Under The Scarlet Moon

I thought a long time before I began to speak. I stared at my toes and then KC’s face, then my toes again. I took a deep breath.

“Rossi,” getting the name out was the worst. Getting that done, maybe I could do the rest. “He was a professor in the Architecture Department and my advisor. I did drawings, lots of them off the cuff, but nothing by the book. I hated studying. But I liked original design—except that my creations were too outrageous to produce, ‘undoable, impractical, he said. Filled with flaws and ignorant mistakes,’ I deign to quote. He was a particular man, with peculiar flaws; but I didn’t see any of them, especially since I needed his approval to get my degree—and I was in total awe of his skill and abilities as an architect. He was handsome, ruthless, unconventional, twenty years my senior and completely in charge of me. He began as my senior advisor, and transferred himself to my graduate classes. He insinuated himself into my life a piece at a time…” I stopped. How much should I say? Each remembrance took me further back, each word seeming to incriminate me as though I were confessing crimes not post-adolescent sexual confusion.

“Go on,” KC prompted me.

“His first move felt like blackmail, though I knew he had been advancing on me for a good reason. I would have failed that semester at the end of my junior year, and I wouldn’t have gone back to school. I wouldn’t have had the guts or the tenacity to recover from the mincemeat I made of myself. I wasn’t on drugs, but it probably looked as though I were. I did hit the bottle occasionally, but I wasn’t getting drunk. I was lazy, and irresponsible, completely undisciplined, and scornful of anyone’s attempts to enforce rules with me.

“But then, it came down to survival. I hated my parents. I didn’t want their money, and when I finally faced facts, I realized that without a career I couldn’t afford my life, and without some structure to my life I’d never have a career. Rossi got to that point with me in one very remarkable meeting…”

“You’re failing, Miss Henry,” the professor rounded his desk and strolled about his ungracious student. “Despite your attempts this summer, you are still only slipping by in this discipline. Perhaps that alone is the problem here, you think?” He came on her eye to eye. She didn’t blink, but she was shriveling inside worried that he spoke the truth. “You don’t think of architecture as a discipline, but a hobby you ignorantly suppose is going to pay you big bucks. You’re used to a pampered life; you’re used to your fancy clothes and jet-set summers and dinners in expensive restaurants. But the only way you’ll have that life now is to mooch off your parents. I was given to understand that you didn’t want that. You sat in my office a few months ago, practically crying your eyes out, pleading with me to keep you in the department in spite of your failing test scores and your less than adequate skills in sound architectural design. You promised me results; you gave me little. You took off in the middle of an assignment, offering me slipshod blueprints as compensation for my time. You should be embarrassed working alongside the other students who have worked hard and raised their grades. What’s worse—you just don’t seem to get my message.”

“Oh, but I do now, sir; and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not enough.”

“But it’s all I can say.”

“Maybe you should try waiting tables, Miss Henry, because that’s all you’ll be good for—though I’m not even sure you’d be good at that. You have no stamina. You have no focus. You can’t seem to organize anything, and you’re unreliable. Other than a smattering of artistic talent, I can’t really think of anything to recommend that I keep you in the department.”

She sighed distressed by his remarks, “I ask for just one more reprieve, sir. Just this one thing.”

He waltzed about her trembling body inspecting every sensuous line—admiring, yes, but critical. Perhaps she was just too beautiful—gleaming auburn hair, naturally curled lashes, green eyes, and porcelain skin. He’d never seen a more flawless creature. He’d seen many lovely female students come through his department, but none had quite her allure. Still, he could feel her recklessness as though a cloud formed around her and she breathed discontent and frenzied misbehavior. There was a playful, even childish aspect to her restlessness, perhaps still a child inside her womanly frame. He was stirred by her as much as annoyed.

“And what assurance would I have that you’ve changed any of your bad habits, Miss Henry?”

“I don’t know that I could give you anything but my word.”

“That has proven to be worthless,” he reminded her.

She gulped nervously, palms sweating, heart beating rapidly, even pounding at her temples. She knew she would come to this kind of miserable end eventually; by living as though some angel would suddenly swoop down to rescue her, she ignored the facts of her failure for months.

more sincerely

hands behind his back, staring into her eyes—they were nearly the same height, though he seemed to loom over her with his impressive

program with me, allowing me liberties with

asked, feeling

university. I rarely, and I mean rarely, practice my beliefs with students; it’s normally not feasible at all, unless there is a strict understanding between the student in question and myself. I have found, however, with women like yourself, who have a difficult time with discipline and structure that utilizing some

these measures, they would be completely voluntary on your part; you would sign an appropriate waver stating so, but if you need to pursue your future as an architect with this institution—a fact which you seem to insist on—the only way I would allow you to continue here would be in a program with rigid disciplinary standards, including appropriate corporal punishment for any

“Corporal punishment?”

or caned on

“If I mess up?”

see fit, just to keep your behavior on the straight and narrow. In addition, I would put some stringent limitations on your extracurricular activities, your study time and other areas of your personal life. I would, Miss Henry, own your existence until you complete your exams next spring. You would not only finish all the requirements of your senior year, you would, as well, make up what you could not adequately complete this year, including retesting in those subjects where your grades are marginal. You would be prepared for graduate study—which is almost required for the kind of work you want to do.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and finally

fill with the strangest feelings of longing. Perhaps it was his attention to her, his willingness even to suggest something this astounding. As she considered the plan, her thighs and bottom began to tingle with a delightful

into trouble. But with Professor Rossi? What trouble could there be in ensuring

head, truly amazed that she would agree. “All right, then. You understand that I will insinuate myself into your life until you’ll likely be sick of me. That might be difficult for you given the streak of

“I don’t know why I’m doing this, Professor Rossi, but I will. Maybe it’s foolish, but it couldn’t be any more foolish than a lot of other things I’ve

now. Consider it a measure to wipe the slate clean so we can

“Now? Start now?”

“Yes.”

”there something I’m supposed

he spoke so softly. Each word seemed carefully chosen, each awakening another place of sensation. She was enthralled by the look of his hand, and the paddle, even as her mind was enthralled by the sound of his voice. “I can get you what you desire. I can make your life heaven or hell. You’ll learn the most amazing things about yourself; more than you ever thought was there.” He paused, letting that thought settle with her. “I

am,” she

Henry, to the front of

wearing any underwear,” she blushingly answered. Her voice sounded so tiny it was

then, I’ll have little to do

palms began to sweat. Bending over, she slowly fingered her white denim skirt, and drew it over her hips. The material bunched about her waist. Her physical response was alarming. She had no idea that this would turn her on, but every feeling in her was sexual. He could have fucked or spanked

paddle struck, her first response an

young lady,”

a bright and stinging warmth spread across her ass. Another strike, the sensation became more vivid.