PART III
Dahlia arrived at the Psychology Building a few minutes later, out of breath after tripping across campus as fast as she could in her stacked heels. What to do now? She had no plan. In fact, she had no proof that Dr. Strumm was corrupting the department, or even any hard evidence. But she had to warn everybody. Somehow.
She arrived at her own office. “Krystal,” she cried, flinging open the door. “You’ve got to listen to me! Strumm is doing—”
The office was empty. Dahlia looked at her watch. It was mid-afternoon, about the time Krystal used to go out for a smoke. That almost certainly meant she was in the research lounge, cementing her reputation as the department’s blow-job queen. Damn. Dahlia fought off the urge to sneak into the observation room and watch.
She continued on down the hallway, looking for a professor with whom she could discuss her fears. She passed by an open classroom. Dr. Edmonds was conducting a review session for Psych 101. He was perched on the front desk, leaning on his hands, telling jokes about psychologists.
Dahlia looked over the class. Every woman in the room was dressed girlish and sexy: pleated kilts as brief as a wink; tight, bright baby-T’s and crop-tops decorated with flowers and birds and pretty things; knee-socks and thigh-highs, almost always virginal white (but often embroidered with lacy patterns); and shiny, round-toed mary janes or bouncy running shoes on their feet.
Every girl in the class had a big, plastic soother in her mouth.
While Dr. Edmonds rambled on aimlessly the girls all suckled on their pacifiers like a roomful of contented babies. The boys in the room acted like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Dahlia stared at the classroom, shocked. She found herself backing away from the open door, as if there were something inside that might bite her. Once again she was struck by a disorienting sense of the surreal. The scene before her was too outre, too bizarre for her to trust her senses. Dr. Edmonds told another joke; the girls all giggled around their pacifiers.
Voices from down the hall brought Dahlia back to herself. A couple of senior girl were ambling down the hall, tittering and laughing to themselves. They both had ribbons in their hair. One girl sported a sweater and skirt set that flashed skin everywhere, the other wore a thigh-length jumper with over-the-knee stockings and preposterous black platform booties. They noticed Dahlia staring at them, which set off another wave of giggles.
Dahlia’s confusion grew. The superficial similarity between the girl’s jumper and what she was wearing made her wonder again if she herself was falling under the influence of Strumm’s seduction. She looked at herself. She was sporting the layered leg look that she was fond of: high-heeled, calf-length boots giving way to ribbed black stockings that themselves ended about two inches below the hem of her short-short jumper. Certainly the outfit showed a lot of leg, that was the whole idea, but it was still respectable. It wasn’t like she had fallen for pastel sneakers or yellow knee socks or any of the other *girlish* fashions she had witnessed in the classroom.
She breathed a sigh of relief, causing her half-bare breasts to bounce within their mesh harness. She was still in control. She was still herself. Determination renewed, she headed for the professor’s offices.
The door to Professor Tyler’s office was open. Tyler was sitting behind her desk, reading something from the stack of technical journals she kept in her office. She looked up when Dahlia knocked.
“Yes? Oh, Dahlia, hello there. Please, come on in.”
“Professor Tyler,” Dahlia said, stepping into her office, “I have to talk to you. It’s very important. It’s about Dr. Strumm. He’s up to something.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Tyler replied lightly. “He’s always up to something. What is it this time?”
Dahlia studied the other woman closely. Dr. Tyler was wearing a raspberry red suit jacket and bright red earrings shaped like valentine hearts. She was suspiciously cheerful, but she seemed otherwise her right self. Maybe Dahlia could get through to her.
“He’s manipulating us. I’m not sure how he’s doing it. It has something to do with those messages he keeps sending, the ones you can’t read. Somehow they’re affecting everybody, screwing with our minds. They’re making everybody act like, well, like sex-crazy teenagers.”
The older woman said nothing for a moment. “Well, my, that is something, isn’t it,” she ventured at last. “I have been feeling rather... youthful lately. How about that.” She paused. “Say, Dahlia, where did you get your hair done?”
“What? My hair!”
“Yes, it looks so lovely with those curls. I’ve been thinking about having mine done too, but I can’t decide which style to go with.”
“No, Professor Tyler, please listen—”
“See, it’s long enough, I could get a perm, maybe with ringlets. What do you think?” She pulled down the pins holding her frizzy blonde hair in place. She fluffed it up with one hand, looking at Dahlia with bright eyes.
“Dr. Tyler,” Dahlia tried again, “don’t you see, you’re not acting normal. You’re only behaving this way because Strumm—”
“I don’ wanna talk about that grumpy old man,” Professor Tyler interrupted, pouting. A second later her smile returned. “I could get one of those two-tone dye jobs, what do you think? Maybe blond on the front, darker in back? Here, I’ve been looking at some pictures.”
She picked up the journal she had been reading. Only then did Dahlia realize that it was not a journal but the latest issue of TeenScene. It was open to a photospread highlighting trendy hairstyles.
Dahlia looked at the spacy blond in exasperation. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. “Dr. Tyler, I’m afraid I have to go,” she said.
The professor looked disappointed. “Already? Oh, that’s too bad. Well, good luck with that thing with Dr. Strumm. You’ll sure get his attention in that rad outfit your wearing!” She gave her a reassuring smile, as if Dahlia were heading out for a hot date.
Dahlia didn’t fare any better with the other professors in the Department. Dr. Flowers had used her influence to hire a coterie of young, female profs who shared her combative ideas about the role of the sexes in society. But Dr. Northcote, who was dressed in a spandex minidress and tight, white kneeboots, couldn’t stop giggling long enough to listen to anything Dahlia was saying. Her braless tits trembled with every titter.
The door to Dr. Emilee’s office was closed. Dahlia heard a female voice from the other side, chanting things like “Oh, yes, yes, definitely yes! More darling, more! please! Come on baby, don’t slow down, come on, deeper, deeper, yes, like that, like that, yes, yes oh god YES!” There were sounds like books and things falling to the floor. After a long pause, Dr. Emilee’s voice returned: “Mmmmm, wow. Darling, I think your are going to do *very* well in this course.”
Giving up on the female professors, Dahlia decided to try the men. They did seem to be less affected by Strumm’s inculcation. The door to Prof. Sloane’s office was open a crack. She could see him siting at his desk. Dahlia was about to knock when she realized he was not alone. There was an attractive young woman with him, presumably a student. She was standing on one side of Prof. Sloane’s desk, leaning over it a little as she spoke to him in a low, urgent voice. Her pleated, plaid skirt was so short Dahlia could see the white edge of her panties flashing beneath the hem. She wore a skimpy black bra-top and patent black mary-janes.
Dahlia couldn’t quite make out what the girl was saying. She was leaning forward more now, almost like she was presenting her chest for the professor’s rapt eyes. Her barely covered ass was swaying back and forth, slowly and rhythmically, while she shuffled one dainty foot on the floor. Why, she’s coming on to him, Dahlia realized with a start.
Prof. Sloane was eating it up. Smiling vacantly, he was lapping up the sweet words of seduction while his eyes fixed on his sexy student like a starving man gazing through a restaurant window. He was already under her spell.
Oh man that is so hot, Dahlia thought. Her nipples were hardening beneath her bodyshirt. She reached up and squeezed one breast affectionately. I, I should stop them, she reflected, trying to take her hand off her breast. This isn’t right—they’re both being Strumm’s pawns.
Maybe it was already too late. The luscious student was stepping closer now. While Dahlia watched from the hallway she slipped one knee up onto the arm of Prof. Sloane’s chair. She leaned over and said something, soft and sibilant. She seemed to lose her balance, somehow landing gracefully in the professor’s lap with her legs high in the air. He reached out both arms to catch her, naturally, and the fall brought her face close to his. She slipped a hand around his head, pulling him to her. A moment later they were locked in a hungry, groaning kiss.
Dahlia stumbled back from the door, gasping. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then another. The whole department had gone love-crazy. Suppressing the sexual longing in her own loins with a conscious effort, she tried to think of who else she could try to warn. Was there no one—wait: Sabrina! Maybe she would still be rational. Dahlia hadn’t even spoken to Dr. Flowers in weeks, but her memos about routine university business seemed as clear as ever. At least, she thought they had been; she hadn’t bothered to read most of them.
As she made her unsteady way to Dr. Flowers’s office, the assault on Dahlia’s hormonal equilibrium continued. She encountered two young men ambling along with books under their arms. Instantly she found herself striding with a more deliberately feminine gait. She wondered if they could tell that her nipples were erect beneath the thin fabric of her bodyshirt. When the boys were barely past her, Dahlia stopped and carefully adjusted her sleek black stockings. She knew the boys were watching. She could almost feel their excitement.
There was a young couple necking in an unused equipment room. They hadn’t even noticed that the door was ajar. The girl was decked out in a tight yellow T-shirt and pleated red miniskirt, thin yellow kneesocks and red casual shoes with big platforms. She was sort of mewling into her boyfriend’s throat, as he leaned over her, holding her by the hips as they kissed. Her arms were around his shoulders, kneading and flexing like the paws of a purring cat. One of the boy’s hands drifted downward, onto and then up under her flimsy bit of skirt. The girl’s mews went up in pitch. She lifted one foot and slid her leg up and down his, pressing her slim body against his groin.
Dahlia suddenly realized she was breathing hard. Of fuck me but I’m so horny, she wailed silently. The scene before her was rapidly degrading from heavy necking into stand-up sex. The girl’s panties were being assisted down her hips. She was panting, and fumbling with his zipper. “Can’t wait any longer!” Dahlia heard her breath.
The gaping graduate student gulped. Her left hand had found one breast again. Her right hand, really *really* wanted to dive under her mini and into her rapidly moistening panties. Dimly she remembered that she was still in a public corridor in the middle of the afternoon. She pulled her hand off her tit, and tore her eyes away from the scene in the storeroom. The last thing she saw was the overheated couple half falling against a stack of old books as the girl attempted to lift herself bodily onto her tumescent boyfriend. She had about a dozen yellow and red bracelets on each wrist. Dahlia staggered as she propelled herself down the hall.
It took all of Dahlia’s willpower not to dash into a nearby washroom and finger herself for about the next hour. She had to warn, who was it? Sabrina. Yes, Sabrina Flowers was her last hope. She passed by the department office, where she could hear loud teen music pouring out into the hall. She caught a glimpse of Tanya, dressed to the nines in silk and lace, clutching a teddy bear and sucking on a soother. She was sitting limply at her computer, watching something on the screen.
At last she came to Sabrina’s office. The door was closed. Dahlia took two deep breaths to calm herself, then knocked. “Come in,” came Dr. Flowers’s steady voice.
Dahlia stepped into her supervisor’s office. Her eyes went wide.
Dr. Sabrina Flowers, Head of the Department, winner of the Psychological Society Gold Medal, and twice recipient of the Stroker-Reismann award for outstanding research, was slumped at her desk with both feet up on the blotter, legs spread carelessly. She was wearing a sky-blue, baby-doll dress coupled with thigh-high stockings bearing wide blue-and-white stripes. Her laceless sport shoes had ridiculous platform soles and three velcro straps in bright, primary colours. Her hair was up in pigtails, tied with long blue ribbons. Smiling contentedly, she was lolling in her chair, licking an enormous all-day sucker.
Dahlia could only stare helplessly. Her supervisor’s panties were sky blue. “Oh, Sabrina,” she whispered, “not you too?”
“Hi Dahlia!” Dr. Flowers chirped. She had taken down her framed degrees and awards from the wall and replaced them with posters of rock stars. She took another lick from her pinwheel lollipop. “Hey, wassup babe?” she asked casually. There were Barbie dolls on her desk.
Dahlia couldn’t think of anything to say. Wordlessly, still staring in disbelief, she backed out into the hall. The department was lost. What else could she do? She took another step and almost fell over backward onto Professor Edmonds.
“Whoa! Careful there, Dahlia,” he said, catching her. He carefully set her back on her high-heeled boots. “Good lord, girl, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What ever is the matter?”
“It’s Strumm,” Dahlia babbled, trying to regain her balance. “He’s done something. He’s got everybody. Everybody. The whole department. He’s got everybody acting like oversexed teens!” She brushed long brown hair off her face.
“So that’s it,” Edmonds said grimly.
The shapely grad student look at him sharply. “You’ve noticed?”
“Of course I’ve noticed. How could I not notice? I teach these students three times a week. I’ve seen how all the girls are behaving. It’s beyond strange. I just didn’t realize Strumm was behind it.”
Dahlia felt her hopes revive slightly. “What are we going to do?”
He took her by the elbow. “The first thing is, we’re not going to discuss it out here in the corridor. Come in to my office. We can talk there.”
Dr. Edmonds’ office was only a few steps away. Dahlia was relieved when he let go of her elbow. In her overcharged state his touch was electric. She was acutely aware of the closeness of him, the maleness. She was so horny she could hardly think. He drew her inside his office and closed the door.
“Now, what’s this about Strumm?” he asked briskly.
Dahlia drew a deep breath. She felt her stiff nipples press against her lacy top. “Strumm is manipulating the whole department. I’m certain of it. He’s using those E-mail messages of his. You know, the ones with the coloured attachment that you can never read? I don’t know how, but somehow they are making everyone act funny—like they’re rediscovering puberty with their sex drive cranked up. You must have seen—”
“Oh, I’ve seen all right,” Edmonds interrupted her. “I’ve seen plenty. The girls in my class are dressing like Sirens. They’re shameless. I’ve seen them flash me in class. Deliberately. I’ve had at least a half dozen try to seduce me, right here in my office.” He shook his head, bewildered.
“Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Of course not, I’m a professor,” Dr. Edmonds complained, apparently misunderstanding the question. “I can’t let sexual attraction to my students interfere with my teaching. It’s immoral. I could lose my job!”
“No no, I meant—”
“I can’t do anything about it at all. I just have to suffer and put up with it. I have to put up with whole classrooms full of nubile beauties showing me their panties and blowing me kisses all lecture. I have to put up with babes in miniskirts and halters dropping by my office just to tempt and torture me. I have to put up with delectable darlings that deliberately bump into me in the halls, giving me excuses to cop a feel.”
Dahlia was a little concerned about the turn of the conversation. It wasn’t doing anything to lower her temperature. “Yes, I understand your predicament, but what about Strumm? He’s the one that’s—”
“I do my best to keep a level head,” Edmonds interrupted again, “but I admit it’s hard. It’s so hard sometimes, Dahlia.” He looked up at her with intense, troubled eyes.
One glance at Edmonds’s trousers revealed exactly how hard it was. Dahlia took a nervous step backward. She suddenly wished her dress were a little less revealing. “Uhm, yes, I’m sure it is... hard,” she said, “but it’s Strumm’s fault. He’s like, brainwashing the whole department!” It took tremendous effort not to stare at his boner.
Dr. Edmonds gave her a pleading look. He was a tall man, with a slightly receding hairline. “I’m only human, Dahlia,” he murmured. “I can only take so much. I can’t force my needs on my students. I need someone to help me. I’m on the horns of a dilemma, Dahlia, I need someone who understands.”
Dahlia backed up another step, bumping into the desk. One of the horns of Dr. Edmonds’s dilemma was threatening to burst his zipper. “P-please, professor,” the steamed-up student moaned, feeling her resolve melt in the rising sexual heat, “We’ve got to... we, we have to... oh god.” She lost her train of thought completely.
Dr. Edmonds was standing very close to her now. He held her by her arms, gently but urgently. “Please help me, Dahlia. Please. My god you are so damn beautiful!” He was kissing her then, hot, hungry and unstoppable. Dahlia’s body stiffened. She cried out in protest, but it sounded like a whine of pure physical need, deep in her throat.
Dahlia’s arms slipped around Dr. Edmonds’ shoulders as he pressed forward against her. When the kiss finally paused for a moment, she found herself half leaning, half sitting on his cluttered desk, her boot-capped legs spreading wide to invite him between them. “Hurry!” she cried, before he silenced her with his lips again.
His left hand found one of her aching tits, fondling it wantonly. The fabric of her mesh top gave up and ripped, but Dahlia was beyond caring. The sensations pulsing through her were overwhelming all thoughts of reserve, indeed all thoughts of any kind. She could feel Edmonds’ rod pressing against her crotch. Dahlia hadn’t had sex in almost 48 hours. Nothing was going to prevent her from feeling that marvellous member inside her snatch.
The passionate professor already had one hand up under Dahlia’s short jumper. She lifted her ass for a moment to help him pull down her panties, then kicked them off impatiently. “So damn beautiful,” Edmonds whispered, admiring the spread-legged vision before him.
“Come on, hurry,” Dahlia cried again. She grabbed him by the belt, pulling him back into her embrace. While they kissed and nuzzled pantingly, both partners worked on getting Edmonds’s pants and underwear out of the way of Dahlia’s obsession. Immediately she had her hands on him, almost reverently guiding him toward her waiting pussy. She was wet as a sloppy kiss and he slipped in easily.
“Oh yes,” Dahlia sighed, “oh yes yes yes fucking yes.” She felt herself being deliciously filled as he pressed in deeper and deeper. Dr. Edmonds held her close as he began to thrust in and out, keeping her balanced on the edge of the desk. She lifted her hips to meet him. Her long hair flipped back and forth in time with the rhythm. Panting against his cheek, she planted wild kisses and whispered words of encouragement into his ear.
The professor’s breath soon began to grow shorter. He pushed her backwards onto the desk, and Dahlia suddenly found her feet lifted off the floor. She locked her calf-high boots around the small of his back, her legs still dressed in the black ribbed stockings. A stack of unmarked term papers crashed to the floor.
Dahlia was already at the edge of orgasm. Dr. Edmonds let out a deep groan and she knew he was close too. He was thrusting into her furiously now, expelling a short, guttural grunt with every stroke. There was no thought of holding back; they were both too overheated to even try to prolong the action. Abruptly she felt her lover stiffen and groan, and then he was coming inside her, coming and coming with all the pent-up lust an army of sexy students had inflamed. The last few strokes were all that Dahlia needed. Just as Edmonds began to wind down she bucked and shivered through her own wonderful climax.
The remained locked together for a long time, breathing hard. Dahlia felt her pussy clenching around Edmonds’s substantial cock, as if to milk it of every drop of jism. She gave him a long wet kiss of gratitude.
Eventually the professor pulled out of her. He collapsed into a big chair. Dahlia slid limply down the front of the desk to land in a dishevelled heap between his legs. “Oh, Dahlia,” the professor sighed, “I knew you would understand.”
Dahlia looked up at him, smiling weakly. She eyed his now flaccid cock. It looked as relaxed as she felt. Impulsively, she sat up and gave it a little lick. She ran her tongue along the warm flesh, cleaning off the combined juices from their love-making. Incredibly, his staff began to stiffen again. Dahlia couldn’t resist taking him between her red lips and sucking a little. It was much better than a pacifier.
“Oh, Dahlia!” the professor said again.
It was more than an hour later when Dahlia staggered down the hallway toward her own office. She fumbled with the keys to the door. It was late in the afternoon now, so the hallways were empty. This was entirely a good thing, because Dahlia didn’t want anyone to see her in her present state.
Her hair was in disarray. Her make-up was smeared. One strap of her jumper was broken, and the thin bodyshirt was so thoroughly torn that a red-nippled breast was hanging out completely. One of her stockings was bunched up around her ankle. The other had a stain on it. Her face was lit by a silly, contented smile.
Stumbling over a loose bootlace, the bedraggled grad student stepped into her office. She flicked the door closed, then collapsed bonelessly into her chair. Krystal was gone for the day.
One happy, amazed thought kept circulating in Dahlia’s mind: Three times. He got it up three times. It’s like he had the stamina of... well, a randy teenager. Dahlia had out-matched Professor Edmonds almost two to one in the orgasm count. She grabbed a stuffed panda off Krystal’s desk and hugged it to her, basking in warm satisfaction.
She was still revelling in the memory a few minutes later when the computer chimed to announce a new E-mail message. She looked at the screen blankly. The message was from Dr. Strumm.
Dahlia sat up a little straighter. She tossed Paddy the Panda on the floor. This message was different from the others. It wasn’t a broadcast message sent to everybody: it was for her personally.
She gulped. It’s all right, she told herself. I’m on to him now. I simply won’t read the attachment. Strumm isn’t going to transform me into a pubescent sexpot.
The message didn’t have an attachment. It contained only one line:
“Come see me at once—Strumm.”
Dahlia stared at the monitor for a long time. What should she do? Would anyone believe her if she told them her fears about the psychology department? Despite her misgivings, she felt a strong impulse to do what Strumm demanded. Even if his subterfuge had been revealed, he was still a father figure; he deserved respect. Maybe it would be best to confront him head to head. She would let him know she was wise to his sneaky manipulations.
She could hardly go see him in her present condition. She looked around for some fresh clothing. There were a number of items scattered about her desk, and Krystal’s side was practically a wardrobe. She needed to find some things that projected the right image: that of a confident, adult woman secure in her sexuality and unintimidated by Strumm’s machinations. She looked about, considering.
It was nearly an hour later when Dahlia finally felt ready for her meeting with Dr. Strumm. She checked her hair and make-up one more time before wobbling down the hall toward his office. She was wearing her white platform sandals, the ones with the tall, square heels that boosted her height by several inches. The choice of footwear was deliberate. High heels were for adults.
By this time of day the building was deserted. The lights were on in Strumm’s office though. Standing outside the door, Dahlia found herself unaccountably nervous. She felt like a misbehaving schoolgirl sent down to the headmaster’s office. No! It was Strumm who was making her feel that way. She wasn’t some foolish little girl, she was all growed up. Screwing up her resolve, she knocked on the door.
“Yes!” came Strumm’s voice.
Dahlia opened the door and stepped inside. Strumm was seated at his desk, his lined face furrowed in thought. His office was crammed with books and journals and papers of every kind. There was barely room for the computer on his battered old desk.
He scowled at her for a moment. “Have you any idea,” he growled, “how much trouble you have caused me?”
Face to face with the dragon in its lair, Dahlia’s courage faltered. “I—I—” she stammered, “I know w-what you’re doing.”
“I suppose you do,” he conceded, still scowling. His thinning white hair was swept back on his head. “But you have no grasp of how much work was involved. How much of my life went into that guided redevelopment program. How difficult it was to find a launch window when everyone was here at the same time.”
He got to his feet and approached her menacingly. “The timing had to be just right, you see. The beginning is critical. Tell me girl, when is the most important period in the development of an infant?”
The conversation had turned into a pop quiz. “Uhm, the first year?” Dahlia replied, feeling very small.
“Exactly! And so it is with guided redevelopment. The first exposure is critical. Everyone had to be exposed at the same time. But you, *you* miss hotshot graduate student with the full scholarship, you had to give a paper at that confounded conference instead. You missed the most important sessions. Now look at all the trouble you’ve caused.” He was standing close beside her now, fuming in anger, breathing through flared nostrils.
Dahlia found a bit of defiance to stand on. “You have no right,” she retorted, “no right to be manipulating all those people like that. You’re an underhanded bastard and a criminal.”
“Be silent!” Strumm thundered, thumping his cane on the floor. “Do not presume to lecture me! I am merely demonstrating what should have already been obvious: that this department is run by a gaggle of witless children with no respect for their elders. Imagine thinking they could retire me—ME, Dr. Marcus Strumm!”
Dahlia took a step away from him, tottering on her narrow platforms. “Well you’re out of luck, you bitter old man,” she spat. “Because your mind-fiddling didn’t work on me. I know what your up to, and I’m going to tell the world.” She stood up proudly now, anger feeding her courage.
“Didn’t work?” Strumm rejoined. “Perhaps. I do expect you have been feeling very confused lately. Am I right?”
Dahlia glared at him.
“Ah, I thought so. The first session is the foundation upon which all subsequent sessions are laid, you see. You caused me so much grief, girl; I had to rewrite the entire program, just for you. Still, I believe the treatment was more effective than you pretend.” His voice softened for a moment. “Take a good look at yourself, my dear.”
“Why, what?” Dahlia asked suspiciously, looking down at herself. “What have—oh my god!”
Dahlia’s selection of serious clothing had turned bizarrely awry. She was braless beneath a tight, white baby-T. Flowers embroidered across her chest spelled out the word BABE in big letters. Her red-and-white plaid miniskirt hung low on her hips and stopped about half a finger-length below the curve of her bum. She was sure it would flash her panties with every step. Worst of all, her legs were clad in sleek red socks, cinched just above the knee with red ribbons tied into big bows in front. The crimson stockings contrasted with the glistening white of her enormous platform sandals.
My god what happened? Dahlia thought, near panic. With her hair carefully arranged and her make-up flawless, she looked like a teenage wet dream come to life. Even more confusing were the conflicting sensations running through her mind. While she was appalled at how she could have chosen such a get-up, one part of her was smugly proud of how hot and sexy she looked.
Disorientation hit her so hard she nearly lost her balance. She looked up at Strumm, eyes round with confusion and fear. “What—What is wrong with me?” she whimpered.
Strumm was unsympathetic. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you girl. You’re wilful and disobedient and you don’t respect your elders. You’ve been keeping bad company, that Flowers fool and all her ilk. No wonder you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. What you need is some old fashioned corporal punishment to straighten you out. Bend over and grab the edge of the desk.”
Dahlia’s mind was reeling. How could he talk to her like this! Yet it felt wrong not to obey. This close, the force of his personality was overbearing. This was Dr. Strumm, the great scientist and role model, a father figure for everybody. Wouldn’t he know what was best? Without knowing why exactly, she bent over a little and clutched the edge of Strumm’s desk with both hands. Instantly the bottom half of her innocent white panties came into view.
“Now take a step backward.”
Timidly, Dahlia complied. She was sure now that the half-moons of her shapely bottom were completely revealed.
Dr. Strumm seemed uninterested in exploiting the view. He stood beside her, his face stern, as if he were a sergeant inspecting a dubious new recruit. Without warning he lifted his cane and smacked her lightly on the backside.
Dahlia jumped. “Ow!” she cried, more in surprise than pain.
“You have been a bad girl,” Strumm asserted. “You will be punished until you apologize, and thank me for correcting you.”
“What! I’ll never—Ow!” He smacked her again, harder this time. The blow sent tingles running up her spine.
“I’m waiting.”
“Please,” she cried plaintively, “stop this, you can’t—Ow! I mean, why are you—Ow! Please Dr. Strumm, can’t we just—Ow! Oh god.” His cane came down in relentless, measured strokes.
Dahlia felt tears welling up in her eyes. What was happening? Why was he doing this? Why was she putting up with it? Her ass smarted from the blows, yet her pussy was tingling and her nipples were erect, jutting eagerly through her tight T-shirt. Everything was so confusing, she didn’t know what to do.
Through the fog of confusion and arousal, Dahlia tried desperately to think clearly. Maybe, she considered, maybe Strumm was right. Maybe she had been bad—somehow? and maybe it was—Ow! If he would just stop paddling her ass long enough so she could—Ow!—figure it out and god she wanted so badly to tweak her nipples and run a finger up her snatch and—Ow!—how could it be so humiliating and feel so good at the same time?
“I’m running out of patience, girl,” Strumm pronounced. He smacked her lightly, then let the tip of his cane slide up and down the crack of her ass.
Dahlia groaned out loud. Rational thought was becoming impossibly difficult. Arousal was sweeping over her like a brush fire, incinerating her resistance like so much dry tinder. It felt good to be punished, she realized dimly. Why would a spanking feel so yummy fucking good? It must be because... because... well, she deserved it. Yes, that was it. She deserved to be punished. She needed it. She had been a bad girl. A very bad girl. She had angered Dr. Strumm, who was like a father to her. Everything was becoming clear now. He smacked her again.
“OW! I, I, I’m s-sorry,” Dahlia blurted, tears running down her face. She was trembling with sexual heat. “I’m so s-sorry for being bad!”
“That’s better,” Strumm responded. “Are you going to be a good girl from now on?” He whacked her again to emphasize the question.
“Yes! Oh, yes, yes, I’ll be a good girl. I—Ow! I promise I’ll be good. I won’t be a bad girl ever again!” She was panting now, her breath coming in short, wet gasps. She lowered her head and moaned wantonly. I wonder if my backside is as red as my socks, she thought giddily.
Strumm gave her one more whack with the cane. “Now thank me,” he instructed sternly. “Thank me for correcting your bad behaviour.”
Dahlia was trembling so hard she could barely stand. Her T-shirt was damp with perspiration. Her nipples ached. “Thank you, Dr. Strummmm!” she wailed, barely coherent. “Th-thank you for -Ow! p-punishing meeee! Thank you for h-helping me b-be a good girl!
Dr. Strumm gave her one more whack. It was gentler, not much more than a tap. But it was too much. It drove Dahlia over the edge. “Thank you!” she screamed. “Thank you, Daaaaadddy!”
Then the outside world faded out as she shook and shimmied through the longest, the strongest, and the bestest orgasm of the whole afternoon.
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