Lessons in Composition

For the fifth time, Tina signed on the dorm room computer and checked her e-mail. "They don't send out the finals results 'til after five," Maureen reminded her.

Tina sighed. "I know. But I'm sure I blew it. The test was too goddamn hard. If I fail this class, my grade point will fall below a two! They'll kick me out for sure."

"Should have studied ..." Stretched out on her bed, Maureen chomped noisily on her gum, leafing through an issue of Cosmo.

"Thanks, Miss Smarty-Pants. You never study for anything!"

Maureen blew a bubble. "That's 'cause I'm Miss Smarty-Pants."

"Yeah, fuck you too," Tina muttered. Again she clicked the "Refresh" button.

There it was! The "New Mail" icon blinking, a tiny beacon drawing her towards her destruction. This could be the end of it, she thought. No more California: back to Birmingham, move in with Mom and Dad, go to Community College, fat and pregnant in a year, marry some smelly auto mechanic. She cringed inwardly. This was the beginning of the end of her life.

Tina held her breath and tensed, but was unable to make herself open the message. She spun off the chair and threw herself down on the bed. "Maureen! Look for me! I can't do it!"

Maureen rolled over and reached for the mouse, clicking awkwardly with her left hand. She was silent for a moment. "Yup, you failed it," she announced.

Tina said nothing, her face buried in the pillow. Maureen laughed. "A twenty-eight. That's pretty crappy, Teen, even by your standards."

Tina rolled over, her stomach churning. "I'm fucked! What am I going to do?" she wailed.

Maureen shrugged. "Apply for academic reinstatement. Take some easy classes, get your grade point up."

"That'll take a whole quarter! No, I've got to do something." She rolled off the bed and began rummaging in the closet. Tina had been thinking about it all afternoon -- now she had no choice but to put her plan into action.

Hurriedly she ripped clothes from hangars and threw them on the bed. The short leather skirt and sheer red blouse were easy choices, of course, but what shoes to wear? The come-fuck-me high heels with the straps -- that should do the trick. No panties, of course. She hurried into the bathroom to do her makeup and hair.

"Tina? What are you doing?" Maureen called from the other room.

"I'm going to call up Mr. Matthews, see if I can get him to change his mind about the grade."

"Good Lord." Maureen rolled her eyes. "You're going to sleep with him, aren't you?"

"If I have to," Tina said grimly, applying her eyeliner. The deep red lipstick emphasized her full, pouty lips. Easy on the makeup, she told herself -- there's a difference between flirty schoolgirl and trashy slut. "He is kind of cute, you know," she called out. She fluffed her hair, the dark curly tresses falling about her face. "Look him up in the student guide, would you?"

"His number is here in the e-mail," Maureen called back.

"He's only a grad student," said Tina as she came out of the bathroom. "Not a real professor." Quickly she buttoned the blouse, leaving plenty of cleavage showing. Her breasts always got lots of attention -- tonight, she was counting on them to save her academic career. Tits, don't fail me now. She zipped up her skirt, feeling the leather tighten around her butt. "Well, how do I look?" She twirled in the center of the room.

"Like a whore," Maureen snorted. "An expensive whore, though."

"I can't help it if I'm hot. Here, give me the phone."

"Mr. Matthews ... he's kind of old, isn't he?" Maureen wrinkled her nose.

"He's like, thirty or something. I've been with older guys. It won't be so bad." Tina cleared her throat, trying to make her voice low and sultry.

"Hi, Mr. Matthews, this is Tina Flowers ... the English composition class ... Fine, how are you?"

Maureen sat cross-legged on the bed, pushing two fingers in and out of her mouth, making her cheek bulge.

Tina turned away, stifling a giggle. "Well, yes, I wanted to talk to you tonight about the English final ... I know ... I was hoping I could come by your office ... no, it's kind of important ... your house?" Tina looked back at Maureen, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, yes, I could do that ... no, I know where that street is. It's pretty close. What's the number?" Quickly Tina gestured for a pen. "Okay, got it ... about an hour? Will that work? ... Great, see you then!"

"You're something else, Tina." Maureen flopped back on the bed. "Wait, I think I saw a quiz in the magazine. Here it is: 'How to Tell if Your Roommate's a Slut.' Question one: Does she fuck college professors for grades?"

"You've got brains, I've got tits. Gotta work with what God gave you." Tina began rummaging in the kitchen drawer. "Fuck, I need a drink. Is there any tequila left?"

"On top of the fridge. Pour me one too!"

After three quick shots of Cuervo, Tina tottered uncertainly towards the door in her high heels. "Wish me luck, huh? And don't wait up."

"Yeah, call me if he's some kind of pervert. I'll come over and watch."

"He's a grad student, Maureen, not some serial killer. He'll be putty in my hands!"

"Well I hope not," said Maureen, giggling, "or it'll be a very long night!" Tina flipped her the bird before leaving.

The house was small, a cottage really, set back from the road down a long driveway. Tina parked and sat uncertainly for a moment in the darkness, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. Regardless of her bravado with Maureen, she was quite nervous. He's just a guy, she told herself. You know what he wants. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

The planter boxes around the porch filled the air with a rich, earthy tang. Tina knocked softly on the door, looking around her. Tall pines surrounding the house rustled softly in the breeze. Sure is a quiet neighborhood, she thought. Fucking suburbia.

He opened the door and raised an eyebrow as he noticed her attire. "Miss Flowers? Come in, please." He stepped back, peering at her through wire-rimmed glasses. Kind of a hippie dude, Tina remembered. He was tall and thin, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail and a short, trimmed goatee. He was wearing a concert T-shirt of a band she didn't recognize, with tattered jeans and sandals.

She stepped inside, brushing close to him and flashing a smile as she passed. The living room was lined with shelves, each one overflowing with books. Books were piled everywhere, in the corners, on the table, on the chairs. "Wow," Tina said, looking around. "You sure have a lot of books." God, what a stupid thing to say!

A southwestern throw rug crookedly covered the middle of the polished hardwood floor. The couch looked old but comfortable. A fat tabby sprawling on the armrest opened one eye and regarded her suspiciously, then yawned and settled back to sleep. A couple of wildlife prints in cheap frames adorned the walls. A bachelor pad, she thought. But no TV? Kind of weird. "I like the music," she said, fighting the urge to fidget.

"It's Chopin -- a piano concerto," he said. "You're a little early. I was grading some papers, just about to open a bottle of wine. Would you like some?" He seemed quite relaxed, not nearly as nervous as she was.

"Yeah, sure." Probably the first girl he's had over here in years. He left the room and she heard him rummaging in the kitchen. She wandered along the bookshelves, peering at the musty titles: Modern Primitives, History of Punishment, Imperial Leather. One in particular caught her eye and she reached for it.

"Don't touch that, please," he said from behind her. He crossed the room and handed her a glass. "Some of those are quite rare."

"Isn't that --" she pointed at one of the books, an ancient volume with its leather binding barely intact.

"De Sade, yes. Very rare, quite valuable. You've heard of him, I'm sure. This isn't an original, unfortunately, but it dates back to the early nineteenth century. Many originals of his work were destroyed after publication."

Tina nodded. "Yeah, I think I heard of him. He wrote that 9½ Weeks, right? That sex thing?"

He smiled. "Something like that."

Pleased with herself for bringing up the subject of sex so early, Tina strolled across the room, making sure he got a good view of her ass. She sipped at the wine -- wow, it tasted really good -- and looked at him coyly. "So, what's your first name?"

"Malcolm," he said. "Malcolm Marks."

Even had a dweeby name. "I was in your Comp 102 class. I'm Tina."

"Justine, hmm?" He chuckled. "And you recognized the de Sade. How apropos."

"Are you making fun of me?" she demanded.

"Not at all." He cleared his throat, a small smile on his face. "So, tell me, Tina, what exactly did you need to talk to me about? I must say, I don't specifically remember your composition essay, but there were over a hundred students in that class."

"Well, I kind of failed the class," she said, moving closer to him. Taking another sip of wine, she let her lips linger on the rim of the glass. "I was hoping we could ... you know ... work something out."

"Some sort of make-up essay?" He had a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jesus, this guy was dense. "Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that." She glanced around the room. "You're kind of a nerd, aren't you, Malcolm? Don't get out much?"

He laughed. "I have a circle of friends that I socialize with, yes. We get together from time to time, have parties even."

God, that must be a sight to see. Probably something involving funny dice and little miniature figurines. "Do you have any hobbies? What do you do besides," she gestured, "read?"

"Well, class takes up most of my time," he replied. "I write a lot. Some woodworking, too. I have a little shop downstairs. Would you like to see?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Tina followed him down the narrow wooden stairs to a large basement filled with the smell of sawdust and varnish. Rough scraps of wood littered the bare concrete floor, and sawhorses and power tools were scattered about.

"Wow! Now that's pretty cool!" she said, noticing the object in the center of the room. She gulped the rest of her wine and set the glass down at the bottom of the stairs.

"My latest project," he said proudly. "I just need to stain and varnish it. It's a replica of a medieval pillory, like they used to use in the Town Square."

"This is like, totally goth," she said, running her fingers over the smooth wood of the structure. Set on a raised base, it was about four feet tall and in the shape of a T, with three holes along the crossbar. The top half of the beam could be moved up along rails bolted to either side. "Can I try it out?" she asked.

He blinked several times. "Try it out? Ah ... certainly. By all means. Here, let me show you." He stepped past her and slid the top portion of the beam upwards, locking it into place with a small wooden peg.

"Why don't you take off your shoes?" he suggested. "It will be more comfortable that way."

Wobbling a bit, she bent down and unbuckled the straps on her high heels, rather grateful to be rid of them. The cool cement floor felt good on her bare feet.

"Step up here," he directed.

There were two small openings in the base of the platform. She placed each foot back through the semicircular apertures. He bent down and slid the matching pieces into place, locking each one around her slim ankle with another little peg. Her legs were slightly spread and she leaned forward, holding onto the pillory crossbeam to keep her balance. Fuck, that wine was getting to her head!

"Lean forward," he instructed, "and place your wrists there ... good. Now your head right through there in the middle, that padded leather indentation." He brushed her hair forward, around her face. She could feel cool air on the back of her neck.

Thunk! The top half of the beam came down across her neck and wrists, pinning her head and hands into position. Thrilling apprehension surged through her. He slid the fastening dowels through on either side, latching the beam securely. Tina struggled a little, bent over, hardly able to move. She couldn't even raise her head enough to see where he was.

"There now, isn't that nice?" His voice was different, a little deeper, with a hint of menace. Tina could hear him as he walked behind her. Imagining the sight of her leather-clad ass wiggling in the air, she quivered, trying to keep still.

"Malcolm? Okay, I've tried it out, now can you let me go?" She made an effort to keep the panic out of her voice. Jesus, she was completely helpless in this thing!

He came around in front of the pillory and brushed the hair back from her face. "Mr. Matthews is an appropriate form of address, I think, considering the position you find yourself in, young lady."

Whatever. "Okay, Mr. Matthews, I think you should let me go." She turned her head awkwardly, trying to make eye contact. "This is kind of uncomfortable, you know."

"But that's what it's designed for, Justine. You should read more history. The pillory was specifically fashioned to discomfit and humiliate the unfortunate subject."

"Well, it fucking works," she muttered. Twisting her arms, she tried to pull her wrists free but the openings were too small for her hands, the heavy beam holding her in place. Her heart pounded in her chest; she was angry, and scared. "Goddamn it, you'd better let me go! I'll call the cops!"

He ran his hand lightly down her back, making her flinch. "And how do you think that will go over," he asked, "considering the fact that I've got your entire little performance on tape? Even upstairs, I had a camera going. What are you going to do, tell the nice constable you're completely innocent? After he sees the way you're dressed? After he sees the tape of you coming on to me?"

Tina was silent, her mind racing furiously. Fuck, this had gotten out of hand so quickly! What had she been thinking?

"And we still haven't even addressed your real concern, why you came over here in the first place," he continued.

Tina took a deep breath. "Look, Malcolm --"

"Mr. Matthews," he corrected her.

"-- Mr. Matthews, I mean, please let me go. We can work something out." Not fucking likely, she thought. I'll run so fast that my shadow won't catch me.

"What do you think I am?" he asked, placing his large hand firmly on the tight curve of her butt. She squirmed, gritting her teeth, but the confining yoke afforded her almost no movement. "You think I don't know what you had in mind, appearing at my door dressed like some gaudy strumpet?"

She laughed nervously. "No, really, I swear, I just came over here to --"

"To attempt to seduce me, to offer me your beautiful young body in exchange for a passing grade. That's it, isn't it?" He lightly caressed the sides of her ribcage with his fingers.

"Don't do that! Please!" she gasped helplessly. She hated being tickled! Her fists clenched as she imagined how she must look, the skirt tight across her round bottom and the backs of her taut thighs exposed.

"You're not a very nice person, Justine." His voice was stern. "You're duplicitous, and manipulative, and lazy. I doubt you even bothered to show up for half of my classes. I do remember your composition -- it was terrible! You don't deserve a passing grade, young lady. What you need is some discipline, as it seems you possess very little yourself."

"Well," Tina said desperately, "maybe you just don't know me. I mean, I might not be the best student, but -- Ow!" Her body jerked forward.

He had swatted her quite firmly on the tight swell of her ass, causing a good sting. Tingling warmth radiated through her lower body. He came around to the front of the pillory, lifting her head by the hair so he could see her face. "I do have a proposition for you," he said quietly. "One that will earn you a passing grade. Of course, it will require considerable sacrifice on your part."

Tina grimaced. "I'll do whatever you want," she whispered. Goddamn it, her butt smarted!

He chuckled. "Now, that's much better. See? We're making progress already." He walked out of her field of vision and she turned her head desperately from side to side, the thick beam rubbing against her chin. It was such a vulnerable position! "I'm going to get some more wine and let you consider your predicament, lovely Justine. I'll be back in a while." She heard the stairs creak and a thump as he closed the basement door.

Just fucking perfect, she told herself. Maureen would love this. "Asshole," she muttered. "Nobody treats me like this." The false bravado almost made her laugh. The muscles in Tina's thighs and calves were already beginning to ache from her awkwardly stretched position. She tried moving her feet but her ankles were pinned in place. There was no leverage to lift the weight of the beam from her neck and wrists -- besides, he had locked it down. After writhing wildly for a few minutes she stopped, panting and frustrated. With every motion, she could feel her short skirt inching embarrassingly upward. Cool air tickled between her thighs and the still-warm imprint of his hand throbbed on her behind.

Earn a passing grade ... what had he meant by that? Perhaps there was some way to make her scheme work yet, if only she could get free! She considered screaming, but realized how ineffective that would be, remembering the darkened street in the quiet neighborhood. Even screeching at the top of her lungs, she wouldn't be heard from the basement unless someone was right next to the house.

Petulantly she blew a strand of hair from her face. Tina hated being left like this -- she was used to being the center of attention, not forced to wait like some little dog. Angrily she squirmed again, fists clenched, her skirt creeping even higher. A shaming tingle of arousal danced through her lower belly and between her legs, making her regret her decision to forgo the panties. Her complete helplessness and vulnerability were getting her excited. There's nothing you can do, Tina told herself. Just calm down.

After what seemed like hours she heard the door open and the thump-thump-thump of him descending the stairs. "Are you going to let me go?" she called out, a slight quaver in her voice. Her back and legs ached and her neck was rubbed painfully raw from all her twisting around.

There was a scraping noise as he pulled a chair up in front of her, sitting down so they were at eye level. "I've had a look at your transcripts," he said. "You're in a lot of trouble -- aren't you, Justine?"

"Just get me out of this thing, goddamnit," she snapped.

He crossed his arms, looking at her. "If you fail my class, you won't be able to continue next quarter. In fact, if you don't get at least a B, by my calculations your grade average will put you on probation. For the third time. That means an appeal, suspension for a quarter, possible expulsion."

He leaned close, taking her chin in his hand. "But I'm going to give you a chance. You can walk out of here tonight with an A in English Composition. It all depends on you."

"What do I have to do?" she whispered.

"I know you lack discipline," he said. "I'm offering to provide it. It depends on what ... corrective measures you're willing to accept as to what grade you'll get."

"Will you let me go?" she asked plaintively.

"Yes, of course I will. But the moment I do, you'll have to leave -- with the grade you've got at that moment. I've already noticed a change in your attitude, so as of now you have a D. Would you like me to let you go?"

The shame and frustration building inside her welled up and she began to cry, tears spilling down her face. "Please, Malcolm -- I mean, Mr. Matthews, I really need this class. I can't go back to Alabama. I'll do whatever you want."

"Good girl." He wiped her cheek. "Making progress, like I said." He stood up and opened a cabinet on the wall. When he turned around, he was holding a small wooden paddle, about twelve inches long.