Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/A/ASS14662.TXT

Text File | 1994-03-26 | 10.8 KB | 197 lines

Copyright 1995

(More to come; this is just a teaser to see if anyone's
interested in how it ends.  I'm kind of curious myself,
actually.)
@BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ

         The Education of Kelly@END_FILE_ID.DIZ


     She's pretty in a soft, tiny, fragile way.  No more than
five feet tall, but her body was designed for the frame, as if
someone stood back with a pair of calipers and worked out all the
proportions before translating all the data to flesh.  Her hair
is blonde, and her eyes are that deep sea green you see in cat's
eyes.
     And she's smart, though it seems for the last several weeks
she's been preoccupied with something.  When the final exam date
arrives, she comes into the room nervous, unlike the Kelly I've
gotten to know in the last twelve weeks.  I've been doing this
long enough to know that something's eating at her, but I don't
know what until thirty minutes into the test.  I'm sitting there
at the front of the room, occasionally scanning the faces in
front of me, especially those whom I've suspected of taking
liberties with the idea of "fair use" and "plagiarism," but I
seldom see cheating on exams.  This time when I look up, though,
Kelly's absorbed in looking into the palm of her hand, and she
senses me watching.  I stare, and her face blushes crimson.
She's flustered, but the hand goes under the desktop.
     When it's over, I catch her on the way out.  "I need to see
you before you get off campus today," I tell her, and for a
minute I think she's going to faint.
     "Yes sir," she says, and she rushes away.
     At two o'clock there's a tentative knock on the door, and
Kelly steps over the threshold.  "Close the door," I say.  "We
need to talk."
     She sits opposite me, and before I've said a word, she's
crying about scholarships, bad relationships with boyfriends, and
required social functions.  "I've never done anything like this
before," she says.  "I knew I'd get caught."
     I had her a tissue from the box in my desk.  "You know the
penalty for cheating on an exam, don't you?"  She nods.  Her eyes
are red and puffy, and she can't seem to get her nose dry.
"Immediate expulsion," I say, and I watch the words hit her.  Her
back straightens, then sags, and her hands go to her face.
     "I can't get kicked out.  My parents ... " she says, and the
words hang there.  She raises her head again and looks at me.
Her voice is quivering.  "I can't.  Is there anything I can do?"
she asks.
     "Kelly, this is serious trouble for your entire academic
career, and it's not good for me, either.  I'm giving up teaching
at the end of this semester, and I want my last week to be
pleasant.  The only choice I have is to go to the dean with
charges of academic dishonesty, write a report, and sit back
waiting until there's a hearing.  You'll have to show up, of
course, and the appeals committee will decide what to do with
you."
     "Then everyone will know?"
     "The hearings are confidential, Kelly, but there'll be
several faculty members on the committee."  I let this sink in.
"You might have classes under one or more of them later."
     "I can't," she says, and her hands go to her face again.
"I'll do anything, Dr. Grimes.  I couldn't handle it."  She looks
at me.  "Anything," she says, and her voice is strong.
     I sit back and consider her.  She's pretty and smart, and
she seems determined.  "That's a big word, Kelly.  Can you be
more specific?"  I know I'm taking a chance, but I don't intend
to teach anymore, and a small scandal probably wouldn't cause
permanent injury to my reputation.  I'm fed up with education.
     "I mean that," she says.  "I don't..." she thinks for a
minute.  "I don't have a lot of experience, but I'd do what you
want."
     "That might be more than you bargained for," I tell her.
     She's made up her mind.  "Anything.  Just tell me."
     So we make a deal, and I tell her that I'm taking her at her
word.  She's going to move into my home for an entire weekend,
from Friday until Monday, and for that time I'll collect on my
"anything."  "Nothing's simple, Kelly," I tell her as she's
leaving, and she stops.  For a minute I wonder if she has any
idea, and I doubt it.
     She shows up at my door on Friday at one o'clock, and I'm
actually surprised.  I didn't give her any details of the payment
I'm going to exact for my silence, and if she's as inexperienced
as I think she is, there's no doubt she's going to be surprised.
I let her in and motion to the couch.  I take the small bag she's
carrying and set it by the door.  "I'm here," she says.  She's
wearing a short wraparound skirt in Black Watch plaid and a
matching vest opened over a white, longsleeved blouse.  She tries
for a grin.  "I bet you didn't expect me, huh?"
     "I don't know what I expected, Kelly.  I wasn't completely
clear on how much you'd have to pay for your ... transgression."
     She straightens her skirt as I sit beside her.  "I thought
about it, and if I get kicked out, I'll never get back in
college.  So here I am," she says.  Her eyes are wide, letting
her curiosity show through, but there's no fear in them.
     "I'm glad you're here, but we must understand each other," I
tell her.  "I don't know how much you know about sex," I say, and
I watch her react to the word, "but some people aren't
particularly contented with what you might call 'normal'
relationships."  She has no idea what I'm talking about, but I
see the curiosity there.  "If you want, you can walk out and I'll
give you a failing grade in the course without any explanation,
but if you stay, you're here until your commitment is over."
     She chews her lower lip.  "I wanted to graduate at the end
of the year, and your class isn't offered again until next fall.
I have so many hours to take I couldn't fit it in even if it
was."  Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath.  "I'm not
leaving," she says, and she shivers just a little.
     "Just so long as we understand each other," I say.  "So we
can begin."  I take her hand and lead her to the master bedroom.
I've slept in the smaller bedroom since my divorce, and I've had
three days to get this one ready for her.  At the door she
surveys the room.  The heavy storm shutters are closed on the
outside, so the only light is from the overhead fixture, though
I've set up a portable floodlight which points at a heavy oak
chair against one wall.  Against the opposite wall is a 25"
television on a stand, and next to this is a video camera on a
tripod.  A VCR is on a shelf under the TV.  In the far corner
I've set up a futon, which is folded out into a bed.  "You'll
spend most of your time this weekend in here, Kelly, unless I
decide we need to be elsewhere."  I point to the bathroom door.
"When you go in there, you're not allowed to close the door," I
say, and she gets that first little panicky look, like a small
deer first sniffing the wild dog pack from a distance.  "You'll
wear what I tell you, and you'll obey without question.
Understood?"
     She looks around the room again, then turns back to me and
nods.  "Yes sir," she says, but her voice is soft, hard to hear.
     I turn on the monitor and the camera and start the VCR in
long play mode; the chair comes into sharp focus on the screen.
"Go stand in front of the chair, Kelly."  She pauses, but she
does it.  Her eyes lock on the image of herself on the screen,
and I pan the camera down her body to the hem of her skirt.
"Lift your skirt," I say, and the panic in her eyes becomes
clearer.  "Now," I say, and her hands go down to the edge of the
cloth as if she's a machine in control of some operator in a
control room.  "Lift it, Kelly."  The cloth begins to rise, and
when her panties come into view, she's staring into the monitor
as if she's someone else, a voyeur looking through a window.  Her
panties are light blue cotton, trimmed at the leg openings with
white lace.  "Turn around," I say, and she seems relieved.  "Pull
your skirt up so I can see your ass," I tell her, and this time
she doesn't hesitate.  Her panties are pulled up a bit, and the
small, firm cheeks show the tanlines of a modest bikini.
     I let her stand like that for a minute.  "How do you feel,
Kelly?"
     Instead of words she gives off a little whimper, then
catches her breath and tries again.  "I'm sorry," she says, and I
wonder if she's sorry for what she's done or what she thinks
might happen to her next.
     "Not all that long ago, maybe fifty years, punishment in
school was sudden and final, Kelly.  Not in college, certainly,
but in the secondary schools."  Her back straightens, and there's
a little quiver in her thighs.  "You know what's coming, don't
you?"
     "Yes sir," she says, and I can barely hear her.
     "I want you to push your panties down to your ankles and
bend over the chair.  Put your hands flat on the seat and wait.
She reaches up to the waistband and catches it with her thumbs,
and she only hesitates for a second before pushing them down her
legs.  When she bends over, just the bottom of her ass is visible
under the skirt, and I can see a little of her slit showing.  I
step over to her and raise the skirt all the way, laying it out
over her back.  When I reach down and touch her lips, she
recoils, and I take hold of the soft flesh of her thigh between
thumb and forefinger to pull her back.  "Never pull away from
me," I say, and she nods.  I step to the camera and zoom in on
her, cropping the picture in the viewfinder just above her knees,
and high enough to show the slope of her back.  I leave her there
and go out of the room.  When I return with the two-foot section
of quarter-inch dowel rod, I place a hand on her left thigh and
hold the rod in front of her so she can see it.  I feel her
reaction in my hand.
     "English private schools gave canings to schoolboys who
misbehaved, Kelly, and I think as penance that's quite
appropriate for you.  You're not to remove your hands from the
chair.  If you do, I'll start from the beginning until you've had
all your strokes."  I let her consider this for a moment.
"You'll get ten if you hold still, but under no circumstances
will I stop until you've had ten consecutive strokes without
moving.  Understood?"
     She nods.  She's crying softly, the tears falling onto the
velour cushion of the old oak chair.  "Yes sir," she finally
says.

    ... to be continued (depending on response)
--
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* "Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on   *
* his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting     *
* throats."  --H. L. Mencken                              *
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* LR's Gargoyle                                           *
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