Under The Scarlet Moon

Chapter Five(2)

I thought a long time before I began to speak. I stared at my toes and then KC’s face, then my toes

again. I took a deep breath.

“Rossi,” getting the name out was the worst. Getting that done, maybe I could do the rest. “He was a

professor in the Architecture Department and my advisor. I did drawings, lots of them off the cuff, but

nothing by the book. I hated studying. But I liked original design—except that my creations were too

outrageous to produce, ‘undoable, impractical, he said. Filled with flaws and ignorant mistakes,’ I deign

to quote. He was a particular man, with peculiar flaws; but I didn’t see any of them, especially since I

needed his approval to get my degree—and I was in total awe of his skill and abilities as an architect.

He was handsome, ruthless, unconventional, twenty years my senior and completely in charge of me.

He began as my senior advisor, and transferred himself to my graduate classes. He insinuated himself

into my life a piece at a time…” I stopped. How much should I say? Each remembrance took me further

back, each word seeming to incriminate me as though I were confessing crimes not post-adolescent

sexual confusion.

“Go on,” KC prompted me.

“His first move felt like blackmail, though I knew he had been advancing on me for a good reason. I

would have failed that semester at the end of my junior year, and I wouldn’t have gone back to school. I

wouldn’t have had the guts or the tenacity to recover from the mincemeat I made of myself. I wasn’t on

drugs, but it probably looked as though I were. I did hit the bottle occasionally, but I wasn’t getting

drunk. I was lazy, and irresponsible, completely undisciplined, and scornful of anyone’s attempts to

enforce rules with me.

“But then, it came down to survival. I hated my parents. I didn’t want their money, and when I finally

faced facts, I realized that without a career I couldn’t afford my life, and without some structure to my

life I’d never have a career. Rossi got to that point with me in one very remarkable meeting…”

“You’re failing, Miss Henry,” the professor rounded his desk and strolled about his ungracious student.

“Despite your attempts this summer, you are still only slipping by in this discipline. Perhaps that alone is

the problem here, you think?” He came on her eye to eye. She didn’t blink, but she was shriveling

inside worried that he spoke the truth. “You don’t think of architecture as a discipline, but a hobby you

ignorantly suppose is going to pay you big bucks. You’re used to a pampered life; you’re used to your

fancy clothes and jet-set summers and dinners in expensive restaurants. But the only way you’ll have

that life now is to mooch off your parents. I was given to understand that you didn’t want that. You sat in

my office a few months ago, practically crying your eyes out, pleading with me to keep you in the

department in spite of your failing test scores and your less than adequate skills in sound architectural

design. You promised me results; you gave me little. You took off in the middle of an assignment,

offering me slipshod blueprints as compensation for my time. You should be embarrassed working

alongside the other students who have worked hard and raised their grades. What’s worse—you just

don’t seem to get my message.”

“Oh, but I do now, sir; and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not enough.”

“But it’s all I can say.”

“Maybe you should try waiting tables, Miss Henry, because that’s all you’ll be good for—though I’m not

even sure you’d be good at that. You have no stamina. You have no focus. You can’t seem to organize

anything, and you’re unreliable. Other than a smattering of artistic talent, I can’t really think of anything

to recommend that I keep you in the department.”

She sighed distressed by his remarks, “I ask for just one more reprieve, sir. Just this one thing.”

He waltzed about her trembling body inspecting every sensuous line—admiring, yes, but critical.

Perhaps she was just too beautiful—gleaming auburn hair, naturally curled lashes, green eyes, and

porcelain skin. He’d never seen a more flawless creature. He’d seen many lovely female students

come through his department, but none had quite her allure. Still, he could feel her recklessness as

though a cloud formed around her and she breathed discontent and frenzied misbehavior. There was a

playful, even childish aspect to her restlessness, perhaps still a child inside her womanly frame. He

was stirred by her as much as annoyed.

“And what assurance would I have that you’ve changed any of your bad habits, Miss Henry?”

“I don’t know that I could give you anything but my word.”

“That has proven to be worthless,” he reminded her.

She gulped nervously, palms sweating, heart beating rapidly, even pounding at her temples. She knew Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

she would come to this kind of miserable end eventually; by living as though some angel would

suddenly swoop down to rescue her, she ignored the facts of her failure for months.

“I would try again, sir, more sincerely than I ever have.”

He stood before her, hands behind his back, staring into her eyes—they were nearly the same height,

though he seemed to loom over her with his impressive stance.

“The only way I would consider your request is if you’d put yourself in a strict probationary program with

me, allowing me liberties with your life that you would not ordinarily give to any man.”

“What would that mean?” she asked, feeling both bewildered and curiously aroused.

“I have a rather anachronous point of view compared with the rest of this politically correct feminist-

oriented university. I rarely, and I mean rarely, practice my beliefs with students; it’s normally not

feasible at all, unless there is a strict understanding between the student in question and myself. I have

found, however, with women like yourself, who have a difficult time with discipline and structure that

utilizing some time-honored means of guidance—meaning rules and punishment---can often make a

difference between success and failure.

“I make no demand for these measures, they would be completely voluntary on your part; you would

sign an appropriate waver stating so, but if you need to pursue your future as an architect with this

institution—a fact which you seem to insist on—the only way I would allow you to continue here would

be in a program with rigid disciplinary standards, including appropriate corporal punishment for any

failure to comply with the demands I’d make.”

“Corporal punishment?”

“As in spanked, paddled or caned on your bare behind.”

“If I mess up?”

“If you mess up,” he paused and then continued, “as well as when I see fit, just to keep your behavior

on the straight and narrow. In addition, I would put some stringent limitations on your extracurricular

activities, your study time and other areas of your personal life. I would, Miss Henry, own your

existence until you complete your exams next spring. You would not only finish all the requirements of

your senior year, you would, as well, make up what you could not adequately complete this year,

including retesting in those subjects where your grades are marginal. You would be prepared for

graduate study—which is almost required for the kind of work you want to do.” He stopped, took a deep

breath, and finally finished, “It’s up to you. If you’d like, you can think about it for a few days, but no

more than that. If you agree to this, we need to get started immediately.”

Her mind whirred while her body seemed to fill with the strangest feelings of longing. Perhaps it was his

attention to her, his willingness even to suggest something this astounding. As she considered the plan,

her thighs and bottom began to tingle with a delightful physical sensation. All this took her completely

off guard, as the whole scheme was utterly preposterous. And yet, she was seriously considering

agreeing to the professor’s proposal.

She thought fast, right on her feet—rash thinking was something she did do well, although it tended to

get her into trouble. But with Professor Rossi? What trouble could there be in ensuring her future

success? “I’ll do it, sir,” she answered him much faster than he expected.

He nodded his head, truly amazed that she would agree. “All right, then. You understand that I will

insinuate myself into your life until you’ll likely be sick of me. That might be difficult for you given the

streak of independence that seems so important to you.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she replied. She was thinking in advance of the professor, measuring her

physical and emotional response to the proposal and to him. Something in his manner had been

intriguing her for months, though she’d ignored the erotic implications. He was a professor, but he was

also opening a door… “I don’t know why I’m doing this, Professor Rossi, but I will. Maybe it’s foolish,

but it couldn’t be any more foolish than a lot of other things I’ve done—like spending three years in this

university and leaving with nothing to show for it. I need my career. My time is running out. I’ll be

miserable if I don’t graduate.”

“Well then, we’ll start today. You can take your first punishment now. Consider it a measure to wipe the

slate clean so we can start fresh.”

“Now? Start now?”

“Yes.”

“W-Wasn’t,” she started to stammer, ”there something I’m supposed to sign?”

“If it’s necessary, we can take care of that later,” he said. “For now, this will be private—off the record.”

He had grabbed something from a nearby closet, a spanking paddle. She watched in anxious awe as

he clutched it with a fierce resolve. Her heart leapt again, while her sexual body shivered in

anticipation. “The building is empty except for the two of us,” he whispered. “This is about your

becoming more disciplined, about learning to submit to my requirements,” he spoke so softly. Each

word seemed carefully chosen, each awakening another place of sensation. She was enthralled by the

look of his hand, and the paddle, even as her mind was enthralled by the sound of his voice. “I can get

you what you desire. I can make your life heaven or hell. You’ll learn the most amazing things about

yourself; more than you ever thought was there.” He paused, letting that thought settle with her. “I

sense you’re already feeling it.”

“I am,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Mind you, this will hurt, but the implications will feel so good that you’ll come to accept the treatment

as part of you. Now step forward, Miss Henry, to the front of my desk,” Rossi instructed, as he moved

behind her. “I want you to raise your skirt and bend over. I’ll lower your underwear.”

“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she blushingly answered. Her voice sounded so tiny it was hardly

there at all.

“Well then, I’ll have little to do but redden your ass.”

Following the order, she moved the short two steps required. Anticipation made her legs weak and her

hands trembled so that her palms began to sweat. Bending over, she slowly fingered her white denim

skirt, and drew it over her hips. The material bunched about her waist. Her physical response was

alarming. She had no idea that this would turn her on, but every feeling in her was sexual. He could

have fucked or spanked her and it wouldn’t have mattered at the moment.

When the paddle struck, her first response an immediate, “Ouch!”

“Hush, young lady,” Rossi snapped.

The paddle struck again as a bright and stinging warmth spread across her ass. Another strike, the

sensation became more vivid. More smacks, and she was struggling to stay put, struggling to keep

quiet when she was about to scream.

The paddle struck again, until there were twenty strikes and a swathe of red across her ass as brilliant

as the evening sun.

More and she might have been tempted to bolt the room—but temptation didn’t have time to breed.

Rossi knew how far to take her, how to start and when to stop. He also sensed the desperate desire

beneath her compliance. He understood her natural inclinations and the inner workings of her mind and

what would lure her to him. He had so little to do to have her inside his grasp…

I stopped talking, measuring the silence, wondering what KC would say, but I wasn’t about to say

another word until he spoke.

He squirmed in his chair—leather pants making a soft rustling noise. “This is only a tiny piece of the

story, isn’t it?” KC said.

“Yes,” I answered.

“So what’s going on in your life right now that you need me?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh, but I think you are. You’re just chicken to admit it.”

“Maybe. Couldn’t we just go on the way we have been for a while?” I suggested.

“We could.” But he wasn’t so sure. “Tell me about you right now?” he probed more.

“I’m confused,” I admitted.

“And my spanking you will set you straight? My fooling with your life will cure you?”

“It might.”

“Okay, then, Gail,” he nodded. “You have a project to do, by when?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Then get to work and do it. One slip up, your ass will get the cane. You won’t be sitting pretty. That

clear?”

“It is.” I thought that’s what I wanted. This kind of toughness. I wasn’t sure though if it weren’t the

consequences I was interested in—not the success.