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The Mentor, Chapter 1
I first spotted her right after I checked into the hotel, as I turned to walk toward the elevators. The conference was being held in one of those
modernistic hotels built in the 1960s or 70s with a large atrium and a bank of glass-walled elevators. Susan – not Sue, or Susie, or any of those
diminutive forms which would never have suited her personality – could be seen through the glass of one of the elevators that was just leaving the
lobby. She was easily recognizable in her stylish green suit (probably Ann Taylor, knowing her) with the skirt cut a good three inches above her
knee, and her signature flaming red hair styled in a short wedge cut that had been so popular recently. She had what could only have been a $300
Hermès scarf tied around her neck, and was wearing pointy-toed shoes with a spiked heel at least two inches tall, the kind that Sarah Jessica Parker
was always wearing on Sex and the City. The shoes only added to her height which must have been at least 5’9” in bare feet. She didn’t see me, as
she was turned and talking with what looked like a young graduate student. I was rooted to the spot, following the path of the elevator until I could
no longer see them. I shook my head, smiled to myself, and continued forward to catch the next elevator with my suitcase in tow.
**********
I had known Susan Bascom for about ten years, ever since we had finished graduate school at the same time. We were in different programs
back then, both top-ranked and well-respected, and our areas of research were not exactly the same but were similar enough that our paths crossed
frequently. We both had specialties in 19th century English literature, with her focus being on the representation of gender, and mine being the role of
broader social forces in the development of the novel during that era (back when I was starting graduate school men did not do gender studies). We
began our job search at the same time, enduring the meat market of the Modern Language Association Convention – or MLA, as it is unaffectionately
known – as best we could.
Susan was different than most of us, however, as she had had a moderately successful career in publishing before she went back to graduate
school. She had risen to the rank of associate editor at a publishing house known for its highbrow literature list that was supported by more popular
works. Thus, while most of us were in our late 20s when we finished school and began looking for our first academic posts, she was a decade our
senior, knocking on the door of 40. To the casual observer, however, one would not suspect such an age difference as Susan was very youthful
looking. She easily mixed with those of us who were younger, but the success she had achieved in the publishing industry was quite evident. Even in
graduate school she always had the nicest clothes, the nicest leather briefcase, and the one time a conference was held close enough to her university
that she could drive there rather than fly, we saw the fire engine red sports car she owned.
Susan and I were both relatively successful on the job market, each of us receiving multiple offers when many of our peers received none. Mine
were a touch better, however, and I landed a plum position at a well-known university. She ended up at an institution that could best be described as
“second tier,” not a bad one by any means but not in the same class as my employer. I would not describe our relationship as one of friendship, but
we did generally see each other two or three times a year and always said “hello” and had some pleasant conversations. She had even met my wife
Sarah a couple of times when she accompanied me to a conference. She and Sarah had gotten along fabulously, and I knew they stayed in e-mail
contact with one another.
In the ensuing decade, however, it was her career that had skyrocketed ahead of mine. Her first book came out to rave reviews less than two
years after she finished her Ph.D., followed in quick succession by two more that were equally well received. She supplemented this with insightful
journal articles that explored the representation of gender in mid 19th century England, and even branched out to examine the changing dimensions of
sexuality during the same era. She was the darling of the academic conferences, the MLA and the smaller boutique gatherings like the one we were
at now. She had received at least two major awards of which I was aware, and was granted tenure at her university in her fourth year, largely it was
said to try to keep her there and discourage her from bolting to greener pastures. And much to everybody’s surprise, she had stayed, even in the face
of annual gossip that she was being wooed by more prestigious settings.
Susan was also well known not just for her research but also for her teaching and mentorship of graduate students. She had a faithful flock of
former students who were loyal supporters and were vocal in singing her praises. They could be found at conferences gathered around her, alongside
her current students who she funded to attend the conferences and network in preparation for their own entry into the academic job market. There
were always rumors about the nature of Susan’s relationships with these students but I had never heard any concrete evidence that there was any
untoward behavior. I chalked up much of the gossip to professional jealousy.
While my career had developed respectably, it could no way be compared to the meteoric rise of Susan’s. I had produced a couple of books that
were well received but in no way comparable to hers, and while I had earned tenure in the standard sixth year, my scholarly reputation could best be
described as somewhat below that of most of my star-studded colleagues at my own institution. Nevertheless, a professor’s life is a good one, and
while I knew I would never be among the glitterati at the MLA, I was happy.
***********
I entered the elevator, punched my floor, and rode upward gazing down at the lobby. Unlike the MLA, which was an annual mob scene with
upwards of ten thousand faculty members spread out through hotels all over the city, this conference was much smaller with only about 500 of us all
in the single hotel. I much preferred this kind of gathering, where you could actually connect with colleagues, spend some time with them, and not
be overwhelmed by a program book that listed over 4,000 sessions on everything from “Simultaneously Marxian and Queer Comments on Jameson,
Allegory, and Method” to “Taking Away the Threat: Cribs and The Osbournes as Narratives of Domestication.” As I looked down at the registration
desk I saw a few more people queuing up to check in.
The chime sounded and I got out on my floor. I looked left and right down the corridor trying to guess which way was my room. As I looked to
the left about five doors down, I spotted Susan and what I presumed was her graduate student, both with suitcases in hand, standing in the hallway
talking. They were quite engaged in a conversation about something and hadn’t noticed me. I wondered if they were sharing a room together, a
wicked thought I know, but as I mentioned there had long been rumors that Susan’s relationship with some of her students – both male and female
alike – went beyond mentoring into what some would describe as a “close personal relationship.” She was single when she entered graduate school, I
knew, and had not married since.
I took the opportunity to check Susan out a little more closely. Even though she was ten years older than I and approaching 50, she still retained
a great figure. She wasn’t thin, by any standard, and had quite a few extra pounds on her, but she had great curves set off by a pleasingly plump ass
and substantial breasts that she usually showed off with low-cut blouses underneath her suit. And she still had legs that were worth displaying under
her short skirts – well, short by academic standards at least. With her height, though, she carried the extra weight very well.
Not wanting to get caught staring at the two of them, I quickly turned to the right and hoped that was the correct direction for my room. As I
glanced at the room numbers, I saw that I was in luck. A few more doors down and I reached my room. As I shoved the keycard in the lock, I
looked to my left down the hall toward Susan. I saw the student walking further down the hall by herself. As I entered my room, I laughed at myself
thinking that Susan would have been sharing her room with a student. That would have been a little too obvious, even for her. I shut the door, put
my backpack down, and began unpacking my suitcase.
**********
The conference began early that evening with an opening address from an esteemed senior colleague in our field. I often wondered who
bestowed the label “esteemed” on these people; all I knew was that the speech was invariably a yawner. The only way they got people to go was by
scheduling it right before the opening reception, which offered free food and booze – well, not quite “booze” by any standard, but cheap wine and
domestic beer. After all, this is an academic crowd with relatively few financial resources. The opening reception always went late into the evening
as the attendees soaked up their last freebies for the next few days.
After a couple of years attending these types of gatherings I’d learned to avoid the free food and just enjoy a nice meal out. I thought of myself
as somewhat better than the rest of them, not bowing to the offer of free – but lousy – food and wine, but holding out for a better meal. I had made
plans a couple of weeks ago to meet up with my friend Carl who was similarly inclined, and we found a nice Japanese restaurant a few blocks from
the hotel. By the time we got back to the hotel, it was about 9:00, and we could hear the noisy gathering in the ballroom. We went into the empty
bar located in the lobby to have a drink and continue our conversation.
As I sat down, I glanced over Carl’s shoulder at the restaurant that took up the other corner of the lobby. Not surprisingly given the late hour
and the fact that the conference took up all the rooms in the hotel, it was largely deserted. I did spot one attended table, though, and just as I was
about to turn my attention back to listen to what Carl was talking about (something about Dickens, most likely, as that was who he spent most of his
waking hours thinking and writing about), I realized that it was Susan Bascom and her grad student sitting there. They too must have decided to
bypass the opening reception.
Carl and I ordered our drinks, and he quickly downed his and excused himself, complaining about having to get up early for a panel on which he
was presenting. I graciously offered to pay for his drink, and he just as graciously accepted. After shaking his hand and saying good-bye, I sat down
again to finish my margarita. As I did, I glanced over again at the restaurant, just as Susan’s graduate student was standing up, purse in hand. She
began walking away from the table, and as she did, I examined her in more detail.
Having been focused on Susan when I saw them earlier, I had not yet formed much an impression of her student. She was young, probably only
about 25, and was wearing casual clothes, a loose fitting beige top and dark pants – thus confirming her relative youth, as somebody further along in
her studies would have been wearing interview clothes at this conference in order to impress potential employers. She was shorter than Susan,
maybe 5’4” or so, and I could see she was relatively thin even in her loose clothes. She too had short hair, but unlike Susan’s red locks, hers were
brunette. Her face could be described as somewhat plain, nothing you would think twice about if you passed her on the street.
As I signaled the waitress for my check, I watched the student cross the lobby and head toward the bathrooms. The bathrooms were down a
small hallway off the lobby, between the restaurant and the bar. She entered the bathroom just as the waitress brought my check. As I reached for my
wallet, I glanced over at the restaurant. Susan was paying her check, and as she stood up to leave, I saw she was still wearing the green suit I spied
her in earlier. As she left the restaurant, she too headed toward the bathroom. Even though this brought her closer to me, I realized it would have
been hard for her to see me, because of the position of some columns and large palms that helped separate the bar from the lobby.
As the waitress walked away with my credit card, I watched Susan head down the hallway and into the ladies room. In the time since her
student had gone in there, I hadn’t seen anybody else go in or come out. By the time my credit card and charge slip were brought for my signature, a
good seven or eight minutes had passed since the student had gone into the bathroom, and three or four since Susan entered. I thought this quite
curious, the two of them in there seemingly all alone. I pondered what was going on as I signed the slip and put my credit card back in my wallet.
I sat for another couple of minutes, finishing the last few drops of my drink, still keeping an eye cocked toward the bathroom. Neither of them
had exited, and given the fact that everybody else still seemed to be enjoying the reception in the ballroom (which undoubtedly had its own set of
bathrooms), nobody else had gone in. By this time I was incredibly curious, and wondering what the hell was going on in there. I thought back to
the rumors that had circulated about the relationship between Susan and her students, and decided I had to investigate this further.
I left the bar and headed toward the hallway where the bathrooms were located. I went down the hallway, which was long enough that one
could not see the bathrooms from main part of the lobby area. As I approached the bathrooms, with the men’s on the left and women’s on the right, I
glanced over my shoulder to make sure nobody was behind me. I knew the likelihood of anybody else coming to these bathrooms was slim, given
that all of our colleagues were likely to still be enjoying the conference opening reception for some time. Seeing nobody there, I put my ear to the
door of the women’s room and listened for a few seconds. Hearing nothing, I slowly pushed the door open just far enough to poke my head in, and
as surreptitiously as possible, glanced around the door.
What I saw was nobody – just the open area where the sinks were located, and a partition around which must have been located the toilet stalls.
Once I determined that there was nobody right there, I quickly stepped inside, and quietly eased the door closed behind me. My first impression was
that the women’s room was much nicer than the men’s room. There was carpeting on the floor, at least in the sink area, and a nice red velvet sofa
and matching upholstered chairs. There was a selection of toiletries in the sink area for the women to use.
Still hearing nothing, I quietly tiptoed toward the partition separating the sink area from the toilet stalls. As I came toward it, I heard a very faint
and muffled woman’s voice. I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it was clearly coming from the other side of the partition. I poked my head
around the partition very slowly and carefully. Luckily, there was nobody standing on the other side. As I suspected, this section of the bathroom
contained the series of toilet stalls.
I slowly walked around the partition and stood immobile for a few seconds. A quick glance down the row of stalls confirmed what I suspected –
there was only one door closed, and it was the one at the far end, which was the handicapped stall. From where I was standing, I couldn’t see under
the bottom of the stalls, but I listened to see if I could pick up the voice again. Sure enough, I heard a voice coming from that stall.
The carpeting continued from the sink area into this section, but then stopped right in front of the row of stalls. This allowed me to creep quietly
toward the end of the row and the closed door of the last stall. As I got closer, I was careful not to get in front of the gap between the door of the stall
and its wall, so as not to be seen by the occupants. I stopped a few feet before reaching the stall, still on the carpeting. From this position I could
more clearly hear the voice, and it did not take me long to recognize it as Susan’s. I bent down enough so as to be able to see under the walls of the
stall, and confirmed my auditory conclusion by spotting Susan’s bare legs and her stiletto heels spread wide and facing the door of the stall. I could
see in front of her, kneeling on the tile of the floor, the trouser-clad legs of what had to be her student. I was now close enough to hear Susan’s voice
quite clearly, even though she was speaking quietly.
“That’s right, sweetie, you’re doing just fine, just keep doing that,” she said, in a soft and soothing voice. There were other sounds coming from
the stall, but I was at an angle that I couldn’t see what was going on in there, and I was fearful of being seen or heard myself. But from what I could
see and hear, my mind started conjuring up quite a lovely image of that young grad student kneeling between Susan’s legs.
“Harder, sweetie, lick harder up and down.” Now there was no question of what was going on in there, and Susan’s voice drew me closer to the
stall. I tiptoed a few feet forward, staying on the carpet so as to be quiet as possible. This brought me a bit closer, so that I could see a little bit
through the crack between the door of the stall and the wall. But I was too far away to really see anything at all. But imagining what the young
woman was doing to Susan had gotten me very aroused, and my pants were starting to tent pole as I had quite an erection.
“Okay, now stop,” Susan’s said, still speaking softly but in a commanding tone. I could see under the stall that the student stood up, and I heard
the rustling of clothes. I panicked, not sure what I should do. I was afraid if I started to move too quickly back toward the door, they’d hear me. I
decided I’d duck into one of the other stalls and pick my feet up, so they wouldn’t be able to spot my quite obviously men’s pants and shoes under
the stall. Just as I started to do this, the door to their stall flew open, and Susan came out, followed by the student. I was frozen on the spot, and I’m
sure I must have looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
“Bob!,” Susan exclaimed, not looking nor sounding entirely shocked to see me standing there. My first instinct was to run out of there, but I
was worried about the off chance of somebody seeing me flying out of the women’s room and what the implications of that would be.
Before I could think any further, Susan said, “Don’t move or I’ll scream.” That decided things for me – the thought of Susan Bascom screaming
bloody murder in the women’s room, and what that would likely bring into there was not something I wanted to experience. So I just stood there, not
saying a word nor moving.
“You know Professor Arnold, don’t you Laura?” she said, turning to the young lady next to her. As I now looked at her, standing there next to
Susan, with dusty smudges on her knees and her hair slightly disheveled, she looked as equally embarrassed as I knew I must have appeared. She
just lightly nodded her head, without uttering a word.
“And that would be his erection,” she said, laughing heartily and pointing toward my crotch. “Well, Bob, so nice to see you, though I didn’t
imagine this is where we’d first run into each other at the conference. I would ask you what the hell you are doing here, but I suspect I already know
the answer to that one. You followed us in here, didn’t you?”
Now it was my turn to just nod my head, my mouth suddenly very dry and unable to articulate any words. I thought again about making a dash
for it, but was afraid of what that might bring. And I was still worried about Laura standing there as a witness to this whole episode.
“Okay, professor, follow me. You too Laura.” Susan turned and walked back into the stall and grabbed her purse, followed by Laura doing the
same. She then walked toward the sink area, me behind her, and Laura behind me. I didn’t know what else to do other than just follow along, unsure
what her plan was. She put her purse down on the counter next to a sink, and reached in and pulled out a small digital camera.
After pressing a few buttons, she said, “Okay, Bob, now go stand over near the sofa.” I did as she said, still unable to question or challenge her.
I found that I was actually getting aroused, as even though I was scared about the situation in which I had found myself, I was also mesmerized by
her commanding presence.
She turned to Laura and said, “Honey, open the door and peek out to see if anybody is there.”
Laura immediately did as she was told, opening the door and sticking her head out. She let it go and reported to Susan, “No, Professor Bascom,
there’s nobody there.”
“Good. Now hold it open for me.” Laura held the door open, and Susan stepped outside a few feet. She lifted the camera, and pointed it toward
me. I could see that she was framing a shot that would include the bathroom door, with the large silhouette of a woman on it, through to me, standing
in front of the furniture that quite clearly delineated this as a women’s room.
Susan smiled and quietly said, “Say cheese!” In a second, I saw the flash of the camera, and Susan stepped back into the bathroom, closing the
door behind her. She turned the deadbolt lock on the inside of the door. “Now we’ll have a little privacy, won’t we? Won’t have to worry about
anybody disturbing us in here.”
She put the camera on the counter behind her. “And now we’ll have a little souvenir of your visit in here, won’t we Bob? And just in case
anybody wants to question the photographic evidence, I have Laura here who will confirm that you were caught spying on women in here. Right
Laura?”
Laura once again meekly nodded her head, and Susan said to her in a sharper voice, “Is that the proper way to respond, my pet?”
Laura quickly said, “No, Professor Bascom, I’m sorry.”
“That’s better, sweetie.” She turned to me and said, “By the way, Laura is one of my most promising grad students. I know she’s going to have
a great career ahead of her, aren’t you my sweet?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laura responded, without missing a beat.
“So, Bob, how have you been?” she asked, turning back to me.
I was still dry-mouthed, but managed to mumble, “I’ve been better,” in a quiet voice.
“What was that, Bob, I can’t hear you. Sounds like you need a little reminder of the proper way to speak to me, just like Laura did. Please
speak up and address me in a more appropriate manner.”
I stumbled for a second, not quite sure what she meant. But I knew I had to do something, so I responded by saying in a clear voice, “I’ve been
better, Susan.”
All of the sudden, we heard a sound at the door – somebody was trying to open it. Susan quickly said to us, “Go stand near that wall,” and
pointed toward the wall right next to the hinge side of the door. We both did as we were told, and Susan walked over to the door, unlocked the
deadbolt, and opened it a foot or so.
“Is everything okay in here?” I heard a voice from outside inquire
“I’m sorry,” Susan said. “My student is very sick, it must have been something she ate. She’s using the facilities in here and was a little
embarrassed at having anybody walk in on her, so I locked the door until she’s done.”
The voice outside said, “Oh, I’m very sorry to disturb you – is there anything I can do to help?”
Susan responded, “Oh how sweet of you to offer, but that’s okay, I think I have it under control.” She then said in a whisper, but loud enough
that we could hear, “She seems to be going back and forth from the sofa to the toilet, if you know what I mean. So I’m afraid she’ll be in here for a
little bit until I can get her up to her room.”
The voice replied, “Oh, that’s fine, ma’am. With everybody in the ballroom, there’s really nobody who needs to use this restroom. Let me get
the ‘temporarily closed’ sign and I’ll put it in front of the door. Then when you are done, just call the front desk and let them know. That way you
won’t be bothered. I hope your friend feels better.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” Susan said. With that, she closed the door and relocked it. Turning toward Laura and me, she said with a
big smile on her face, “Now I know we won’t be bothered in here. Now where were we? Oh yes, I remember now – I was making sure Bob knew
the proper way to address me.” Now I was very nervous, realizing that I was at Susan’s mercy and unlikely to be rescued from my predicament.
“Now Bob,” Susan continued, “You can address me as Professor Bascom, I think that would be appropriate given the situation you have found
yourself in, don’t you?”
“Yes, Professor Bascom,” I meekly replied, not knowing what else to do other than to go along with her little game.
“Much better, Bob. Now listen up. Given what you’ve done by following us in here, which I would consider somewhat inappropriate for a man
of your professional standing, you better do everything I tell you. Otherwise I’ll share my nice photograph of you with a few select colleagues,
backed up by Laura’s confirmation of what you did. You’ll do that, won’t you pet?” she asked, turning toward Laura.
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied.
“And you, Bob, are you ready to listen?”
I was still stunned that I had found myself in this situation, but knew I had no choice. “Yes, Professor Bascom.”
“ ‘Yes Professor Bascom,’ what, Bob?”
“Yes, Professor Bascom, I am ready to listen to you,” I replied.
“Good,” Susan said, smiling once again. “Here’s what I want you to do. Go stand over in front of the sofa, facing me. And Laura, you go sit in
that chair over there,” pointing to one of the chairs that was facing the sofa. I did as she said, and Laura walked over and sat in the chair.
“Now undo your belt buckle and lower your trousers to your ankles.” I hesitated, not sure I could actually go through with this. But upon
seeing my hesitation, Susan hissed in a stern voice, “Do it, Bob – and you better start responding more quickly or you’ll be sorry.”
Upon hearing the tone of her voice, I said, “Yes, Professor Bascom,” and quickly undid my belt and lowered my chinos to my ankles, standing
there in my boxer shorts. My erection was still there, and I was afraid it was visible through my boxers, as even though I was incredibly fearful of
what was happening I was still very aroused by Susan’s domination and control over me. I had a dress shirt on, so as I looked down I saw the shirt
tails were at least partially covering my erection.
“Very good, Bob, you’re doing much better now. Laura, go over and unbutton his shirt, but leave it on.” Laura did as she was instructed,
walking over and undoing the buttons one at a time from the top to the bottom. The hands of this young woman – who a few minutes ago had
apparently been on her knees licking the pussy of the woman standing a few feet away – brushing against my chest made me even more aroused.
Once she undid the bottom button, the two halves of the shirt opened up, with my erection poking through between them, leaving no doubt as to the
state of my arousal.
“Hmm, it appears that you are enjoying this. Is that true, Bob?”
I couldn’t respond, I was so humiliated. The thought that my body was so aroused by Susan’s control over me, combined with not just Susan
seeing me like this, but her young graduate student seeing me in this state also, was just too much for me to comprehend.
“Bob, I asked you a question?” I heard Susan say.
I knew I had to respond somehow, that I couldn’t ignore her. “I don’t know,” I replied, quickly adding, “Professor Bascom.”
“Oh, c’mon Bob – a smart man like you? You’re so good at doing research and reading the evidence, I shouldn’t have to put two and two
together for you, should I? First I catch you spying on Laura and me in here, with an obvious erection pushing out of your crotch. Then, when I start
telling you what to do, I find that you still have a raging hard-on sticking out of your boxer shorts. Your mind may not know, Bob, but I’d say your
body knows very well how it feels about this situation.”
She was absolutely right. I was conflicted, my mind telling me that I was in big trouble, but my body was clearly responding with arousal. I
just stood there, pants at my ankles, hard-on pushing my boxer shorts out. I glanced for a second to my right at Laura standing there, and I saw her
mesmerized by what was going on, her eyes darting back and forth from Susan to me.
“Well, you don’t need to answer for me, Bob, as I said I can clearly see for myself. You are definitely turned on by this, and I think I know
why. It’s because you’re aroused by the thought of a strong, dominating woman – one who is clearly better than you – telling you what to do. That’s
it, isn’t it?”
She had me pegged, and there was nothing I could do other than to say, “Yes, Professor Bascom.”
She smiled back at me, just standing there with her arms folded, not saying a word, for what was probably only about 10 or 15 seconds, but felt
like an hour. It was deadly quiet in the bathroom as Susan looked at me, and off in the distance I could hear the faint rumble of the other conference
participants enjoying the reception. Oh, how I wished I hadn’t been so smug about that and had just joined the others there. Then I never would
have found myself standing half-naked in a women’s room of a hotel, with Susan Bascom and one of her students watching me.
Finally, Susan said to Laura, “Okay, pet, now pull his boxers down to his ankles.” Without hesitation, she put her hands on the waistband of my
shorts and slowly yanked them down. They caught for a second on my erection, but she continued, pulling my cock painfully downward until it
snapped back up as the waistband finally cleared it. She deposited them at my ankles, on top of my trousers.
I knew my face must have been beet red, the two women standing there looking at me like this. I was incredibly mortified at being here, but
feared more the consequences of trying to extricate myself. I was fearful of what Susan would do if I didn’t cooperate.
“Now isn’t that a pretty picture, Bob standing there with his little penis sticking straight out. Don’t you think so, sweetie?”
Laura, still standing next to me, said, “Yes, Professor Bascom, it is a pretty picture.” I didn’t get the impression that she was enjoying this one
bit; in fact, she still looked scared herself of where this was going.
Susan reached behind her and grabbed the camera once again. I immediately thought, “Oh god, no, not a picture of me like this.” But I knew
there was nothing I could do about it at this point. Susan raised the camera and held it a few inches from her face so she could see the screen. I saw
the lens rotate in and out as she checked the zoom, and then once again the flash went off.
Susan glanced at the screen for a few seconds and then smiled and said, “Yes, just lovely. You’re going to continue to cooperate with me, aren’t
you Bob? You wouldn’t want me to send this to a few of your department colleagues would you, or perhaps Sarah?”
Knowing I was utterly defeated, all I could say was, “Yes, Professor Bascom, I will cooperate with you.”
Susan put the camera in her purse and snapped it shut. “Okay, now come here, pet.” Laura walked over to her, and Susan said, “Now take off
my jacket and scarf for me.” As Susan said this, the image I had formed in my mind of her sitting in that toilet stall, Laura kneeling in front of her,
came back into my head. I wondered if I were going to have an opportunity to see what had been I had been unable to spy a few minutes ago. The
thought further aroused me, making my hard-on stick out even further.
Laura walked behind her, eased the jacket off her shoulders, and carefully folded it and placed it on one of the chairs. It was clear she had done
this with Susan’s clothes numerous times before. She went back to Susan, and gently undid the knot of her scarf and took it from her neck.
“Thank you, sweetie. Now be a good girl and tie it around Bob’s eyes, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she responded, and for the first time I thought I noticed a hint of a smile on her face. She walked behind me, scarf in hand, and I
felt the cool silk over my eyes as she pulled it tightly and tied the knot behind my head. I could see very little other than some light coming in
through the top and bottom of the scarf, but looking straight ahead I could see nothing.
“And now my skirt, pet,” I heard Susan’s voice say, and felt Laura walk by me back toward Susan. I heard the rustling of fabric again, and felt
Laura’s presence as she went back toward the chair, presumably to place the skirt with the jacket. “Just sit down on the edge of the couch,” Susan
told her.
Again, it was quiet in the room for a moment, and then I felt Susan walk by me toward the sofa. It sounded like she sat down, and I heard a soft
sigh emanate from her lips. “Okay Bob, turn around, face the sound of my voice, and take two steps forward,” she said.
I turned and shuffled forward, being careful not to trip with my pants and boxers clumped around my ankles. I stood there, waiting quietly,
hearing nothing but the soft breathing coming from the two women.
“Now kneel, and lean your body forward slightly, spreading your arms wide and putting them on the sofa.”
I did as she said, understanding now what was going to happen. As I put my arms down, I felt a soft silk-like material enveloping my head. I
realized it must have been the slip that Susan was wearing under her skirt. As it rested on my head, the musky scent of Susan’s arousal hit my
nostrils. It was quite evident that she too was turned on by what she was doing. I just stayed there, arms on either side of her legs, leaning forward
with my head what must have been not more than a few inches from her crotch.
She just kept me there like that, not saying a word. Underneath her slip, I could not even hear her or Laura’s breathing. Again, it seemed like an
hour that I was in that position, but it could not have been more than a minute.
Finally, I heard her voice again. “Okay Bob, now it’s time for you to learn a few things. It’s time for you to understand that I am in control, and
that you are at my mercy. Think of yourself as one of my graduate students, my dear, whose fate and future is entirely in my hands. If you are good
and do as I say, then you will be rewarded. But if you are bad, your career will be ruined. Do you understand?”
Once again, all I could say was, “Yes, Professor Bascom.”
She hesitated a few seconds, and then she said, “Now lean further forward and begin licking.”
**********
To be continued
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