Professor Bridget Has an Affair Pt. 02

Professor Bridget Has an Affair, Part 2

Welcome to the 2^nd installment of my "Bridget" series. Please note -- this story is a fantasy. The characters are all over the age of 18, and the entire plotline is a work of fiction. I do not condone some of the behavior depicted in the story in real life.

This 2nd installment does depend on part 1, so if you have not read part 1 I kindly suggest you read it first. If you don't you will miss some things. In this installment I intensify the connection with the stories from Greek mythology known as the "12 Labors of Heracles." I have also begun to weave in another story -- "The Bacchae" by Euripides. It is my intention to work to continue to weave these stories together with the "Bacchae" emerging as the dominant story over time. It is a dark story so in future installments I expect my story will take a dark turn. That said, I hope that the "Heracles" allusions will provide some enjoyment, especially for those who are familiar with the myth. Obviously the connections with both stories are just allusions and not exact. And let me say I am open for suggestions on the remaining "Labors." Some are more easily transformed into erotic tales than others.

I always welcome feedback and constructive criticism. I make other references in this story -- including the Bible. I will add a trigger warning here: if your religious convictions are such that you are offended by associating human sexuality and sexual activity with religion or God, then this story is probably not for you. I hope you enjoy it. I hope to explore some theological and philosophical issues in addition to providing an enjoyable erotic story. Thank you for reading.

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The Labors of Heracles

"Package!" read the slip of pink paper sitting in Professor Bridget's mailbox. Tossing the note into a jar so it could be reused she stepped over to the handful of packages which lay there next to the mail organizer. On top of the pile sat a box wrapped in white wrapping paper with gold specs and tied with a gold ribbon. An envelope taped to the top of the package read in beautiful calligraphy: Professor Bridget Williams, History Department. She picked it up. It was light. "I wonder what this is?" She spoke softly to herself. Then quickly she grabbed her other mail, her umbrella and headed out of the mailroom and up the stairs towards her office.

Eschewing the elevator, Bridget climbed the stairs, dripping from the rain with her laptop bag over one shoulder and some books along with the package under her arm. Up to the landing of the 5^th floor and then through the empty hallway towards her private office she walked. Her office was located on the top floor of the oldest building on campus and she had one of the turret offices, as they were called. It was fairly far removed from the traffic on lower floors of the building and she was also separated from most of her colleagues. For all intents and purposes, she was alone in her turret -- rather like Merlin, except her ceiling didn't leak. And on a stormy fall morning that was a good thing as the rain was battering against her side of the building and pounding the window that looked out over the quad. She liked her office. It was spacious yet cozy and rather nicer than what a new Assistant Professor might usually expect to be assigned.

Fumbling with her keys she unlocked the door and dropped the package, the books and her mail on her desk. Then, after closing and locking the door, she removed her coat and walked to the far corner where there was a worktable covered with more books, papers to be graded, and a teapot. After making herself a cup of tea she wandered over to the window and looked out across the dark stormy campus. Glancing at the clock she noted that it was 6:35 AM. Her first class, a large survey class (a Gen Ed class) met at 9:00 AM over across campus in the science building since that was the only building that had classrooms large enough to accommodate a large lecture class comfortably.

She began to muse about the events surrounding the reception she had attended in the science building a couple weeks previous. It was there she had met Ken, a grad student in the science department about 10 years her junior who was also one of her husband's students. Why had she fallen for him, and so quickly? It wasn't just that he was one of the most attractive men she had ever met. There was something else about him that was compelling, fascinating, almost mesmerizing and irresistible about him. He had simply entranced her and before the evening was over she had submitted to him completely, body and soul. During the course of that evening she had allowed this young, beautiful man to strip her, to spank her, to make love with her and to send her home half-naked only to be used and dominated in turn by her always lustful husband and his undergraduate lover. And not only that, but the entire series of events had been carefully planned out in advance - planned in a way that was designed to push past any defenses she might attempt to engage and to target her needs and vulnerabilities.

What she had done was shameful and embarrassing, but that was the point. John, her husband, knew all her weaknesses. He knew that being shamed, humiliated and embarrassed created intense arousal in her. It was like flipping a switch in her mind that caused her to completely loose her ability to think clearly and resist. Instead her obsessions would take over her body and mind and, of course, her great obsession was exactly the kind of humiliation and embarrassment she had experienced that evening.

But why? Why was she at the mercy of these obsessions? She knew the answer. Her older brother Kevin had initiated her; he had taken and used her and in this way had given her a lifetime gift of her obsessions. He had even taken her on the night before her wedding. That experience had been one of the most humiliating and erotic experiences of her life. She let her left hand drop from her mug and slip to her waist, gently running her hand over her body outside of her clothes. "Would they fire me if they knew?" She wondered aloud. She didn't know the answer. The school was a fairly progressive, and a lot of the male faculty and female students were involved in all kinds of unusual relationships, most of which included sex. She sighed and looked over towards her desk. "The package!" She set her now empty mug down on the table and walked over and sat at her desk, picking up the package.

"What is this?" She said aloud. She pealed the envelope off the front of the package, opened it and extracted a hand-written letter, also in a beautiful script. She read:

I am Dionysius, the god of human fulfillment and completion. Many think of me as a pleasure god, but they are short-sighted. I am interested in deeper things. What brings fulfillment? What brings peace to the soul? How does one experience completion? Most human life consists only work and stress, loss and sorrow? It is the striving after the ephemeral; after power and wealth and fame and fortune. But this is chasing after the wind and it bears only the fruit of brokenness and emptiness. A full life requires a perfect balance of all of life's dimensions. My calling is to lead my followers towards establishing this balance. The obstacles are plenty though, the primary obstacle being fear, for fear destroys balance and leads to the path of emptiness. To submit to fear ultimately means to submit to the denial of ones complete humanity and to surrender to the forces of chaos that are always poised to overtake us. But it is possible to overcome fear and embark upon the path to wholeness, balance and fulfillment. To overcome one's fear is to master the forces of chaos and experience peace.

You have been chosen. You are no longer Bridget to me. You are a Bacchant -- a Maenad -- an Initiant. You have embarked on the 12 Labors of Heracles, but you are not only Heracles/Heraclea but you are also the object of the Labor, and you are Artemis, and you are Ino. And you are not alone. The Bacchant community is present with you and they are watching you; they are supporting you and anxious for you to join them. You will meet them as the labors progress.

You have completed and fulfilled your first Labor. You have overcome the Nemean Lion. For the first Labor -- you are Heraclea. Please open the package.

By now Bridget was trembling and she could feel excitement building inside of her, as though a Dionysian power had overtaken her. She set the letter on the desk and looked at the package. Then with hands that were visibly shaking she carefully unwrapped the package and opened the box. She pulled back the tissue and looked. "My skirt!" Two weeks ago she had been told to remove her panties in the elevator and then her skirt in the parking deck. She had dutifully complied and handed her skirt over and spent the rest of the evening bottomless. This included driving, walking into the apartment building, taking the elevator and returning home. She gently picked the skirt up, but it was no longer a skirt. The fabric of her skirt had been cut and reworked into a scarf. She pulled it out and looked it over. The dark brown fabric of her skirt had been carefully and expertly re-fashioned so that it took the shape of a stole, and at the end of both edges was a fringe. Upon a close examination of the fringe Bridget realized that the fringe was made with the now frayed fabric of her satin panties. She gently stroked the scarf/stole with her hand. Then she noticed that attached to the scarf was a small golden pin. She looked at it carefully. It was a Thyrsus -- the symbol of Dionysius -- a staff encircled with a grape vine, topped off with a pinecone. Bridget gently fondled it with her fingers. The workmanship was exquisite, beautiful and intricate.

She returned to the letter, the 2^nd page:

You will recognize the scarf. This was made for you by one of your sister Bacchants. Wear it proudly, just like Heracles wore the skin of the Nemean Lion proudly. Of course, in a way you were the Nemean Lion and you are wearing your own trophy and by doing so you are displaying your submission to the Maenads and to me, Dionysius. You must wear the pin always. It identifies you as a Bacchant and allows you to identify your brother and sister Bacchants. Wearing the pin also indicates your agreement and consent to participate fully in the community of the Bacchants.

The next two Labors, initiative rites are upon you: The Ceryneian Hind followed closely by the Cretan Bull. You will not see me for them. Look for the pin. Give yourself over to the experiences fully. D.

Bridget set the letter down. Her body was aflame. She stood, put the scarf around her neck and walked to the full-length mirror. Something about the sight of her wearing the "skin of the Nemean Lion," that is, her own skirt which have been stripped from her body in public made her legs weak and body tingle. She began to run her hands up and down the scarf, moving underneath the scarf to her breasts and lower when she suddenly had a desire to look at herself in the mirror with nothing on except the scarf. But as her trembling fingers went for the buttons on her blouse she looked at the clock and realized she would have to leave for class in 30 minutes. She groaned. It would have to wait.

Still wearing the scarf she returned to her desk and tried to regain some control of herself. She looked over her notes for class. Her lecture today would be on the Euripides play "The Bacchae!" She was stunned and looked at her notes with disbelief, wondering if she would even be able to get through her lecture without loosing control of her body and dripping her arousal down her legs onto the floor.

She sat back in her chair and mused: All of these references to Ancient Greek religion, history and literature stunned her. The letter was from the Greek god Dionysius who was, she was certain, Ken. It also said that one of the other Bacchants had made the scarf. Who could that be? Was her husband involved in all of this? He couldn't be. His grasp of ancient history and mythology was tenuous at best. And then it dawned on her, "My husband..." She spoke out loud. "My husband... is Eurystheus?" The King, the instigator of the labors and Heracles' alter ego and opponent. But was John also "Zeus?" He was sexually active enough to be Zeus, but no, someone else was Zeus, the all seeing and master of the game. This was someone she did not yet know.

But time was passing. She would need to leave soon for her class. She got up from her desk, nervously paced around her office until finally returning to the window. The intensity of the rain had lessened slightly. She mused aloud, "The Ceryneian Hind was a little magical deer which was beloved of the great Goddess Artemis. Heracles had to be gentle and very careful not to hurt the sweet animal in the process of catching it and carrying it away -- carrying it away into bliss and release I suppose is what this means." She paused, "And the Cretan Bull was a wild and ravenous beast with an insatiable hunger that needed to be tamed." Bridget paused in her musings, "That story is curious," Bridget spoke aloud, "After capturing and subduing the Bull, he let it go and it continued to rampage through the countryside. Maybe I am the Bull."

She groaned and put her head in her hands, "What have I agreed to?" She walked back to her desk. Gently she removed the pin from the scarf and attached it to the lapel of her blazer. Returning to the mirror she looked at herself wearing the pin and felt a wave of fear combined with lust course through her body. "What did the letter say about fear? I won't be ruled by fear!" She adjusted the scarf so that it draped evenly around her neck and then she grabbed her damp coat and put it on over top of her new scarf. Finally, grabbing her laptop and her briefcase she headed out. After locking her office door she walked back through the empty hallways, down the stairs and out into the rain towards the science building for her first class of the day.

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The trudge to the science building was difficult in the rain and the wind. By the time Bridget arrived she was wet and disheveled. Approaching the front door, she was greeted by Michael Wheeling, one of her sophomore students, who was waiting and holding the door open for her. She pulled herself inside and closed her umbrella, "Thanks Michael." She smiled at him and together they walked towards the lecture hall. Passing the main office on the way Bridget glanced in through the open door to see the science department secretary Anne waving at her. Bridget waved back as she and Michael politely made small talk.

Always the gentleman, he pulled open the classroom double doors for her and followed her to the front of the hall taking a seat on the end of the first row where he was shortly joined by two girls, both sophomores: Kari Hastings and Becky Sellars. Soon they were whispering to each other and giggling.

Bridget watched them as she set her things down on the table, pulled out her laptop and then walked over to a folding chair sitting in the corner over which she draped her drenched raincoat and placing her umbrella upon the seat. She hesitated for a moment as she removed her new scarf, but, she told herself, it would be in the way while she taught and make her too self-conscious as well, so she lay it gently with her coat. As she turned back around towards the podium and the long table set up in the front of the classroom she was quite aware of her golden Thyrsus pin. Professor Bridget always dressed nicely and today she was wearing her dark blue suit, with a matching blazer and knee length skirt. Under the jacket she wore a white silk blouse, but with no bra or panties, as expected. She had her hair up and her glasses on. She looked the prissy schoolmarm to be sure. But against the dark blue of her blazer she was quite aware of her pin sparkling in the spotlights of the classroom that were trained on the teacher's podium. For, underneath this conservative exterior her naked body was tingling with nervousness and excitement.

Glancing over at the three students she noticed they had stopped talking for a moment and were staring at her. She was certain they were looking at the pin. She blushed and tried to ignore them. "Do they know? None of them are wearing a pin, well that I can see?" She thought. This unnerved her slightly, but she quickly regained her composure as other students started to crowd around her in order to ask questions and turn in papers.

At precisely 9:00AM she called the class of around 120 undergraduates to attention and began her lecture for the day: "The Bacchae" by Euripides. She attempted to focus her lecture on the meaning and symbolism of the play. In what ways did this play speak to the original audience and what does it have to say to us today? Despite the size of the class they seemed unusually attentive and there was even some discussion, which in a class this large can be difficult. Near the end of the hour she tossed in a bombshell -- something she always liked to do in order to give the students something to think about between classes. "There is evidence that the initial draft, that is the first version of Gospel of John in the New Testament was based on the "Bacchae" and in this first version Jesus is Dionysius, who is also a dying and rising god." You could hear a pin drop. She was sure that for some of the students this would be shocking and upsetting, but for others it would be enlightening and even freeing.

The hour and 15 minute class had come to an end. Bridget dismissed the class and began to pack up her things as students crowded around for last minute questions. Last in line was Michael with Becky tagging along. Michael spoke softly, "We love the pin." "And the scarf too," added Becky. They smiled, turned and left the classroom.

"Ah... thanks..." Bridget blushed and looked after them as they left the classroom without looking back. Was he... were they the Ceryneian Hind? She wondered. She realized that this brief encounter had both unsettled her and made her tingle. With an exasperated sigh she grabbed the assignment papers that had been placed on the table, stuffed them into her briefcase, put on her new scarf, pulled on her still wet raincoat, grabbed her umbrella and headed out.

As she passed the main office on her way towards the building exit Anne stepped out into the hall and stopped her. "Bridget, come in for a cup of hot tea."

Bridget paused and looked at her watch, then nodded and followed the older women dutifully into the main office. Anne was the science department secretary and among her responsibilities was supervising the few work-study students who did miscellaneous odd jobs for her. Bridget greeted them all with a smile as she brushed past them towards headed to Anne's private office in the corner of the room.

Closing the door behind them, Anne pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. "Just set your things there and let me take your coat and hang it up." Anne was on top of her, had removed and hung the coat in the closet before Bridget had a chance to respond. "Is John off today, I haven't seen him." She said, with her back to Bridget.

"I don't think he has a class until this afternoon on Mondays."

"Oh, that's right." Anne had walked back to her guest and was standing very close to her so that their breasts almost touched. She reached up and lifted the scarf running her fingers over it gently. "This is quite beautiful." She let her hand slip off the scarf and then she ran a finger over the Thyrsus pin. Their eyes met. Bridget saw lust in the secretary's eyes. She glanced down and there on Anne's lapel, a pin exactly like her own. "Welcome to the community." She whispered as she kissed Bridget gently on the lips.