Aces
The Early Years Pt. 2
Staff Sergent Hart
The Early Years Pt. 2
Staff Sergent Hart
Owen would have never described himself as a lucky individual. He didn’t lead a particularly charmed life. In fact misfortune had struck him at such a young age and so often that he felt the universe had a negative balance in dealing out the prosperity cards when it came to him.
With feet propped on his desk, the young Staff Sergeant was ruminating on bad luck and the possible existence of a vengeful god who delighted in his torment, while chewing on a pen cap. The file open in his lap was the detailed rules of engagement for an upcoming assignment he was feeling anxious about. No fuck-ups were allowed, apparently.
He didn’t even flinch when his office door flew open with a loud bang. It was almost as if Owen had already resigned himself to whatever unbalanced hand the universe would deal him on this day. He glanced up from his file and was surprised to find a vaguely familiar, and very obviously frenzied looking, woman the uniform worn by administrative specialists. When the woman stalked across the office in heavy heeled thuds and threw a fire engine red G-string onto his lap, Owen knew Fate had finally given him an ace.
He fingered the fabric trying to keep any signs of intrigue from his face as he moved his much less interesting assignment paperwork to his desk. “What’s this about?” He lifted the panties up to peer at the womanly specimen before him through the sheer fabric. A second ace. She was devastating curves complimented by a dangerous mood that promised pain. He found her sexy in a way that felt obvious and was entirely forgettable, like the women featured in some issue of GQ. In sum, he wasn’t at all displeased, but curious whether he should know her.
The redheaded woman huffed and lifted a form to recite to him the following: “Overall disappointment! I require to know the color, texture, and style of her panties.” As her hand dropped haughtily to her side, her recitation was punctuated by the sharp lick of the paper against her skirt.
Owen frowned, the undergarment remained suspended from his index. It now swung pendulously before his face with only a suggestion of movement from his hand. “You’re going to have to help me out here, darling. Who are you and what have I done to deserve these?”
“I’m Ginger!” Her voice took on a shrill quality when she realized that he truly did not recognize her.“The new librarian!.” His eyes narrowed and sort of glassed over as he searched his mind. “I helped you locate books on Game Theory, remember?” She noticed the titles she had found for him were scattered amongst his things on a messy desk. She picked up one to show him.
“Right--Ginger. The librarian.” He echoed flatly, clearly not recalling their very recent encounter. At all. Not in the slightest. To be fair, he’d met her briefly, while in distracted and in a hurry, the day before last. His remarks on the form emanated from the very overactive libidinous place in his mind that had been triggered after he came dangerously close to seeing what she had on under her skirt when she bent over to pick up a stray piece of paper from the floor. “So what’s with these again?” He queried returning the attention to the panties.
She shoved the paper she had read from earlier at him. “This is your review, yes?” Owen eyed the form and indeed noticed his scrawling script of disapproval, demand for panty information, and signature. He shrugged and nodded silently. “Well there are the undergarments you requested! Happy now? Can you correct the low marks?” She planted her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Owen laughed genuinely amused with his own immaturity and what he found to be her wildly hilarious solution to the problem. “So this is how you punish me? You actually brought me your panties? Seriously? I mean who does that?”
Ginger flushed with embarrassment. This wasn’t going according to plan. Ginger wasn’t good at plans, or negotiating, or improvising. She was really only good at filing and locating books organized on a predictable and unchanging alpha-numerical systems. “Give them back!” She insisted and held her hand out as if the sincerity of her embarrassment would have any effect on him.
Owen smiled deviously and brought the fabric to his face and breathed in with his eyes closed, looking rather aroused. “No, honey, I think I’ll keep ‘em.”
Ginger gawked and swiped at him, leaning deep over his desk to try to snatch the underwear back. The action knocked a couple of books, some papers, and a stapler from the desk. In response, Owen coolly pushed his chair back, just enough to be beyond her grasp. She groaned in frustration and straightened up, pulling her tight pencil skirt back down and tossing locks of auburn hair behind her shoulders. New tactic. Act as if it didn’t bother her that her plan had backfired. Pretend like she hadn’t rewarded this problematic officer with her panties. “I brought you a new form to fill out. I can’t turn that other one in to my supervisor.” This time a blank form was shoved at him.
The underwear were stashed in a drawer in his desk. Apparently, she was giving up on retrieving them, and anyway Owen had no intention of giving them back. He would show it to the guys when they had their bi-weekly Friday binge drinking episode his friends jokingly referred to as “cocktales.” They were on a story telling rotation of their conquests in sex, and it was Owen’s turn. He would impress the guys by turning his week into show and tell.
“I’m too busy to fill out surveys about librarians. Just throw the bad review out, simple as that. There’s really no need to go around throwing your underwear at me. It really is pathetic. All you need to do is ask to sit on my cock and I’ll let you.” Owen must have looked like a king greeting his adoring subjects the way he smoothly spread his hands in invitation for her to sit on the throne of his lap.
Ginger shifted her feet, determined to look anywhere but where he indicated. “For every set of books I check out I’m expected to turn in a corresponding satisfaction survey during my probationary period! I can’t just throw it out!” As if he cared about her bureaucratic troubles.
“Here’s what I’m going to do for you.” Owen stood suddenly and rounded his desk with his usual cocksure swagger. He had this predatory look in his eyes. With a disarmingly familiar touch that suggested entitlement, Owen ran his fingers over her wrist and coaxed her hand out from under the other. Ginger stared at him wide-eyed. Something about his commanding presence, the touch, the hint of danger behind his pale eyes, it all made the hair on her arms stand. But he merely pressed the blank form in her open hand and released her. “I’ll allow you to forge my signature on this. Just write whatever you’d like. How does that sound?” Indeed he used the most patronizing tone he could muster. The corner of his lip was turned up, clearly he was amused at the effect he had.
His condescension drew Ginger out of whatever momentary spell she had fallen under. With a grunting vocalization of frustration, the librarian slapped the blank form back at Owen, pressing the paper flat against his chest. “You fill it out!” She demanded releasing the paper. Owen made no move to catch it and it fluttered forgotten to the floor.
“I’m beginning to wonder what panties you have on today.” Owen mused, off-topic.
“You’re a pig!” Ginger snapped lamely and turned with a huff to exit the office. She was apprehended by a crushing grasp on her upper arm.
Owen swung her back around pulling her close so that their faces were inches apart. “You’re new so I’ll give you a pass this time. I don’t take orders from librarians, or copy clerks, or secretaries, or receptionists. I give them. So don’t ever storm into my office with your frivolous problems and demands and expect me to respond the way you want.”
Ginger shoved at him, the whole situation had escalated beyond the drama necessary. “You’re a sexist pig!” She wasn’t the best at thinking up insults, but bless her she tried.
As Ginger turned away, Owen said to her back just for the sake of having the last word. “When you’re ready to hop on you let me know, sweetheart, I always have time for that.”
She went just as she had come in: with a satisfying slam of his office door. A conquest indeed.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
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