Nancy's eyes rolled back into her head as the orgasm hit. Her whole world went red with pleasure, but the man behind her didn't let up; his finger danced on her clit until she shuddered and moaned with pleasure so intense that it was literally beyond words. "That's it," he whispered in her ear as she leaned into him, her cries echoing off the walls of the climate-controlled basement, "let it all out and come for me. That's my good girl, coming so hard, it's okay, you can moan for me, there's nobody to hear it, you can give in completely for me. That's right. Good girl. Come. Come. Come."
She slowly sank to her knees as he relentlessly fingered her. Her legs didn't want to support her anymore; every bit of her concentration was wrapped up in the tide of bliss that washed over her and through her, and trivial things like standing didn't seem to matter in the excitement of the moment. The man guided Nancy gently downward, supporting her body with his arms even as he continued to tease the pleasure out of her cunt. At last, trembling, she crested in one last climax and slumped to the floor. Her eyes didn't want to open. Her legs didn't want to stand. Her body didn't want to move.
"Now, Nancy," he whispered in her ear, crouching over her. "We've only just begun."
His voice sounded smooth and silky in her ears, impeccably mannered and yet unshakably firm. The same voice that had welcomed her to the Special Projects Archive, but with her eyes closed Nancy couldn't connect the silver-haired man in the tweed jacket with the commanding, hypnotic tones that told her to finish undressing. Those bright blue eyes behind the wire-frame glasses were charming, not mesmerizing... but as Nancy's hands lazily drifted down to push her skirt down around her ankles, she realized she didn't know if there was a difference anymore.
"That's a good girl, Nancy," he said warmly, as she finally managed to kick off her panties and expose her cunt fully to his gaze and his touch. His fingers caressed her pubic mound lovingly, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness in his hands. "You're doing so well, and of course the more you obey, the deeper you go for me. And you can just say that right now, repeating it easily and effortlessly and believing it more and more with every repetition. The more you obey..."
"The deeper I go," Nancy mumbled hazily, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. Her jacket was hanging on her chair, removed hours ago when she first settled in to begin her research. The archivist had been so kind then, so solicitous. He'd brought her books as she asked for them, provided her with 'tea and biscuits' (and Nancy was still new enough to London that the phrase still charmed her) and checked on her as the minutes became hours in the silent, sunless room. Even when her eyes began to blur with exhaustion from poring over ancient manuscripts, even when she stared at the growing pile of tomes to be reshelved and despaired that she'd just gotten started with her project, he'd been nothing but helpful.
Nancy couldn't quite figure out when his polite requests had become polite insistences, when he'd stopped asking her what she needed and started telling her. But that was when it all started. When he told her to close her tired eyes and rest for a moment, to just listen to his voice and let all that stress vanish out of her mind with every slow, lazy breath... that was when Nancy began to surrender to his control. It just seemed so much easier to relax and concentrate on his gentle, dulcet tones. It felt so peaceful to unwind her thoughts and accept his. And the more she listened...
