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19 year old seduces her ethics professor.

Taking out her compact for a lipstick check, she tried to tame the tendrils that flew about her face.

"Ms. Wilson?"

The cultivated voice sounded like maple syrup on nails. From the side, he had the profile of Alfred Hitchcock, right down to sandbag eyes and pouty lower lip. He stood in the doorway and waited impatiently for her to be quick about it.

He cleared his throat, "Ahem."

Lindsay noticed his polite impatience and smiled as she firmly shook his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Leslie," she smiled demurely as he ushered her into the inner sanctum.

"I understand you are Dick's new protege." he said nasally, "Sit down, please."

Leslie pointed to a chair for her to sit. He stood behind his desk and expected the usual schoolgirl suck up to the teacher look and fancy pants act. Instead he observed the calm, cool, demeanor of a young woman who couldn't stoop so low. She piqued his interest. Leslie decided to toy with her further and asked about her past projects. Nodding with attention, he listened to her modestly describe her last four projects, two of them while still an undergrad at Tech.

"I'm a Harvard man, myself, got my masters at MIT," he continued in his arched Bostonian accent with the affect of trying to impress the wispy young woman.

Lindsay gave him a brief smile and nodded, "Of course, sir."

Deftly changing the subject, she showed interest in the colorful collage of plaid blankets opposite his desk. He followed her gaze, pleased to see she recognized tartans. He took this opportunity to wax poetic about his family's Scottish roots and pointed out the Leslie family crest.

Stifling the urge to smile, Lindsay turned to view his fine collection of antique leather crops, whips, and strops, artfully arranged on a long wall above a heavy mahogany credenza. She was awed by expanse of the exhibit. Impulsively, she reached up to run her fingers along a well used riding crop. Leslie grinned wryly. He noticed her eyes luster as she touched the leather.

"Mr. Leslie, do you ride?" she murmured.

"Every chance I get." he responded, his chest puffing out like a peacock.

Using this as an opportunity to pounce, Lindsay inched closer to him and asked, "Can we seal the deal for the upcoming project?"

Leslie was disarmed by her directness. She's good, he thought, real good. Dick had thrown him a gauntlet, a challenging female. But for now, he wanted to play a little more cat and mouse. Rubbing his balding gray pate, he stalled for time, not wanting to give up so soon. As he circled the room he chose his words carefully.

"Well, I. . .uh. . ." and he looked away.

Lindsay looked at him quizzically, expecting an answer.

"I need a little...mm...incentive?" he said with an arched eyebrow.

Leslie walked to the wall with the leather collection. For the first time that day, his eyes twinkled nastily. She instantly read his mind and her puss quivered at the prospect. Cooly, she walked over and looked the crops over.

"Which one?" he asked.

"Your choice." she smiled, her knees weak.

The corner of his mouth curled in a wicket smile. "Ms. Wilson, is your incentive offer genuine?"

"It is Mr Leslie." she said, blushing from head to toe.

Lindsay trembled at the thought of being whipped, but they had reached an agreement. Business is business. It's the bottom line that counts.

Being at the mercy of an old man who manipulated her into this position was repulsive. His cock sprung in anticipation as he raced to click the latch. She felt his hands undo the button on her skirt and pull the zipper down, so that the skirt gathered around her ankles. Lindsay never expected he was going to spank her with her panties down. She hesitated.

"Go on," he snapped impatiently, as he motioned for her to remove her pantyhose.

Silently, she cursed him.

"These have to go, too," he said, cutting her panties off with his pocketknife.

Humiliation sprung like tiny beads of sweat as Lindsay felt the cool air on naked slit.

"Please bend over th

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