Miss Congeniality

I’m a single woman and a professor of classics at a well-regarded, liberal arts college in the South. Besides the usual emphases on teaching and publishing, collegiality is rated highly. I spent my first year learning the ropes and getting used to the school’s culture, its students, and my colleagues. Nearly everyone was warm, friendly, and caring. I say nearly everyone, because of one exception, an accounting professor named Sally. Sally is an attractive, albeit shrewish, and perpetually bitter woman, always ready with a snide comment or one in the subtext. Often it’s nothing but thunderously silent disdain. After several attempts at getting to know her and an equal number of rebuffs I gave up on her. I figured, “why waste my time and effort.” Toward the end of the year I received a telephone call from Miss Congeniality inviting me to meet her at the school gym after class the next day for a workout. Still having a smidgen of hope, I accepted. We decided to meet at 5 pm.

The next day arrived; I finished my classes, read a couple of chapters, and headed over to the gym. There was a note addressed to me taped to the door. It was from Sally, letting me know that she’d meet me in one of the padded rooms, but not to bother changing. Needless to say I was puzzled. Nonetheless, I complied and went to the room. It was a typical workout room with mirrored walls, and a pad-covered floor. I entered and walked toward the mirror on the opposite wall. I wanted to make sure I was in order. A reflection caught my eye as I was examining myself. I turned. The door slammed shut, followed by the click of a lock, and the lights dimming. The only light came through the bank of windows at the top of the walls. I recognized Sally’s silhouette. I wondered, “What’s going on?” She stood there, across the room, arms akimbo.

I called out, “Sally, is that you? What’s going on?” Nothing.

“Sally, if that’s you, you’d best answer. I’m not in the mood for any games.” Yet again nothing.

I started for the door and then she spoke.

“Stop!” she commanded.

I was taken aback by the power in her voice. I stopped.

“Over the past year you’ve been playing little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, and I’m tired of your act. You’re not getting out of here until I teach you some respect and you realize just who and what you are.”

“Who and what I am?” I thought? “Who does this know-nothing, pencil-pushing, bitch think she is?” I started again.

As I approached Sally her features became clearer, she stepped in front of me, thrust out her hand into my chest. I was getting angrier by the moment.

She shoved me back, I staggered, she shoved me again, and I fell on my ass. While all of this was happening I’d been concentrating on Sally’s face. As I fell back and she stepped into the streaming sunlight, my jaw dropped when I took a look at her. She was stripped down to a matching, black, satin bra, panty, and garter belt with seamed black stockings. “A bit overdone for a warm day,” I thought.

“Get up and get ready to for me to kick your ass, Zoë.”

“I’m not going to fight you, you crazy bitch!”

As I stood she gave me an open-handed slap and followed it up with a backhand. Using both hands, she shoved me backwards, and I landed on my ass once more.

“Fine, Sally! I’ll fight you!” I was seeing red. I wanted to do more than beat this cold, offish shrew. I wanted to hurt and humiliate her.

I stood up and began undressing. I laid aside my clothes in a pile, and took off my shoes. That crazy bitch whose as I was about to kick kicked off her shoes as well. I was wearing a pale blue silk bra with a floral pattern and matching low cut, hip hugging, string bikini, and off-white stockings.

I looked over Sally. She might be nuts and have a personality like fingernails on a chalkboard, but she had a hell of a body. She looked to be about the same size as me. She had short, bobbed blonde hair, green eyes, and a very pale complexion that looked as if it hadn’t seen the sun in ages. Like her I too have a pale complexion, but with shoulder-length red hair and blue eyes. We’re both about 5’9”, weigh around 130, and measure 36c-24-35. Her breasts heaved up and down; we both had a light sheen of perspiration, the room was warm, and the sunlight waning. This was the most personality she’d shone all year.

We approached one another and circled, crouching, taking preliminary, catty swipes at each other. I moved first and tackled the whacko with my arms encircling her waist, driving her hard to the floor. Quickly, I switched to a grapevine, trying to overpower her quickly. I was too eager, too impatient. I couldn’t match her upper body strength, as she fought back slapping and clawing. I arched my back to get away from her nails. As I pushed back Sally’s right hand shot up and grabbed my throat. Her move worked. I hate having anything too close around my neck, so I responded by pulling back even more. Sally followed with a stinging slap from her left hand, knocking me over. I tried to scramble to my feet, but she was far quicker, latching a hand onto my bra and dragging me down. As I was going down, she got to her feet.

Sally followed up with a series of swift kicks into my back, and then with a surfboard as she tried to wrench my arms out of their sockets. She dug her stockinged heel into the small of my back creating a burning sensation. Was this bitch strong!

Sally next landed hard on my back with her black satin ass keeping her grip on my wrists, yanking my arms back. The pain was excruciating. Pulling me back even further, she forced my stomach up and off the mat, compressing my spine. Placing her legs on either side of my waist she rolled over, maintaining her grip on my arms, forcing me into her scissors. Her legs were like tempered steel wrapped in silk; I thought my ribs would be crushed.

Throughout our combat Sally hadn’t said a word. Except for her heavy breathing and occasional grunts, she was silent. I desperately tried to claw my way out her scissors, but she only responded by tightening her grip. How much more could I take? How much more could she dish out? Still between her legs, I was now on my back after having had my arms stretched and contorted. Looking at her I cried, “Let go of me! Let me go, Goddamn you, you fucking bitch! Let me go!” Still nothing. I was desperate and afraid. That damned blonde seemed to be drawing energy from my fear. From what I could tell she’d worked over more than few women in her time.

If pounding on and clawing at Sally’s silken, steel thighs wouldn’t work, maybe a shot to her satin-covered pussy might. Cocking my right arm back I threw my punch with as much strength as I could muster. At the same time Sally was arching her back, shoulder blades and elbows to the floor, trying to add to my torment. As she did this her also brought her crotch skyward—what an opportunity! I slammed my fist into that bitch’s crotch as hard as I could. She shuddered. I did it again. Her grip loosened a bit. I hit her again, but followed it up by grabbing at her black satin panty, doing my best to either claw or crush her pussy. That did the trick. She let me go and rolled aside. I was free. Nonetheless, Sally’s vise-like grip around my waist and my struggle had left me exhausted. I tried to stand, but before I could do it Sally was on me like a wildcat.

She leapt and tackled me. Getting up she grabbed my hair and pulled me to all fours. She sat on back as if I were a horse, pulling my hair back and slapping my ass. When she wasn’t slapping my ass she was reaching down and twisting my nipples or clawing at my pussy.

“Please, stop,” I asked her. Nothing. Again, “Please, Sally, stop, please stop.” She stood and put me in a standing head scissors. I blacked out.

When I awakened that evening I was shackled, gagged, spread-eagled on a padded bench. Sally spoke from a dark corner.

“Well, you’re awake. Did you have a nice nap? I’m glad you’re awake,” she said. Walking toward me, I could hear the click of her heels. She said, “We need to get a few things straight.”

I struggled, but it was useless. I tried to yell, but the gag kept it muffled. I began shaking with fear, my eyes bulging and following her every movement.

“First, Zoë, we need to come to an understanding about your place at the college. You’re new, and I can forgive ignorance. What I can’t stomach is your routine of chatting up everyone, trying to be a friend to all. Things don’t work that way, not here. I especially don’t like your cheery demeanor; it’s unbecoming to a professor. Women have a hard enough time garnering respect from students and men without having some tarted up, little flirt running about ruining our hard-earned respect.”

She got closer. I drank in her presence. She was frightening, powerful, threatening, yet sexy. She slowly ran one of her polished nails up my left leg, drawing circles on my thigh, tracing outlines on my bikini. My labia were fleshing out, getting fuller, I could feel myself getting hot and wet. She ran her nail lightly along and across my now-engorged labia and clit. She snapped my clit once or twice, sending electric shocks up my spine. Sally’s nail continued its journey up my stomach, sending even more shocks and pulses through my system. She traced lines across my breasts and around my nipples. My breathing was becoming labored.

“Let me teach you, Zoë,” she whispered. “I won’t hurt you…much.” Sally removed the gag and stuck her tracing nail into my mouth, telling me to “Suck it, lick it.” What choice did I have?

She got atop the bench, straddling my hips. Taking her moistened finger out of my mouth she put underneath my bikini and began fingering my hot, wet cunt. She lay atop me and caressed my hair, probing my mouth with her tongue. I responded. Sally took her finger out of my aching cunt, licked it, and gave it to me to lick.

Sliding up my chest Sally violently ripped my bra off. She licked, bit, twisted, and brought my nipples to their fullest. She moved up even higher, slid aside her now-soaking black panty and began fucking her clit with my nipples, alternating. Her breathing told me she was getting close to an orgasm. She moved further up and parked her pussy on my mouth. “Now” was all she said. I tasted her warmth, her perfume, the succulent clit, and full lips. I’d been with other women before, I’m bisexual and enjoy a big, juicy cock nearly as much as I do a hot, wet pussy, but this was something altogether different. The arousal coming from being dominated after having been beaten brought my passions and my senses to their fullest. Sally rode my tongue. “Why hadn’t she done this to me before?” I wondered.

She exploded in orgasm, grinding her wet, sated cunt into me. Throughout it she’d been quiet. Eventually Sally let me finger myself as she watched, almost detached. I’d been brought into the college’s society of women. “What was next?” I wondered.