My Own Scarlett Letter

I glanced down at my watch.

Three o' five. Katie was supposed to have been here five minutes ago. I checked my desk to make sure I had everything. Yes, it was all there. My grade book and copies of her old tests.

Three o' six. She was now six minutes late, but it felt like thirty. I felt a drop of perspiration make its way from my underarm down my side. Okay, when she gets here, make sure she doesn't close the door, I reminded myself. Why was I worried? She might not even show. If her prior efforts in class were any indication, she probably wouldn't.

God, why was I so nervous? I was the teacher and she was the student. Yes, I had given her an F on her last paper, but she deserved it.

Three o' eight, and I couldn't stop my leg from jumping. Why couldn't I? Well, I never had a girl like Katie in my class before. I had heard stories of students who flirted with their professors. Who hasn't? But, as a woman, I had never had a student try it with me.

Three o'nine. It was the first day of class when she started. She came up to me after class, and touched my arm. "I'm so glad to be taking your class," she said. Pretty blue eyes, blonde hair, and perfect teeth. She pushed a few unruly strands of hair behind her ear. "I'm going to do so well . . . I'm sure of it."

I know. It sounds weak. Just a typical brown-nosing student. But there was something to her look. Something knowing that said…I'm going to do well in your class, and you are the one who is going to make sure of it. And there was something more. Something sexual.

And if I wasn't sure of it then, I was the next class, when she wore a tight shirt, with tiny white shorts, along with a pair of Mary Janes. She kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. She traced her pink bubble gum lips with the end of her pen.

Three-twelve. She didn't do her assignment the next week either, but she wore a tiny little mini-skirt. She spread her legs. I couldn't help but to see her panties. They were pink with a little heart directly over the crotch. I could barely continue the class. I could feel my cheeks warm in response. Was she trying to say something? In some sneaky fashion asserting that I loved her privates? Well, I had news for her. I was not into that sort of thing. I liked men. Only men.

Three-fourteen. It became a sort of ritual. A perverse sort of ritual. If I assigned a homework assignment, she wouldn't do it. Instead, she would wear some revealing garment to school. As if that were payment enough for me to give her a grade for work she didn't do. It didn't work. I gave her a grade alright. I gave the little tart a zero.

And then there was the latest paper that was due. I expected some sort of paltry effort. Instead I got a coversheet a bunch of empty pages, and then on the last page, a little handwritten note.

This is really boring stuff. I just couldn't bear it. -XOXO Katie.

I wrote her a little note of my own.

Perhaps you can bear failing my class. -Dr. Anderson

Three-sixteen. The next day was miniskirt day again. That was predictable. However, when she spread her legs, I was in store for a surprise. The little minx wasn't wearing panties. I saw her sex for the first time. Her naked sex. I wanted to call her out on it in front of class. To tell her to go home and not to come back until she put on some underwear. But to do so would have meant acknowledging the fact that I had looked beneath her skirt. And how could I, a professor, a female professor, have explained looking up the skirt of a student?

Three-eighteen. My mouth was dry, but my pussy was steaming. My panties soaked. All because of that little tart. I was attracted to her. How? When did it happen? I don't know. But as Katie sat on the front row, opening and closing her legs, I couldn't escape the effect of her wanton display. She was aroused. I could make out her pink labia and her blonde pubes. And . . . and she was glistening. She was getting wet displaying her vagina to me. And I? I was getting wet watching her display it.

Three-nineteen. God, where was she? I should have left that day. Walked out at the end of class. But something compelled me to stay. I had made up my mind to stop her after class. To privately ask her not to come to my class, unless she was properly attired. Instead, it was she that came to me. She caught up to me after class and asked if she could come to my office later to discuss her grades. I said of course, how about two o'clock. It would give me the opportunity to privately voice my concerns about her inappropriate conduct. She said she was busy, but how about three o'clock? And I agreed.

Three-twenty. I couldn't get the thought of her out of my mind. The way she looked at me, as if appraising me. The sight of her sex. It made me think of my first sexual encounter. It happened my freshman year of college when I was in danger of failing my history class.

I went to the professor and pleaded my case. I made up a lie about my boyfriend stalking me and being depressed. Well, it was partially true. Okay, so it was my roommate, but how was he to know? He asked me what was I willing to do? I said anything.

He got up and locked the door. He had me kneel between his legs. This man - this fifty year old man - my professor - took out his cock. It was the first one I had ever seen. It looked like a pale gross worm.

I told him I couldn't go through with it. He said to just think about it. Just a few minutes of work. Think of how much time and effort the other students had put in to his class. Think of how much work I was getting out of. Go on. Just try it. No one will ever know.

It was as if I were hypnotized. It wasn't very big. Not threatening at all. So, I bent down and kissed his cock. I licked it. I felt so wicked. So worldly. So naughty.

So wet.

There kneeling on the cold dirty floor of my professor's office, I sucked my first cock. It grew harder and bigger the more I sucked - much bigger than I expected. He grabbed the back of my head and guided me up and down its length. It was so long that it was hitting the back of my throat. Tears fell from my eyes, as I tried to control my urge to gag. He called me dirty names. Cocksucker. Dirty slut. College cunt. And then with a strangled cry, he pushed me down hard on his cock. I felt it spasm and then his cum splashing against the back of my mouth. I groaned and tried to pull away, but he held me fast.

Yeah, yeah take it - take it, he groaned.

The taste was unexpected. Bitter. Salty. I wanted to spit it out, but there was no place to.

He told me to swallow. I did, but I could still taste his acrid flavor. I could feel his scum sliding down my throat. I wiped at my tears and my hand came away dark from my running mascara. I didn't feel so worldly anymore. Instead of naughty, I felt - used - dirty.

He told me not to say a word. He told me no one would believe a slut like me anyway. He told me that I was a good cocksucker, and that to come back anytime I wanted some help.

I dried my tears and left. Everyone I passed, I could have sworn that they somehow knew what I had done. I had sold myself. Sold my pride. Whored myself out for a grade. I swore then and there I would never be in that position ever again. And I didn't. I went on to get my doctorate. No matter how much I had to study. No matter how hard I had to work. I never ever sold something so precious for so little ever again.

Three-twenty eight. Thoughts of Katie kept going through my mind. I wanted her. I wanted to make her kneel between my legs. I wanted to make her lick my pussy. I wanted to teach her a lesson. A lesson like I had been taught so long ago. And she wasn't like me. I had been pure. Innocent. Katie was anything but. She deserved to be put on her knees. A girl like her would probably enjoy it.

Three-thirty, there was a knock on the door. It was Katie, smiling as if she wasn't thirty minutes late.

"Sorry I'm late Dr. Anderson, but something important came up."

"It's okay, have a seat Katie."

To my disbelief, Katie shut the door behind her. There was an audible click as she locked it. I had meant to do that, but instead I was frozen in my chair. I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe as I watched Katie saunter over, not to the chair across from my desk, but to over to my side of the desk. Into my personal space. And right there, she lifted up the back of her skirt, and plopped on top of my desk.

I couldn't help but imagine, her bare pussy, rubbing against my desk - my papers. God, she towered over me. Looking down at me, a wicked grin plastered across her face.

Her presumption was quite enough. But, before I could protest, she started in on me.

"Dr. Anderson, what's this little business with my grades? All my other professors are on with the program. I give them a little tease. You know, short skirts, tight shorts. I bend over. I open my legs. I bite my lip and pout. Dr. Anderson, I know I'm an attractive girl and I know that you are watching - all of you are. I don't even want to think about what you do when you get home. But you - you sit back and watch the show, but you want it for free."

"Katie, I didn't ask for a show," I said. "As a matter of fact. . ."

She spread her legs, placing her left foot on the arm of my chair and swiveling it so that I was facing her. Her pussy, her bare blonde pussy was only a few feet away. I could smell her musky scent.

"What was that Dr. Anderson?" she said. "I didn't hear you."

"I-I-I" I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought.

"I thought so." Katie leaned back. She propped her other foot on the opposite armrest, trapping my in my chair between her spread legs. She stuck her index finger in her mouth and sucked it, wetting it. Then I watch in fascination as she put it between her nether lips, traced it up and down her wet grove, before plunging it into her dark depths. She let out a purr of contentment. God, she was sexy. I marveled at her self-confidence. I would never in a million years dare to put on such a wanton display for a near stranger. Much less an authority figure.

Katie removed the finger from her pussy, looked my straight in the eye, licked her lips and smiled. With a jerk, my wheeled chair lurched forward, as she pulled it in with her feet. She now towered over me. She opened her moist pink lips. Her tongue extended. God, she was going to kiss me! And oh how I wanted her to. I opened my mouth to meet her embrace, but instead of her tongue, she plunged her soiled dirty finger into my mouth.

I could taste the flavor of her sex and her musky scent assaulted my senses. She pushed in and out, fucking my mouth with a finger and then two. Her other hand made its way to my breast and caressed my nipple through the fabric of my sweater. Then she reached for the neck of my sweater. At first, I thought she would reach beneath it, but instead she grabbed it and tugged down.

"Slut," she sneered.

I could hear the fabric rending as she stretched the neck wide and tugged it over my shoulders.

"Stop!" I protested. I struggled in vain against her, but the neck of the sweater bound my arms.

"Put your arms down," she said. "Or I'll rip it to pieces."

I had no choice but to obey. Not unless I wanted to go home naked from the waste up. I put my arms to my sides and she continued to tug the sweater down over my shoulders and down to my middle. Once this was done, she pulled each bra strap over my shoulders, and then she pulled the cups down until it joined what was left of my sweater at my waist.

"Please," I begged. This game had gone way too far. I had lost my head for a moment. Had almost engaged in sex with a student. It was time to end this disaster. I was a professor. A married woman. I had no business. No business doing this.

She grabbed my nipples and pinched. Hurting me.

"Shut up."

"Katie, please, owww!"

She cruelly twisted.

"I said shut up," she said. "You had your chance to play nice. You could have enjoyed the show like all my other professors. But noooo-ooo you had to be a big shot - a hard ass." She pushed her fingernails into my breasts until I cried. "Well, you're not such a hard ass now, are you?"

"No."

She pushed her fingers into my tender flesh, but not as hard as before. "No, Miss White," she said, correcting me.

My face grew warm with indignation. There I was, a college professor, old enough to be her mother, being forced to submit myself to this monster of a girl. "No, Miss White," I managed to force out.

The fingers on my breasts grew gentle. They caressed them, handling them expertly. "You know, you kind of remind me of that woman. You know the one in that book you wanted us to read last week? What was her name?"

"I don't know," I muttered, unable to meet her eyes. But in truth, I knew the answer. I knew as soon as she said it.

She smiled. The fingers on my nipples clamped down hard and pulled them toward my sides jerking them out, then back in, and out again.

"Hester," I cried. Tears welled, and then streamed down my cheeks. "Hester Prynne."

"That's right," she said. "I'll get it out of you one way or another, so you might as well get with the program. So, like I was saying, you remind me of that Hester woman. You're both sluts, and like you, she couldn't get with the program either."

Katie turned around and rummaged through the supplies on my desk. "And what was that they did to her?" she asked, turning back around, a magic marker in her hand.

"They made her wear. . ." I couldn't finish, when I realized what Katie meant to do. She had taken the cap of the marker and put the tip to my chest.

"Keep talking. Tell me what they did."

"Please," I begged.

"Tell me." Storms raged behind her cold blue eyes. I had no choice.

"They made her wear a scarlet letter."

And soon I had one too. I now bore a red A on my breasts. She drew it in thick red magic marker, starting from my collar bone and down to my sides, until she could go no further due to my sweater. She crossed the two lines with a horizontal line that ran from one nipple to another.

"A big letter A, that's right, and what did it stand for?"

"Adulterer," I said. Tears were flowing down my cheeks.

She took the marker and drew again. She started at the A, and then tried to write adulterer, but it was too long, instead I was just labeled an adult.

"No I don't think that was it," she said. "If the word doesn't fit, you don't know shit. Oh, I know what it was for. How's this."

She wrote slut beside the A. "A slut." Then she wrote, bitch. "A bitch." And then "whore" then "dyke."

Katie was wrong. I was no Hester. Hester may have been an adulterer, but she was a good and honest woman. The things Katie wrote on my chest, my breasts, my stomach, even around my nipples. Every label, every slanderous comment, as hateful as they were, they were also true. It seemed as if the worse she treated me, the more turned on I became. I had soaked my panties and my cunt was burning hot.

She kissed me and I returned it eagerly. Our tongues danced, with hers leading my own.

Katie broke the kiss. "You've got me hot," she breathed. "You want to lick my pussy?"

"Yes," I said, my voice croaking from my need and desire. Her kiss melted my insides and left me trembling.

"Then beg for it you old slut."

I wondered how she could kiss me, then turn around the next moment and be so cruel to me. But, whatever game she was playing, I was destined to see it through to the end. "May I - may I please lick your vagina?"

"You better come up with something better than that." She pushed my chair back, slid off the desk, and turned around with her back to me. Taking hold of the hem of her skirt, she slowly rolled her hips seductively, as she raised her skirt one inch at a time. Her body was perfect.

"I mean just look at me teach. I am fucking hot with a capital H. So you better use some of that literature shit and start convincing me that you want some of this right here." She leaned forward, so that I could watch as she ran her finger through the lips of her sex.

"Katie, you are so beautiful. You are a blonde Goddess. At statuesque vision of -"

"Mmmmm. . ." Katie groaned, still stroking her sex. "Keep that up. . . you are turning me on. But don't you think you should be down on your knees in the presence of a Goddess?"

I knelt on the floor beneath her and pulled my arms free from my ruined sweater. "Yes my Goddess, this humble slave begs your pardon. I can't help but to forget my place when I look at your awesome beauty."

"And where is your place professor?"

Katie's finger sped as she masturbated herself. Even her moans were even sexy. She was a goddess, and I was nothing. A college professor who got off on sexual depredation. "At your feet Goddess," I said. "At your beautiful perfect feet." On my hands and knees, I kissed the tops of her feet, and I too began to masturbate.

"That tickles," she giggled. Her squirmed sexily.

"Oh Goddess." I moved up to her ankles, her calves, and to the backs of her knees. "I'm kissing your legs - your beautiful long faultless legs."

I continued on my trek as I worshipped her body. "I'm kissing your ass Goddess. Can you feel my unworthy lips pressed against your smooth succulent flesh?"

"Yes," she breathed heavily. "Kiss it teach. Kiss my ass."

I kissed it lovingly, running my face up and down her firm smooth mounds. I could hear the wet sounds of her masturbation. "I am so close Goddess. How I yearn to taste the nectar of your moist succulent fruit."

I moved to kiss her pussy. Inhaling her heady scent, I would soon be in heaven.

"Not there bitch," she said. "Go back to my ass."

Disappointed, I moved back and trailed kisses along the swell of her bottom.

"So - you think my ass is pretty?" she asked.

"Yes Goddess, everything about you is beautiful."

"Even my asshole?" She grinned wickedly, and then reached back, a cheek in each hand, and spread them, baring her tiny winking crater.

"Even . . . your asshole." How she could bare herself, show her dirtiest parts so shamelessly was beyond my comprehension.

She stopped masturbating for a moment. It was silent for a few seconds.

"Kiss it then."

"What?" I was mortified by the suggestion.

"I want you to kiss it," she said. "I want you to kiss my dirty asshole or as you say, 'my beautiful asshole."

"Please," I begged. I was hers to command, but how could she ask me to humiliate myself in such a fashion?

"Do it bitch," she hissed.

God help me, I did. I put my lips to her crinkled flesh and kissed.

"Again." She groaned and began to masturbate as I obeyed.

"Oh God, lick it. Lick it - lick it - lick it - lick my dirty ass you old slut."

I wanted to make love to her. To kiss her. To lay down on a bed with her. This wasn't making love, it was perverse and shameful. I should have stopped. I should have gotten myself together and went home to my husband and cat. Instead, I knelt behind her. . . on the floor of my office . . . and stuck out my tongue. A is for adulterer. I was certainly that. I had been branded by the red magic marker. A slut. A whore. A slave.