The Fall of the Dragon Lady

THE FALL OF THE DRAGON LADY

Marcy needs a C from Dr. Kittredge. She will do anything.

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Marcy chewed her nails, waiting anxiously in the hall outside her professor's office. Her calculus grade was a low 'D' and she needed at least a 'C' from Dr. Kittredge to push her GPA up enough to hold on to her scholarship.

She'd already decided she would do anything to avoid the stony, silent glare from her father. He was impossible to please. Nothing she ever did was good enough for him. When she'd told him she'd gotten a full scholarship, her father had actually said he was proud of her. Marcy couldn't remember feeling so happy. She couldn't flunk out and disappoint him. She just couldn't.

If she didn't convince her math professor to give her some extra work to pull up her grade she was screwed. Yesterday afternoon, for the first time in her fifteen years of schooling, Marcy was so desperate that she'd subtly offered to give her history professor some 'extra work' of an oral nature in return for a better grade. He'd laughed at her. Actually laughed! She'd been so embarrassed, she ran from his office crying.

Now here she was, sweating in the hall while she awaited her final shot at pulling her brief collegiate career out of the toilet. Marcy held little hope that sexual favors would do her any good with Dr. Kittredge, even if she had a clue how to please the cold, hard-assed Dragon Lady. That's what the students called her. Dr. Kittredge's tests were fiendish and she was merciless with her grading. She had a reputation for slicing students to ribbons with a freezing stare and a few razor-sharp words.

Marcy idly wondered when the heartless Dragon Lady had last gotten laid. She laughed to herself. That might explain a lot of things.

She jumped when the office door opened. A lanky boy trudged out, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down. When he saw Marcy, he said quietly, "Good luck. You're gonna' need it."

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and went in.

After closing the door softly behind herself, Marcy waited, standing by the huge, immaculately clean hardwood desk. Dr. Kittredge didn't even look up. She was busy making marks in her infamous black grade book. Marcy could only imagine that her professor was the iceberg to that poor boy's Titanic.

Finally, Dr. Kittredge noticed her. Marcy was surprised to see something that almost appeared to be a smile briefly adorn her professor's angular, refined face. She realized she'd never actually seen the woman happy.

"Well, Miss Lewis. I was wondering when I would find you groveling at my door."

"Dr. Kittredge, um, I...uhh..." Marcy stammered like a complete idiot. She hadn't really thought about what she might offer to do. Write a paper? Clean her house?

"You showed such promise, Miss Lewis," Dr. Kittredge said. "I haven't enjoyed watching you slip to the seventy-eighth percentile."

Marcy was stunned. She had assumed her class ranking was much lower than that. The others must be doing worse than she thought. She was also intrigued that Dr. Kittredge knew exactly where she stood without looking at her damned black book.

"I've tried really hard, Dr. Kittredge. I studied every night and...and I did all the homework you assigned. I have to get a higher grade or I'll lose my scholarship." Tears were already trickling down Marcy's cheeks. "Please, give me a chance. I'll do anything you tell me. Please, ma'am?"

"Just like you would do anything for Dr. Harmon yesterday?" the bitch smirked.

"Ohgod!" Marcy gaped. He must have told everybody!

Dr. Kittredge said, "Surely you must know that the university has strict rules about professors cavorting with students. We could lose tenure."

"I...I've never done that before. I swear I haven't! It's just--"

"Why are you still standing, Miss Lewis?"

"Huh?" Marcy said, making her feel even smaller and more stupid.

"When you came into my office, you didn't take a seat." Dr. Kittredge glanced toward the two chairs in front of her desk. "Most students would have flopped their lazy behinds in the nearest chair."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Marcy said, edging toward one of the chairs.

"Stand up straight!" Dr. Kittredge snapped, and Marcy jerked to attention. In a softer voice, her professor said, "Answer my question. Why didn't you sit down?"

A confused Marcy said, "My father always told me that I wasn't allowed to sit until I was given permission."

"You're an obedient young woman, aren't you?"

"I was taught to respect my superiors."

There was that hint of a grin again. Marcy was befuddled. This meeting was going all wrong. Why was her professor asking all these inane questions? What was it going to take to get her grade up?

"Dr. Kittredge, I'll be glad to--"

"After your slutty offer to Dr. Harmon, I presume you're quite the whore, too." When Marcy gasped, her teacher said, "Don't act so innocent, child. I'll bet you're spreading those long, smooth legs every night for your boyfriend."

"I...I don't have a boyfriend," Marcy replied. Indignantly, she added, "And I'm not a whore!"

"Didn't you just tell me you would do anything for a higher grade?"

Marcy stared at the older woman, dazed at the sudden shift in the direction of this conversation. "Wh-what are you saying?"

Steepling her fingers in front of her mouth, Dr. Kittredge narrowed her eyes. "What grade do you expect?"

Doing a few quick calculations in her head, Marcy said, "An eighty." Suddenly recognizing the unique leverage of her position, she corrected herself. "No. Eighty-five." A few extra points might help keep her out of trouble next semester.

Dr. Kittredge snickered. "Aren't we the mercenary little cunt?"

Marcy pinched a smile. She wasn't sure why those uncomplimentary words sounded like a compliment.

She looked across the desk at the older woman. Well, not really so old. Probably in her thirties. The Dragon Lady didn't seem so formidable when she smiled like that. She was actually quite attractive. The high cheekbones gave her an elegant appearance. Her full breasts--larger than Marcy's--and narrow waist were surprisingly feminine. Marcy was sure that underneath that stony-face her professor might actually be a beautiful woman if she would only relax once in a while and let down the honey blonde hair that she kept pulled tight to her scalp.

Marcy decided, yes, if it would buy her an eighty-five, she would consent to a test of her tongue's ability to please her professor. She had sampled her own flavor a few times after she'd diddled herself. It wasn't bad. Would Dr. Kittredge taste the same? It didn't matter. If she got nothing else out of it, she would enjoy watching the bitch's tightly wound propriety come unglued.

"What would you like me to do for you?" she asked in a soft, sultry voice.

"Oh, you stupid child," her professor laughed. "I thought we were clear. You and I can't even shake hands."

"But...but, I thought..."

"Stop thinking, you ignorant whore!" Dr. Kittredge growled, leaning forward on her elbows. "You will do as you are told. Is that too much to ask of your puny, hormone-addled brain?"

"N-no, ma'am. I mean yes, ma'am," Marcy stuttered. What was going on?

The older woman rocked back in her leather chair, examining her own well-manicured nails. In a quiet, yet firm voice, she said, "Your grade, Miss Lewis, will be commensurate with your ability and willingness to follow instructions to the letter. Here is what you're going to do..."

Three and a half hours later, after riding up the 52-story glass elevator, Marcy was again chewing her nails. This time she was sitting alone at a table in 'Mainstreet52', the newest and most prestigious restaurant in town.

She had bathed herself just as Dr. Kittredge had instructed, exactly twelve minutes in the hottest water she could stand. She'd made herself come in the steamy tub, with a finger in her butthole as she'd been directed. The orgasm had been surprisingly strong. Then she shaved her legs and underarms smooth, but not her mound. Her professor had seemed particularly pleased to learn of her natural bush.

After her bath, she had put on her spaghetti-strap LBD--the 'little black dress' that every girl owns--with no bra, and only a pair of panties. The black ones with lace edging. The doctor had selected those from Marcy's descriptions of her favorites.

Then came the black heels with no stockings or hose. The only jewelry allowed was a few bangles on her left wrist. Her makeup was modest, except the 'fuck-me' red lipstick--Dr. Kittredge had shocked her when she used those exact words. She wore no scents, not even deodorant.

When she told the maître d' she was meeting 'Mr. Morrison', his brow came up and he got a knowing smirk. He had seated her alone at a table for two by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The mysterious Mr. Morrison would recognize her, she was told.

Now she was staring out those windows on the town below. Her fists were clenched. She wanted to leave, to shove her chair back and run as fast as she could from this place. She couldn't imagine what was going through her head when she'd agreed to her bitchy professor's demands.

It was the final preparations that had made a chill run up her spine. Both of her lower orifices were fastidiously clean. She knew what that meant. Still, she had done as she was told.

It wasn't like she was a virgin, at least not up front. She wasn't a whore like Dr. Kittredge said, either. Marcy simply wasn't all that excited about sex. The four guys she'd been with were okay. A couple of times she had come close to an orgasm. She didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

The thought of allowing some stranger she'd never met to be the first to screw her in the butt terrified her. She'd heard the tales from some of her girlfriends. They described their 'back-door love' experiences as humiliating and painful.

This was not at all how she'd imagined debasing herself for a grade. She figured they'd make the deal then she would drop to her knees on the office floor, close her eyes, and do the dirty just like with her boyfriends. As usual, she would swallow, no mess, no fuss. It didn't taste nearly as bad as her girlfriends said.

Instead, she was dressed for a date at this four star restaurant, surrounded by all these high class people in their silk suits and formal gowns. Just the necklace she spied on one woman would pay for her entire education. Marcy wasn't looking for romance. She just wanted to get it over with.

Who was this 'Mr. Morrison' she was supposed to meet? Some fat, greasy old fart who preyed on young girls? What was this guy's relationship with Dr. Kittredge? The bitch had said she was supposed to simply 'follow his instructions, to the most minute detail'. What if she didn't do as he said? Would he hurt her? Was the Dragon Lady in cahoots with some psychopath?

The excitement of whoring herself out for a grade had lost its sheen.

"Miss Lewis?"

Marcy jumped straight up out of her chair, nearly knocking it over as she stood. The rich and fashionable people seated around her stared, annoyed at her. She felt heat rising in her cheeks.

Turning her head up, her breath caught in her throat. She was entranced by a pair of iridescent blue eyes.

"You are like a long, cool drink of water," the man said, calmly raising his hand to the side of her head to stroke his fingers through her blonde hair. "How tall are you?"

The question broke Marcy's trance. "Uh, five-seven. And a half." Why did she say that? God, she felt stupid.

She noticed that, in her heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. Finally taking a moment to look at the mystery man, she decided he wasn't old at all. Maybe in his thirties? He had a nondescript face--sort of roundish, but not chubby. It was a friendly face, clean-shaven, with full lips that prompted a strange urge to to kiss them. If she had seen this man on the street, she wouldn't have paid much attention to him. Sort of like her father, but not nearly that old. He looked absolutely normal.

Except for those eyes. They were deep and glimmering, like the way she remembered the Pacific Ocean when her family had flown to Hawaii years ago. Marcy decided she could stare into those eyes all night long.

"Are you Mr. Morrison?" she asked.

"My name is not important. I am the man you will obey. You may call me 'sir'."

"Yes, sir," she said without thinking.

The man moved her chair around the table ninety degrees, facing the window.

"Sit down, Marcy." The command was simple, direct. His voice was gentle.

She did as he said. He pushed her chair in as a gentleman should, then called the waiter over as he took the seat next to her. He ordered an appetizer and wine with a single glass. Though her father had schooled her at home on different wines, Marcy didn't complain since she wasn't quite legal for alcohol.

When the waiter left, he said, "My wife told me you were a smart and mature young woman."

Marcy noticed the absence of a ring. "Your wife?" she said.

"Yes. My wife Lisa." He said, "You know her as Dr. Kittredge."

Marcy's mouth fell open. "She's your...wife?"

He nodded. "She told me you were adorable. I think she understated just what an incredibly gorgeous young woman you are."

Marcy blushed bashfully. Her mind was racing. The mysterious Mr. Morrison was her math professor's husband! This rendezvous had been set up for them to--to do what?

Did he really say Dr. Kittredge thought she was adorable?

"What are your plans for me?" she asked.

"I have no plans. I will expect you to do exactly as I say. No more, no less," he said. "We will proceed step-by-step, depending on your compliance."

"And if I comply fully?"

"Then I will use your lovely body in whatever way suits my fancy," he replied calmly.

The thought of Dr. Kittredge's husband using her body had an unexpected effect. A sudden trickle between Marcy's pussy lips made them tingle. Her nipples grew stiff and sensitive.

The wine arrived. Mr. Morrison tasted it, then the wine steward--a slender young woman with a bob of red hair--poured the glass and departed.

Leaning forward, Dr. Kittredge's husband lifted the wine to Marcy's lips, tilting it back to give her a sip. It was an excellent Pinot, low in tannins.

"I will allow you one more question," he said.

She thought for a moment. "I assume that 'using' my body means what I think it means." Technically that wasn't a question. She hoped he saw it that way.

"You are a clever young woman," he said. His enticing mouth twisted into a smirk. "You would be better served to open yourself to the possibilities and make no assumptions about what this night may hold."

"Why would Dr. Kitt...er, Lisa"--saying the Dragon Lady's first name gave Marcy a tiny, secret thrill--"why would she want her husband to...to 'use' me?"

The man took a long, slow sip of wine. The way those intense, narrowed blue eyes gazed at her caused a chill to race across Marcy's skin.

"My wife has a...unusual appetite," he said, a sly smile on his lips. "For now, it's enough for you to know that the cold-hearted bitch you see in the classroom is probably more excited by our rendezvous than either of us."

Marcy laughed at his characterization of his wife. She was curious about the nature of her professor's 'unusual appetite'.

He added, "I confess, after our few moments together, my excitement is off the charts."

Marcy grinned, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. She could feel her labia becoming inflamed. This night did indeed have promise.

She said, "You seem so calm. Not excited at all, Mr. Kittredge."

His eyes turned suddenly stormy and dark.

"My name is not Kittredge. You will refer to me at all times as 'sir'. Is that understood, Miss Lewis?"

"Yes, sir," she said meekly. His anger reminded her so much of the way her father looked when she'd done something to irritate him.

"That's better," he said, returning just as quickly to his pleasant demeanor. "No more questions. Tell me about yourself."

Marcy rambled on for several minutes about growing up as an only child in a small town where everyone knew everybody's business. He listened with apparent interest as she told him about her family and her swimming and volleyball scholarships. She sprinkled 'sir' liberally in her story. Each one prompted a pleased expression, which in turn left a warm feeling deep in her belly.

The appetizers arrived, long phyllo wraps filled with brie and prosciutto. When Marcy reached for one, her dinner companion quickly chastened her in a quiet but firm voice, "Hands in your lap, Marcy."

"Yes, sir," she said. She wove her fingers together under the table.

He smiled. Marcy was aware of how it was almost like the way her father had always insisted that she wait until he gave permission to start filling her plate.

Marcy watched longingly as picked up a brie roll and swirled it in the pepper jelly. He bit into it, closing his eyes with a beatific expression while he chewed it slowly. He dipped it back in the jelly.

"May I have a bite, sir?"

"I thought we were clear. No more questions," he said in a stern voice. "I will give you what I want you to have."

"Yes, sir," she said. Her mouth was watering.

Then her face lit up as he pushed the half-eaten wrap toward her.

As the brie-filled pastry came closer, she felt his other hand on her knee under the table, sliding up her leg. Reflexively, she clamped her thighs shut, capturing his hand.

He held the long roll a few inches from her waiting mouth.

"Open up," he said, tapping his finger against the skin of her thigh to indicate exactly what he expected her to open.

Marcy moved her knees apart, releasing his hand. Leaving the appetizer dangling in mid-air, his fingers crept further up her leg.

"Wider," he said with an ominous look in his eyes.

Hidden by the long tablecloth, she spread her legs fully.

"Good girl," he said quietly. He had a pleased smile.

He moved the phyllo wrap to her mouth at the same rate that his fingers crept up her sensitive thighs. She shivered as he approached her pussy, then gasped when her aroused labia felt his touch at the same instant that the roll met her lips.

While his fingers explored the crease through her panties, she took a bite. Warm, creamy brie and spicy jelly fought for dominance of her taste buds. The meaty prosciutto added a mild saltiness to the slightly bitter flavor of the brie. It reminded her of another flavor. She smiled inside.

The way his fingers stroked her pussy, teasing yet stimulating, was already beginning to wind up that tight little ball in her belly. None of her boyfriends had ever touched her quite so knowingly.

After raising the wine so she could wash down the scrumptious bite, he swirled another wrap and placed it at her mouth. When she bit into it, he pulled it away too quickly, letting a bead of the melted brie fall onto the inside of her small breast. It rolled into the faint shadow between them.

Before she could respond, he stuck his finger down into the front of her dress. She gasped as his fingertip wiped slowly up along the gentle curve to caress her pale flesh as he caught the drip. Gazing at her with his enchanting blue eyes, he licked it from his finger.

"Your breasts are exquisite," he said, looking at them unashamedly.

Marcy peered down, embarrassed at her modest mounds.

"They're so small. I wish--"

Grasping her chin firmly, he lifted her eyes and chastised her. "You are not allowed to choose what I like or don't like."

"Y-yes, sir," she said. When he released her chin, she asked, "Do you really think they're okay? I mean, Dr. Kittredge has such--"

"Marcy..." he growled a warning. "I will never lie to you. I expect the same honesty from you."