my feet, and realized it was Noreen taking my shoes off. She must have then walked to the top of the bed, because I heard her voice very near to my head. "Bob, look at me," she said. I opened my eyes, and saw that her face was just a few inches from mine, and she was saying, "Keep looking at me Bob."

I did my best to focus on her face, but everything was still spinning. She was talking to me, but I couldn't understand the words. And the next thing I knew, everything went black.


I opened my eyes very slowly, afraid that everything would still be spinning. But as they came fully open, I saw that everything seemed to be in its place, no longer moving like I was on the Tilt-a-Whirl at the county fair. I sat up in bed, and looked down and saw that I was lying on top of the covers, all my clothes on but my shoes removed. I looked over at the window, and could see light peeking through the crack of the blinds, and I realized it must have been morning. I turned the other way, and the clock told me it was 7:00AM.

I shook the cobwebs out of my head, trying to remember what occurred last night. After a few moments I recalled what had happened, the drink and conversation with Noreen, the dizziness, her walking me back to my room. But nothing else.

I swung my feet to the side of the bed, placing them on the ground, and gingerly stood up. Everything seemed to be working, and with the exception of a slight headache, I didn't seem to have any lingering effects of the last evening's malady. I stripped off my clothes, took a couple of Tylenol, and jumped into the shower. The shower and a shave made me feel much better and more human, and the Tylenol seemed to have kicked in by the time I walked out of the bathroom.

I got dressed in the casual clothes that the meeting allowed, and went downstairs to join the others for the meeting. I knew there was going to be coffee and some pastries and fruit set out at the beginning, so there was no need to grab breakfast beforehand.

As I entered the meeting room, the first person I saw was Noreen. She immediately came over to me, and I noticed a look of concern on her face.

"Are you okay, Bob? You really seemed out of it last night -- I was worried about you," she said.

"Yeah, I think so Noreen," I replied. "I really don't remember much about what happened, but when I got up this morning everything seems to be working okay." I smiled at her in confirmation.

"Good, glad to hear it," she smiled back at me. We sat down next to each other, and made small talk while we ate our breakfasts.

The meeting started shortly after, and I managed to stay focused. I kept waiting for the room to start spinning, or something like that to happen, but I seemed none the worse for the wear of whatever it was that happened to me the night before.

The meeting wrapped up around 5:00, and a few people who were heading to the west coast and could catch flights left. The rest of us who could not get flights out until tomorrow morning walked through the lobby to the hotel restaurant for dinner.

The meal in the hotel was not nearly as good as the last night's, but that was okay since we had been treated so nicely the prior night. I was cautious with what I drank, limiting myself to a single glass of wine, just in case I had any lingering effects of whatever happened to me the last night. After dessert, I said good night to the others and headed for the elevator. Noreen caught up to me, saying, "I'll ride up with you."

The doors opened up, and we got in, Noreen reaching to push the button. As she reached past me to push the button, I got a very subtle whiff of her perfume. It smelled like lavender. I reached to push the button for my floor, but she said, "We're on the same floor, remember?"

I didn't remember that from last night at all. "No, guess I forgot," I chuckled. The elevator ascended, and we got out on the fifth floor. We started walking down the hall together, and as I approached my room, I said, "Well, good night, Noreen, great to get caught up with you." We had already discussed that I had a much earlier flight than she did in the morning, so I knew I wouldn't see her.

She replied, "Before you go, Bob, I have a paper I'd like to give to you to take a look at. It's by one of my grad students, and I think you could give her some good feedback on it as I believe it's right up your alley. No rush -- if you can get to it in the next month or so, I know she'd really appreciate your comments."

"Sure," I replied.

"Great -- it's right down here in my room, c'mon down and I'll give it to you." She began walking further down the hall and I followed. She stopped in front of a door, took her keycard from her purse, and opened it. "C'mon in, it'll just take a second to find it in my briefcase."

I followed her into the room, and stood waiting while she rifled through her briefcase. She pulled a paper out a few seconds later and handed it to me. "Sit down for a minute, and just read the abstract to make sure it is an area of research you're familiar with."

She lifted her coat off of the chair, and I sat down. She stood next to me and turned on the floor lamp, and as she did, I again recognized the scent of lavender on her. I flipped over the cover page, which contained the paper title and the student's name, and began reading the page-long abstract. As I did so, I was conscious of Noreen standing in front of me, very close, watching me as I read.

I finished the abstract, and looked up to tell her it was on a topic on which I was currently working. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, she looked down at me and said, "Noreen Taylor."

I blinked for a second, not understanding why she was saying her own name to me. I began to question her, but I couldn't seem to find the right words. I just stood there, looking up at her. She leaned down toward me so that her face was only a few inches or so from mine, and she reached out and put a finger under my chin. Staring into my eyes, she again repeated her name: "Noreen Taylor."

Now I just stared at her, unable to question what she was doing. She continued staring back at me, and after a few seconds, she said, "Stand up, Bob," as she leaned back and moved aside. I stood up in front of the chair, next to her. She reached out and took the paper from my hand, and placed it down on the bed next to her. "Stand over there," she said, pointing to a spot a few feet away.

Again, I wanted to ask her what was going on, but my brain simply wouldn't form the words. As if driven by some subconscious force, I did as she told, and stood in the spot. She took my position in the chair I had been sitting in, kicking off her shoes, but before she sat down, she took the hem of her dress, and hiked it up. She wore no pantyhose, so that when she sat down I could see all of her bare legs up to her light purple panties, which were clearly visible between her spread legs. After I glanced at her crotch, I looked up into her eyes, and saw that she was staring right at me.

"Get down on your knees and crawl over here."

I hesitated for just a split second, but again bidden by some unseen force, I did as she told. I got down on my knees, and knee-walked my way the few feet over to her until I was just a foot in front of her, kneeling between her spread legs. She continued staring into my eyes, and much as I wanted to look at her crotch again, I couldn't take my eyes from hers.

"Start licking," she said, as she pointed down toward her panties.

By this point, I had no hesitation left in me at all, and I knew exactly what she meant by her command. I put my arms on the arms of the chair, on either side of her legs, and leaned forward. The scent of her arousal flooded my nostrils as I got close. As I did so, she lifted her ass off the chair just slightly, enough to be able to hike up her dress even further, giving me ready access to her underwear-laden crotch. I lightly touched my tongue to her panties, and as I did, I realized they were already wet, confirming what my sense of smell had just told me.

I began licking more, as she settled back in the chair, pushing her crotch further toward my face. The combination of her arousal and my saliva began to sodden her panties, until the purple became darker and almost transparent they were so wet. I continued stroking with my tongue, up and down, first concentrating on the middle, but then moving out to the sides a bit, toward the lace edging around the leg holes. I could feel through the panties that she had a good bit of hair there, she was clearly not one of those women who trimmed or shaved her pubic hair.

I was only partially conscious of what was happening. I knew I was there in this hotel room, licking someone whom only a few minutes ago I had been in a professional meeting with. I had a sense in the back of my mind that I was doing something wrong. I was single, so it was not as if I was cheating on someone, but it was the lack of control and consent that was gnawing at me. But I was powerless to do anything but to continue to lick at her increasingly wet panties.

After no more than a minute or two of this, I felt her hands on either side of my head, pulling it back from her pussy. "Sit back," she commanded. I rocked back on my knees as she lifted her ass off the chair again, and pushed her panties down her legs. She lifted each foot, one at a time, and removed the panties from each. As she sat back down, I saw that my initial impression was correct -- she had very full and bushy hair, which was now glistening with her juices that had been flowing onto her panties as well. She put a finger under my chin, lifting my head back up to look into her eyes. "Get back to work," she said, without a trace of a smile on her face.

For just a split second, the correct synapses seemed to fire in my brain, telling me to stop what I was doing and get out of there. But just as quickly as they started, they failed, eliminating any opportunity I had to remove myself from the incredible situation in which I had found myself.

I leaned forward again, and continued what I had started before, now facing her sex unburdened by panties. As I did so, she flipped her loose dress over my head, enveloping me in near darkness. This had the effect of magnifying and concentrating the scent of her arousal, and it was so strong it almost made me gag. I hesitated, but she grabbed the back of my head with one hand and pulled it toward her. I heard a "Get to it," muffled by her dress around my head.

I was now able to touch my tongue to her outer labia, and as I ran it up and down each one, I felt them open up, like the petals of a flower. Each seemed to grow as it became even more engorged with blood. As they grew and opened up, they revealed the smaller, more delicate inner labia, on which I quickly focused my attention. After tonguing each, I gently pulled on each one with my own lips, and I felt them swell under my ministrations. As I did this, I could feel her juices begin flowing even more generously.

I began to hear some gentle moans emanating from Noreen's lips, obviously loud enough that I could hear them through the muffle of her dress over my head. All my senses now confirmed for me the state of arousal in she found herself. I leaned forward again, and began to push my tongue into her sex itself. It felt for a second almost like my tongue found itself in a glass of a thick, viscous liquid, as her juices continued to pool. I felt them dripping onto my lips and down my chin as I sought to push my tongue even deeper into her sex and move it around. As I did this, she moaned even more loudly. I stroked my tongue up and down, from the bottom of her sex, touching on the perineum, up to the hood of her clitoris. I couldn't see what I was doing in the darkness, but my tongue need no guide other than its sensory capabilities. As I once brushed against her button with my tongue, she reached under her dress and grabbed on to my hair and yanked my head back from under the dress, saying through clenched teeth, "Not yet." The sharp pain rattled around my head, and it was all I could do to stifle a yelp.

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byBob_Aganoush© 4 comments/ 52486 views/ 22 favorites

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