Chapter 3: The Professor's Slave

"You can't be serious?!" Beth asked incredulously. "Your father wouldn't really stop paying for your education, would he?"

"Oh yes he would," replied Marcie. "My father is a man of his word. If he said he'll stop paying if I don't get 3.0 or better on the classes he picked out, then that is exactly what he will do."

Beth still couldn't believe what Marcie was saying, and so asked, "There's no way to change his mind?"

Marcie shook her head, and remarked, "Nope. Not unless I can come up with a better excuse than I was too busy being your sex slave to study for my math tests."

What she said wasn't entirely true. Being Beth's slave was taking up a lot of her time, but it wasn't the sole source of the problem with her grades. She was officially Beth's slave, but she was often lent out to the other sisters as part of their support network. Beth figured that like Nancy, all of her sisters would be willing to let Marcie lick their pussies; she was right. It only took a month into the school year for all of them to surrender to Marcie's advances.

When this started off, Marcie was only interested in doing it because Beth wanted her to. Also, her nature was always to help people, and if her sorority sisters enjoyed having their pussy's licked, then it was in her character to do what they desired. She could never say that she enjoyed licking them, but she did like that they enjoyed it. She also liked experiencing the different taste of each girl had. They all had a completely unique flavors, and she figured she could identify each one by their taste alone.

What was particularly unusual, though, was that she did not care much for her own pussy to be licked. She liked it all right, but her preference was having Beth use her favorite toy on her, and Beth always rewarded her handsomely for performing her duties. When she was between another girl's thighs, she would imagine Beth taking her from behind at the same time. These fantasies got so vivid she would sometimes come while just licking the girl in front of her.

On the other hand, when Beth was fucking her, she would imagine it was some guy doing her. As Beth had said, having sex with girls was building her sex drive, and it made her far more aware than ever of the boys she was encountering in school; this was the real source of why her grades were slipping.

She had never touched a cock before, but now they occupied an incredible amount of her time. In class her favorite activity was not focusing on the lesson presented, but imaging what it would be like to suck the cock of every boy in class. Then later, alone in her room, she was always searching the Internet for videos of women sucking men's cocks.

What really struck her as ironic, was the notion that Beth believed that having sex with her sorority sisters would help her keep from having sex with guys. It was in fact having the opposite effect. Before this all started, she had no problem keeping her thoughts off boys, but now she was besotted with them. She now felt that at any time she could succumb to one of them in an instant.

This distraction was already having a big impact on her grades in general, but when this was coupled with her innate aversion to the subject of math, a poor grade was inevitable. Yet when the math class started, she thought she had lucked out. The professor turned out to be a woman that was well known to be a strong feminist whom she thought she could count on to help her get by. But as time went on, it was clear she would get no breaks from Ms. Jenkins. She even seemed particularly hostile to her.

What was especially heartbreaking for Marcie was that Sandra Jenkins, her math professor, looked and sounded like her favorite actress, Kathleen Turner. She must have watched Undercover Blues a hundred times as a teenager, and always loved how she balanced her life as a wife, mother and spy. While she couldn't see herself as a spy, she still looked upon such a life as an ideal to aspire to, or to at least have her self-confidence to deal with the adversity she saw thrown her way. But now, a woman that appeared to embody the very traits she adored, was about to give her the grade that would see her lose her father's support.

"You're making this into a lot bigger deal than it needs to be," said Beth. "I'm sure we can arrange a student loan for you."

"It's not just the money," replied Marcie. "I really do care about my father's opinion of me. No matter what happens, I'm going to have to explain myself, and I'd like a better story than the truth."

"You know..." said Beth. "I think Ms Jenkins is a lesbian..."

"I don't think so," contradicted Marcie. "I'm pretty sure she's married." She didn't like where she knew Beth was going.

"That doesn't mean anything," continued Beth. "I'm quite certain that a while back one of our sisters got her grade boosted by putting out for her. I think it was Victoria from '05."

"So what exactly are you suggesting I do?" Marcie asked incredulously. "Just offer to lick her pussy?"

"For the record, I want it known that in spite of your tone, you didn't reject it out of hand." Beth paused for a second. "First of all, you can't be blatant about it. You just need to let your beauty work for you. Dress in something sexy, but not slutty. Then, when you are talking to her, don't say something like you will do anything to get your grades. That's too obvious. Just talk about how important it is for you to get a better grade.

"You could make a play for feminist unity. You know... appeal to her sense of helping a fellow woman who is trying to make it in this male dominated society. You could even try telling her the truth. Maybe explaining to her how your father will cut you off might work. The important thing is you need her to believe she has you over a barrel, so you can get her to offer a transaction of some nature."

Marcie looked off into space, and said, "I can't believe I am considering this."

"Looks to me like you have no choice," said Beth.

"I don't see how this can work," Marcie continued. "She treats me like she hates me."

Beth exclaimed, "Well that seals it! There's no way anyone can hate someone as sweet as you. She must be turned on in a big way to hate you. Trust me. She's yours."

The next day, Marcie was wearing one of her favorite dresses. It wasn't all that sexy, but it was very pretty. It was light green with a well-fitting top that accentuated her chest, and a flowing skirt that just reached her knees. She finished the look with light brown flats that showed off her legs, because they highlighted that they needed no enhancement. There was no way anyone could say her look was provocative, yet it showed her off splendidly.

Her math class was the first period and she knew Mrs. Jenkins didn't have another for a couple of hours. She herself didn't have any problems being late to her next class, Creative Writing, because she was doing quite well in it.

As the other students were filing out of the classroom, she followed Sandra into her adjacent office. "Professor Jenkins?" Marcie asked as she entered the room in order to get her attention.

Sandra wore a black dress that was cut like something Grace Kelly would have worn in her movie career days. It was sleeveless, but with a high collar, and a hem that fell full down to her knees. Her dirty-blond hair was wrapped up in a tight French braid. As she approached her desk, she looked over her shoulder to see who had called for her. "Yes Marcie," she said skeptically.

Marcie could already sense a certain amount of hostility from Sandra, so she was very nervous about how to continue. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about my grade. Do you have a few minutes?"

Sandra was now sitting in her office chair, but didn't motion for Marcie to sit down in any of the others in the room. "Sure Marcie. I have a few minutes, but I don't know what you're concerned about. I believe you're on track to receive at least a 2.5, which should be more than adequate for a student such as yourself."

Marcie didn't detect any condescension in her tone, but the words Sandra chose conveyed that message anyway. She tried to put as brave a face on as she could when she replied, "Normally it would be, but I have a unique case. My father expects me to receive at least a 3.0 on certain courses that he has picked out for me, or he'll stop paying for my education. I was hoping... "

Marcie trailed off hoping that Sandra would fill in the blanks, but she was obviously in no mood to play along. "Hoping for what?"

With the ball back in her court, she decided to follow some of Beth's other advice. "Surely you must know how difficult it is for a woman to make it in a world controlled by men." Sandra's eyebrows shot up as if she were shocked by what she was hearing. Marcie could sense this was going really badly and tried to recover. "We women need to stick together. I'm sure you've faced discrimination. Right?"

"Wow," Sandra replied rather flatly. "You really have no clue about the kind of woman I am. Do you?" She leaned forward and placed her arms on the desk. "Yes. I have had to overcome a lot of prejudice to reach the position I have attained... no thanks to women like you.

"Let me make myself very clear on something. When I hand out a grade I never consider what a student deserves. I don't care what adversity they have had to overcome to achieve what they have. Each and every grade I have given has been based on what they have earned – nothing else.

"And you should be grateful for it too. If I were to give you the grade you deserved, you would be receiving a zero. You are so obviously here for the grade and not the knowledge. It sickens me to see clearly bright women dismiss the world that would open to them with the knowledge that math can give them."

Ms. Jenkins paused for a second, and then continued, "You should thank your lucky stars that the only criteria I use to grade someone is based on their understanding of the curriculum, and if that grade gets you kicked out of here, good. The fewer women there are who are just coasting through college, the better things will be for us who take our education seriously. Good day." Marcie could tell she was dismissed. Not just from Sandra's tone and words, but also from the way she proceeded to go through the papers on her desk.

Marcie was now standing there, stunned. She had no idea how all of this would turn out, but she didn't think it could have gone this badly. She started to turn around and leave in defeat, but the thought of her father, and the disappointment she would see in his eyes, gave her the resolve to continue.

Yet she was still mindful of Beth's warning not to make an overt offer. She thought about what she just heard Sandra say, and wondered whether what Beth said about the other girl could be true. She decided to try bringing her up and seeing where that would take her. Maybe if she showed an understanding of a circumstance where Sandra did make an exception, she might follow down that line and make the same offer to her.

"Professor Jenkins," she again said to get her attention. Marcie saw her eyes look up to her while her head remained pointing towards her desk. She continued to look as if waiting for Marcie to say something, so Marcie continued, "I understand that one of our sorority sisters, Victoria, was able to work out an arrangement with you to improve her grade. Would it be possible for me to make the same arrangement?"

With the mention of the name Victoria, Sandra leaned back in her chair and looked away wistfully. When Marcie finished her say, Sandra commented, "Ahhh Vicky... Lovely girl... She earned her grade old school." Looking back at Marcie she continued, "Are you prepared to earn your grade old school?"

Marcie thought it was odd to call having sex with your teacher 'old school,' yet she was deeply grateful that things were moving in the right direction. She blurted out, "Yes. Of course. Absolutely."

Sandra cocked her head to the right in a curious sort of way and asked, "Do you even know what I mean by old school?" She cocked her head the other way and continued with, "What do you suppose Victoria did to earn her grade?"

'Damn!' Marcie thought. Just as it seemed to be going right, this had to happen. "I uhh... didn't she... you know? She put out for you."

Sandra snapped her head back and let out an almost demonic laugh, "Hahahahahaha."

Marcie was really concerned now. Had she and Beth completely misread Professor Jenkins?

"Oh she put out all right," Sandra said after regaining her composure, "for services rendered," She then continued in a more serious tone, "I seemed to have not made myself clear enough. The only grades I give are the ones students have earned. No one is going to just lick my pussy to get a better grade."

Sandra reached into a drawer to her right and pulled out a large ruler. Marcie could see that it was eighteen inches long and a little wider than normal. As she stood up she said, "I prefer my students to be motivated to learn what I teach because they see the benefit of it."

She then walked slowly around her desk and said ominously, "At the same time, I have nothing against using other forms of motivation." As she said her last, she slapped the ruler into the palm of her hand with a loud crack.

She was now standing less than a foot from Marcie. She was probably the same height as Marcie, but had on at least two-inch heels, so with them and her demeanor, she towered over her. "If you want to improve your grade, I can make that happen, but it's going to take a lot of work on my part, and a lot of pain on yours." She emphasized the word pain. "Are you prepared to make the sacrifices necessary?"

She then leaned into Marcie's face and asked very slowly, and seductively, "Are you prepared to pay for the services I'll provide by being my slave for the remainder of this semester and through the next?"

Marcie was in full panic mode now. It was one thing to have sex with her to improve her grade, but to be her slave? It sounded to her like she intended to have her work for her grade anyway. 'What kind of situation am I getting into now?' she thought. 'Yet what choice do I have?' she also thought.

"Will you promise me that I'll be 3.0 by the end of the semester?" Marcie asked.

"Marcie," Sandra began. "You'll either be 4.0, or in the most excruciating pain that you have ever imagined. I'll except nothing less."

She thought again that she didn't have much choice, and so nodded her head and said, "I'll be your slave."

"Not so fast, Marcie." Sandra turned away from her and walked over to the wall to grab a high-backed chair that had no arms. She pulled it a few feet out, and then sat upon it. "I need to determine your level of commitment to this endeavor before I agree to be your master." She followed this statement by patting her lap and commanding, "Over my lap."

At some level of consciousness, Marcie knew what was in store for her the moment she saw the ruler; she was able to ignore it until now, but not anymore. It was painfully obvious what was about to happen; yet she could not accept that it was true. The last time she was spanked was by her father when she was twelve years old. She was so stunned by this she couldn't move.

Sandra only waited a few moments before saying, "I don't have all day. Either you get over my lap right now, or accept the grade you have earned."

Marcie complied as if she were in a daze. She walked around to Sandra's right and knelt down, then leaned over Sandra's lap. Her sense of trepidation was so great she could barely breath.

Sandra wasted no time pulling the hem of Marcie's dress onto her back. "What lovely panties," she said. Marcie had on a pair of cream-colored, high-cut silk panties. They had a lace front, but that portion wasn't visible now. She had worn her sexiest pair of panties to contrast with the plain dress she wore, as an indication of what she was prepared to do once she had shown them to the professor.

Yet the next words out of her mouth showed Marcie had wasted her time. "In the future, I expect you to wear plain, white, cotton panties that have a more modest cut. I prefer my slaves to wear panties that aren't meant for people to look at."

'Great,' thought Marcie. 'I have one master that wants me to wear sexy panties, and another that wants me to wear granny panties.'

Sandra placed the ruler at the center of Marcie's bottom, and rubbed it back and forth. Then with a quick flick of her wrist, she delivered a stinging crack across the center of her ass.

"Eeeeeee!" Marcie squealed.

Sandra resumed rubbing her bottom with the ruler for a few seconds, and then produced another cutting blow.

Marcie bellowed a loud, "Ahhhhhh!!!"

"Well. We can't have anymore screams like that." Sandra said. "Someone will hear us."

'Us?' thought Marcie sarcastically. She had gotten the idea with those words she would be let off for now, but instead felt the professor pull down her panties. Marcie cried out, "What are you doing?!", then made a lame attempt to prevent her getting them past her knees.

In an obviously agitated tone, Sandra remarked, "You don't fool me Miss Marcie. I know exactly what you were prepared to offer me for a better grade. So for you to act all indignant over my baring your ass is preposterous."

Marcie was shamed sufficiently enough by Sandra being able to see through her so well that she offered no further resistance to her pulling the panties completely off. It never crossed Marcie's mind as to why she was pulling off her panties, and how this was related to her screaming until she felt Sandra push her panties in her mouth.

Sandra commanded, "And keep them in there, or I'll tie them in with your bra!" Marcie didn't have any chance to contemplate how that would work as she felt several cracks delivered on her ass. Now all that escaped her lips was a muffled "Mmmmmm!"

Sandra set up a rhythm delivering a smack of the ruler every 3-5 seconds. No portion of Marcie's bottom was spared from torment, and eventually Sandra included her upper thighs.

As Marcie was anticipating another stinging report to the junction of her ass and thighs, she instead felt the ruler slide between them. When the edge of the ruler touched her clit, she shuddered to an immediate and jarring orgasm. She truly had no clue she was on the verge of one, and the realization of what that orgasm implied shook her idea of who she was. 'Certainly I couldn't want this spanking?' she asked herself without any conviction.

"Spread your thighs," Sandra commanded. Marcie saw no point in putting on some pretense of modesty and quickly complied. Sandra replaced the ruler with her hand, and as she caressed Marcie's vulva, she spoke to her. "The way things are going to work around here is that you are going to come over to my house two times a week for personal instruction. This instruction is highly effective because errors in your work will result in very painful consequences." Sandra punctuated this by pulling her hand from between her thighs and delivered a soaking wet slap with her hand to her ass.

She followed that up by shoving Marcie off of her lap and commanding, "Kneel before me." Once she was in position, Sandra continued, "And the price for this high quality instruction, that is delivered in a very personal manner, is that you will allow me to indulge in... shall we say... my rather particular tastes." She allowed Marcie to contemplate this for a few moments, and then asked, "So. Are these terms acceptable to you?"

Marcie looked up to Sandra with tear-stained cheeks, nodded, and replied with a muffled, "Uh-huh."

Sandra said, "Pull those panties out of your mouth, and reply with a clear and firm voice, 'Yes, Mistress Sandra.'"
She did as she was told, and replied, "Yes, Mistress Sandra."

"Then let's have one final test to see if I'll accept you for private instruction." Sandra then slid down the chair to place her bottom on the edge, and as she did so, she pulled her dress up to reveal black satin panties. "Kiss me," was all she said as she spread her legs wide.

In spite of the words used, Marcie knew that the lips she was expected to kiss weren't the usual ones the words implied. Yet as she leaned forward to comply, she received a slap on her face with Sandra's still wet hand.

Sandra explained, "When I give you a command – and when we are alone – you will reply with 'Yes, Mistress Sandra.'"

Marcie rubbed her cheek, and replied, "Yes, Mistress Sandra."

She again leaned in, but this time with trepidation that she might receive another slap. None came as she made contact with her lips where she figured the center of Sandra's nether-lips were.

"A little higher," was Sandra's only reaction.

Without pulling back, Marcie replied "Yes Mistress Sandra." This time she landed her lips where she figured Sandra's clit was. She actually didn't have to do much figuring, because she could see it pushing against her panties.

"I now want you to suck between your puckered lips as if my clit was a straw – and do it slowly."

Marcie began. She was a little worried she might get slapped again for not saying 'Yes, Mistress Sandra,' but she assumed that Sandra didn't want this interrupted.

The suction action she used came from opening her jaw, like she would with a straw, and not from inhaling. She couldn't get a seal around her clit because of the panties, so all she did was draw air in past it.

After the third pull of air, Sandra replied with a calm, "Ahhhhh... That's it. I love the feel of cooler air rushing past my button." After the seventh pull, Sandra pushed back on Marcie's forehead and said, "That's enough for now." She then flipped her dress back down and stood up. As she walked back around to her desk chair she said, "Your instruction begins tomorrow. Be at my house at 7pm."

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," Marcie said as she stood up. She was a little dazed, and didn't know what to do about the wet panties in her hand, nor the wet spot on the front of her dress caused by Sandra's attention. Because of the unseasonably warm weather, she did not have a coat to put over it, so she just stood there in a quandary.

Sandra looked back up at Marcie as she did earlier, and said dismissively, "You may go now."

"Mistress Sandra..." Marcie began. "I can't go out looking like this," she said distressfully.

In an exasperated tone, Sandra replied, "In the closet behind you, you'll find my trench coat. I want it cleaned and returned to me when you come over tomorrow. In the future, I expect you to be better prepared, because you will often find yourself in a similar state."

Marcie was grabbing the coat out of the closet as Sandra was finishing what she was saying. As she put on the coat she replied, "Thank you, Mistress Sandra."

Marcie couldn't get out of there fast enough. As she walked back to the sorority house, she wondered exactly what Ms. Jenkins meant by saying she will often find herself in a 'similar state.' Even more distressing, as she thought about it, was her reaction. Never had the mere thought of something gotten her pussy as damp as it now was. Her ass was still on fire from what Sandra had delivered, yet she couldn't deny that she wanted more.

Later that afternoon, she was in Beth's room telling her of her encounter. She related everything except how her body responded to what happened. And of all of the astonishing things that happened today, none were more so than Beth's reaction. "Damn!" she exclaimed. "I wanted to be the first to spank you!" Marcie was shocked by what she said, but not as much as she was shocked by how much she wanted her to do it. If Beth had told her to go across her lap, she would have, and it scared her to not understand why.

Over the next several months, Marcie made her twice-weekly trips to Sandra's house for personal instruction. Upon arrival, she was always immediately sent down to her basement, which was decorated like a lounge, with rich hardwood floors. There was a bar with eight stools in front of it, and three leather couches shaped in a U with the bar at the open end. The most ominous aspect of the room was the absence of any windows. Sandra informed her that she and her husband held very exclusive parties there on a regular basis.

Every evening always started the same way. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she was required to strip down to her panties and place her clothes neatly over the back of the closest couch; and those panties had to be modest. She once forgot to change them from what Beth liked before she went over, and received 'additional correction' for it.

She was then required to grab a towel from the shower/spa off of the far side of the lounge, and place it over the arm of the couch opposite where her clothes were. After that, she had to pull a wooden carving board from behind the bar, and place it in the middle of the couch for her to use a desk. Her last action to prepare her for her lessons, was to lie across the arm of the couch. The arm was low and wide, so her feet easily touched the ground, and she wasn't arched too heavily. She actually would have found the position to be relatively comfortable if it wasn't for what followed next. That was a 'warm up' session where Sandra spanked her around twenty times – hard and fast – with her bare hand. After that, she would slide her hand down between her thighs, and lightly pet Marcie's pussy while she conducted the training sessions.

A typical session for her would include having a blank paper, pencil and sometimes a calculator placed on the board in front of her. She would then be required to transcribe the problems Sandra recited to her, followed by having to solve them. Other times, Sandra would conduct 'drills' where she would call out problems like times tables, and Marcie had to respond quickly with the correct answer.

If there were any incorrect responses, or the work for the answer was not shown plainly, she would be 'corrected.' A correction always came in the form of the ruler that was used on her the first day. Sandra kept the ruler in her left hand, and when correction was needed, she would pull out her right hand, transfer the ruler to it, smack her hard, transfer it back the left, and then slide her hand back in.

Marcie had a tough time with these lessons, so much so, she even had to redefine her idea of what torment was. Before all of this started, she would have thought that the pain of the spanking was the tormenting part, but the real torment came in two parts. First, there was the hand between her thighs constantly stroking her vagina. Many times the strokes she received from the ruler were a direct result of the distraction the hand induced rather than any difficulty she was having solving the problems.

During these lessons she was kept in a constant state of extreme arousal. Even little things like her bare breasts dangling her nipples on the leather couch would often drive her close to the edge. This is where the real torment occurred. One of the quickest ways to get a stroke of the ruler was any attempt to grind her vagina against Sandra's hand. Sandra always kept her on the edge of an orgasm, and rarely allowed her to come.

This of course was a boon to Beth. At first she was jealous about sharing Marcie with Sandra, but after the first few times Marcie came home absolutely desperate for attention, and willing to do absolutely anything to receive it, she realized this could be a good thing – quite a good thing indeed.

Yet as much as Sandra's petting of her vagina caused her problems, she was actually quite grateful for it, because it gave her cover for what was really stoking her fire, which were the spankings. It wasn't the pain of the spankings that were tormenting her, it was what they did to her much more deeply that did it.

She didn't know precisely why Sandra referred to the up-front spankings as warm ups. Maybe she intended it as warming up her ass, but what it really warmed up was her cunt. Without what Sandra was doing between her thighs, the only obvious reason for a dripping wet vagina would be the spankings, and she just couldn't bear Sandra or anyone else knowing that about her.

So on top of all of the other sexual fantasies that she saw come her way lately, she now had to deal with a desire to be spanked, and it was one that she flat out didn't want. Up till now, she could always speak openly with Beth about what turned her on, but not about this. Particularly with the way she responded when she told her about that first meeting.

The way she often got pulled hard in two directions when she was with Beth was tearing her apart. She was at once grateful for the stimulation Sandra provided as the excuse for how turned on she was when she came back to the house, yet she also desperately wanted Beth to pull her across her lap for a sound spanking. There was just no way she could admit even to herself how much she wanted to be spanked, let alone admit it to Beth. Marcie believed she had already sunk too low as it was in sexual deviancy to allow such desires to run loose.

Sandra, on the other hand, always had orgasms after her instruction. Once Marcie's lesson for the evening was complete – usually about 30-45 minutes long – Sandra would pull Marcie off the couch and then pull her up to her pussy. Sometimes she would stand, but other times she would sit on the edge of the couch. She loved to have Marcie do what she did that first day, and draw air past her button through her panties for five or so minutes, then she would pull her panties aside and have her suck on her cunt until she came hard into her mouth.

Most of Marcie's lessons went this way accept on the occasions she received 'additional corrections.' These additional corrections were a mixed bag for Marcie. The down side was that she always had to endure much more pain. The up side was these were the only occasions when Sandra allowed her to cum.

Her first experience of them was in the third week when she wore the wrong panties. Sandra was really quite upset, and even took it as a deliberate attempt on Marcie's part to see what she could get away with. Before her lesson of the evening started she was informed that she would be punished severely before she would be allowed to leave. Yet as far as Marcie was concerned, the severe punishment began immediately, because Sandra was far harsher in her regular corrections.

When the lesson finished, Sandra walked behind the bar and brought back a pair of fleece-lined leather handcuffs and a rope. She put the cuffs on Marcie while she was still lying down then brutally yanked her to her feet by them. She then attached the rope to the cuffs and threw the rope over a hook that was screwed into the ceiling. It was dead center of the three couches, and as Sandra pulled the rope tight, Marcie realized that she probably wasn't the first to be put on display like this. Sandra pulled so hard on the rope that Marcie could just barely keep her feet flat on the ground, and then she tied it off on a cleat on the wall.

Marcie thought it was odd that she never noticed the hook before, but she had seen the cleat and wondered what it was doing there. Now she knew. She also had seen what she thought was a narrow curtain rod on the wall. It was a stick about five feet long that was suspended horizontally on either end by wooden pegs in the wall. Since there was no window there, she couldn't understand why there would by a curtain rod. More importantly, the rod looked far too flimsy to hang anything off of it anyway. Yet when Sandra pulled it down and flicked it a few times in the air, its purpose became quite clear to Marcie.

"You are about to receive six strokes from this cane," Sandra began, and then flicked it hard in the air. It made a horrible whistling sound that got Marcie to shudder. She then placed it upon Marcie's still panty covered bottom and slowly rubbed it up and down. "During your punishment you will keep your feet on the ground. They shall not move even the slightest or the previous stroke will not count." She paused for effect, and then continued, "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," Marcie replied with a whimper.

Sandra continued, "And if you were expecting some protection from your panties, you can forget that." She tucked the cane under her arm, then used both hands to pull her panties down to her knees. She stood back and admired Marcie for a moment. "Keep those panties at your knees or I'll add another stroke."

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," Marcie again replied.

Sandra transferred the cane back to her right hand and whipped it in the air a few times. She then tapped Marcie's ass a couple times as if taking aim, pulled back, then delivered a cutting strike dead center on Marcie's bottom.

"Ahhhhhhh!" Marcie cried out. Then as the blood rushed back into the strike area, she screamed and twisted from the stinging pain, which resulted in her lifting her left foot. The pain was so much that she lost her breath for a second.

Sandra commented in a calm, but ominous tone, "I once assigned four strokes to a girl, but wound up delivering twenty-four. It took her that long to learn to stand still. Are you going to break that record?"

Marcie was now near hyperventilating as she replied, "No, Mistress Sandra!" She then did her best to reestablish a firm footing, and waited with dread for the next strike. Yet no matter how much she thought she had prepared for the next cutting blow, she wasn't. Sandra made an almost underhand stroke that landed on her bottom right near the junction to her thighs. It caused Marcie to jerk both legs up and let loose a blood-curdling scream.

As Marcie slowly relaxed her legs back down on the ground, she cried, "How can you be so mean?! How can you be so cruel?!"

Sandra's expression was a sort of shocked anger. "How dare you question my character?" She then walked in front of Marcie and leaned into her face. "For that you've just earned two more strikes of the cane."

She leaned back then took a slow walk around Marcie. As she did she said, "You seem be to operating under some serious misconceptions. You are in the predicament you are in because of the poor choices you have made, and I refuse to apologize for doing nothing more than acting in your best interest. My instruction is highly valuable, and the price you will pay will be of my choosing.

"Besides, it is your character that should be called into question. What I am putting you through is nothing compared to what I have endured. Do you see the two holes at your feet?" Sandra was pointing down to the floor. What Marcie saw was something else she had noticed before but never gave much thought to. They were two metal disks about the size of dimes, with holes in them about the diameter of a pencil, and they were spaced about two feet apart.

Sandra continued, "Those holes are there in order to screw eye-bolts into. If I wanted to, I could tie your feet down so there would be nothing you could do to hinder whatever I desired. But doing so won't build character."

Sandra continued her slow walk around Marcie. "Your character is weak, and while it is, so will your mind be too. Both the mathematics I teach, and the spankings you receive will build your character. So don't bother trying to guilt me out of what I am doing now. My conscience is clear, and if you can't recognize what is in your best interest..." by now she had worked herself back in front of Marcie. She leaned in very close to her face, and said in almost a whisper, "...that is your pathetic problem."

Sandra positioned herself again off of Marcie's left side, and without any delay, delivered a strike right between the first and second stroke. Marcie didn't know how or why, but she kept both feet planted.

Sandra commented, "Very good Marcie. Very good. I thought for sure I would have to deliver ten before I could count one. Seven more to go." Sandra delivered the next six without comment. Marcie did her best to keep her feet still, although she was not successful at all in keeping quiet. With every strike came another blood-curdling scream.

After the sixth stroke, Sandra stopped and approached Marcie. With her left hand she reached between Marcie's thighs and began stroking her in a very different way. Marcie hadn't noticed until now that she was literally dripping down her legs. This made her very ashamed of herself. She didn't have long to feel that way because Sandra's expert skill with her hand quickly brought Marcie to the verge of orgasm.

"Not so fast Marcie." By now she had worked herself between Marcie's lips, and even slightly penetrated her. Yet to Marcie's dismay, she pulled out, but kept her hand between her thighs. "Do you want me to make you cum?"

Marcie was in a daze and replied with a "Uh-huh." She then heard the cane hit the floor followed by a loud smack that turned out to be her ass receiving a slap from Sandra's now free hand.

Sandra corrected, "The proper response is 'Yes, Mistress Sandra. Please make me cum.'"

Marcie replied with an extreme sense of urgency, "Yes, Mistress Sandra. Please make me cum!"

Sandra began stroking her again, but only ever so slightly. "Then admit that what I am doing is in your best interest by begging for this last stroke of the cane."

Marcie didn't know whether she truly believed it was in her best interest or not, but she replied anyway. "Please whip me, Mistress Sandra."

Marcie didn't know which was worse. Feeling Sandra's hand pull completely away, or the strike that came to her ass a few seconds later, followed quickly by another. Luckily she didn't have to ponder it very long because Sandra's hand was back working its magic in no time. And in not much more time than that, Sandra was bringing Marcie to a violent orgasm.

As Sandra freed Marcie's hands from the cuffs above her head she said, "Our next lesson will not be for another week. I want to give you time to recover before we resume. Now get dressed and I'll see you in class tomorrow. And I expect you to get 100% on the test."

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," responded Marcie. As she took a step towards her clothes she nearly fell over. She hadn't realized until now that she had kept those panties at her knees the whole time.

As the days turned into weeks, Marcie began to believe that she could avoid any further 'additional correction,' but she hadn't counted on the 'rather particular tastes' of Sandra that she was warned about on the first day.

Her next such experience occurred five weeks later when she was greeted at Sandra's door with a very large glass of sweet tea, and was commanded to drink it. The glass was huge. It had to be more than a quart. Maybe even a half-gallon. The tea was cool, but not cold because there was no ice, so she had no trouble drinking it down quickly. Once completed, Sandra took the glass and led her down for her evening's instruction.

Everything was going along just fine, but obviously in no time, she had to pee. When she asked to have a break to relieve herself, she was told that she would have to wait until they were done. Yet when they were done with the lesson, she found out that Sandra was not done with her, because she was standing there holding those fleece-lined leather cuffs.

Even though she had no idea why she was about to be punished, Marcie made no attempt at avoiding her fate. She rolled off the arm of the couch, and thrust her hands out in front of her. After Sandra had securely fastened the cuffs, she flipped the rope through the clasp of the hook in the ceiling, then pulled Marcie's arms above her head. But before she tied the rope she commanded, "Spread your legs."
Marcie obeyed by stepping her right foot over to give a spread about two feet of distance. At first she was a little nervous because she thought she was going to see, in action, those bolt holes in the floor, but Sandra commanded again, "Wider." Marcie's feet were almost three feet apart when Sandra finally tied the rope off to the cleat.

As Sandra walked back over, Marcie asked, "Mistress Sandra. Please let me got to the bathroom before you start."

Sandra casually asked, "So how bad do you have to go?"

"Very badly, Mistress Sandra," replied Marcie.

"Do you think you might pee in your panties if I don't let you go now?" Sandra asked.

"Oh yes, Mistress Sandra," Marcie replied again.

But if Marcie thought this was a prelude to letting her go, she was mistaken, because Sandra's response to her answer was, "Good."

Sandra then walked behind Marcie, which left her wondering what she was up to. It sounded like she was taking her clothes off, but she wasn't sure. She was then very startled to see Sandra's head pop in between her legs. She had leaned back through her legs, because her face was looking up at Marcie. She followed this up by pressing her lips into Marcie's crotch, and then slid her face back and forth, which caused her nose to bump into Marcie's clit.

Even though her voice was muffled through Marcie's panties, she clearly heard Sandra warn, "I shouldn't need to tell you, but just to make sure your situation is clear, if you pee on my face, you are going to get a severe caning."

Marcie was now in a complete 'ecstasy and agony' situation. Sandra's face rubbing her crotch was bringing on the ecstasy, but her need to pee was bringing on a severe agony. It didn't take long, though, for the agony to eventually win out. In less than five minutes tears were running down Marcie's face because of the pain.

"What you need to decide between is..." Sandra's muffled voice began. "Can you hold out until I get bored with what I am doing, or is the pain you are feeling worse than the punishment you will receive by relieving it."

Marcie didn't really have any choice in the manner. No matter how much she may have wanted to prevent peeing into her mistress' face, it happened anyway. When it first started coming out, she thought for sure Sandra would have pulled back out, but she didn't. On the contrary, she appeared to revel in it. Her eyes were closed and she rubbed her face in a circular motion against her. Urine was running down her unbound dirty-blond hair to puddle between Marcie's feet.

The pee came out so hard that it wasn't just coming out the legs of her panties, but it pushed up the front and back. When she was done, everything below her waist was soaked. Sandra now finally pulled back between her legs, and walked around in front. As Marcie suspected, she was naked – naked and soaked. More importantly, she also had the cane in her hand.

"I must ask you," Sandra began, "do you honestly believe you can pee on me, and not get punished for it?" She then whipped the cane in the air for effect.

Marcie was smart enough to know that the excuse of not having any other options would not work, so she just shook her head and said, "No, Mistress Sandra."

"I'm glad to see you're not contesting this." Sandra lifted the cane up between Marcie's legs and began rubbing it back and forth across her crotch. "Your punishment will be eight strokes of this cane, and I want you to count out each stroke. Is this clear?"

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," was her reply.

Sandra dropped the cane and began slowly walking clockwise around her. When she drew alongside Marcie, she whipped a backhand blow across her ass.

Marcie inhaled sharply then said "One, Mistress Sandra."

As Sandra passed behind Marcie, she brought the cane back up between Marcie's legs again to play with her pussy from the rear. She continued walking clockwise until she no longer had a good angle between her thighs then dropped the cane to deliver a forehand blow.

Marcie let out a "Ahhhhh!... Two, Mistress Sandra."

Sandra had now worked her way back in front of Marcie, and as she again played with her pussy with the cane she said, "I suppose you've now realized that wet panties don't offer much protection from my cane... Fact is, it even makes it sting more."

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," she gasped.

Sandra continued her slow march around Marcie delivering backhand then forehand swats of the cane as she was along side her, and then toyed with her pussy when she was front and back. Each time Marcie received her stroke, she called out dutifully, and each time she felt the cane between her legs, she wished it would remain there.

By the time she had received her eighth and final stroke she was quite delirious from the extremes of agony and ecstasy she was driven to. When Sandra slid her hand into Marcie's panties, she had no difficulty driving her over the edge.

Without saying a word, Sandra flipped the cane onto the couch and walked back into the bathroom leaving Marcie dangling and out of breath. As Marcie regained awareness of her surroundings she heard the shower come on, and in relatively no time she heard it go off, followed shortly by Sandra returning into the room drying her hair with a towel.

"I'm impressed Marcie," Sandra commented. "You didn't move your feet. I like a slave that has patience." By now, she had moved behind Marcie and commanded. "Turn around." Marcie spun around on her rope and saw Sandra standing in front of the center couch getting dressed. "In the bathroom you will find a closet. In that closet you will find a mop and bucket. I expect this floor to be spotless, and with out a whiff of your pee. Then I expect the same for the mop. When you have completed cleaning up your mess, you may then shower yourself."

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," she replied.

When freed, Marcie wasted no time cleaning the floor – then the mop – then herself. Her panties were just rinsed out, and then she carried them back to her room at the sorority house.

Over the next several months, Marcie received attention from Sandra's cane about every two to four weeks. All of the times were from some contrived offense that Sandra found in her. A few of the times she was even greeted at the door with a tall glass of iced tea.

During all of this time, Marcie's relationship with Beth continued as if nothing was going on at all with Sandra. Beth never asked once about how Marcie felt about what was happening. It was as if she was just being tutored in math by her and just happened to be horny as hell afterward from the kinky play of her professor.

Marcie, for her part, would have liked someone to talk to about what she was going through. While growing up she could always count on her father to talk with her about anything, but there could be no consideration of discussing with him how she was responding to the sex and spankings she was experiencing. She couldn't even admit to herself how the spankings were affecting her, let alone discuss it with her father. Then one fateful evening, something happened that forced her hand and made her seek out her father's counsel.

Spring had finally come to Phoenix, and this was the first time she could walk home from an evening of Sandra's instruction without a coat or sweater. Her bottom had a healthy glow to it, which put a spring in her step as she anticipated the orgasm to come from Beth's favorite toy. She was daydreaming about how she planned to spend her time with her face between Beth's thighs when she heard her cell phone ring.

She immediately recognized the number as Beth's and answered cheerfully, "Hi Beth. I'm on my way back now."

Beth's solemn reply was very troubling. "I have a situation to deal with that I could sure use your help with."

"Of course, Beth," she said. "Anything you need. Where are you? What's the matter."

"I'm over at Samantha's," Beth said with some urgency. "Come over right away and I'll explain everything when you get here."

"I'm on my way," she replied.

Samantha was a senior in her sorority. She was one of the girls that still lived in her parent's house. Marcie always liked her. She was a calm and regal young woman who fit very well in the upper echelon of society. She was about the same height as Beth, but with a slimmer frame, and hair as black as night.

Her parent's house was on the outskirts of town, and by the time Marcie got back to the sorority so she could get her car, it was almost an hour later before she had arrived. She had previously been there a few times, but never for very long. Her parent's were pretty strict and very religious, so Samantha couldn't have parties there. It was a shame too, because the house was really a mansion, and would be a perfectly great place to party.

Both Beth and Samantha met her at the door. She didn't even reach the doorbell when the door swung open and Beth exclaimed, "It's about time!"

"I got here as fast as I could..." she tried to explain, as she was hurried inside.

Once inside, she heard some pounding along with a muffled girl's voice screaming "LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"That's my sister Jessica," explained Samantha. "We've got her locked in the wine cellar."

Marcie knew of Jessica, but never met her. She was a freshman at the University of Arizona in Tucson. She had heard of all of the stories surrounding her, like she was a spoiled brat that never got along with her sister. Her parents let her go to Tucson, because they thought it would help keep the peace around the house.

Marcie heard more pounding along with "YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE FOREVER!"

Prompted by Marcie's look of alarm, Beth explained, "Sam's parents went out of town this afternoon, so we thought we had this place to ourselves. We were downstairs in the wine cellar enjoying a great vintage..." Beth grinned at Samantha, then continued, "... and a few other delights..." she then looked back at Marcie, "when in walked the bitch!"

"DAD IS GOING TO GROUND YOU SO BAD!" Marcie heard accompanied by more pounding.

"So now we have a situation that requires some of your special skills," Beth said.

"What are you talking about?" Marcie asked, very confused. She had no idea she had any 'special skills.'

"I need you to play 'Good Cop' to our 'Bad Cop'" explained Beth.

Samantha asked very concerned, "Are you sure this is going to work?"

Marcie was even more confused now.

Beth looked back at Samantha and said, "You heard what she said. It was the sound of my spanking you that brought her down there. She had to have been watching at the door for over fifteen minutes before she barged in, and the only reason she could be watching that long is because she liked what she saw. Trust me. This will work."

Marcie was a little shocked to hear that Beth was spanking Samantha. In all of the time she had been struggling with her reaction to being spanked, she hadn't seriously considered that others might feel the same way.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Marcie asked.

"All the bitch has is her word about what she saw," began Beth. She continued as she walked over to a bookshelf and pulled down a video camera. "We intend to put on tape what we plan to blackmail her with."

"I'm still not following," said Marcie.

Beth smiled at her and said, "We want to get her on tape having sex with you."

"LET!" Pound! "ME!" Pound! "OUT!" Pound! "OF HERE!" Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound!

"And you expect her to cooperate with this plan?" Marcie asked rather incredulously.

"After we soften her up a bit. Yes." explained Beth. "Sam is going to help hold her down while I spank the shit out of her. She'll be a gibbering mess by the time I'm done with her, and willing to do anything to make it stop."

"If she would be will to do anything," Marcie began, "why don't you have sex with her."

Beth looked at her for a second. "You do understand Good Cop / Bad Cop, right?"

"Of course," Marcie replied defensively.

"Well you're right." Beth said. "I could do it, but it would require me to spank her even more. With you and your angelic good looks, she would give in much more easily. You would prefer we inflicted the least amount of pain, don't you?"

Marcie shook her head incredulously. "I can't believe you are trying to guilt me into participating in... in... a rape, quite frankly."

"Don't you care whether or not Samantha is punished for doing something that we do almost daily?" Beth accused her.

"Of course I care," Marcie again replied defensively.

"Think of it this way," Beth continued. "I'm not asking you to do any more than what you did with Nancy, and that turned out well, didn't?"

Marcie again shook her head incredulously "In Nancy's case I was trying to help her learn to enjoy something. How can you possibly compare them?"

"This is no different," Beth was now on the defensive. "We may be doing it for different reasons, but the object is still the same. It's not going to do us any good to videotape a rape. We need her to at least appear to be enjoying this. By forcing her into a position that she has no choice in, it will free her to enjoy it. Think what you may of what we are doing, but we are only acting in her best interest. It's in her best interest to discover the joys of sex with a woman, and it's also in her best interest to not get her sister in trouble.

"After all, it's not like we're trying to cover up some crime Sam committed against her. I for one will not feel one bit sorry for what we are about to do."

Marcie looked over at Samantha, and when they made eye contact, Samantha said, "Please help us."

She looked back at Beth and said hesitantly, "OK"

"Great!" Beth said. "I knew I could count on you." Then looking over at Samantha, she continued, "Let's get this over with." She handed the video camera to her as she walked past her into the kitchen. Samantha and Marcie followed right behind her. As Beth passed a jar of wooden kitchen implements she grabbed a spatula, then went to a far door. Marcie and Samantha quickly joined her.

The door Beth stood in front of had a latch with a lock on it, which Marcie thought looked odd for inside a house. Samantha recognized Marcie's confusion and said, "When I was seventeen my father caught me down there drinking one of his wines and so put that on there." Then after a moment's pause she said, "It's awfully quite in there all of a sudden."

Beth looked at her curiously. "Maybe she went back down to rest on the couch."

"Maybe," Samantha agreed. "She had been pounding on that door for an hour. That's bound to make her tired."

Beth and Samantha were now standing on either side of the door, with Marcie standing a few feet back and directly in front of it. When Samantha unlatched the door it suddenly flew open and out darted Jessica. This was Marcie's first look at her and she was startled at how much different she looked than her sister. Instead of tall and slim with probably dyed jet-black hair, Jessica was shorter and voluptuous with obviously dyed blond hair.

The way she launched herself through the door caught everyone by surprise, and she probably would have been able to get away if she hadn't run right into Marcie. She could have even recovered from that, but she hadn't expected to see someone else, and especially hadn't expected to see someone as beautiful as Marcie. She was transfixed by her for a few seconds, and that was all of the time Beth needed to regain her senses, and snatch Jessica by the hair.

"Oh no you don't!" Beth exclaimed.

"Yeahhhhhh!" Jessica screamed. "Let go of my hair!"

Beth grabbed her by both shoulders, yanked her back towards the cellar door, and led her downstairs.

"What are you doing?!" screamed Jessica.

Marcie followed them and Samantha down the stairs. When they reached the bottom of the cellar, Marcie saw it was huge. It wasn't just some shelves with wine on it, but a full lounge with a bar and easy chairs and a great, big leather couch. It was on this couch that Beth shoved Jessica on to.

Jessica looked back at Beth with fear in hers eyes, and asked, "What are planning to do with me?"

Beth towered over and said ominously, "Your sister and I have decided that if she is going to get punished, then she at least wants to be punished for something she has done to you." And with that she slapped her left hand with the wooden spatula.

Jessica's response was said with a lot of anger, but little conviction. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh I wouldn't, would I?" Beth replied with a smirk. As Beth grabbed hold of Jessica's left arm, Samantha dropped the video camera into a nearby chair, and then went over to assist Beth. By now Beth was sitting down on the couch next to Jessica and was pulling her across her lap. Jessica was putting up a mighty struggle, but Beth was too strong for her. Between her and Samantha, they quickly got Jessica pinned. Samantha was holding down her feet at the end of the couch. Jessica's left arm was trapped between Beth and the back of the couch, and her right arm was turned back on her back and held there by Beth's left hand. This left Beth's right hand free to deliver stinging blows with the wooden spatula. Although with the tight jeans she was wearing, those blows were muted.

Marcie was stunned by what she was witnessing. She could barely breathe because of how much she was turned on by just watching this pretty girl get spanked. Jessica was alternating between a screaming fury and a balling baby, and Marcie couldn't get enough of what she saw.

"Marcie."

She heard Beth call her name, which snapped her out of her trance. "Yes?"

"Come over here, and pull down her pants," Beth commanded.

Marcie was beside herself with anticipation as she knelt down in front of the couch, right at Jessica's pelvis. When she reached under Jessica's hips she heard her hiss, "Don't you dare!"

"Oh yes she does dare," said Beth, and punctuated her point with several rapid strikes with the spatula.

Marcie resumed her operation by reaching her left arm around Jessica's ass, and bringing the right arm in up front. Now using two hands, she quickly got the pants unbuttoned and unzipped, then pulled them down.

"Just bring them down to her knees," said Beth. "Leave her panties up for now."

Marcie finished as requested then remained kneeled where she was as Beth resumed. The blows she delivered now where not just relegated to her ass, but her thighs too. All of this time, Marcie was fighting a powerful urge to reach her hand under her dress and play with herself. What she couldn't even admit to herself, was that not only was she turned on by what she watched, she would have been equally turned on by trading places with Jessica and been on the receiving end of it.

As Beth had predicted, Jessica was now a gibbering mess, and between tears and screams of agony she was promising profusely that she would not tell on her sister.

Beth paused for a moment, and said calmly, "The problem is I can't trust you. I have known you since you were eight years old, and you have always been a brat." She punctuated that with a slap of her hand to her panty-covered ass. "And what's more, we're not even remotely done. In fact, we're not even half done, because all I'm doing is softening you up for when your sister takes over."

"Noooooooooo!" Jessica cried as Beth resumed the torment of her ass. "I swear you can trust me!" And after gasping through a few more smacks, "I swear it! I really swear it!"

Beth paused again. "It's going to take something way more than you swearing that I can trust you to get this to end."

"Anything!" Jessica gasped. "Anything at all!"

"OK," said Beth. "I want to videotape Marcie here licking your pussy."

"No way!" Jessica shrieked.

"Have it your way then," Beth said as she resumed the assault.

After only a couple swats Jessica screamed, "All right! All right!"
Beth stopped and said, "I'm glad to hear you're willing to be sensible about this. With this videotape you'll just come off as someone trying to hide your own crime if you decided to tell your parents about what your sister and I were doing."

Beth nodded at Samantha to let go of her, and then she released her as well. Beth and Samantha stood in front of the couch and watched Jessica lie there and sob for a few moments. Marcie was still kneeling in front of her.

"Take off your pants," Beth commanded.

They were still pulled down to her knees, so she had some difficulty removing her shoes. Marcie helped her with them, and then helped her pull off her pants. After that, Jessica pulled her legs up onto the couch and sat sideways all curled up defensively.

Beth looked over at Samantha and said, "This should look like we caught her in the act, so I need you to get way over to the side, while I go up the stairs a little ways with the camera." Then looking at Marcie she said, "Once I'm in position, I want you to strip her the rest of the way then go down on her."

"OK," was Marcie's reply. "But I think we should give her a chance to calm down."

"All right," Beth said. "But not too long." Beth climbed the stairs with the camera and knelt down near the top, but still in view of the couch. Samantha had moved behind one of the racks of wine. After waiting about a minute for Jessica's breath to return to normal, Beth said. "Go ahead."

Marcie began by being calm and talking softly, "Everything is going to be fine. I've done this a lot." She then tugged on Jessica's legs to pull them on either side of her. She didn't pull hard. She just coaxed them off the couch. She then continued to tug gently behind her knees until Jessica's ass was on the edge of the couch. Jessica winced from the pain, but was otherwise obeying Marcie very well.

With Marcie kneeling in front of her the way she was, this put her face at the same height as Jessica's. Marcie's back was to the camera, and so was probably blocking the view of Jessica's face, but she was counting on that. She wanted to take as much time soothing her and caressing her as she could before anyone could see her face in the video.

Marcie stared into Jessica's eyes for a minute, and while she could tell she was continuing to calm down in one way, she could also tell she was heating up in another. Finally Marcie leaned in and planted a very light kiss upon her lips. Jessica didn't exactly return the kiss, but she didn't reject it either.

Then, while landing light and delicate kisses on her lips from different angles, Marcie began working the buttons of Jessica's blouse, and once the last button was undone, she peeled the blouse right off her. She followed this up by working the kisses down her check and onto her neck, and while doing so massaged her breasts through her lace bra. Jessica's face was now visible to the camera, but also by now there was no doubt that she was feeling the effects of Marcie's seduction.

In a single, fluid motion Marcie removed Jessica's bra then dropped down to gently suckle her breasts. Jessica was really responding to her now, and brought her hands up to run them through Marcie's hair. While her attention was diverted by the attention at her breast, Marcie dropped her right left hand down to Jessica's panties. She was expecting some dampness when she got there, but was shocked to find them soaked. Far more soaked than anything she could have caused. Marcie wondered if the spanking Jessica received affected her the same way as she.

Marcie brought her face back up to Jessica's and gave her a few more kisses. This time Jessica returned them passionately. Marcie placed her hand upon Jessica's chest, and pushed her back against the couch, and then dropped down completely to suck on those soaked panties. The gasp that escaped Jessica's lips was sharp and loud.

Marcie sucked on them for a few minutes, and worked Jessica into quite a state. She then pulled them off, wrapped her arms underneath Jessica's thighs to grab her hips, and planted her face between them.

Jessica was now in delirium. She grasped handfuls of Marcie's hair, and crossed her ankles together to put Marcie's head in a vice. She was shouting out in ecstasy as waves of orgasms struck her. As one would subside, Marcie would suck hard again and pull her across another one. Marcie believed she could have gotten more out of her, but she knew Jessica needed a break even if she probably would have denied it.

Marcie lifted up and freed herself of Jessica's thighs. Jessica launched herself into Marcie's arms and kissed her passionately. When she was done she embraced her, and with her lips near Marcie's right ear, she whispered, "Thank you."

Beth came down the stairs with the camera tucked under her arm and clapping. "That was marvelous," she said. "I'll be fingering myself to that video for many nights to come. What do you think Sam?"

"Impressive," was all she could say.

"Stand up Marcie," Beth commanded. She then brought the camera around and continued, "Now for an additional scene that's just for us. Marcie. It's your turn now. Make Jessica your bitch."

Marcie looked back down at Jessica and saw her eyes open wide, but she sat up straight and threw her shoulders back. Her demeanor was one of someone who was eager to do as she was told. The feelings that were now rushing through Marcie were new ones for her. She had never used the term 'bitch' before, but she understood the context. Jessica was hers to do with as she pleased, and she seemed very willing to comply.

Marcie had the breath knocked out of her as this massive feeling of power and domination swept through her. She simply did not know what to make of it, nor how to proceed. Her first instinct was to spank Jessica. She wanted to spin her around, lay her over the back of the couch, and then spank her with her open hand until she screamed for mercy. The problem with that plan is she was already too far-gone as it was. What with Sandra's torment of spanking her ass and rubbing her pussy earlier that evening, she was ready to go before she ever even got here. Then watching what she did, and doing what she has done, she needed attention between her thighs right NOW!

Many times she has had her face shoved forcefully into Sandra's pussy, and that is what she wanted to do to Jessica. It's time she was on the receiving end of this situation, and went at it with gusto. She grabbed the back of Jessica's head with her right hand and pulled her off the couch. She then pulled up the hem of her dress, and ground her panty-covered pussy into her face.

She was now inflamed like never before that evening. "Pull my panties off!" she commanded. Jessica obeyed without hesitation. "Suck my clit!" Jessica didn't need to be told twice. Marcie was having a hard time maintaining her balance, and so, fell back onto the couch dragging Jessica along the way. In a very short time, she had the first of many orgasms that evening, although the better ones would come later with Beth back at their house.

Speaking of which, Beth said, "That's enough Marcie. I need to get you home to work out an urge you've built up in me."

Marcie understood completely, and got up to leave, but not before she gave Jessica one last kiss and a hug.

Beth tossed the camera to Samantha and said, "I suppose you can take things from here, right?"

Samantha caught the camera and replied, "No problem." She then looked down at her sister and remarked. "We are going to have a very different relationship from here on out. Won't we, Jessica?"

"Yes, Sam," Jessica responded demurely.

Marcie didn't bother to put on her panties as she followed Beth up the stairs. When she turned back for one last look she saw that Samantha had grabbed Jessica's hair as she had just done with her, but she was soon out of view to know for sure what she thought might happen next.

Later she would again be in bliss as Beth drove her favorite toy into her, but on the drive home, and alone with only her thoughts, today's events were troubling her greatly. She felt for sure that what she had done today was to participate in the rape of young woman. Yes, everything turned out OK, but what if it hadn't? And does it really matter that it did? Regardless of how Jessica took what happened to her, Marcie was participating anyway.

Then there was the spanking. It was one thing to deal with the desire to receive it, yet it was something completely else to desire delivering it. Sure she didn't do it, but only because she was too horny to do so. It wasn't like she didn't do it out of any strength of character on her part.

'Am I even a good girl still?' she thought. 'Do I even have the right to consider it?'

As the days went by, the conflicts that raged inside of her were taking their toll. She was torn between an urge to be a slut and a desire to be chaste; between wanting to be spanked, and the shame of wanting it; between wishing she had spanked Jessica, and relieved that she hadn't.

The only times she was not agonizing over these conflicts, was when she was engaged in sex, so she did whatever she could to make that happen. When this school year started, she only had sex with the girls in her sorority when they came to her, or when Beth ordered it. Now she was the aggressor seeking out the girls and seducing them. When the rush was over, and the girl was gone, all she had accomplished was provide more reasons to feel like a degenerate. Sex was now like a drug to her, and she was caught in a vicious cycle.

She soon realized that she had to come to grips with what she had become, and either surrender to her passions or reject them. This balancing act she was engaged in was driving her insane, so she needed someone to talk to, but definitely not Beth. She knew what her vote would be.

Her only remaining option was to talk with her father, but what could she say to him? She certainly couldn't be honest with him, so why she believed talking to him would do any good she had no idea. Yet without any valid reason why she should, she drove to her parents place to talk to her father anyway.

After dinner they were sitting together watching the news. He was in his recliner in front of the TV, and she was on the couch off to the side. Marcie was wondering what it is she could say to get answers to questions she couldn't even ask. Then the news program gave her an opportunity when it started covering the trial of a terrorist. Maybe if she asked more about what he had told her about how people became evil, she might get to wherever she was trying to go.

"Dad?" she asked.

"Yes dear?" he replied.

"This guy seems real evil," she began. "I remember you telling me a while back how it is that people got that way. You said something like people don't choose to become evil, they just start down a path that if they knew before hand it would have made them evil, they wouldn't have... or something like that."

Her father looked at her with an amused expression. "Yeah. It was something like that."

"Could you elaborate?" she asked. "I'm a little confused."

"Well..." he began while searching for the right words. "You first have to realize that few people think they are evil." He then pointed at the TV, and continued, "That guy certainly doesn't. He thinks the evil he commits is for a just cause, and that what he does actually makes him a good person.

"Only a sociopath would think he is evil, and even then not many of them do. Discounting these statically irrelevant numbers, all people have an evil line they will not cross. All people consider certain actions to be too evil to commit, and why? Because all people consider themselves to be fundamentally good, and they won't cross the lines they have determined to be evil, because they believe that will then make them evil. Any person who didn't believe they were fundamentally good, would have no restraint on their actions beyond what they think the can get away with, and that's what makes them a sociopath."

"So only sociopaths are evil?" asked Marcie.

"Oh no. Not by a long shot," her father replied. "In fact, there are lots of evil people. They just don't believe they are. Just because you believe yourself to be good, that doesn't make it so."

"So how do you determine that someone is evil?" she asked.

"Hold your horses, Marcie," he replied. "I'll get to that. You first need to understand the mechanism of how they become evil before you can do that. There are two things to consider. The first is that no one believes they are evil, and the second is that no single decision makes them evil. Becoming evil is always a progression that starts when they are a child.

"They first begin with small things like shoplifting a pack of gum from a store, or teasing the kid in class who stutters. No one would declare a child as evil solely based on these actions, and more importantly, neither would they. Yet these actions are evil, and they did commit them. So if they do commit them, and they still consider themselves to be good, it makes the next small step towards evil that much easier.

"You see, every day everyone is presented with many opportunities to commit evil acts, but they reject them because they consider them to be too evil. The only difference between an evil act and a too evil act is that the too evil act is one they believe will make them evil to do it. Nothing else. So they avoid making the too evil decisions, but everything else is open for consideration.

"But what exactly is too evil? It all depends on where you are at the time. A person can reject several evil decision that are just too evil, but eventually select the one that is not so much. And once they do, then the next small step will actually bring them closer to making the decision they had rejected before. Instead of one large step, they still wind up at the same sense of morality by several small ones.

"So when an evil man looks back on his life, he does not see a single decision he has made to become evil. And since he does not see that step, he erroneously declares himself to be good. Yet if that same man could look instead into the future from when he was young, with the sense of morality that he had at that time, he would declare that he had become an evil man."

"So what makes a man evil? Anyone who believes that you can commit evil acts, and not effect whether you are good, is evil. There is nothing good about evil. You would think this would not be in dispute, but it is. If you commit evil acts, then some part of you will be damaged; living in denial of that will only lead to greater evil."

Marcie was a little confused by what he said, and so asked, "Surely someone who has committed murder would think they were evil?"

"Not really," her father replied. "That's actually a great example, because someone already has to be evil in order to commit the murder. The act only confirms they're evil; it doesn't make them evil. Take my word on this. It is very difficult to look back on your life and determine when you became evil, and as such, most evil people think they are good just because there are things they believe that are still too evil to do. Only people who still believe they are fundamentally good would consider this.

"Remember. Once you get to the point where you truly know you are evil, then the only thing that limits you are what you believe you can get away with."

What her father was saying was making sense to Marcie, but she didn't see how it applied to her situation. Yes, what she did to Nancy and Jessica was evil, but it worked out fine. They are probably better people for it. Should she not have done it anyway?

"What about..." Marcie began. "What if you do something bad that is actually in the best interest of the person you did it to?"

"That's even worse," her father began ominously. "A criminal at least stands a chance of turning his life around because he still considers what he is doing as evil, just not too evil.

"Keep in mind that the only reason the thought of 'acting in their best interest' is passing through your mind is because you know you are doing evil, and the reason you are thinking that way, is because you want to deceive yourself into believing you are doing good. You can plant whatever name you want on it, but evil is always evil, and you can never do good with evil.

"In fact, acting in the best interest of someone is actually an oxymoron. What is in the best interest of everyone is that they decide for themselves what is in their best interest.

"Don't get me wrong, sometimes you need to. Such as a parent should always be acting in the best interest of his or her child. Yet a very poor parent is one who is not preparing that child to decide for them self what that is. It's safe to say that a parent doesn't actually believe the child is an adult until they do let them decide for themselves what is in their best interest."

"Wait a second," said Marcie. "You just said that it's evil to act in someone else's interest, yet it's good with our children. That doesn't make sense."

"I never said it was good," her father corrected. "I only said they should."

"Huh?" Marcie was now really confused. "Shouldn't we only do the things that are good?"

"Life sure would be a lot simpler if that were true," her father replied wistfully. He continued, "The problem you are having is that you are confusing right and wrong with good and bad."

"What?!" Marcie replied astonished.

"Let's try a little morality exercise," her father began. "When we dropped the atomic bombs on Japan, did we do something that was good or bad?"

"Uh... bad," Marcie replied, but was wondering where this was going.

"Quite correct," her father replied. "It was an immensely evil act that shook that country, and eventually ours, to its core.

"Next question. Was it the right thing to do?"

Marcie was a bit unsure what to say, but decided to go with her instinct. "No."

Her father sighed then said, "You're wrong. I might also add that you are not bad – just wrong. Even the most conservative estimates put the death toll of Japanese if we had to do a land invasion at more than a million. That's the problem with mankind's pacifist tendencies. They never factor in the horrors that have resulted when good men don't do the right thing and commit lesser evils.

"Sometimes wars are necessary. At the same time, you shouldn't fool yourself into thinking that you are doing something good by fighting them. If you want good, then you have to do good. Many – me included – believe that we fought World War Two because we didn't do good at the end of World War One. All we did was defeat the Germans then left them to fend for themselves. At the end of World War Two, we did not repeat that mistake and we helped our enemies to recover. Now those very same enemies are our allies.

"Let's take a closer look at the decision to drop those bombs. Since it saved so many Japanese lives, you could argue that we did it in their best interest. But try walking up to the Japanese and asking them if they appreciate the bombs we dropped on them. See if you can get one to agree that it was in their best interest."

Her father paused to give Marcie a chance to consider what he said. "The only valid reason to drop those bombs was to save the lives of the thousands of our soldiers that would have died in a land invasion.

"And I don't care what good you think you are accomplishing, I can pick apart any justification to do things in the best interest of people in the same manner. This gets to the heart of why it's so bad to do this. With a criminal, there is at least some chance to turn him around because he isn't involved in self-deception. Most of them at least recognize that they are still doing evil, even though they don't consider themselves as evil. As such, there is some hope that when they look back on their life they will see the evil they have done and change their ways.
"But not people who do things in the best interest of others. In my book, when you abrogate anyone's right to decide for themselves what is in their best interest, you make them your slave. It doesn't matter if they willingly give up their right. It doesn't even matter if they believe it is in their best interest to do so. It just makes them a willing slave... but a slave nonetheless.

"When these others look back on their lives, they will only see what they believe to be the good they have done, but never recognizing the slaves they have made – people who are now dependent and beholden to them. People who feel too scared to go without their 'Nanny State' to decide what is in their best interest.

"From the way I just worded that, it would be fair to assume that I am just referring to liberals, but this can apply to anyone of any political persuasion. Since a liberal would find it difficult to believe a conservative would decide things in the best interest of others, let's focus this on the liberals. In particular, let's look at a great liberal icon, who's a congressman from New York, Barney Frank. He was once quoted as saying 'Government is the name we put on the things we choose to do together.' I'm sure he wants to believe that, but he can't actually be serious, and if he is, it's a key linchpin in his self-deception.

"Speaking as someone who views the government as nothing but force, and that force is always evil, and that laws are what you pass when you no longer wish to respect those you disagree with, I would rephrase what he said to what he really means, and that is 'Government is the name we put on the things that we elites want to shove down your throats.'"

After spewing that diatribe, her father looked over at Marcie, and by the deer-in-the-headlights look she was giving him, he realized he had gone too far. He took a deep breath and sighed, "Sorry about that."

Marcie was a little shocked by this. She never knew him to be all that political. If she had to guess, she would have said he was a Republican, but this still seemed out of character.

"I know it seems incredulous that I am comparing liberals to criminals, but there are certain commonalities, and one of them is what I would say to both. That is, 'no matter how well you may think what you are doing works for you, you will do so much better if you decide to do good instead.'

"More specifically, I would say to criminals to just forget about the harm they cause others. Just focus on the harm they cause themselves. Living a life of crime just doesn't pay. Most will end up spending most, if not all, of their lives in prison, and the very few that are smart enough not to get caught, and actually make crime pay, they would have made themselves much more wealthier by joining the legitimate economy.

"To the liberals, I would say that no matter how much they think they have accomplished using the force of law, so much more would have been accomplished if they hadn't. Not only that, but the evil they employ, which they refuse to see as evil, blinds them to the damage they cause to others and themselves.

"Actually, I would like to tell them that, but I know they wouldn't get it. As long as they believe their intentions are good, they will always believe their actions are good. It's like believing that dropping those atom bombs on the Japanese was good for them.

"The problem is it's a lot easier to turn a criminal around than it is a liberal. I know. I used to be one. There are many former liberals, like me, who became disillusioned by liberal politics. I just didn't see what we were doing that was empowering people. All it was doing was making them dependent on the government. As I heard some talking head say on some news show, 'When the government takes you under its wing, you will always wind up in a headlock.'

"There has been trillions of dollars spent on fighting poverty since Roosevelt's New Deal, yet more people feel like they can't get by on their own than ever before. That's my personal definition of being poor, because determining whether you are poor by some arbitrary line of wealth is ridiculous. Anyone who believes they have the power and resources to make a life worth living on their own is not poor. Anyone who believes they can't make it in life without special considerations is poor. I don't care how much wealth they have – they are poor.

"So rather than trying to make the liberals look to the past and see the error in their ways, like I would with a criminal, I would instead take them to the future to see where they are going. What seems to work best is the 'frog and a boiling pot' analogy. You know, 'throw a frog in a pot of boiling water and he'll jump out, but put him in while the water is still cold and he'll boil to death.'

"What I like to do is ask them why they aren't a full blown socialist. Anyone who gets offended by the accusation, I know I have a candidate to turn. I then put it bluntly that if they are not, why not? If they think the control government has over your life is so good as it is, why not more? Why not go whole hog and demand a complete take over of the economy. Why not have the government tell us what companies can succeed and what companies should fail; what jobs we can have and how much we should be paid; more to the point, who should work and who shouldn't have to. In fact, why bother working at all since the government will make sure we have everything we need to live.

"Looking back at criminals again, just because a kid steals a pack of gum that doesn't mean he'll wind up as a bank robber. What he has working in his favor is his God-given humanity to act as a break against him sliding into a complete sociopath. A liberal on the other hand has no break. He believes he is doing good. And the more things he believes it is appropriate for the government to take over control now, the more he'll believe should be taken over later.

"So making a liberal look back on his life never works, but making him look into the future to see where his path is leading him does. The more I make them think about what the break is to prevent a total government take over, the more they realize there isn't one with the path they are on... ...just as there isn't one for the sociopaths who believe that evil works for them." He looked over and asked, "Did I go too far again?"

Marcie said, "I wouldn't know where to begin with all of that, Dad. Socialists are as bad as sociopaths? Where does that come from?"

"I didn't say they were the same," he replied. "I just think there are instructive parallels to consider. I can't help it if the slow progression that makes people evil, is the same process that makes people socialists. My only point is that evil is evil and you must do good to be good. Slapping a good label on evil will never make it good, nor will it ever accomplish good."

"I didn't know you were so anti-government," stated Marcie.

"I'm not anti-government," responded her father. "I'm still a liberal at heart. I haven't changed who I am, nor what I want our society to become. I just don't believe liberal politics will accomplish it.

"What I want is to make a reality of what Congressman Frank said. I want to see real leaders elected into the government, and not dictators promising to 'save us.' I want a government that respects us enough to allow us to decide for ourselves what is in our best interest.

"I want a government that really is the name we put on the things we choose to do together."

While Marcie was mulling over what her father just said, the news program they were watching caught her attention.

From the anchor man, "This just in. Seven police officers have been killed and two others critically injured near Riverside, California. The details are still a bit sketchy, but what is known is that two social workers, with the aid of twelve county sheriff officers, attempted to take custody of an eleven year-old boy that was being abused by his father. Exactly what happened is not known at this time, but the father has escaped with his son ... Yes Jane?"

The camera panned to the right to show an anchorwoman. "We've got some more details, Jeff. The father of the boy is allegedly a member of a violently anti-government motorcycle gang called the Spartan Kingdom. This gang has drawn a lot of attention from the authorities because they openly train to overthrow the government, and many of their members have previously been arrested on weapons charges. As any further details are made known we'll pass them on immediately."

This was the first time that Marcie had heard the name Spartan Kingdom, but she didn't dwell much on why twelve officers were needed to take custody of a boy, nor what the father could be doing to warrant having his son taken from him. Her big concern was on how anything her father has said helps her with her dilemma, and frankly, she didn't see it. "So going back to what you said before about what an evil person is. If I understand you correctly, you said that just because a person does evil that doesn't make them evil. Right?"

"Correct," her father affirmed. "Just as doing good doesn't make you good. There is a lot of blood on the hands of pacifists because of their failure to prevent great evil in this world when they had an opportunity to do so. I personally view pacifists as parasites because they can only exist where others are prepared to do the evil they won't.

"I hope to someday live in a society where all of the right decisions aren't evil ones, but we're not going to get there by believing that only by doing good will we be good, or by believing that if our intentions are good then we must be doing good."

Marcie just shook her head, and said with a great deal of frustration, "I still don't get it. How does someone determine if they are evil or not?" As soon as she said that she realized that the way she put it made it too easy to see that she was referring to herself. Luckily it didn't look like he caught on.

"That's not an easy one," her father replied, "because many times when people do see themselves as evil, they really aren't. It's kind of like that saying where if you believe you are insane then that's a good sign that you're not. People who are evil and see themselves as evil are very rare. Even most sociopaths don't fall into that category.

"The best I can say is that an evil person isn't determined by any particular state that they are in, such as your question would imply. It has more to do with the direction they are heading. If their direction is evil, then they are evil. And when I say direction, I don't mean intention. Your intentions may shape your direction, but they don't determine it.

"And this has significance to another important dynamic on how some people become evil. It happens when they recognize the evil they have done and just give up. They see they have done wrong, and resign themselves to their evil ways, not realizing that all it takes is a change in direction to make themselves good again. This one often plagues women when it comes to sex. Once they've said yes, and they are no longer a virgin, they then believe they have no right to say no anymore."

He paused for a second, then continued, "In order to make the best decisions possible in the present, you need to be open and honest with yourself about your past. More importantly, you should never view it through the prism of your intentions, and only evaluate your past based on what it has accomplished. That said, it's not your past that defines who you are, it's where you are going that does."

He then leaned over the side of his chair and looked directly into his daughter's eyes to make sure that Marcie knew to whom he was referring, "I don't care what she has done in her past, every woman has the right to say no. Every woman deserves to feel as special, and as pure, and as decent as she wants to be."

With tears in her eyes, and gratitude in her heart, Marcie said, "Thanks Dad. I needed that."

~ End of Chapter 3 ~ The Professor's Slave ~