Message-ID: <30073asstr$988549802@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20010429071145.17654.qmail@web12204.mail.yahoo.com> From: Alexis Siefert 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: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, kelly 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. 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