Author's note: This story is a continuation of "Samantha Provokes her Professor" which is accessible through my profile. I believe, nevertheless, that it can be enjoyed without any prior knowledge of the first installment.
Living and working in a small college town is great. The only problem is, everyone knows everyone else, and so everyone talks about everyone else. To make matters worse, not only was the town small, the department was small as well.
Even though we were quite large for a French department, it wasn't as if we had so many professors that I just disappeared into the crowd, the way I might have at a larger school. I mention all of this because in the week after Samantha (my 24 year-old graduate student) and I had our encounter on the stairs, I could tell that people were acting differently around me.
When I went into the copy room to make photocopies, two of the male grad students abruptly stopped talking and turned to look at me. I couldn't be sure, but I felt I saw a look of envy in their eyes, and not only because of my status as a professor. Could they possibly know about Samantha and me?
Later, at a local coffee shop where I would often go to work, the barista winked at me and almost started giggling when she handed me my drink.
I'm not an idiot. I know that I'm relatively attractive, and being a professor adds a lot to my sex appeal, especially with some women. But it was clear that something else was going on.
The next morning, when Sophie Bettencourt, the department chair, walked into my office without knocking and closed the door behind her, I had a feeling I was going to find out just what people were talking about.
"I thought I made myself clear last time," she began, folding her arms defensively and peering down at me where I sat at my desk.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"The department bathroom is shared with students, as you know," said Sophie, "and once and a while one of us professors hears something that we should probably pretend we didn't hear."
"So why don't you pretend you didn't hear it?"
"Because everyone else seems to have heard something like it as well!" she snapped.
"Well, what did you hear?"
"As if you don't know."
I decided to play dumb.
"Is this about the pictures and stuff that Samantha sent me?"
"You're on the right track."
I was getting exasperated with her roundabout manner.
"Look," I said, "I've done nothing wrong. You transferred her out of my class. What happens between us in private is our business."
"But I'm not even talking about Samantha!" she said, "though you're giving me some very interesting information right now."
I winced. I had inadvertently confessed to having a relationship with Samantha.
"What I'm referring to," she continued, "is the rumor that this isn't the first time that this has happened between you and a student."
"I assure you it is. I'm trying to make tenure," I snapped, "do you think I am so reckless, or even have enough free time on my hands to start affairs with students?"
"I'm just reporting what I heard," said Sophie, her eyes conveying a look of amusement, "and by the way, the woman who reported it provided several anatomical details that gave credence to her story."
"What kind of details?"
"Are you well-endowed, Prof. Carver?"
I looked at her silently.
"Do you curve straight upward, are you circumcised, and do you have a penchant for spanking women with your belt?"
I turned beet red.
"Finally, do you have a large mole on your left inner thigh?"
I started to stammer out a response, but couldn't form the words.
"That's what I thought."
Sophie turned and reached for the doorknob.
"Details like that can't be invented."
After opening the door, she looked back at me and added:
"You also have the reputation of being quite the lover. The woman who was talking about you said she came at least a dozen times."
She smirked at me, enjoying my embarrassment at exploits I hadn't even been responsible for.
"Just make sure to keep it in your pants around the department, or I'll be forced to report you to the faculty disciplinary committee. I'm watching you."
I nodded feebly as she closed my office door behind her.
Someone had been spreading rumors about me! Positive rumors in a certain sense (what man wouldn't like the reputation of being a well-endowed, expert lover?) but at the same time potentially damaging rumors.
While the details about my prowess as a lover and large penis could have easily been the products of fantasy, there were only a few women in the world who could have known about the large mole on my inner thigh.
None of my previous girlfriends had any reason to spread rumors about me, either positive or negative ones – I was on decent terms with all of them, but they were no longer really involved in my life. It had to have been Samantha. But why was she doing it?
It was time once again for my office hours, so I opened my door and began correcting essay exams. It was one of my least favorite tasks, but one that seemed to never end. After a few minutes, I heard a faint knock at the door, and looked up to see Lisa, the clueless freshman who frequented my office hours.
"Hi Lisa!" I said, finding myself strangely happy to see someone like her who was almost certainly not plugged into the gossip circuit, "what can I help you with today?"
But to my surprise, instead of her usual deer-in-the-headlights gaze, she smiled at me, then suppressed a giggle.
"Hi Professor Carver," she said, "No questions today, I just wanted to come by and say hello."
She paused and looked down for a moment, twirling her hair almost coquettishly.
"Hello."
She was quiet for a moment, then giggled again and blushed deeply.
"Lisa," I asked, "is something the matter?"
"No, Professor Carver," she mumbled, still bright red.
"Lisa, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Professor Carver."
"Have you been hearing rumors about me?"
She turned an even deeper shade of red and looked straight at the floor.
"Umm...yeah."
"Do you mind telling me what you've heard? I know there're some wild things going around about me."
"I'm too embarrassed to say."
She seemed so worked up that her embarrassment could have been mistaken for arousal.
"You can trust me, Lisa."
"Well –" her eyes were still fixed on the floor, "I heard a girl in the bathroom say that you gave her a spanking,"
"Oh?"
"And that she liked it."
"Thanks for telling me. I assure you that that story is entirely untrue. Did you see what the girl looked like?"
"She was in a stall next to me, talking to someone else."
"So you didn't see her at all?"
"Not really. When I came out of the stall she was leaving."
"So you saw her go? What did she look like from behind?"
"Well," she said, less embarrassed now, "I'm not sure if it was the same girl, but one of them was short with dark hair and had a tattoo on her lower back."
Just as I suspected. It had to be Samantha.
"Thanks for telling me about this, Lisa. I've got to get back to work now."
"No problem, Professor Carver," she looked up at me and smiled, her face still flushed. Then she turned and walked back down the hall.
So it was Samantha who had been spreading rumors about me – probably to provoke me into taking her in hand again, I thought. Well if that's what she wanted, I was going to find a way to give it to her. But not in the department again – at least not during school hours.
I needed to get a message to her, to arrange a meeting, but I couldn't leave a trail of any kind. That meant that e-mail and phone were both out. What could I do? Go to her apartment? That could really get me in trouble.
As it turned out, I didn't have to worry. When I went to my car that evening after working for several hours, there was a sealed envelope under my windshield wiper. I picked it up and opened it as I stood in the parking garage, and read it with my heart pounding.
"Dear Professor Carver," it began, "I guess you know that I just couldn't keep my mouth shut about our little encounter on the stairs. I'm sure you've been getting a lot of attention lately! I just had to tell the other girls about how good you were at keeping your slutty student in line.
I may have embellished a few details, but I'm sure you'll forgive me, right? If not, I guess you'll have to punish me first. Anyway, I suggest we have a late-night office hour tomorrow night. I'll wait until the janitors are done with our floor, then come and find you in your office. What happens after that I leave entirely up to you, Professor.
Love, Samantha."
I crumpled the note and shoved it into the pocket of my sport coat, then got in the car and drove home, where I turned on my computer and immediately loaded the picture Samantha had sent me a while back and masturbated furiously into a wad of Kleenex while staring at the image of the 24-year-old grad student on her knees with "Prof. Carver's Slut" written in black marker across her chest. I knew I was going to be quite distracted the next day.
I got to the office early the next morning, having been all but unable to sleep the night before. I still wasn't sure how I was going to handle Samantha, but I knew I had to make it clear to her that her behavior was unacceptable.
At the same time, I knew that she was once again provoking me into punishing her and using her like a slut, and I had to admit that I liked it. Maybe we could reach some kind of agreement, of the type that wouldn't end my career. I hoped so.
It seemed like the end of the day would never come. I taught my seminar as usual (the one that Samantha had been removed from), then worked on articles and grading until five or so, when I went to the faculty lounge to reheat the leftovers I had brought from home for dinner.
One of my colleagues, Professor Fournier, a man in his late fifties who had been one of my mentors, winked at me and gave me a smile as he looked up from his reading.
"I know it's tempting," he said in his broad Parisian accent, "but you've got to watch yourself, Alec. The game you're playing can get you into big trouble. I speak from experience. Years of it."
He flashed me a big, toothy grin, then gave me a wave and left the lounge before I had a chance to respond. Had absolutely everyone heard the rumors?
Back in my office I nervously passed the time until around seven, when I knew the custodial workers would be finished cleaning the bathrooms and offices on our floor.
Right after I heard the custodians push their carts into the elevator door and make their way to the next level, the door to the stairwell opened, and the sound of clinking heels echoed down the hallway. I sat back in my chair and nervously awaited Samantha's appearance.
To my surprise, the footsteps stopped – but not in front of my office door, rather further down the hall somewhere. I sat up straight and listened.
I heard a key turn in a lock, and an office door open, then close. I got up from my desk and looked down the hall and saw a strip of shadow crossing the bottom of Professor Bettencourt's door.
I cursed under my breath. Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"I guess we'll just have to be extra quiet, Professor Carver," came a whisper from behind me.
It was Samantha, even more petite than usual because she was holding her shoes in her hands to keep from making noise on the tiled floors.
