Samantha's Final Submission

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of my story "Samantha Comes to Office Hours," but can be enjoyed on its own as well.

*

For a long time after the incident in the office, I didn't hear anything from Samantha. I was quite relieved on the one hand; I didn't have to worry about my boss, Sophie Bettencourt, nosing about and catching us. But on the other hand I had never been as turned on before as when I was with her. I still wasn't sure how much Sophie knew about our relationship.

Luckily I had work to distract me. Piles of papers to grade and articles to write. My tenure book manuscript came back from the publisher with a provisional acceptance. It looked like I would be able to keep my job after all.

The winter holidays came and went, and spring semester was about to begin. One morning while I was checking my e-mail right before heading into the office to prepare for the semester I got an e-mail from Samantha H. The subject line said "miss me?"

There was a short note: "Dear Prof. Carver," it read, "I hope you'll forgive me for being such a tease and not contacting you for so long. Just kidding, I hope you won't forgive me -- not until you've punished me, that is! I've been a very naughty girl in the past few months. I'm going to tell you all about it. I have pictures too. But first I'm going to make you suffer a little bit, so that you'll be that much more excited to see me when I finally come to visit you!"

There was no signature, but there was a picture attachment, a self-portrait of Samantha in the mirror, dressed in a schoolgirl uniform and pigtails and smiling coquettishly at the camera with two fingers in her mouth.

I responded with my personal e-mail account. I didn't want any of this getting back to the university.

"You naughty girl," I wrote, "I'm going to take you over my lap and give you the spanking of a lifetime."

I sent the e-mail and went back to work.

A few days later, I got a response. It was a picture of a young woman in conservative white cotton panties bent over a chair. A yellow plaid skirt was bunched up around the small of her back and the tops of white stockings were barely visible. The distinctive tattoo on her back let me know it was Samantha. There was a single line of text: "Is this what you'd like to spank, Prof. ;-)?"

"Yes you little slut. Why don't you tell me what naughty things you've been up to?"

I pressed send.

The next day at work, Sophie knocked on my office door.

"Alec," she said, "do you remember that student who was sending you suggestive e-mails?"

"Um," I said, trying to be nonchalant, "Samantha, wasn't it?"

"That's the one," she said, "I saw her the other night -- coming out of the department hallway. There wouldn't be anything going on between you two would there?"

"No," I said as casually as possible, "I haven't seen her since you moved her out of my class. And besides, I worked at home last night."

"I see," said Sophie, eyeing me suspiciously, "just don't let me hear any more rumors about the two of you -- it doesn't reflect well on you as a colleague. We don't need any liabilities around here. We have enough to worry about with the budget cuts!"

"I can't do anything about rumors," I snapped.

"Every rumor has a grain of truth to it, doesn't it?"

"That doesn't make it true," I said, turning back to my computer and typing angrily.

"Relax, Alec," she said, "I'm not accusing you of anything. Yet."

She closed the door behind her and walked down the hall. Just then a message appeared in my inbox. From Samantha. It was another self-shot portrait. This time she was bent over an office desk, wholly without panties, her beautiful young ass turned up and her pussy peaking out from between her legs. She looked back over her shoulder at the camera with a surprised look on her face, as if she'd just been spanked.

Then I saw the text of the e-mail.

"Look in your left-hand desk drawer," it read.

I opened the drawer and reached inside. To my surprise, a pair of women's panties lay next to my stapler. I fished them out and dropped them on the desk in front of me. They were damp. The smell of sex tickled my nostrils as I stared at them in shock. I knew the aroma all too well -- from my office as well as from the stairway where I had spanked her with my belt. It was Samantha's.

I grabbed the panties and shoved them into my coat pocket, then began to compose a strongly-worded e-mail to Samantha.

"Look," I wrote, without a salutation, "that trick with the panties crossed the line. My boss was just in here, and if she had seen me with those things it would have meant, at best, that I would be branded as a pervert for the rest of my career, at worst I could have lost my job for sexual harassment. I think your games are cute and all, but you have to understand that my job is at stake. If you'd like to continue to play, I suggest we just meet somewhere and get it out of our systems so I can keep my job."

Just as I was about to press send, there was a knock at my door. It was Lisa, one of my rather needy students.

"Just a second, Lisa!" I said, clicking send. Then I rotated in my chair away from the computer screen to face her.

"What can I help you with?"

"Well," she began, taking a seat across the desk from me, "I thought you could answer a few questions for me."

"Sure," I said.

She pulled out a list of grammar questions, and we began to work through them. As I bent forward over the desk, my computer screen was visible over my shoulder. After a few minutes, I noticed Lisa's eyes wander somewhere behind me. Suddenly her face contorted and she began to stare.

"Lisa," I said, "you seem distracted. Do you want to come back some other time?"

"Yes," she said, as if in a trance, "I think maybe there's a better time for this."

Blushing deeply, she collected her papers without looking at me, shoved them into her folder and scrambled out the door. I began to piece together what had happened, and I spun in my chair to face my computer.

A large photograph of a shaved female pubis filled the screen. Written on the skin in what appeared to be black marker were the words "Property of Prof. Carver."

A lump formed in my throat as I quickly closed the mail window. I had my e-mail program set to pop-up messages automatically so I could answer the most urgent ones as soon as they came in. Samantha must have sent the e-mail while I had been talking to Lisa!

I was furious.

"Listen you little slut," I wrote, "you've gone too far this time. I'm not only going to spank you the next time I get my hands on you, I'm going to whip you so hard you won't sit right for weeks. You're a little brat who can't take no for an answer and you need to be taught some manners. Expect to be disciplined. --Professor Carver."

It was not until just after I sent the mail that I realized that I was once again playing right into Samantha's hands. She was trying to provoke me so that I would punish her, and it was working.

I sat at my desk for a minute or so, fingering the panties in the pocket of my coat. Visions of being brought up on sexual harassment charges flashed through my mind. After all, there were grounds! There had been a large picture of a pussy with my name on it on my computer screen during my office hours. How did Lisa know I didn't put it there on purpose as some kind of sick come-on? She didn't -- and she had every right to be offended. After all, she'd heard rumors about Samantha and I already.

I had to clear my head. I left my office and went into the bathroom. I was hot. Feverish. I thought about everything I'd worked for all my life disappearing because I had surrendered to temptation and crossed the line with a student. I took off my coat and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. I leaned on the sink and splashed water on my face, trying to cool the burning frustration and anger that was building inside me.

I thought about going to try to find Lisa and explain things to her. Maybe I could tell her that I was being sexually harassed myself. Then I tried to imagine the embarrassing situation that would result from trying to broach the subject of a huge shaved pussy on my computer screen with an undergrad student. There was no good way to go about it.

I resolved never to answer another of Samantha's e-mails, and to ignore any more attempts that she made to get in contact with me.

Even as I made that resolution to myself, I remembered fucking her over my desk, pulling her hair, manhandling her. I felt myself becoming aroused.

"Damn it!" I said out loud, smacking a fist on the sink.

"What's the matter? Did you think you'd lost these?" asked Prof. Jacques Fournier, suddenly standing behind me and holding out Samantha's panties, which had fallen out of my coat pocket.

"What? I --"

He clicked his tongue.

"No need to explain! I know how hard it is to resist. Just make sure you don't get caught, old boy!"

He stuffed the panties into my front shirt pocket and patted me on the back before heading into a stall.

"Rule number one," he said from behind the door, "don't shit where you sleep. No fucking current students! But if you do, don't get caught!"

I collected my coat and pushed my way out the door and back into the hallway, desperate to escape.

As I walked briskly down the hallway back to my office, I passed Sophie. She smiled at me faintly. I wondered if she could tell that the bulge in my shirt pocket was a pair of woman's panties. After all I had been through that morning I almost didn't care anymore.

For the next few days, I had no contact with Samantha. I had to admit, I was a little disappointed. After all, it was incredibly arousing never knowing what kind of dirty thing she would think of next. At the same time, it was a relief that I didn't have to constantly be on my toes around the office, terrified that she'd endanger my career with one of her provocations.

I also changed the settings on my e-mail to prevent future mishaps like the one with Lisa.

The weekend came and went without event. I worked from home on some articles and continued to revise my book manuscript. I lived in terror at the idea of an e-mail from the dean, telling me that I was being accused of sexual harassment.

On Monday morning I checked my desk drawers, just in case Samantha had paid me another visit. Nothing. Once again, I had to admit to being a little bit disappointed. Even though I didn't want Samantha to ruin my life, I was still incredibly attracted to her. I secretly hoped that we could repeat our encounter in my office, and that the next time I could follow through on my threat to fuck her in the ass.

But Samantha seemed to have dropped off the map. For the next month and a half, I heard nothing -- either from Samantha or from Lisa, who had probably decided that, while I was a creepy old guy, it wasn't worth the trouble to report me.

One morning, Sophie stepped into my office and closed the door.

"I've got some interesting news for you," she said, smiling.

"Oh?"

"Your tenure portfolio has been approved by the department. We just decided. Congratulations."

She shook my hand.

"There's only one final step: the Board of Regents. But in your case that's a formality."

"Thank you!" I said, moving my chair back and getting ready to stand.

"No, thank you. You've done quite a job here," said Sophie, turning to leave, "you deserve it!"

I couldn't believe it. When the next school year started, my career would be secure. I would be promoted to associate professor!

I decided to host a party to celebrate. I invited all the faculty of the French Department, as well as various friends from around the university. The celebration was set for the Friday after classes were over, so I knew I could count on having a large turnout. After all, students aren't the only ones looking forward to the end of the semester!

Each day, I worked on getting my house ready for the guests. Since my job left me with little free time, I had to use of the time that I had to myself for cleaning up and planing. I decided on an appetizer buffet and self-serve cocktail bar.

The night before the party I barely slept. Not only did I have a stack of papers to grade and return to my students the next day, but I had to prepare the appetizers as well. Around 11pm I checked my e-mail, partially hoping to see something form Samantha. There was nothing. However, a few minutes later, I got a message from a member of the Board of Regents. My tenure had been approved!

Even though it was a mere formality, I was still relieved. I exhaled deeply, happy that I could finally relax a bit, even though I'd still have to keep up my same level of teaching and scholarship if I wanted to make full professor. The party tomorrow night was going to be lots of fun.

The next morning, I went to the department early, whistling a tune as I walked down the hall.

"Congrats!" called Prof. Fournier.

"Thanks!" I said.

When I fired up my office computer, there were several e-mails with subject lines like "Congratulations," etc. I quickly clicked through them until I hit upon one that said "Hi Professor! I heard the good news, and can't wait to congratulate you in person ;-)."

It was from Samantha, of course. I wondered how she'd found out about my tenure so quickly -- after all, I'd only learned last night!

I fired back a quick response: "Thanks, but I still intend to deal with your inappropriate behavior in the strictest way possible young lady. I'll let you know when and where."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I left early, around 2:00PM, to buy the drinks and prepare the house for the big event.

By 4:30, just before the guests were scheduled to arrive, I had the bar set up and the appetizers in place. I decided to mix myself a drink. I settled on a dry martini. Why not? After all, it was the last day of classes and I had just gotten tenure!

Just after I finished shaking the martini, but before I could pour it into the glass, the doorbell rang. I looked at my watch. It was only 4:35. Who could have arrived so early? I left the shaker on the table and went to the front door, opening it to find Samantha in a very short cocktail dress, a big smile on her face. I took in the long-awaited sight for a moment.

"Hi professor," she said, "you don't mind if I come in do you?"

Before I could say anything, she had pushed her way inside and shut the door behind her. She got on her knees and looked up at me with her big, innocent eyes.

"Can I suck your cock, professor? Please? I promise to be a good girl!"

I was too turned on to say no, but panicked at the same time. Other guests might arrive at any minute! She reached up and unbuttoned my pants, then pulled down the zipper and grabbed my erection through my underwear.

"So big, professor!"

"You little slut," I whispered, "what am I going to do with you?"

"I think you know what to do with me," she said, "and I know what to do with this."

She pulled my boxer briefs down and took my cock into her mouth.

I grabbed the back of her head and began to fuck her face.

The guests would be there in just a few minutes. I'd have to get rid of her before then. But first I was going to enjoy myself.

"Take this cock you slut," I groaned, marveling at how such a petite woman was able to take me all the way down her throat.

"I know you loved being used like this," I said, pulling my cock out of her mouth and slapping it against her cheek.

"Oh yes, professor," she gasped.

I slapped her face with my cock again and she began to lick my balls.

I shoved my cock back into her mouth and began to face-fuck her even faster.

"I'm going to come all over that pretty little face," I told her, forcing my cock into her throat.

"Mmm hmm," she groaned enthusiastically. I could feel my orgasm building.

I pulled my cock out and stroked it with one had while I held Samantha's head firmly in place by the hair.

"Oh yes, professor."

I shot a gigantic load into her mouth and all over her face, hair and dress. She licked my cock clean and smiled up at me.

"You messed up your pants."

I looked down. My pants were covered in cum as well! I'd have to change them.

I pulled up my trousers and zipped them, then grabbed Samantha by her hair and began to lead her upstairs. My cum still marked her face.

"Mmm, professor, you taste so good! Are you taking me to your bedroom?"

"Yes," I said, opening the bedroom door, "I'm having some guests in a few minutes and don't want to be disturbed. You're going to wait up here for a while."

"Do I have to professor?" asked Samantha coquettishly, "I promise to be good."

"I'm not so convinced of that, after your recent behavior," I said, sitting on a wooden-backed chair and pulling her over my lap, "I'm going to give you a taste of what's waiting for you later."

Her cocktail dress left little to the imagination as it was, and once she was over my lap, I had a wonderful view of her bottom.

"I can tell it's been too long since you've had a proper spanking, young lady."

"Do you think so professor?"

"'I know so. What kind of girl," I began, rubbing her beautiful buttocks sensually, "would find herself ass-up over an older man's lap, with his cum dripping off her face?"

"I don't know," she purred, clearly enjoying my caresses.

"A dirty whore," I said, smacking her ass hard with my open hand.

"Ouch!" she squealed.

"No use in protesting," I said, "you've had this coming a long time."

SMACK!

I landed another spank on her tight young ass. I wanted to take the time to warm her bottom properly, but I had guests who would be arriving at any minute, and a party to host.

SMACK!

She squealed again.

"Professor," she said, "didn't I do a good job sucking your cock?"

"Yes," I said, "but that doesn't get you out of your punishment."

SMACK!

I smacked her a forth time, leaving a satisfying handprint across her backside. That was all I had time for now. The rest would have to wait. But first I reached down and felt between her legs, under her panties. It was just as I suspected: she was dripping wet.

I pushed her out of my lap, then picked her up and placed her in the chair I had just been seated in. Before she could resist, I reached behind me to my nightstand and produced a pair of padded handcuffs that I'd placed there for exactly this eventuality. I secured her hands behind her back, then reached under her dress and pulled off her panties.

"What are you doing, professor?"

"I'm going to make sure you don't disturb the party," I said, stuffing the panties in her mouth. Then I picked her up, chair and all, and placed her in the large walk-in closet.

"You'll have to stay in here for a while and think about what a bad girl you've been," I said, grabbing a clean pair of pants from the rack and then closing the folding doors.

After I changed, I turned out the lights in the bedroom went back downstairs to await the guests. I could hear Samantha moaning into her own panties, tortured by the anticipation of having to wait for the rest of her punishment.

The ice had melted in the cocktail shaker, diluting the martini. I poured it out and started over.

As I took the first sip of my hard-earned drink, I noticed a streak of cum on the wall near the door! I scrambled for a rag and cleaning supplies in the kitchen. Just as I had finished wiping up the last of the cum and looking for other stray stains, the doorbell rang and the first guests arrived.

Kathleen, a colleague from the German department, laughed when she saw the bottle of cleaner in my hand.

"Running a little late, Alec?"

I laughed, trying to be nonchalant.

"Yes," I said, "Come in."

Soon, the party was in full swing. Professors and their spouses swarmed the mini-bar, hungrily devouring snacks and drinks.