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Message-ID: <30179asstr$989352604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Alexis Siefert <ealexissiefert@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} DeGrading Policies 2 (Weakest Link Round 2) (M+F, nc, blackmail)
Date: Tue,  8 May 2001 16:10:04 -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 four different
authors as the second 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 3.

So as to allow the reader to form his or her own
opinion while reading, I have placed the round 2
results at the end of the story.  Round 3 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, "Round 2 Complete.txt" begin>

How do you mean?" she asked, sulkily.

Well, really! The game was now becoming tedious.

"Miss Perkins, you seem to be resisting the concept that you and
I are engaged in an exercise designed to correct your propensity
for plagiarism. Far from exhibiting an appropriate gratitude for
my leniency, you now conspire at my collusion. I lose patience,
Miss Perkins, I lose patience. If you truly seek to tap into my
originality I warn you that my thoughts would turn immediately to
my colleague, Dr. Helen Christodoulides, who teaches Modern
Greek. Do you know her?"

The pouting Miss Perkins indicated by a sullen shake of the head
that she did not.

"No? Dr. Christodoulides hails from the Greek island of Samos,
which is not far from Lesbos but is more influenced, I would say,
by the culture and attitudes of the Turks. She is always most
interested in widening her large acquaintance of young women."

That was no lie. The university court only recently had her up on
charges of sexual harassment. She evaded justice only because the
departmental secretary was too scared of her to tell the truth
when called upon to testify at the commission of enquiry. Helen
is a terrifyingly strong woman who is very, very mean when
crossed, particularly when crossed in love. Her self-confidence
is boundless. When told that charges against her of sexual
harassment had been laid by a student she simply responded,
"That's not all that's been laid by a student" and carried
straight on to her seminar on "Sapphic Influences in the
Contemporary Greek Novel".

But Miss Perkins did not know Helen. If she had, I'm sure she
would have chosen her next piece of insolence with greater care.
As it was, defiantly tip-tilting her pretty little chin, she
said, "Maybe I'll give her a call."

"Well done, Miss Perkins. Said with spirit. And now, I really
must ask you to leave. Time is a-wasting. I look forward to
seeing your submission tomorrow."

She nearly-flounced out and nearly-slammed the door. I liked that
-- it showed that I was dealing with a young girl of spirit who
was completely in my power.

* * *

The next morning, Miss Perkins slouched in, only mildly late for
our appointment, and defiantly thrust some pages of printout at
me.

"Thank you, Miss Perkins. Do sit down."

She sat slouched in my visitors' chair like the sulky teenager
she almost still was. She even stereotypically chewed gum in the
hopes of irritating me. Ah, the young! Will they never learn that
the old have been young too?

I riposted by smoking without asking her permission while I read
my leisurely way through her submission. That's almost certain to
offend, nowadays. When I was done, I said, "Well, really, Miss
Perkins, what a disappointing use you made of last night. And, as
for doing it in the Classical style, do you really think they had
hand-cuffs in Ancient Rome?"

~~~~~~

I wanted to scream my hatred and frustration at this... this...
Man! How dare he take that tone with me! I could report him
and... No. He had that tape.

I snarled to myself and decided I'd find some way to get my
revenge. I was the undisputed _best_ of all my friends when it
came to getting a man to think with his prick. Wiggle my ass,
show some tit--and I had more pricks than I could use in amonth.

It had made sense when I'd complained to my friends and they'd
suggested my usual routine: "Flash your tits. Lift your skirt.
Have some fun with him. He's easy and you won't be disappointed."


So how come it had all blown up in my face when I got this relic
to see me alone? He'd gone along with my ploys, seen me
naked--and then ignored his prick and tossed me out as if I'd
done nothing.

While I was trying to figure out what I'd done wrong, he'd been
openly sneering at my confusion. I decided to try 'sweet reason'.
"Slave shackles are NOT available unless one steals them from a
museum exhibit." I leaned forward and gave him a good, lingering
look at what he'd turned down yesterday. I searched for the page
I wanted, pointed at the footnote, and drawled my next words
insultingly. "As you can see, I clearly stated that I was forced
to improvise a solution."

He leaned back insolently. "So? With the diagrams I gave you, a
young woman of your talents should have had no problem getting
one of her amours, say the young man in the third row seat, to
build a set of slave shackles."

I couldn't stop the blush in time. He knew!

I forced myself to sit there and calmly smile at him. "As easily
as you could get any of the other women to stay after class?"

Instead of being offended, as I'd hoped, he roared with laughter.
"So that's it! Someone has told tales!"

I flinched as he raised a finger and slowly moved it towards one
of my nipples. He paused, just as he had done yesterday. "As
easily as I could have made you orgasm yesterday, with nothing
more than this finger, and without touching you."

I shivered as I remembered how his almost caress had made me want
him. I couldn't help my small, helpless moan as I looked down at
his motionless finger as it patiently waited for me to tell it to
have its way with me.

"Why didn't you?" I was weak with sudden desire for him.

"You don't deserve it." He grinned and emphasized his point by
slowly withdrawing his finger. "You aren't woman enough. Whoever
it was that told tales, she knows how to be a woman--and she
knows you don't."

"Miss Perkins." His voice was brisk and indifferent to the fact I
was panting as I tried to recover from the sudden surge of sexual
energy that thad filled me. "You tried. I see some signs of
originality. You've managed--barely--to improve your grade
slightly."

He leaned back and smiled insultingly. "If you wish to improve
your grade further, you'll be here at this time tomorrow."

~~~~~~~


"What's he doing here, Suzanne?" 

"Quit whining, Roger." Neither of these geeks ever get any, so I
figured they'd be thankful. I should of known better. "You and
Billy will both get laid if you do what I say."

Eventually I got them into the bondage uniforms. I doubt many
sadists were wearing cotton this year, but it's the only black
material I had. They didn't look much better than usual, but
maybe the camera would do something for them. Making a cat of
nine tails out of cotton was a stroke of genius. At least my ass
was going to be spared a beating.

"Come on, Billy, pretend to whip me."

"No, I want a blow job first."

"Billy's right. How do we know you won't take advantage of us?
Everyone else does."

I was tied to the legs of a small table, just long enough to
support my torso. I must have looked liked a fool with my tits
hanging off the front and ass sticking up in the back. I wanted
to get this over with and these creeps wouldn't stop arguing
while the video camera continued to roll.

There was nothing else to do. I started sucking Billy's cock and
hoped to get him off fast. Just when I was getting into it, I
felt something pressing on my pussy and realized that I was going
to get it front and back. I noticed that Roger was hung, but I
sure wasn't ready for him to jam that big thing in my cunt.
Pretty soon the boys got into a rhythm and were pounding away at
my body. I was right about them being horny and it didn't take
them more than three minutes to come. I wonder what Cosmo would
say about simultaneous orgasms in a rape.

I hoped it would be just another few minutes and then it would be
over. I hoped wrong.

When they realized that I was helpless, they decided to work out
all their fantasies. Maybe they didn't get much, but that only
meant they were saving it up for me. I was fucked, gave head,
took it up the ass, got cum shot in my face and anything else
those two perverts could think up. Did I say I was smart making
the cat out of cotton strips? Well, I attached them to a broom
handle and when Billy got tired waving the cotton strips in the
air, he gave me fifteen with the broom. I won't be sitting down
for a week.

None of it was as bad as what came next. 

Roger had an instant camera and the lads took pictures of each
other fucking and reaming me. Now it wasn't just the professor
with blackmail stuff. The two biggest geeks in school had hot
pictures to show their friends. I begged the guys not to let
anyone see the pics and they said they wouldn't as long as I
autographed them. I didn't have much choice.

- To Roger the most studly guy I know.

- Billy, your cock makes me cream my pants.

~~~~~~

The giant screen went blank and I held up my hand to quell the
applause, which had gone on long enough for me to bask
adequately. "Thank you, thank you," I said. "As you will have
observed, Target #008 is coming along beautifully."

Scattered laughter. 

"She thinks she has completed her obligations by surrendering to
me the tape you have just enjoyed viewing," I continued. "We know
she has not. Lady and gentlemen, I think we can confidently
expect, just as we planned, that #008, the erstwhile Perfect
Perkins, will appear here - live on stage - this coming Saturday
night."

The members of the University Rowing Club stood in ovation. My
third term as president was looking assured, and I only had to
look at the sullen face of my formidable challenger, Dr. Helen
Christodoulides, for confirmation.       

Nobody rowed at the rowing club. For a start, the nearest water
was 300 miles away. But the National Sports Institute funding was
handy, to say the least. It had got us this discreet clubhouse
adjacent to the university's forestry research plantation, and we
lacked for not much at all. The bar was doing a great trade
tonight.

I held up my hand again for silence. "And now," I announced with
a flourish, "allow me to present our two newest inductees, Roger
Van Den Berg III and William Iliescu."

I stood back as the two young stars of the Perkins video stumbled
sheepishly to the stage to resounding applause. No more than
gawky geeks, both of them, and nerdishly unworthy of tasting the
succulent Perkins snatch. But Van Den Berg was a strategic catch,
because his father was a noted Supreme Court judge.

"With the help of the autographed photographs kindly supplied by
Roger and Billy," I said, "we are virtually guaranteed that
Suzanne Perkins will be entertaining us on Saturday night."

The plan was to print a dummy front page of the university
newspaper featuring the two incriminating photos. Fortunately the
editor was a founding member of the club. Then I would threaten
the disdainful but delicious Miss Perkins with exposure unless
she co-operated. She couldn't refuse. It was in the bag.

She had not disguised her contempt this morning when she dropped
the video on my desk. To her, I was just another dirty old man
without the raincoat. Well, she would learn.

On stage, her humiliation would be complete. My fingers curled in
anticipation. Oh, how I would whip her into a frenzy and grind
her into sobbing submission. These pretty-too-pretty girls,
flouncing around in their tiny skirts, their long legs, their
fuck-you attitudes - they needed to be taught a lesson.

I smiled winningly at Dr. Helen Christodoulides. Yes, even you
would get your turn, you sadistic dyke. Little Miss Perfect
Perkins was going to get it bigtime, come Saturday night.


~~~~~~

Dear Readers:

The votes are in.  The writers have selected Part 1 at the
weakest and Part 3 as the strongest.  

Well done, authors.   Here's to Round 3!

Alexis.

 

  


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