The Cunt of Monte Cristo

None of these insults really bothered him so much as he slammed the door of his Corvette Z06, fired up the engine and squealed out of the parking lot. What truly bothered him, more than anything else, was that the fucking two-legged pig, the bovine bitch, the Cunt of Monte Cristo, had humiliated him in front of the entire class. If my parents hear about this, I'm done, he fretted. She's going to pay. The cunt is going to pay for this.

Two years earlier, when Jimmy was in danger of failing three classes and having to repeat his senior year of high school, he made a deal with his parents. If he graduated on time and walked commencement with his class, his parents would buy him a new car. Not just any car, but the car of his dreams: a Ferrari FTB430. So for three months he was the model student, using every tool at his disposal and managing to raise his grades across the board and graduate in the top half of his class. He studied when he had to study, but he took shortcuts too. He used his considerable charm to convince a few brainy girls to do some of his homework, and he used that same charm to cajole his female teachers to grade his classwork and tests just a little bit more gently than they did the other students. His standardized test scores predicted that he should be in the top 10% of his class, but climbing out of the bottom 10% and reaching the midway point was a remarkable achievement. An achievement for which he felt that he should be richly rewarded.

But when the time came to pay up, his parents reneged on the deal. Instead of buying him a brand new Ferrari, they instead bought him a Corvette. His parents felt that he had underperformed in high school for three and one half years, and that if they gave him the car of his dreams then he would continue to underperform throughout life. So they withheld the ultimate reward and gave him the booby prize, instead. Jimmy was humiliated, and enraged.

His parents reiterated their offer after Jimmy enrolled in college: Graduate on time, and we will trade in the Corvette for a Ferrari. Not willing to be played for a fool a second time, Jimmy got the offer in writing, and then set his sights on achieving their request. He was determined to graduate on time, and that was it. He would not extend one ounce of effort more than was necessary to earn passing grades and graduate. With less than one semester to go until graduation, he was on pace to achieve that goal. But that cunt is going to ruin it for me. I cannot allow that happen.

The Cunt of Monte Cristo is intractable. This conclusion was supported by the empirical evidence. Students in her classes uniformly receive the lowest grades of any English class. No student has ever met with her to review a test and emerged with a higher score. In fact, there is almost a 50/50 chance that the grade will be lowered when she reviews each answer in microscopic detail. Getting into a debate with her would be a waste of time.

Turning on the charm would also be a waste of time. Her only emotions are anger, contempt, disdain, scorn and intense anger. I would have better luck trying to charm a Scooby snack from a rabid Rottweiler on steroids. At least the Rottweiler would let go once it had picked all the meat from my bones. Dr. Baron will just keep chewing.

What else is there? Bribe her? The cunt can't be making too much money. I can probably get 10 or $20,000.00 out of one of Dad's expense accounts. That might shut her up.

But what if that's not enough? Everyone has a price, but how high is her's? And what if she raises the price? What if she keeps coming back for more?

Threaten her? Kill her? The bitch would have me locked up. But it would be my word against her's. No, I don't need to get involved with the police.

I'm running out of ideas. And I'm running out of time.

* * *

Christine got back to campus at 2:30 pm. She unloaded the shopping bags from her car and hurriedly carried them to her office in the chemsitry building. The English department was headquartered in the Sullivan building, but the building was old and it had insufficient office space for all of the professors. She and the other professors were offered the option of doubling up in the Sullivan building, or taking space in the vacant basement of the new chemistry building. The building was only four years old and had been built to house an expanding chemistry department. To date, however, it was still only half full. The three English department secretaries, the receptionist, and the four research assistants were all housed in the Sullivan building, but Christine and two other professors elected to take the vacant offices in the chemistry building. Dr. Beldon and Dr. Phillips spent almost all of their time in the Sullivan building, however, afraid that they would be left out of the loop if their presences were not conspicuous within the department. That left Christine alone most days in the basement of the chemistry building.

Christine quickly set her laptop computer on a table beside the worn sofa at the far end of the office. She then connected a wireless USB webcam to the laptop, placed it on the bookcase lining the wall next to her desk, and aimed it at the sofa opposite her desk. She programmed the camera so that with a single mouse click it would begin taking snapshots of the sofa at 30-second intervals.

She opened her mini-refrigerator, filled an ice bucket, placed a bottle of white wine in the ice bucket, and put the bucket on the floor next to the sofa. She filled the refrigerator with the six-pack of Heineken. She would have preferred something stronger, but she had no idea what kids got wasted on these days. One thing she did know was that young men and beer went together like beaches and bimbos in bikinis.

Christine grabbed her last three bags and went to her private restroom. It was not really a private restroom -- she didn't rate that high in the department -- but since she was the only person working on this floor, she considered it her private restroom. She quickly stripped off her suit, blouse and underwear, throwing them into a pile on the floor. She opened the first bag and took out the sheer, lacy black demi-bra, adjusted the straps, slipped her arms through the loops, and fastened it. The bra provided very little actual support for her massive breasts, but it did push them together, forming a generous crevasse on the middle of her chest. She pinched her nipples for a second, causing them to stiffen and protrude through the sheer fabric. Perfect, that is exactly the effect I need.

She then pulled out the matching thong panties, held them up, and set them aside. I'll come back to this. I want to see how my breasts look with my blouse on, first. She opened the second bag and removed a hanger holding a sheer red silk blouse. She unbuttoned the blouse, removed the hanger, and slid it onto her body. She buttoned it from the bottom to the point where it just covered her bra, and then unfastened one more button. She turned from side to side, watching her boobs jiggle beneath the two sheer layers of fabric, and admiring the prolific cleavage readily visible above the low neckline of the blouse. She bent over and then looked directly into the mirror, seeing that her breasts were entirely on display by doing so.

She knew that she could not seduce Jimmy. Boys like that -- young, lean, firm and very rich -- had an endless supply of skinny young skanks, and simply did not fuck fat old women like her, even if they were offered on a silver platter. I just have to distract him, she thought. And nothing is more distracting to a horny young man than a big set of tits just inches from his face.

She then pulled a garter belt out of the bag, adjusted it, and fit it around her waist. She adjusted it again, and then opened the package of stockings. She removed one stocking from the package and pulled it up her leg. She had to twist it and tug on it several times before it reached the middle of her thick thigh. She attached the clips and then repeated the process with the other stocking. When she was done she stood up straight and looked in the mirror. Her blouse perfectly displayed her ample breasts, but the stockings looked all wrong. Her thighs were too thick, stretching the tops so much that they tried to roll down her legs. Only the suspenders held the stockings up, but they looked like they were fighting to fall to the floor. She was just about to take them off when she heard a knock on the door.

"Dr. Baron? Are you in? Its Jimmy Cummings. I'm here for my appointment. Are you still here?"

"Just a second, I'll be right there," she called back.

Christine hurriedly pulled the skirt from the last bag, put it on, and quickly checked herself in the mirror. The red and black skirt hugged her fat ass rather tightly, forming a huge round bubble in the back. It stopped about three inches above her knee -- not a scandalous length, but still much shorter than anything she ever wore in class. I wish I had time to go home and iron this skirt and blouse before putting them on, she thought, as she smoothed the wrinkles with her hand. She squeezed into the Steve Madden black pumps that she bought at her last stop before returning to the office. I should have bought these in a half size larger.

Christine exited the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and walked to the front door of her office. She unlocked the door, opened it slightly, and saw Jimmy standing there in the same clothes he wore to class that morning: board shorts, an Ed Hardy t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. She asked Jimmy to enter, and then quickly locked the door behind her. She then led him to the back of the office, purposely adding extra sway to her walk. Christine could feel Jimmy's eyes burning into her butt cheeks, which only caused her to exaggerate her movements even more. She reached her desk and then, with her back still toward Jimmy, told him to have a seat. She then turned and sat down, giving him a good look at her front side for the first time. His blue eyes only met hers for a fraction of a second, before they were drawn downward to her cleavage.

"Mr Cummings, I'm afraid I have some unpleasant news for you. I have reviewed your grades in detail. I have calculated the best possible grade you could achieve for the remainder of this semester, if you were to achieve the highest score possible on every assignment and every test.

"Mr. Cummings, I'm afraid I have to tell you, there is no possible way that you can pass my class. You have attained the singular achievement of failing English 100 before the midway point in the semester. No other student in the history of this school has ever failed that class so spectacularly. You are a god among men, Mr. Cummings.

"No, I take that back. There is nothing godlike about you. Rather, you are a modern Sisyphus. You are a living symbol of futility. In your attempt to defy authority, you have failed utterly. And now you have condemned yourself to a life of futility. What future is there for someone who has flunked out of community college?"

Jimmy was a whirling ball of conflicting emotions as he sat in the chair facing Dr. Baron. He knew this meeting would go badly for him, and he knew he had to take control from the outset in order to have any chance of winning this confrontation. But Dr. Baron totally threw him off-guard when she appeared at the doorway, shaking her fat ass at him. He was even more stunned when she turned around and revealed her massive titties to him, barely covered under the thinnest of fabrics. The entire time that she was degrading him with that stern, bitchy voice of hers, he was helpless to lift his eyes to meet hers. He could not stop staring at her tits. Those fat, luscious tits, just a few feet from his face, hypnotizing him by their size and movement. Not to mention those thick nipples obscenely protruding through the sheer silk of her blouse. What is happening to me?

"Dr Baron, could I get a bottle of water, please?" he asked in a quavering voice. I need to get her to shut up so I can think, damn it.

"I'm afraid I am out of water, Mr. Cummings. I would offer you a beer, but I think you are too young to drink. How old are you?"

"I...I'm twenty," he stammered.

"That's what I thought. If I were to serve you one of the ice cold Heinekens that I have back here in my refrigerator, then I would be contributing to the delinquency of a minor. That would be unprofessional of me."

"Dr Baron, students and faculty drink together all the time. Dr. Rhodes and Dr. McNamara meet students at the Ratheskeller every Friday afternoon. They are probably on their way over there right now. No one enforces underage drinking laws on this campus. What is one beer going to hurt?"

"Alright Mr. Cummings. I am not convinced by your logic, or lack thereof. But I do think that you are going to need a drink before we go through your grades. This is going to be a most unpleasant experience for you. I find it detestable, but I am only doing what I have to do. Sometimes we are required to do things that we find despicable. Its part of being an adult. A responsible adult. Do you agree?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Of course you do. You will say almost anything at this point to make this as painless as possible. You would promise me anything if I could just make this all go away so that you can continue living your happy, care free, irresponsible life. But I can't do that Mr. Cummings. I cannot. Do you know why I cannot, Mr. Cummings?"

"Because its in your contract?"

"No! It has nothing to do with contracts, or codes or regulations. Nothing at all. I am doing this because I care about this college. I care about these students. I care about education. I am a professor of English, Mr. Cummings. My job is to teach. I will do whatever I have to do so that I can teach the students who want to learn. And when I am confronted with an obstacle, I remove the obstacle by any means necessary. No matter how unpleasant those means may be."

She then turned to the mini refrigerator, took out a cold bottle of beer, opened it with the magnetic bottle opener on the side of the refrigerator, and handed the bottle to Jimmy.

"Drink up, Mr. Cummings. We will get started when you have finished your beer. I actually wish I had something stronger to offer you, but I am not in the habit of serving alcohol to students."

"That's ok, Dr. Baron. I love Heinies"

"Yes, I'll bet you do, Mr. Cummings. I'll bet you do."

Jimmy guzzled the beer in two long pulls, and then set the bottle on the front edge of her desk.

"I'll take that, Mr. Cummings," Christine said, extending her hand toward the bottle. "Would you like another?"

Christine opened a second bottle of beer and handed it to Jimmy. Suddenly, Jimmy started to feel as though he were being led into a trap. I had to practically beg for the first bottle, but she willingly gave me a second as soon as I had finished the first. Something peculiar is going on here.

"Come around to this side of the desk," Christine said, indicating that Jimmy should stand behind her. "I want you to be able to see this screen as we review every one of your grades so far."

Jimmy stood up and migrated to the other side of the desk. He stood behind Christine's chair, looking over her shoulder at the LCD screen in front of her. He glanced down for a second, and noticed that from where he was standing he could see all the way down her blouse, practically to her nipples. Her bra hid nothing from his gaze. Oh my god, those are absolutely the biggest fucking titties I have ever seen! And I am seeing all of them! I wonder if she even knows. Jimmy felt his cock stir in his pants as he glanced down her blouse a second time. God damn! I knew this fat cow had some fat fucking titties, but shit!

Christine felt Jimmy's groin graze her shoulder as he leaned over to look at her computer monitor. Son of a bitch is getting hard already, she thought to herself. This is going to be even easier than I expected. She clicked on the screen, causing the line with Jimmy's grades to highlight in yellow.

"As you can see, Mr. Cummings, your performance has been abysmal. Five out of ten. Six out of ten. Five out of ten. Seventeen out of fifty. Thirty-six out of seventy-five. Three out of ten. Nineteen out of twenty. What happened here, did you copy off someone else's paper? Should I check the scores of your neighbors?"

"Go ahead. You can't prove anything."

"Oh, Mr. Cummings, you are so sadly mistaken. But we will get back to that matter in due course. Let's continue here. Now where were we? Oh yes, nineteen out of twenty, momentarily. Eleven out of twenty. Forty-one out of eighty-five. Fifty-nine out of one hundred. Did you see that one, Mr. Cummings? You were so close to passing that test. Just one more point. Should we go back and look at that one again?"

"That won't be necessary, Dr. Baron."

"Would you like another beer?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Christine stood up, brushing his groin with the back of her arm and then turning toward him so that her boobs pressed into his torso. Jimmy stumbled backward, but there was nowhere for him to go in the space between Christine's desk and the credenza.

"Excuse me, Mr. Cummings, I did not mean to bump into you," she lied. "My office is a little cozy, I'm afraid. But the lack of space is almost offset by the fact that I am the only person on this floor nearly every afternoon. I enjoy the privacy."

Stepping around Jimmy, Christine bent over and reached into the min-refrigerator to retrieve another bottle of beer. She lingered a little longer than necessary, feeling her skirt riding up her ass and figuring that Jimmy must have had a clear view of her legs encased in the thigh high stockings, and probably a glimpse of the garters holding them up, as well. If I'm not careful, he'll have a shot of my panties, also.

Christine opened the second bottle of beer and purposefully spilled a little on her desk before handing the bottle to Jimmy. She sat down, reached into her bottom drawer, and pulled out a roll of paper towel. She tore of several squares, and then bent over her desk to wipe up the spill. As she bent over, her breasts nearly spilled out of the top of the blouse. Jimmy didn't even try to look away. He openly stared at the massive jugs dangling a few feet from his face. That was rather obvious, she thought to herself. I am going to have to be a little more creative. But judging from his stares, the plan seems to be working.

Christine returned to her chair, moved the mouse, and clicked on another page. She resumed reading Jimmy's raw scores, much to his annoyance.

"Dr. Baron, I get the point. But I am not doing all that much worse than most of the other students in that class. Once you average the grades and plot them on a scale, I probably have a high D or maybe even a low C."

"Once again, Jimmy, you are seriously mistaken. I do not average grades. There is no bell curve in my classes. You get the grade you earned; the grade you deserve. I do not reward mediocrity in the name of equality. I do not seek an equilibrium. I will not allow this institution to become a diploma mill, at least to the extent that I can slow that inexorable tide. If you had the decency and civility to remove your headphones when you entered my class, then you would know this. I explained all of these points on the first day of class."

Jimmy swallowed his second beer and set the bottle on Christine's desk. I'm starting to get a little buzz going, he thought. I wonder if she can see me sweat?