I woke up the next morning after a fitful night of sleep. I at least had remembered to set the alarm, which was an amazing accomplishment considering the mental state I was in. I had a paper to give that day, so couldn't just sleep in and sleep off what had happened.

I dragged my body out of bed and headed for the shower. The hotel room had one of those large bathrooms with both a tub and a separate stall shower, and I opted for the latter. Even though I had just taken a shower the night before, I decided that I needed another to jumpstart my day. After the water heated up, I hopped in and let the hot jets stream all over my body. As I did this, the events of the last evening began running through my head all over again. I shook my head as my encounter with Professor Susan Bascom came back to my consciousness.



After Susan and her graduate student, Laura, left the bathroom, I just stood there for a minute or two stunned and unable to move. I couldn't believe I had managed to get myself in that position, of having been caught spying on them in the women's room of the hotel. Susan proceeded to blackmail me into servicing her sexually right there in the bathroom, threatening to expose me if I didn't do what she had said.

Finally, after a minute or two, I walked over to the sinks and cleaned myself up as best I could. I splashed cold water on my face and front of my hair, and wiped it off with a paper towel. I looked in the mirror and realized I still looked ragged, but decided I was presentable enough that I could pass if I managed to bump into anybody after I left the bathroom. I was planning on going right up to my room but wanted to be prepared just in case.

I walked over to the door and when I got there I realized that it was now unlocked, Susan and Laura having exited a couple of minutes earlier. I opened the door just a crack to peek out and make sure nobody was in the small corridor leading to the bathrooms. I didn't see anybody, so I quickly opened the door wide enough to pop out. The door to the men's room was right nearby, so I knew I was now safe once the door to the women's room closed behind me. As I started walking back toward the lobby of the hotel, it dawned on me that the "Out of Service" sign that had been placed in front of the bathroom by the hotel employee was no longer there. "Damn," I muttered to myself. I realized that Susan must have moved it when she and Laura left the bathroom, leaving me exposed to anybody who could have walked in. I just shook my head and continued toward the elevators.

As I approached the elevators, I glanced to make sure Susan and Laura were not still there. The didn't want to have to ride the elevator with them, Susan assuredly smirking at me the whole way. They were already gone, so I pushed the button and waited. I looked at my watch; it was about 10:30, meaning that I must have been in that bathroom with them for about an hour.

An elevator quickly arrived, which I was thankful for, because the last thing I wanted to do besides bumping into Susan and Laura was to run into anybody else from the conference. I entered and pushed the button for my floor, and as the elevator ascended, I reached in my pocket to get my key. As I did, I felt the soft, wet silk of Susan's red panties in there, which caused me to think about Susan's parting words: "I'll let you know when I want to see you again to get them back."

I had no idea what she meant by that, but I was afraid that she was going to go back on her word. She had told me that if I had done everything she told me to, that neither she nor Laura would ever say anything to anybody about what had happened in that bathroom. Yet she told me to hold on to her panties and that she would get them from me later during the conference, a directive that caused me to think she had more things up her sleeve.

The elevator doors opened at my floor, and I exited and turned right toward my room. I glanced quickly over my shoulder to make sure that neither Susan nor Laura were at the other end of the hall, where their rooms were. With a sense of relief, I saw nobody else in the hall, and continued on down to my room and went inside. I quickly stripped off my clothes, emptying the pockets of my pants on the dresser. Susan's panties landed unceremoniously on top of my change, cell phone, and a roll of Life Savers. I stared at them for a second, then quickly grabbed them and threw them into the drawer of the dresser where I kept my own underwear. I buried them under my own boxers and socks.

I hopped into the shower in order to try to cleanse from my body, if not my mind, the memory of what had happened to me. I was both ashamed and confused; on the one hand, I was humiliated by getting caught by Susan and by what she had made me do. On the other, I had to recognize that I also had been incredibly turned on by the exercise. The fact that I had been aroused by being dominated by Susan didn't totally surprise me. My wife Sarah and I had played some role playing games before, some of which involved dominance and submission. But those had only been games, and had been with my own wife. So the fact that I was so aroused as I was dominated and humiliated by Susan and in front of her graduate student was somewhat troubling to me.

I finished showering, dried off, brushed my teeth, and walked back into the room. I then did something I almost never did I went into the minibar in my room and grabbed a nip of scotch. I threw some clothes on and went down the hall to fill up my ice bucket. When I returned, a put a few cubes in a glass and poured the scotch over it. I downed the scotch in about three gulps, almost causing me to choke as it went down. At that point I figured a little self-medication would help me sleep.

I got into bed and tossed and turned for a while, the activities of the evening running through my head. After what must have been an hour of this, I finally fell asleep.



Back in the shower the next morning, all I could think of was what Susan's intent was in leaving her panties with me. I wasn't sure whether she was just trying to tease me and make me nervous about what she might do, or whether she intended to continue what she had started in the women's room last night. In either event, I knew that I had few options other than to play along, because she had enough evidence that she could use to do great damage to me.

After the shower, I got dressed, putting on some respectable academic clothes for my paper session. I grabbed the stuff I needed and shoved it into my backpack and walked out the door. What I desperately needed was a cup of coffee and some sugar to cram into my mouth.

As I was closing the door, I remembered what Susan had said about telling me when she wanted her panties back. I had no clue when she was going to want them, but I decided the safest thing was to have them with me at all times. So I headed back into the room and found them where I had left them last night in the bottom of the drawer. As I picked them up, I realized that they were no longer wet, having dried overnight. I quickly sniffed them, partly out of curiosity and party from the memory of what I had done last night. They still smelled quite ripe, the memories of my subservience to Susan rushing once again into my brain. I quickly put them into one of the pockets of my pack and headed out once again.

I exited the elevator in the lobby and found my way to the ubiquitous Starbucks kiosk. Even though it was a small conference, there was still quite a line of fellow academics looking for that caffeine fix they so needed to make it through a day's worth of mind-numbing and tedious discussions of English or more precisely, British literature.

As I waited for the slow line to progress, I glanced around the lobby trying to see if Susan was anywhere in sight. I knew that I couldn't avoid her for the rest of the conference over the next few days, but I was going to work damn hard to minimize how many times I did have to see her. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, as she didn't appear to be anywhere nearby.

After about five or six minutes, it was finally my turn to give my order to the Starbucks barista. The young woman must have been about 19 or 20, probably a college student earning a few extra dollars working here at the hotel. She was cute as a button, so I smiled at her and gave her my order, doing my flirting-with-the-young-college-student act that I enjoyed so much (and I hoped they enjoyed as well). As she smiled back and handed me my change, her hand grazed mine, and a little shiver ran down my spine. But I quickly realized there was probably no meaning behind it, and I mumbled a "thank you," and went to the other end of the counter to pick up my large excuse me, "Grande" coffee and cinnamon roll.

I looked at my watch and realized I had just a few minutes to get to the meeting room where the first session I was going to attend was to be held. It wasn't the session where I had to give my paper, but nevertheless, I hated to walk in late to these things. As I turned away from the counter to head toward the meeting room, I bumped right into somebody walking by. I somehow managed to hold on to my coffee and roll, and only spilled a few drops through the sipping hole and onto the floor. As I recovered, I looked up at who the klutz was who almost ran me down, and I almost dropped the coffee and roll again when I realized it was Laura, Susan's graduate student.

She was gathering up a folder that she dropped, and when she arose again and looked at me, I saw that she was about as horrified to bump into me as I was to see her. She said, "I'm sorry, Professor Arnold," and quickly ran off before I could say anything in return. I turned and looked back at the people in the coffee queue who witnessed the run-in, and they all had an amused look on their face. They probably thought it was the typical terrified grad student, afraid that she had spilled coffee on a senior professor, and that she had just ruined her chances of ever landing a job. All I could think was, "If they only knew the truth."

I managed to make it to the meeting room without further incident. I entered, and found a seat on an aisle, not too far from the back. I found that these early morning sessions were usually lackluster, so I liked to position myself for a quick exit. I sat through the three papers, one of which was pretty bad, the other two at least interesting enough that I chose to stick around. The discussant's comments were, as usual, condescending and totally unhelpful, but the grad students giving their papers nodded seriously and graciously and thanked the pompous fool for his insightful (in their words) comments.

I felt sort of badly for one of the students, to whom the discussant had been particularly mean, so when the question and answer period opened up, I threw her a softball question. I started with my interpretation of what she had to say, then asked her if she agreed. She answered affirmatively, then elaborated a bit more on what she had written in the paper. When she finished, I smiled at her and said, "Thank you."

The moderator asked if there were other questions. I heard a clear, strong voice directly behind me say, "I beg to differ with Professor Arnold, but I have a slightly different take on your interpretation." I didn't have to turn around to know who it was I immediately recognized Susan Bascom's voice. I hadn't seen her there when I came in so she must have entered the room after I did. I wanted to ignore her, but realized that would be so obvious to the 20 or so others in the room, many of whom were colleagues who knew both of us. So I turned slightly in my chair to look at her, and I gave her a curt smile. She gave me an even broader smile back, then turned back toward the woman giving the paper and continued with her question.

As Susan spoke, I looked at her once again. She was wearing one of her signature outfits, not unlike what I saw her in last night low-cut blouse showing off her ample cleavage, expensive-looking silk scarf, and a skirt cut respectably above her knee. All was constructed to maximize the sexiness of her body. As I wrote earlier, she was by no means a thin woman, but she carried her weight quite well and she knew how to dress to look her best. Even though at 50 she was about a decade older than I was, I had to admit she still looked damn good. And I knew that she still turned heads among both the faculty and grad students at the conference.

The young woman listened to Susan's question and then respectfully answered it. Susan was very polite back, thanking her and complimenting her. I had no desire to interact with her when the session ended, so after one more question I discreetly turned and walked to the door in the back of the meeting room without making eye contact with her. I quietly opened it, left the room, and went to close it behind me. But before I could, I felt pressure pushing back on it, and I knew exactly who it would be. Sure enough, Susan pulled the door open and exited the room, giving me the same broad smile she had laid on me just a few minutes ago.

After she closed the door, Susan said, "Well, Bob, what did you think of that panel?"

All I could do was just stare at her, mouth agape, totally at a loss for words. Was she going to just carry on like nothing had happened last night?

"What's wrong, cat got your tongue?" she asked, this time in a much lower voice and with a clear twinkle in her eye. After I still did not respond, she said, "Or should I ask, pussy got your tongue?" With that, she laughed heartily and took a step closer to me, so that she was right in front of me. With her height, and her fashionable heels, she was probably an inch or two taller than me. She leaned in, and whispered in my ear, "You'll be hearing from me, pet you still have something of mine you need to return, don't you?" As she said this, she reached down and grabbed hold of my balls through my trousers. I flinched and quickly looked around, terrified that somebody may have seen what she did. But I realized her body in front of mine camouflaged what was going on, so to anybody watching it would just appear she was whispering something to me.

She squeezed again, and I quickly whispered back to her, "Yes, I know." She released her grip, smiled once again, and continued on down the hallway, leaving me in her wake. I just stood there, glued to the spot, staring at her well-curved ass as it retreated.

After a few seconds I shook my head and thought to myself, "Is this going to be what the next few days will be like, random encounters with Susan and Laura?" I had no desire for this, and thought for a second maybe I should just leave the conference. But I had my paper to give later today, never mind one on the last day and I was also the discussant on another panel. And I had Susan's admonition about not leaving the conference early I was not about to take a chance on inciting her wrath, not knowing exactly how far she would go with the evidence she held against me. After realizing this, I headed back toward the lobby for another round with the barista at Starbucks. Nothing like a good shot of caffeine though I started thinking that scotch would taste pretty good right now to help get you through the day.

I headed back to the lobby for a cappuccino this time (though the cute college student was gone), and then proceeded on to the next session. The papers in this one were only a slight improvement from the last, but at least Susan was not stalking me in this session also. I ran into a colleague from the west coast, Marnie Carney whose company I enjoyed quite a bit, so it was nice to see her again. Yes, I know, that is her real name! We were in grad school together, and she was already married when I first met her. For the life of me, I never understood why she took her husband's name when it would result in a rhyme like that, but she did. The irony is that she divorced him a few years after getting her Ph.D., but since she had started her academic career and publishing under that name, she had little choice but to keep it. I had always been attracted to Marnie, but by the time she was divorced I was already married to Sarah. I still enjoyed spending time with her the few opportunities we had to get together at various conferences and meetings.

Marnie and I had lunch after that session, getting caught up on each other's lives, the office gossip the usual, who was turned down for tenure, who was hot on the job market, which of our colleagues were sleeping with their students, etc. (needless to say, I stayed away from the topic of Susan Bascom) and I found it was a great distraction from all that had gone on in the last day. We parted with plans to have dinner the next night to continue the discussion.

My paper session was right after lunch, so I found my way to that room. As the session started, I quickly scanned the room, expecting to see Susan. I thought maybe she'd take the opportunity to try to humiliate me in public, albeit this time in a more appropriate manner. Somewhat to my surprise, and admittedly, perhaps, my disappointment, she wasn't there. I managed to stumble through my paper without making too much of an idiot of myself. This discussant was a bit more polite than the earlier ones I had heard, though he clearly knew nothing about the subject of my paper (the influence of the Industrial Revolution on the development of child characters in the British novel in the late 19th century). I smiled and thanked him, which was the appropriate thing to do, then entertained a couple of questions from the audience. One or two fawning graduate students came up to me after the session to tell me how much they admired my work and just how influential it had been on their own. I was used to this academic bullshit I knew the two of them were trying to grease the skids for when they went on the job market themselves, as my university was known as one of the plum places to work. I smiled, thanked them, and then made a hasty retreat.

By that time I had had enough; there is only so much time that you can sit and listen to people drone on about the British novel. So I headed back to my room. I knew the hotel had a pool, so I thought a nice late afternoon swim would be good to clear my head. As I exited the elevator on my floor, I quickly peeked to the left, not wanting to run into either Susan or Laura. There was nobody there, of course, and I realized I was being unduly paranoid.

I went on to my room, entered, and threw my backpack on the bed. As I started to take my clothes off, I noticed the red message light on the phone was blinking. I thought it might be Marnie calling to make plans for dinner the next evening, so I called the hotel's voicemail system, listened to the instructions, then punched in the codes to retrieve my messages. Instead of Marnie's voice, however, it was Susan's I heard through the telephone handset. "Tomorrow night, pet, 6:00pm, you'll return what you have of mine. Room 517."

"Damn," I thought, just after I had made plans with Marnie for tomorrow. She was leaving the following morning, and didn't want to miss the opportunity to have dinner with her. So I picked up the phone and dialed Susan's room, figuring I would get her voicemail.

"Hello," I heard her answer, much to my surprise.

I hesitated for a second, then said, "Susan, it's Bob."

"Oh, hi there Bob. You got my message, I presume?"

"Yes, I did, but I can't make it then, I made plans. . ." But before I could go any further, she cut me off.

"6:00pm tomorrow pet, and don't be late, or else." And with that she hung up the phone. I stood there holding the handset, just staring at it, infuriated at what she was doing to me. I slammed it back on the phone, changed into my bathing suit, and stormed down to the pool to try to take out my frustrations in some laps.

That evening and the next day went by in a blur. I couldn't focus on the awards banquet that evening, the speeches any of the recipients made, or any of the sessions I attended the next day. All I could think about was having to deal with Susan again. In the back of my mind I was hoping that I'd go to her room, return her panties, and she'd just laugh the whole thing off. But I suspected it was not going to be that easy.

In the morning I had called and left a message in Marnie's room, apologizing for having to cancel our dinner plans. I simply told her that something had come up, and we would get caught up with one another at the MLA convention.

Late in the afternoon I went back to the pool for a swim, then returned to my room and showered and changed. It was about 5:30, so I figured I would go through my e-mail before I headed off to Susan's room. I started scanning my e-mail, which contained the usual combination of spam (offers of Canadian drugs, erection-producing pharmaceuticals, low-cost mortgages, and Nigerian lottery proceeds), questions from students, and administrative crap from my university that I immediately deleted. But then one message caught my eye; I didn't recognize the return address, which was from a Yahoo account, but the subject line said, "For you, pet."

I opened it up, and saw that it had an attachment, and started to hit the delete button, figuring it was just more spam. But then I saw the message:

"Bob,

Thought you would enjoy this little preview.

Professor Bascom"

I double-clicked on the attachment, which was a jpeg file, and a photograph filled my screen. I quickly saw that it was the picture that Susan had had Laura take of me two nights ago, naked and kneeling in front of her, with my hands tied behind my back. Thankfully, Susan had blanked out my face and hers, so you could not tell who it was in the picture, but I knew exactly who it was. I groaned, and immediately deleted the mail message. What did she mean by "preview," I thought, but I was afraid that it was not a good sign.

I looked at the clock next to the bed and saw that it was a few minutes before 6:00, so I grabbed Susan's panties out of my pack, and walked down the hall to her room. I knocked lightly on the door of room 517, and after a few seconds, it swung open. Much to my surprise, it wasn't Susan standing there, but Laura. "Oh crap," I thought, "I have to deal with both Susan and her." I muttered a "hello" to her and entered the room, as she closed the door behind me without saying a word.

As I walked into the room, I saw it was not just a regular hotel room, but was in fact a suite. I was a bit envious that Susan's university would pay for her to have a suite, when most of us struggled to convince our employers to reimburse us for the full cost of a regular room at one of these conference hotels.

I was standing in a large living area. It had a full size sofa, small round dining table with four chairs around it, a television, and a couple of other plush chairs to sit in. I saw too that she had a balcony with a chaise lounge and a nice view of the city. Over on the other side of the room was a small galley kitchen, and another room that looked like it must have been a bathroom off the living area. One more closed door must have led to the bedroom.

I looked at Laura, who was standing there silently looking back at me. Finally, when it became apparent that she wasn't going to say anything, I asked, "Where is Susan?"

"Professor Bascom will be out in a moment," she replied. "Would you like something to drink while you wait?"

I thought about it for a second and then figured, "What the fuck." Might as well have something to help me get through whatever Susan had planned. Laura's offering of a drink, in contrast to my interaction with her a couple of nights ago, gave me some slight hope that maybe this was going to be just a chance for the three of us to laugh about what had happened, and then it would be all over.

"I'll have a scotch on the rocks, if you have it," I told Susan's grad student as I sat down on the sofa. She turned and walked into the kitchen, opening a cabinet to retrieve a glass. She then opened another cabinet which I saw was well-stocked with four or five types of liquor, mixers, and assorted bar equipment. Now I was very envious of the accommodations Susan was enjoying. Clearly, her accomplishments had provided her with very nice treatment by her university.

Laura returned and handed me my drink, sitting down after in one of the chairs. I sipped it a bit as she sat there looking at me. Finally, after a few moments, I said somewhat exasperated and sarcastically, "Do you know when Susan will be making her appearance?"

Just as I got it out of my mouth, the door of the bedroom area opened and Susan came into the room, closing the door behind her. She was dressed much more casually now, in what looked like some kind of silk dressing robe with a sash around her waist, and no shoes on.

"Well hello again Bob, thank you for joining us," she said with a smile, stopping a few feet in front of me and extending her hand. I stood up and shook her hand. "I apologize for my appearance, but I was running a little late and was just getting ready to jump into the shower when I realized what time it was. I had such a busy day today, running around here and there, going to sessions, getting caught up with people. You know how that is, don't you?"

"Yes, Susan, I do," I replied, not quite knowing how to gauge her tone and where she was going with the conversation.

"Excuse me, Bob, can you say that again, please?"

I stared, standing there a couple of feet in front of her, totally bewildered. I saw that without her heels on we were now about the same height. I thought what I had said was quite clear. But then I looked at her eyes, which were staring straight at mine, and I realized what she wanted.

"Yes, Professor Bascom, I do know how that is," I said.

A smile crossed her face as she released my hand. "Ah, much better, my pet, I'm glad you remember the proper way to address me."

I resisted the temptation to look over at Laura to see how she was reacting to this act, and simply sat down again. Susan grabbed one of the stuffed chairs next to Laura, facing me, and demurely sat down, crossing her legs and covering them as best as she could with the robe.

"Did you bring my panties back, Bob?"

"Yes, Professor Bascom, I have them," I replied, standing up and taking them out of my pocket.

"Bring them to me, please, pet."

I walked over to her and handed them to her, standing over her. From that angle I had a nice view of her ample cleavage down her robe. I thought I could see her nipples poking into the robe, but it was hard to tell among the soft folds of the silk.

She reached for the panties and looked at them, then lifted them to her nose and sniffed them for a second. With a look of disgust she threw them down on the floor about five feet away and shouted at me, "DID YOU THINK I WANTED THEM RETURNED TO ME DIRTY, YOU IDIOT?"

I almost jumped and hit the ceiling, shocked as I was to be yelled at by her. I didn't know what to say, so I mumbled a "I'm sorry," and went to sit down again.

"Get back here, I didn't tell you to sit down," Susan said sternly. I stopped, turned around, and walked back to her. As I did, I could see Laura's face, which had a look of intense concentration, staring at Susan.

As I stood in front of her again, she said in a more calm voice, "Get down on your knees." Now wanting to endure her wrath again, I did as she told.

"I'll forgive you this time, Bob, but you need to clean them for me now," she said, now looking down at me.

"What!?!?," I almost shouted up at her.

"You heard me," she said, still in a calm voice. "Take them into the bathroom there and wash them for me," and she pointed toward the bathroom off the living area.

I couldn't believe she was making me do this. The humiliation of this act was compounded by Laura witnessing it. Usually, I was the one with the power over the grad students, and the idea that this young woman was watching Susan debase me was mortifying. "Oh, come on Su -, I mean Professor Bascom," I said. "Give me a break, this is ridiculous."

"Bob," she said, still with a calm in her voice. "Did you get my e-mail a little while ago?"

"Yes," I replied.

"And you realize, of course, that I have a copy of that photo without your face blurred out."

"Yes, Professor Bascom," I replied solemnly, "I realize that."

"Good. Then being the smart man that you are, I'm sure you also realize that as easily as I e-mailed that picture to you, I could send the other version of it to anybody I so choose. Such as your department chair, your colleagues, and even Sarah."

The thought of any of these possibilities was nauseating, but I was particularly concerned about the idea of my wife, Sarah, seeing the pictures and finding out what had happened. I looked up at Susan, and after hesitating a few seconds, I said defeatedly, "Yes, Professor Bascom, I know that."

"Okay, then what do you need to do?" she asked.

I went to pick up the panties on the floor next to me, but before I could reach for them she said, "I asked you a question, Bob."

I stopped, and turned back to her. "I need to wash them."

She just stared at me, again with that intent gaze, waiting for me to correct myself.

I sighed, and said, "I need to wash your panties for you, Professor Bascom."

She gave me a small smile and replied, "Much better, pet. Now get to your task. Be sure to wash them thoroughly, and you'll find a hair dryer in there you can use to dry them."

I reached for the panties one more time, but she stopped me once again. "No, pet, don't use your hands, that would be too easy for you. Crawl over there and pick them up with your mouth, then crawl to the bathroom."

I hesitated again, not believing she was doing this to me. When I first came to her room, I really had hoped that I would return the panties, we'd laugh, and it would be over with. She would have had her kinky little fun and games the other night, and that would be the end of it. But I realized now there was going to be more of her dominance to which I was going to have to submit.

Resigned to my fate, I crawled the few feet over to the panties, leaned forward and picked them with my mouth, and then turned to crawl to the bathroom. As I did so, I heard Susan let out a little "Woof, woof just like a good doggy, huh Laura?"

Laura chuckled a little and said, "Yes, Professor Bascom."

Thoroughly humiliated, I scampered on all fours over to the bathroom as fast as I could. When I got in there, I heard Susan say, "Okay, you can stand up now so you can reach the sink and dryer."

I stood, thankful to get off my knees. I turned on the tap and waited for the hot water to come out, and when it did, I began to soak the panties in the sink.

I heard Susan's voice directly behind me now saying, "Be sure to use some soap, they were pretty dirty, weren't they pet?"

Turning and seeing her standing there watching me, I replied, "Yes, ma'am," and proceeded to unwrap the small hotel bar of soap next to the sink and rub it over the panties.

"Much better, pet."

I soaped them up, then soaked them again in the sink. I emptied the water and filled up the basin with clean water, dabbing the panties up and down. The act of doing this caused the memory of my servicing Susan's pussy in the bathroom a couple of nights ago to flood back into my brain. I was once again ashamed to realize that the sense of humiliation of how I felt between her legs that night was causing me to be aroused, as I felt my cock stirring in my pants.

After rinsing out the panties, I bunched them up in my hands to get out the excess water, and then took the hair dryer off the wall. I put it on a medium setting, and holding the panties in one hand, proceeded to wave the dryer all around them, trying my best to get them dry as soon as possible so I could get this over with.

After about five minutes of this, they were dry. As I put the dryer back, I gazed into the mirror, and saw Susan still standing and leaning against the door frame with a smile on her face.

I turned and handed them to her. She simply stood, staring at me once again, the smile now having left her face.

After a few moments, I realized what she was waiting for. "Here are your panties, Professor Bascom, all cleaned," I said.

She smiled again and reached out and took them from my hand. "Thank you, pet, much better," as she rubbed her fingers over them and then sniffed them. "Now please give me a hand." And with that, she handed them back to me, but I was unsure exactly what she wanted me to do with them now.

She stepped into the bathroom, stood next to me, and placed one hand on my shoulder. She undid the sash on her robe, causing it to fall open. As she did, I got a partial view of her large breasts, though her nipples were still covered by the robe. But her shaved pussy was quite visible to me, which only reinforced the memories of my servitude to her.

I felt her hand pushing down on my shoulder as she said, "Please help me into them, pet."

Understanding what she wanted, I knelt down in the bathroom with the panties as she lifted her right foot off the ground. I put the panties around that foot, and then she shifted to raise the left one. I put the other leg hole around that foot, and as she placed it back on the tile of the bathroom, I lifted them up her legs, and did my best to situate them over her curvy ass and on to her waist. As I kneeled there, I got a good look at her shaved pussy as it was just about at my eye level. More importantly, I got a good whiff of it, and it was quite evident that Susan was being truthful when she said she had not had a chance to shower before I got there, as her pussy was quite ripe from the day's activities. I sensed also just a hint of her arousal that had enveloped me the other night in the bathroom, and I knew that she once again was being turned on by what she was doing to me.

"Very good, pet, thank you," she said with a smile. She turned and walked out of the bathroom. At that point, I realized that I had to pee, so I started to close the door.

I heard Susan say, "What are you doing?"

I opened the door enough so she could see me and replied, "I have to go to the bathroom."

She laughed. "What, all the running water got to you, huh?"

"I guess so."

"Okay, go ahead, then. But leave the door open."

I simply stared at her and uttered, "What?"

"You heard me, leave the door open."

At this I didn't respond, but pushed the door open all the way. I resignedly unzipped my fly, and began to take out my cock, but before I could I heard Susan's voice, this time right behind me again. "No, Bob, I don't want to take a chance on you dirtying up my bathroom. Sit down on the toilet if you have to pee."

More humiliation, I thought, but knowing there was little I could do, I undid my belt and dropped my trousers to my ankles. I then pushed my boxers down over my cock, which was still slightly erect, and before I could turn around, I heard her say, "Nice ass you have there, Bob. At least for a guy." She laughed, and then said, "Come here, Laura, why don't you check him out."

I stood still as I heard Laura walking toward me.

"What do you think, Laura, does he have a nice ass?" Susan asked her.

"Yes, Professor Bascom," was all she said.

"And now the front, Bob. Turn around and give us another view of that penis of yours."

I did as she told, shuffling around with my trousers and boxers at my ankles. As my semi-erect cock bobbed in front of me, I blushed, which Susan immediately picked up on.

"Why, I think he's a little embarrassed, aren't you Bob," she said to Laura.

Ashamed, I said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, nothing to be ashamed of, Bob. Laura and I already knew you were a pussy-loving little pet who enjoys being bossed around, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did, Professor Bascom."

Susan laughed and said to me, "Okay, Bob, go ahead."

Between the two of them watching me, and my bobbing cock, I didn't think there was anyway I would be able to pee. But I really had to go, so I sat down, and waited for a few moments as the two of them stood there. Thankfully, my erection finally subsided enough for me to push my cock down and pee into the toilet. After I finished, I stood up, pulled up my boxers and pants, and waited.

Susan turned and walked back into the living area, followed by Laura. Susan had re-tied the sash on her robe, which now hugged her ample ass which swayed as she walked. I followed them into the room as Susan sat on the couch this time, Laura next to her. She motioned for me to sit in one of the chairs facing them.

We sat silently for a minute or so, Susan just staring at me. Finally, she said, "You have been a naughty little boy, haven't you Bob?"

I stared back at her and said, "Actually, I've done everything you've asked me to Sus uh, Professor Bascom, so can't we bring this whole thing to a close and just forget about it?"

"No, I don't think so, pet. I've been thinking about just what you did the other night, and how embarrassing it is for a senior professor like you to be caught in such a compromising position. I've decided that the punishment you've endured is not enough yet."

"Oh, come on," I replied with anger in my voice, "give me a break. Haven't you had enough of your little game, yet?"

"No, Bob, I haven't had enough yet. I will tell you when I've had enough. Now get over here."

I stood up, and once again I had a fleeting thought of just getting up and walking out of the room. I really thought Susan was bluffing about sending the pictures out or telling anybody what had happened. But I knew I simply couldn't take the chance, so I walked over toward her and Laura.

"Take off your shoes and socks, and drop your trousers and boxers, Bob," Susan said as I stood before her. Dejectedly, I took off the shoes and socks and once again undid my belt and followed her command.

"Now get up here and kneel on the sofa, leaning over the back."

I looked at her alarmedly and said, "Why? What are going to do?"

"Just do as I said, Bob," she replied in a stern voice. "As I told you, you still need to be punished for being a naughty little pet."

Hearing that tone, I did as she said, getting up on the sofa with my ankles with my pants and boxers bunched around them hanging over the edge. I leaned forward with my arms and head on the padded, rounded back of the sofa.

"Laura, take off his pants and underwear."

I felt Laura complying, leaving me totally naked from the waist down. I was wearing a polo shirt that did little to cover up my bare ass. I shivered at the thought of what was going to happen.

I felt Susan's hand rubbing over my ass, which admittedly felt good, as I heard her say, "I think a naughty little boy needs a good spanking, don't you Laura?"

"Yes, ma'am," she replied.

"And I've got just the person to administer it," Susan said, removing her hand from my ass. I felt her rise from the couch, and I had the sickening feeling that she was going to tell Laura to spank me. The thought that this grad student was going to be doing this to me was awful, and I shuddered at the thought.

But I heard Susan walk away from the couch. She came into my view as she headed toward the door to the bedroom of the suite. I looked over at her as she opened it, smiled, and said to somebody inside, "C'mon out, my dear. Time for you to join all the fun we've been having."

As horrified as I had been at what had transpired over the last fifteen minutes, the feeling was compounded ten times as I saw who Susan had invited into the room to administer the punishment.