Here's the next installment, also with some new material.
THE LAUGHING PROFESSOR
(Revised by T.T. Gore)
Chapter Four
A Very Bad Career Move
***
THE LAUGHING PROFESSOR
(Revised by T.T. Gore)
Chapter Four
A Very Bad Career Move
***
Even though Margaret continued to kid herself that only a few people on campus could possibly be aware of her ticklish vulnerability, the incident at the Grudge Party was grist to the campus rumor mill. This increased the psychological stress she was already experiencing after being abused in so humiliating a manner. The brunette was a prey to conflicting emotions: fear and desire, disgust and joy. The prospect of more “extra credit” terrified her, but at the same time she longed with all her heart to be dominated, enslaved and punished.
All in all, it was truly a recipe for paranoia…
But today Margaret was scarcely conscious of the sly, lustful glances that so frequently came her way. She was thinking about her upcoming presentation to Unknown University’s Board of Regents. This presentation was crucial for her and for the Department of English. Over a quarter of a million dollars in federal grant money was up for grabs. Needless to say, Margaret was nervous. And, as would soon become obvious, the brunette had much to be nervous about…
Of all those on campus who’d caught wind of Margaret's escapade at Lambda House, no one was more interested than Professor Adrienne DeCarlo. The beautiful, raven-haired biologist not only despised the prudish, high-handed English professor personally, she was in active competition with the Department of English for the federal research grant. Adrienne’s professional survival hinged on this grant; if the money went elsewhere, she’d be out of a job. And until recently she hadn’t rated her chances very highly.
Adrienne’s predicament was complicated by a factor of which she herself was scarcely conscious. Deep down, she had always been attracted to other women—and to Margaret Stanley in particular. The buxom brunette had strutted through more than a few of Adrienne’s late-night lesbian masturbation fantasies, a circumstance that undoubtedly contributed to her unconscious sexual frustrations and thus to her resentment of the English professor. So the revelation that Margaret possessed an exploitable weakness suggested interesting possibilities in more ways than one. Drawing on the results of her research, Adrienne devised a multi-phased, sure-fire scheme to discredit the English Department's presentation, publicly humiliate the haughty Professor Stanley, and win the grant money for herself…
***
Nervous beyond words, Margaret ascended the three short steps that led to the stage. She was dressed in a chic maroon suit that flattered her excellent figure and showed off her long legs—though without being too obvious about it. Her high heels made a staccato clicking sound as she strode to the podium.
As she arranged her notes, the brunette glanced apprehensively at the audience. The Dean of Liberal Arts and Sciences gave her a cross look; she was still seething over Margaret's refusal to flunk Robbie and Darlene.
Nervously, Margaret licked her lips and resettled her glasses on her nose. Then she took a deep swallow of water from the tall glass that someone had thoughtfully placed on the podium, cleared her throat, lowered the lights and launched into her presentation.
In the audience, Professor Adrienne DeCarlo smiled wickedly. “That’s right, darling, drink deeply…” she whispered, fingering the small remote control device she held in her lap.
With her vast knowledge of science and technology, it hadn't been hard for the raven-haired biologist to rig the podium with some very special devices. Nor had it been difficult to extract from various plants the potent yet odorless and tasteless chemical brew in Margaret’s water glass. Now the time had come to put the stuck-up bitch in her place. Delicately, Adrienne pushed the first of a series of small buttons on her controller.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,” the brunette was saying. “I am Margaret Stanley, Professor of English. My proposal deals with the effects of world events on the creation of masterpieces in the literary field…”
The brunette never heard the faint hiss of escaping gas from the front of the podium. Nor did she smell anything unusual as she took in a deep breath to begin her next sentence.
A brief touch of wooziness flashed through Margaret's brain, followed by an even briefer touch of dizziness. She had no way of knowing that the water she’d swallowed contained a strong alcohol derivative that was already racing through her bloodstream. Bonded to its molecular structure was a genetically engineered aphrodisiac designed to target specific areas of the female anatomy. As for the gas, it was a cleverly modified nerve agent that heightened human skin sensitivity.
Three minutes into her presentation, Margaret began to feel light-headed and somewhat giddy. The muscles in her arms and legs seemed to loosen, and a warm glow kindled low in her belly. Small beads of perspiration collected on her forehead as she licked her lips uncertainly.
Unnoticed in the dim meeting room, Adrienne grinned wickedly and pressed another button on her controller. This one released a faint, undetectable mist of chemicals—chemicals that had a decidedly deleterious effect on the molecular bonding of textile fibers.
By now Margaret was feeling very giddy indeed, almost to the point of silliness. Her mind kept straying from the presentation to thoughts of another foot massage from Jennifer, more “extra credit” with Robbie and Darlene, and more “quality time” with Tanya. The brunette realized that it simply would not do for her to giggle in front of the Board of Regents—but that that was exactly what she wanted to do. Her skin tingled as if being caressed beneath her clothing by scores of gentle fingers. Little thrills of excitement shot through her breasts, belly and loins. Margaret cleared her throat and sipped more water in a vain attempt to set these sensations aside.
Adrienne watched her victim carefully. When the brunette stumbled over a few words and appeared to lose her place for a moment, the raven-haired biologist knew that the time was right. She touched a third button on her controller, releasing an invisible cloud of nitrous oxide.
Margaret had been trying without much success to keep her mind focused on the presentation, but this was becoming more difficult with every passing minute. And once she’d breathed in the laughing gas, the brunette was doomed. When she opened her mouth to begin her next sentence, a throaty giggle escaped her lips instead!
Horrified, Margaret raised a hand to her mouth—too late to stifle another burst of giggling. And at that very moment, she felt her pantyhose begin to disintegrate! Meanwhile, the tingling sensation on her skin began to intensify into a definite tickling sensation. Panic-stricken, the brunette grabbed the podium with both hands and pressed her lips together in a desperate attempt to contain the laughter that was forcing itself up from her convulsing belly. The audience watched with bemused expressions as the pink-faced professor squirmed on the stage.
Thanks to the drugs she’s imbibed and the gas she’d breathed, Margaret’s struggle was a brief one. Her skin was so sensitized now that even a puff of air, much less the touch of clothing, was enough to send intense tickling sensations zooming through her nervous system. She bent forward, her knuckles went white, she trembled violently—and then she lost it!
“YAAAAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA-AAAH-HAAA!!!” the brunette screeched, dancing back from the podium. “AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!”
The Dean jumped to her feet. “What is the MEANING of this?!” she demanded.
“HAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA!!!” Margaret screamed, dancing forward again. She was slapping at herself as if to brush away invisible feathers, but the only effect of that was to accelerate the disintegration of her clothing. The brunette’s suit jacket fragmented and dropped from her shoulders. Her blouse tore and fell away in tatters. Her skirt split and slid down her long legs.
The lights came back up and the members of the Board of Regents sat forward in their chairs with clear displeasure. Was this a college professor? Or was it a drunken, silly schoolgirl up there, giggling like an IDIOT—?!
Margaret was now laughing hysterically and could do nothing to stop herself. Something was tickling every inch of her skin—something was stroking her body with a thousand stiff, pointed feathers! She staggered sideways and pranced to the edge of the stage, scarcely aware of the fact that she’d been stripped down to panties, bra and high-heeled shoes. The rest of her ensemble had completely disintegrated and now lay in filmy wisps at her feet.
Adrienne smirked as the members of the Board of Regents began to whisper among themselves. The raven-haired biologist knew that she had the grant money locked up. Meanwhile, up on stage, things were REALLY beginning to get really interesting!
Margaret pranced in a circle, then fell to her knees, still laughing helplessly. Her hands were tangled in her hair and her ample breasts were jiggling prettily, scarcely contained by a bra that was now beginning to fall to pieces. And when it did, everyone could see that the brunette’s nipples were rigidly erect with sexual arousal!
But the laughing professor was scarcely aware of her surroundings as she writhed on her knees, swept by waves of ticklish torment that made her nipples ache deliciously and her loins throb with pre-orgasmic delight. Unable to resist this rising tide of erotic euphoria, she brought her hands down to her bare breasts. The tickling sensations redoubled with every move she made; the hot, loose, sexy churning in her belly intensified, and the muscles in her thighs and buttocks tensed…
“AAAAH-AAAAH-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA-HAA!!!” Margaret shrieked.
There were some in the audience whose faces bore expressions of disgust, but most were watching avidly as the nearly naked brunette had public hysterics on stage. The Dean’s narrow smile betrayed how much she was enjoying Margaret's predicament. As for Adrienne, she was biting her lip in an effort to avoid laughing out loud at her rival’s ludicrous behavior.
Margaret’s panties fell to pieces and she slumped to the floor of the stage, her nude body vibrating with anguished laughter. She rolled onto her back, bringing one hand down from her breast to flutter over her damp, curl-covered mound.
The brunette was dimly aware that sexual arousal was increasing her sensitivity to the invisible tickling, but she couldn’t stop herself from teasing her tumid love button. So began the inevitable chain reaction: spasm after delicious spasm, half hilarious torment, half passionate ecstasy, shot through her body. Her breasts jiggled and her legs flailed as she writhed on the stage, gasping and grunting as the wonderful moment approached…
Then it happened! The buxom brunette arched her back, wiggled her hips and shuddered! She squealed with joy as the longed-for orgasm exploded from her loins to send a wave of pure delight surging through her body. Nothing else mattered now—not the presentation, not the grant money, not the ruin of her professional reputation, not the humiliation of the moment. All that mattered to Margaret was the exquisite pleasure that was sapping her strength and sending her down into a dark, dark place…
She passed out just as Adrienne was shaking her head and saying to the Dean, “Shocking! Just SHOCKING! Have you ever SEEN such a disgusting display?”
***
Next morning, Margaret was summoned to a meeting with the Dean of Liberal Arts and Sciences.
Numb with despair, she sat waiting in the Dean's outer office. The brunette realized all too well that she’d made an obscene spectacle of herself during the presentation to the Board of Regents. In a few moments she would learn her fate, and Margaret had no illusions. She was finished. The university would kick her out on her butt.
When the Dean's demure but attractive secretary finally nodded to her, Margaret had to force herself to stand. With infinite reluctance, she opened the door to Dean's private office and went in.
Dean Dagmar Frost was seated behind her desk. She greeted the brunette with a frigid smile and pointed to a straight-backed chair. There was of course no question in her mind that Margaret would have to be fired. Nothing could justify such blatantly sexual behavior under any circumstances, much less in front of the Board of Regents! And before that, the brunette had had the audacity to defy Dagmar by her refusal to flunk those two little tarts, Robbie Dixon and Darlene Perry. By any objective standard, Professor Margaret Stanley was dead meat.
But as an experienced player of academic politics, the Dean knew that things weren’t really quite that simple. The English Department was part of the College of Arts and Sciences, after all—which meant that in the end, Margaret Stanley’s antics reflected on Dagmar herself. And that, of course, was an impression that could not be permitted to stand.
Furthermore, the Dean had been wrestling with another vexing and potentially disastrous situation. Some $50,000 was missing from the Arts and Sciences account—money that had been earmarked for rare book acquisitions by the Department of English—money that Dagmar had purloined for her own personal use. Unfortunately there was an audit scheduled soon and awkward questions were sure to be asked about the missing funds.
So Dagmar had evolved a very special plan for Margaret Stanley: a plan that would severely punish the brunette for her insubordination and lewd behavior, while at the same time solving a problem that might otherwise endanger Dagmar’s own position at the university. And it was of course obvious what form that punishment should take.
“Well, I suppose you know what happens now,” she began. “After your performance yesterday, the university has no alternative.”
Margaret cringed in her chair. "I didn’t…I mean it wasn’t my fault,” she finally managed to stammer.
“Not your FAULT?!” Dagmar yelled. “Parading around NAKED and MASTURBATING in front of the Board of REGENTS wasn’t your FAULT?!”
The brunette blushed and wrung her hands. She really had no idea what could have possessed her to behave in such a fashion.
“Thanks to your disgusting and immoral display, the federal grant money went to the Department of Biological Sciences,” Dagmar said. She fixed Margaret with an icy stare. “And I have no choice but to terminate you—effective immediately.”
The Dean stood and strode around her desk to confront the brunette directly. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Professor Stanley, this could mean the end of your career.”
Margaret hung her head in shame.
As for Dagmar, the sight of this wretched (but extremely attractive) woman, squirming with fear and humiliation, caused her breath to catch in her throat. The Dean herself was a striking woman in her late thirties, with full breasts, a trim waist, shapely hips, long legs, auburn hair and glittering green eyes. For years, she’d been channeling the energies of her normal lusts into the less productive area of academic career advancement. And though she was hardly conscious of the fact, Dagmar’s plans for the brunette were the product not only of a desire for revenge, but also of a long-standing if not quite conscious state of sexual frustration…
“God knows what your father would have thought about this,” the Dean said. “But I see no way out. Unless…”
Margaret looked up with a hopeful expression.
“You’ll have to leave Unknown University, of course,” the Dean went on. “But we could keep the details quiet…and I could give you a recommendation…and naturally, we’d have to have a cover story.”
The brunette practically went down on her knees at that point. “Oh, yes!” she cried. “Anything you say, Dean Frost! I’d be so grateful!”
“Such a resolution would be in the best interests of the university, really. It will be difficult, but I suppose we can hush up yesterday’s…incident.” Dagmar affected a frown. “But perhaps this isn’t the best place to finalize the details. Shall we continue this discussion tonight at my house?”
“Yes!” Margaret agreed. “Anything you say!”
“Good,” said the Dean. She smiled. “I’ll expect you at eight, then. And do please try to be punctual…Margaret.”
***
“Good evening, Margaret.” The Dean licked her lips as she opened the door. “You’re right on time, I see.”
She took the brunette’s arm, led her through the house to the living room, and sat her down on the sofa. And if Margaret thought it odd that Dagmar was wearing a short terrycloth robe, she was too intimidated to say anything.
“I do sympathize with your situation,” Dagmar said as she sat down next to the nervous brunette. “How terrible it must be to face the prospect of professional ruin!”
She placed a sympathetic hand on Margaret’s knee. The brunette shifted uncomfortably, which only caused her skirt to ride up. The Dean’s warm hand followed a moment later.
“I can help you, darling,” Dagmar whispered, stroking the brunette’s firm, nylon-clad thigh. “And I will—if you’ll just be nice to me…”
Margaret realized with a sudden shock that she was being offered a demeaning choice: the salvation of her career in return for a night of sexual submission!
Just for a moment, the brunette hesitated. Memories of her recent humiliations at the hands of Robbie, Darlene and Tanya were still fresh enough to make her squirm. But after all she’d been through in the past week, did it really matter what might happen now? Could the Dean possibly put her through anything more disgusting than “extra credit”? If submission to this woman’s desires could save something from the wreckage of her career, wouldn’t it be worth it? And to be totally honest, wasn’t she feeling all warm and weak at the prospect of serving as Dagmar Frost’s docile sex poodle…?
So Margaret turned her head, looked Dagmar in the eye, and nodded.
Five minutes later the dean and the professor were naked except for their panties, and the brunette was sucking eagerly on a stiff nipple. “Wait, wait…” Dagmar gasped. “Let’s go to bed. It’ll be more comfortable…”
Margaret didn’t argue. She rolled off the couch and let Dagmar lead her to into the bedroom. In a moment they were on the bed, kneeling face to face, with their hands on one another’s bare breasts. Dagmar looked deep into the brunette’s eyes and smiled with pure pleasure.
“Does that feel nice?” she whispered, rolling Margaret’s erect, aching nipples between her fingers.
“Aaaah…!” the brunette moaned. “Aaaah…yessss…!”
“Want me to stop? No? Then you just hold still…” Dagmar scooted around so that she was kneeling behind Margaret. Her arms snaked around the buxom brunette’s waist, one hand rising to tease an ample breast, the other dropping to explore between trembling thighs. “Oh, do you LIKE being petted down there?” Dagmar gave a throaty giggle. “Does it make you just cringe all OVER?”
In fact, Dagmar’s exquisite ministrations were making Margaret’s skin crawl with goose bumps. Her love button was being tickled through the sheer panties she still wore, and the delightful, silken sensation forced deep grunts of pleasure from her throat.
Dagmar’s own nipples were rigid with excitement and she had trouble resisting the temptation to slip a hand into her own panties. As the squirming, squealing brunette drew closer and closer to orgasm, the sadistic dean’s excitement deepened. “That’s it, darling, you’re so close, aren’t you?” she whispered into Margaret’s ear. And you want to cum, don’t you, hmmm?”
“Aaaah…aaaaah…aaaah…!” the brunette moaned.
“You just want to cum your silly little BRAINS out, Margaret, don’t you?”
“Yes! Yes please!” Margaret sobbed.
“Then put your hands behind your back!” Dagmar commanded.
Distracted by the lustful sensations that were shooting through her body, the brunette was quick to comply with this order. Dagmar had the rope ready, and in seconds her victim’s hands were bound securely behind her back.
“That’s better,” Dagmar cooed. She reached around to tweak Margaret’s nipples. “Now I can play with you all I want…”
The brunette trembled with redoubled excitement. Being bound and helpless seemed to intensify the hot thrills of pleasure that raced from her lush breasts to her yearning loins. She didn’t protest when Dagmar pushed her down and put her on her back, and she gasped with delight when Dagmar’s hand came down to pet her throbbing mound through the damp panties she still wore. Margaret spread her legs as far apart as possible and wiggled her hips, as if begging to be allowed to come.
Dagmar, who was kneeling between the brunette’s parted thighs, gazed down at her squirming victim with an evil smile. Just for a moment, she caressed Margaret’s love button with the tip of a finger. Then she stopped.
Margaret whined in protest and arched her back, desperately inviting the intimate caress she craved. But Dagmar shook her head ruefully. “You can’t cum while you’re wearing these,” she said, snapping the band of the brunette’s scanty black panties. “Here, let me help you.”
Margaret needed no urging. With Dagmar’s assistance, she eagerly wiggled her way out of her panties. In the process she scooted down the bed, so that her feet hung over the edge of the mattress. And that was just what Dagmar had been waiting for. Moving quickly, she grabbed one ankle and bound it to the end of the brass rail. Then, before the befuddled brunette could react, she secured Margaret’s other ankle to the opposite end of the rail.
“What…? Why…?” Margaret stuttered.
Dagmar resumed her previous position, kneeling between the brunette’s thighs. But now she was holding a very stiff, very pointed feather. Margaret’s eyes widened with terror when she realized what was about to happen.
“That’s right, darling, I’m going to TICKLE you.” Dagmar touched the feather to the tip of Margaret’s nose. “But you LIKE being tickled, don’t you? Yes, you DO!
Margaret could only shake her head in a feeble attempt to deny this.
“Now, now,” Dagmar chuckled. “Tell the truth and shame the Devil, darling. Tell me the truth or I’ll start tickling you right NOW!”
“Yes!” Margaret screamed fearfully. “Yes! Yes! I LOVE being tickled!”
“Good!” Then you’ll love this.” With an evil smile, the sadistic dean brought the feather down and began to trace delicate little circles around the brunette’s belly button.
“HIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!!!” Margaret shrieked. She writhed desperately in a futile attempt to escape the feather’s maddening touch. “EEEEEE-HEE-HEE-EEEEEEE-HEE-EEEEEEE-HIIIIEEEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
Dagmar moved the feather up to tickle the bottoms of the brunette’s jiggling breasts. “That’s right, darling, LAUGH for me!” With her free hand, she was stroking Margaret’s thigh. “LAUGH your stupid little HEAD off for me—!”
“BWAAAAA-HAA-HAA-AAAAH-HAA-HAA!!!” the pink-faced brunette howled. “GAAAAAAR-HAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-AAAAR-HAR-HAR-HAR-HAR!!!”
Margaret squirmed, bucked and twisted—but with her arms bound behind her back, her ankles belayed to the brass rail and Dagmar kneeling between her legs, she was utterly helpless. The Dean’s eyes glittered as she feathered the brunette’s breasts and belly. Soon Margaret’s screams became earsplitting, and Dagmar frowned.
“This won’t do at all,” she said. “You’ll annoy the NEIGHBORS, darling! Now what can I use to…? Ah!”
Margaret’s panties were still on the bed. Dagmar snatched them up, crumbled them into a ball, and popped the improvised gag into the brunette’s mouth.
“UUUUMPH!!!” Margaret grunted. “GRRRRUUUUMPH!!!”
“MUCH better!” Dagmar giggled. “Now we can get down to business. Do you know why I’m doing this, darling?” She swept the feather across the brunette’s super-stiff nipples, then down to her belly button. “Well, let me tell you. First, this is your punishment for DEFYING me in the matter of Robbie Dixon and Darlene Perry. I instructed you to FAIL those little strumpets, didn’t I?”
“URRRR-URRRR-URRRRRRRRPH!” Margaret grunted into her panties.
“That’s right, darling. But you IGNORED my instructions, didn’t you?” Dagmar nodded as she swirled the feather over the brunette’s tense tummy. “Well, that was very, very NAUGHTY of you. So now you’re going to be tickled and tickled and TICKLED until you’re tickled to BITS. What do you think of THAT?”
“MMMM-MMMM-MMMM-MMMMMMMMPH!!!"
“And second,” Dagmar added brightly, there’s the little matter of the rare books acquisitions fund.” Down came the feather to dance along the brunette’s bikini line. “Now what I want from you, dear, is simply this. If you sign a statement confessing that you misappropriated $50,000 from the acquisitions fund and promising to make restitution, your resignation will be accepted and the university won’t seek your prosecution for FRAUD and THEFT!”
Margaret, who was praying desperately for the tormenting feather to slip just a bit lower, barely comprehended what she was being told. All she knew was that the tickling was driving her absolutely INSANE—and that if she wasn’t allowed to cum very soon, she would absolutely burst out of her own SKIN—!
Dagmar shifted the feather to the brunette’s breasts and subjected each nipple to prolonged stroking. “Of course I know that you haven’t got a clue about the acquisitions account, but that doesn’t really matter,” she said. “Because this time, you will do as I ask. Unless, that is, you’re curious to see if ‘tickled to death’ is more than just a figure of speech…"
Margaret’s eyes bulged with the attempt to force screams of laughter past the panties that gagged her mouth. Her large breasts jiggled and bounced as she writhed under the feather’s excruciating caress. Dagmar was relentless! She tortured the brunette’s nipples, then her belly button, then the hypersensitive places between her straining thighs. When the feather was at her breasts, Margaret longed desperately for her love button to be stroked. When the feather slipped down to tease that hot throbbing button, she prayed for her nipples to be tickled.
“PLLLLLLSSSSSS!!!” she begged. “UGH-UGH-UGH!!! SSSSTTTTP!!!"
“Will you sign the CONFESSION?” Dagmar sang. “Or would you rather just be tickled? You’re just so TICKLISH, Margaret, aren’t you? Tickle, tickle, TICKLE—!”
The brunette arched her back, inviting the sadistic dean to dip the feather down between her straining thighs. But instead, Dagmar concentrated on her belly button! Margaret’s hips writhed wildly.
Just for a second, Dagmar allowed the feather to sweep through the damp curls that framed the brunette’s throbbing mound. Margaret trembled violently and screamed into the panties that gagged her mouth, but she was not permitted to achieve orgasm.
Dagmar grinned wickedly, slipped from the bed to the floor, and knelt to admire Margaret’s pretty bare feet, which hung over the edge of the mattress. With a passionate sigh, she leaned forward and applied her tongue to the sole of the right foot. And a moment later her sharp nails attacked the brunette’s left foot!
Intense tickling sensations shot up the backs of Margaret’s long legs. The hot, urgent sensation in her loins redoubled in intensity; the muscles in her thighs, behind and belly bunched in delicious anticipation. “GRRRRUUUUGH!!!” she grunted. “GRRRRUUUUGH-UGH-UGH!!!”
“I’ll make you CUM, Margaret,” the sadistic dean promised. “Just say you’ll sign the statement and I’ll make you cum yourself SILLY!”
The brunette would have agreed to sign anything at that point but with her own panties stuffed in her mouth, she had no way of telling Dagmar that she was ready to cooperate. So she was forced to endure a prolonged, excruciating bout of foot tickling, toe sucking and verbal taunting.
When Dagmar figured that Margaret’s resistance had probably been broken she brought the torture to an end and got back on the bed. Kneeling once more between the brunette’s trembling legs, she plucked the bunched panties from her victim’s mouth. Margaret gasped with relief and drew in great gulps of air.
“So will you sign, my dear?” The sadistic dean rolled the brunette’s stiff nipples between her fingers. “Will you sign or shall we continue…?”
“Please…” the brunette gasped. “Mercy…please…”
“Will you sign?” Dagmar asked again.
“Yes…” Margaret moaned. “Yes…anything…”
“Excellent!” From the drawer of the night table Dagmar retrieved the statement and a ballpoint pen. She helped the exhausted brunette into a sitting position, untied her hands, and watched with a triumphant smile as Margaret signed the bogus confession. That done, the svelte dean rewarded her naked, trembling victim with a wet kiss on the lips—a kiss to which Margaret responded avidly.
“That’s a good girl,” Dagmar said with a smirk. “Now I suppose you want your reward.”
“Please, yes!” the brunette whimpered.
Dagmar Frost chuckled. She got off the bed and untied Margaret’s ankles.
“Your reward is that I’m not calling the POLICE,” The svelte dean smirked as she put on her robe and lit a cigarette. “Now get dressed, you big-breasted MORON, and get the hell OUT of my HOUSE!”
The brunette was crushed. Listlessly, she began gathering up her clothes.
“Oh, and you needn’t bother returning to campus,” Dagmar added. “I’ve made arrangements to have your personal effects cleared out of your office. They’ll be shipped to you. And if you show up there nevertheless, you’ll be arrested by the university police. We will need your check for $50,000 by the end of the week, though. Otherwise, you just might find yourself behind bars for a long, long time.”
Margaret was more or less dressed now, and she wanted nothing more than to escape from this evil woman who’d abused, humiliated and ruined her. Dagmar saw her guest to the door.
“Goodbye, Margaret, and do have a nice life,” the Dean of Liberal Arts and Sciences said with a cruel laugh. “I know I will!”
(To Be Continued!)
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