index


Message-ID: <30073asstr$988549802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Alexis Siefert <ealexissiefert@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} {ASSD} Grading Policies (Weakest Link Round 1) (MF nosex blackmail)
Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2001 09:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Dear Readers:

The following story was written by five different
authors as part of a "Writer's Weakest Link" contest
currently running.  The basis of the contest is that
each author in turn has to continue the portion
written by the author before.  After the conclusion
was finished, each writer voted on their choice for
the strongest portion and the weakest portion.  The
strongest writer will write first in the next round. 
The writer of the weakest section will not go on to
round 2.

So as to allow the reader to form his or her own
opinion while reading, I have placed the round 1
results at the end of the story.  Round 2 should be
ready this time next week.

I'm sure the writers would love to hear your opinions
of their work, and I'll happily pass on any responses
you choose to send our way.

Enjoy!

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Yahoo! Auctions - buy the things you want at great prices
http://auctions.yahoo.com/

<1st attachment, "wlink.txt" begin>



Teaching Classics at a university offers more scope for vicious
amusement than you might imagine and, now that the law students are
no longer required to take Latin, there are pleasingly few students
to interrupt the placidity of paid, tenured existence.  

The drop in student numbers was a cause for concern in the eyes of
the Dean, however, and last year he offered the Classics Department a
small advertising budget and encouraged us to use it "imaginatively"
to swell enrollments.  

I blew my budget entirely on glossy colour posters advertising my
"Ancient Popular Culture" course.  The poster features a photograph
of a Pompeii mural of Priapus, the Roman god of fertility, with his
impossibly massive phallus resting on one pan of a scale and
outweighing a pile of gold on the other. 

The caption is "Deepen and widen your understanding of the Ancient
World".  When he first saw it, the Dean shat himself but, for the
first time in living memory, Classics enrollments surged.  I hope to
be rewarded with a bigger budget this year.  I have my new poster all
ready. "Thrill to the depravity of Caligula!" it says, under an
intimate family portrait involving the emperor, his horse and his
mother. Both posters appear on my office wall behind my chair and
facing the door.  

One of my more adulatory students was sufficiently impressed with my
course to visit Italy in the vacation.  She discovered, in a tourist
store at Herculaneum, rolls of wallpaper that duplicate the frieze in
the mysterious "Love Room" in one of the Pompeii villas. The room is
tiny -- too small for fucking -- but the frieze is a painstaking how-
to-fuck manual with a variety of positions lovingly recorded for the
consideration of posterity.  

Trying hard for a better grade, my sycophantic student brought me
back a roll. My office now has a Pompeii frieze that goes, at waist
level, right around my office from one side of the door to the other.
Combined with the posters, it makes a good conversation piece and is
a fine distraction when students come whining for better grades as
they will tediously insist on doing.  

The material of my "Ancient Popular Culture" course steers firmly
away from anything as forbidding as the Greek and Latin grammar. My
lectures are a guided tour through the erotica of the Ancient World.
Ovid's "Ars Amatoria" (in translation), homosexuality in Ancient
Greece (illustrated by slides of Greek pots kept out of the public
view in museum storerooms), amusing "This Way to the Brothel" signs
carved into the sidewalk in Pompeii...  All these, and more, are
grist to my mill.  My students come willingly to lectures and
research their essay topics enthusiastically.  I should be in
lecturer heaven and I will be, the moment I can get shot of my pet
irritant: students who come knocking at my door to whine for better
grades.  To amuse myself, I have developed techniques for dealing
with students who persist in this folly.




All my methods are based on my area of study, and the lectures I
give, thereby inculcating, I hope, a love for the subject. On the
other hand, they provide me with no small amusement and so far, have
resulted in the whining vanishing as quickly as it appeared; overall
then, an all round benefit to myself and a salutary lesson to those
who believe that the world owes them a living.

I use different techniques on different people according to their
degree of "whine-ability", their general grades, and, of course, and
most importantly, their Pulchritude index (a little scale developed
by myself and which relies mainly on my eyesight and is, of course,
represented in Roman numerals).

Take the case of Ms. Suzanne Perkins, for instance. She came to me
one day complaining about the mark I had given her latest essay,
which had dropped her grade down a level.  I always record these
conversations for posterity (and for a chuckle when I'm feeling
particularly stressed by, for instance, the University Wine Cellar
running out of Chateau D'Yquem 1969).  It has the added bonus
that anything the student agrees can be played back to them ad
infinitum if they're thinking of complaining later.

Anyway, Ms. Perkins was adamant that her essay deserved far more
than the D that I gave her. She went on at length, describing all the
research she had done for it, and how she had worked late into the
night. By the time she had finished I felt as one of the Christians
must have felt on facing their first, and probably last, lion.
However, no student was going to beat me into submission and that
presented me with the task I was going to give her if she wanted me
to reconsider. As she rated an IX on the Pulchritude Index, I was
particularly looking forward to this.

I first placed her in a position where she could realise the
enormity of her problem. Far from working hard at this essay, I
showed her essays from two classic historical texts of the particular
period, pointing out the similarities between their descriptions and
conclusions and hers. She was somewhat taken aback when I told her
that, far from complaining about her grade, she should be grateful I
hadn't reported her as a possible case of plagiarism. Secondly, I
told her that were she to do a rewrite, that I would look at it
again, providing (and I do so enjoy these moments) she was willing to
do some research for me.

At least attempting to portray the eager student, Suzy readily
agreed, all bright-eyed and perky. Like a lamb to the slaughter I
thought. When I told her what the research was, the look on her face
was a joy to behold. The fear! The shock! The horror! Oh, I do so
*love* it when they react this way.  I quickly photocopied the erotic
artwork from the book and informed her that the bargain was not
complete unless she provided the audiotape, the videotape, the still
shots and the written account required, as proof of her acceptance.

~~~~~~

Teaching, you see, at any level, is all about using and abusing the
brief and temporary authority you have over your clutch of students
to get even with the world for conspiring to dump you in the business
of teaching. Other men, by sheer stroke of fortune, get to be tennis
pros, musicians for Madonna, or pimps and whoremasters driving
stretch Cadillacs. We educators must compensate by dressing up our
dreary profession with buzzwords. One that is current is the phrase
'lifelong learning'. Ms Suzanne Perkins, too perky by half and too
pretty to fall at most of the hurdles she would come across in the
outside world, was about to get a taste of it.

"But," she said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

"Yes?" I looked up from my desk sharply, as if surprised she was not
already gone in haste to start work on the project. "You have an
issue, Ms. Perkins?"

She was pale but blushing furiously, which is a neat and quite
becoming trick. It made the blush, which started at her cheeks and
spread down her neck and to her chest, so much the rosier.

"You can't do this," she said.

"I can, Ms. Perkins. That is, I can if you want better than a D."

"But this is impossible," she said shakily, stabbing at the
photocopies with a finger. "Apart from anything else, I didn't know
you could even do some of things that are being done here."

"Then you are beginning to understand the lifelong benefits of a
classical education," I said. "You are indeed a fortunate young
woman."

She wasn't a Pulchritude Index IX for nothing. Confronted by a hard
task, she began to bargain. Drawing on the unlimited reserves of
cunning and craft that are available to pretty females, she sauntered
to my desk, placed both hands flat on it, and bent over far enough to
let me see the tops of her bra cups.

"There must be another way," she said, looking into my eyes. "I just
know it."

Twenty is a glorious age for a woman. It is one of the three great
ages a woman can be. The first is 14, the age of slim and silk, of
long and coltish legs, of hair that hangs fine and free, of
innocence, hope, and secret lust. The third is 40, the age when a
woman puts aside the anxieties of youth and comes to terms with
herself and her sexuality, when she knows how to exercise her power
over men young and old. The other is 20, when a woman knows a lot but
not enough, wants a lot but not too much. At 20, she's the best thing
she's ever going to see in the mirror. At 20, she's fucking glorious.

I looked down at the cleavage she was offering. Then I looked up at
her face. She smiled, slyly, and the smile became a confident smirk.
I might be the man with the baton of power, but I was also merely a
man. She thought she had me. She thought she had me on buttered toast.



And what do you suggest the other way might be, Miss Perkins?" I
feigned ignorance of her intentions and tried to ignore the perky
breasts on display for my benefit.

"I want you to raise my grade three letters." How enjoyable. She
decided she had me hooked and now was setting her own little trap.
"And you, professor, want to get into my pants." 

"Miss Perkins, how presumptuous." 

"Wait, let me finish." She covered her face with a coy look of
sexuality and moved away from my desk. No doubt she wanted to remind
me of the full bloom of her youth. "Years from now, no one will know
what grade I get in your course, but you could have a memory that
would last you a lifetime." 

"What are you getting at, young lady? I wish you'd get to the point." 

"Okay. I'll give you one day of my life for each letter grade. I'll
do anything you want for three days. Wear what you want. Act any way
you want. Do everything you tell me to do." 

"Are you offering me a bribe?" 

"Yes, and well worth it, don't you think?" She slowly raised her
skirt to reveal her bare pussy. "Wouldn't you like some of this?"
What man wouldn't? I happened to be in the place where I could claim
this young body for my own and now she would see who had the best
trap of all. 

"First, you plagiarize your assignment and now offer your body in
return for a grade. I'm very disappointed in you." I opened the top
right hand drawer of my desk and removed a cassette from the recorder
hidden there. She watched me tap it on the desk a few times and her
curiosity finally got the best of her.

 "What is that cassette for, Professor?" 

"I always record these meetings, Suzanne. The plagiarized paper and
the recording of your bribe are enough to get you thrown out of
school. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go over to the Dean's
office."

"You can't give those things to the Dean. You can't. Please, I'll do
anything if you don't turn me in." The magic words. I've been down
this path so many times, it's almost routine. Well, as routine as a
young girl's body can be.

"Anything, Suzanne? All right. Come stand next to me and take off
your clothes." I enjoyed the shocked look on her face. Her bluff had
been called and now she had a choice. I knew what it would be and
quietly waited for her to make her move. There were no more words.
She slowly moved next to me and removed her blouse. The two perfect
globes that teased me before were now almost within my grasp. I
didn't have long to enjoy the sight of her tits in the flimsy
garment. She unhooked the bra and let the straps slide down her arms.
Perfection, indeed. Her skirt dropped to the floor next and then she
kicked off her shoes. She was naked. 

~~~~~~

I shook my head sadly. I keep hoping that someday I'll meet a young
person with some imagination. Casually I reached under her blouse,
retrieved the tape and held it up before putting it in a drawer.
Somewhat theatrically I locked the drawer with a combination lock.

I looked into her no longer innocent eyes and smiled knowingly.
"Did you really think I'd be that careless?"

She had the grace to blush but made no other answer. I chuckled
softly as the red bloomed over her whole body and then slowly faded.
"Suzanne? You're very beautiful like that. Did you know that the
rosy glow of a blush is almost identical to the flush caused by a
woman's orgasm?"

The blush deepened again and I smiled at her obvious arousal as she
considered the implications inherent in my simple statement.

She looked at me and something in her eyes changed. "No." It was
the barest of whispers. "Are you going to prove it to me?" Those oh-
so-perky breasts had nipples that jutted out and begged to be lightly
stroked. I reached up and stopped my finger less than inch away from
contact. I could feel her heat. She burned. The fire of youth
raged within her body as I started introducing her to the pleasures
of desires contained within rather than given free rein.

Control. I had it now and she knew I had it.

"No. You're going to prove it to yourself and then come back and
tell me about it."

Her breasts sagged with her disappointment. "But..."

"Your grade?"

She nodded but her eyes never left mine. "Will you..." She took a
deep breath and tried again. "If I do this for you, how much will my
grade improve?"

"Write it up as a homework assignment and if it's written well
enough, I guarantee it won't be a 'D'."

I moved my finger in a slow circle as I traced her areolae without
touching them. I knew I'd won when she leaned forward and let her
nipple make contact. I stopped my gentle movement and waited. She
held that pose and her breathing deepened as she waited to see how I
would react to her invitation. "Professor? Does that feel good?"

I pulled my finger away and smiled as I tapped my chin with it.
"You tell me. Tomorrow."

I carefully looked her over, from toes to head, and then met her
eyes as she blushed. I casually handed her her clothing and then
busied myself with some paperwork. "Now, if you'll excuse me, we
both have things to take care of before tomorrow's appointment to
discuss your grade. I think you have more than enough time to
complete your research and write up a brief but clear synopsis of
your results."

I looked back up and watched as she slowly redressed. Her
frustration was evident but I could also tell that I'd managed to
give her something new to think about.

"Miss Perkins?"

She stopped making sure her clothing was settled properly. "Yes,
Professor?"

"Do make sure you show some more originality next time. It's the key
to being, shall we say..." I allowed myself a small smile of
triumph. "Erotic?"


~~~~~~~

Dear Readers:

By a narrow margin, Part 1 of this story was voted the
"strongest."  Also by a narrow margin, Part 2 was voted as the
weakest.  Writer 1 will begin the next round (which will be a
continuation of this story).  Writer 2 will not continue to the
next round.

Stay tuned for more developments.

Alexis Siefert


<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+