Scenes Outside The Wilder Fellini Building

A weak woman has a dangerous addiction. Her lover helps her to get rid of it, cold turkey.

SCENES OUTSIDE THE WILDER-FELLINI BUILDING

Cinner

I beg you to forgive me, but your rage is inconsolable. You slap me hard across the face and push me roughly into the car. I slump in my seat crying and cradling my jaw. You speed toward the campus where you are the Andrew E. Richardson Professor of Cinematography and I am your colleague...and your new live-in lover. Our living arrangement is still a secret to the world. In my own right I am regarded as a powerful woman, at the top of my field outside our home. I am very proud of that and I defend my good name and my independence and my unflinching feminism to the hilt in every conference that I can find and on every committee that I can join. Behind closed doors, however, I know who my Master is, and we both like it that way. I revel in my double life. I feel so clever and powerful and sexy. I have the best of both worlds.

You drive through the gates of the university and stop in front of the stately Wilder-Fellini Building. You jump from the car and rush around to seize my door and grab my arm, manhandling me. At 6' 3" and 205 lbs. to my 5'5 and 120 it is an uneven match that you win hands down. It is 6:00 a.m. and there is no one here to help me. You drag my struggling body toward the building and right at the steps, by the entrance, you handcuff me to a lamppost.

Trembling, I beg you again to forgive me, but you still do not listen. You avoid my attempts to kick at your legs and knee you in the groin and head butt you as you force my other hand to the lamp post and handcuff me there as well. My hands, tethered above my head, strain against their shackles futilely.

Then, you punish me.

You drag down my skirt and leave it stranded around my thighs. It flaps around my thigh-high leather boots leaving my fat, round buttocks bare for anyone to see from the back. My hairy mons is available to those who approach me from the front. I struggle to free myself but to my dismay, my skirt slips down and puddles uselessly at my ankles. I hear you take off your belt after a few minutes and I know what is going to happen next.

You make me count out each blow as you do at home. I comply because I hope that you will let me go after you're done and your anger is assuaged. After 40 blows, however, 20 for each buttock you are still too angry to listen to my pleas and I get 40 more. Despite my tears and painful rump my cunt is now wet. I am highly aroused and want you to fuck me more than anything, but I'm not foolish enough to suggest it or to promise you my undying faithfulness now. That would only make you angrier and it is a promise that I suspect I cannot keep.

You reach up after watching me for a few minutes and then you pull up my blouse, hitching it up under my chin and exposing my massive breasts to the world. They are big and ripe and vulgar-looking with huge dark areola and long nipples and they have always excited you as much as they have embarrassed me to have them stared at. You spank my breasts hard, causing me to cry out.

"I hope that your new boyfriend will come to rescue you before too long, you fucking little slut," you say scornfully. "The first class is at 8. You have an hour and a half left before you lose everything, bitch."

You walk away from me, leaving me there.

"Nick! Come back here! This is not funny! This is kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment!" I shout after you. You don't seem to care. Frightened enough by the sudden realization that my punishment is really not the beating, I'm ready now to promise anything.

"Please, don't do this to me! I'll never look at another man again! Please, Nick! Please! I'm sorry! I swear! It won't happen again!" I scream.

You pause as if reconsidering. You turn and look at me coldly. A short bark of a laugh escapes your lips.

"You know, I didn't believe that my suspicions were true," you say, conversationally. "I thought I was being paranoid, but this wasn't the first time that you've fucked a student is it?"

I consider lying, but I'm in enough trouble and that is unlikely to end well for me. I hope that you'll take my honesty in the spirit in which it is given.

"They weren't my students!" I whine.

You shake your head in disbelief and then you turn around, straighten your back and walk away quickly.

"You're finished here," you say menacingly over your shoulder.

My begging screams follow you as you speed away, your car leaving gravel and dust in our wake.

I struggle, trying in vain for several minutes to free myself. I begin to dream of my own death and hope that it will come before 8 o'clock when classes begin. I don't even know how much more time I have before the first students show up. I can't gauge it, my terror and indecision about the wisdom of screaming as loudly as I can to alert the campus security before the students get in have confused me badly.

I know that what you say is true. I am ruined, my career over. How will a 40-year old woman live a thing like this down? How will I ever hold my head up again in life? This can't be passed off as a sorority prank of drunken students gone too far. How will I, a tenured professor, explain this to the authorities? Who would believe me if I told them that you had done this? How could I explain why you had done it? I will never work in academia again! With the publicity that this will generate I doubt that I will find work anywhere in this country.

I had heard whispers that you were a cruel man, but I didn't believe them. Your beach-bum boyish looks at 46, and your thick pony-tailed mane and earrings had first fascinated, and then seduced me. With you I got to explore my darker side. With you I found that I liked being spanked and enduring light humiliation. I learned to love my body after years of conditioning made me afraid to show it off. I owed my true liberation as a woman to you and yet, I felt the need to explore further; without you. I have always tried to explain this to myself. I have always tried to ignore my temptation and my susceptibility to the flattering attention that I was now receiving.

I failed miserably at something for the first time in my life. I'd had enough of deferred gratification. So now, I must pay the price for playing with fire. My handcuffs and the fires still raging on my fleshy rump, call to mind being burned at the stake. I dismiss those thoughts; I'm not righteous enough. I chase pointless images of human sacrifice out of my mind and try to think of a way out of this mess. My imagination fails me; a habit developing perhaps? A woman with my education and training, how could I have got myself into this position?

I think about you, willing you to come back for me. I remember the first time I pulled out your leather thong and allowed your hair to fall free for me. I remember running my fingers through your locks and tickling the back of your neck. The delighted surprise on your face at the familiarity, the look of lustful hunger in your eyes, the press of your body against mine and the wall of your office as you pulled my panties to the side and fucked me right there, the hard demanding kiss that just wouldn't end; I remember it all. These images are all fresh in my mind even after two years. I smile despite everything then I lose my battle for optimism with a fresh round of tears.

I love having sex with you. Sometimes I think I'm addicted to you. You are my Big Daddy in every sense of the word, sometimes a kind and generous lover, at other times a masterful, domineering fucking machine with a penchant to spank and bite and suckle me mercilessly. It is exciting, both of us living out our adult nursing and leather and spanking fetishes together. You make me feel so young and alive! With you in my corner I feel powerful and know that there is nothing that I cannot do. The sexy way you make me feel has been calling to other men, and women, like a siren. I can't help it! I thought that you'd be proud that your woman was so desirable to others!

I entertained one of the physics students at home, without your permission, and you came in very early from your conference this morning and caught me. You had wanted to surprise me with some early-morning love-making, and I could see the pained shock on your face when you discovered my treachery. I thought that you were just a beautiful man who wanted to have some fun with me. I just wanted to sample some fresh meat. I thought that you wouldn't mind. I know that the fact that I was hiding my trysts from you confesses that deep down I knew that I was fooling myself about this. What the hell was I thinking? Until that moment though, I honestly hadn't realized how seriously you took our relationship. I thought that the feelings were more on my side.

Well they are all on my side now! I have lost you. Now you want to destroy me! This punishment is not even about the public humiliation either. Could I have hurt you that much? I am a phenomenally foolish woman, I know. Michael is nothing like you in bed, not nearly as satisfying; but as you said, after he fled, leaving me to take the heat of your rage, I am nothing but a little black whore who couldn't resist the taste of a big black cock.

"Oh my!"

The delighted exclamation from a young man breaks into my reverie. I hear the light snapping of photographs being taken with a camera phone. My time is up! Someone came in early.

I close my eyes to screen him and the moment out. I can do nothing else. I steel myself for a life of confinement in a convent. It will be the lifelong penance that I pay for today's indiscretions. I am not even Catholic or a church-goer. If I didn't believe in Hell before, I believe in it now.

The young man comes closer. I feel him standing right next to me. I hear the whir of photographs being taken of my face. I will myself to die. I wonder how well the photographs of my face will come out! I feel him move in front of me for more close-up pictures of my full round breasts and plump, hairy mons. On one level I am macabrely flattered. At 40 I have a body that a woman 15 years younger would be proud of. I just don't want to show if off in this manner although, secretly, I have always thought that with my curves I could do well in porn films. How ironic.

"Professor? Professor Henderson??!!??" he exclaims shocked, looking at me properly for the first time.

Oh God! He knows me! I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. I decide that it isn't.

"Shit bitch, you're beautiful!"

Funnily enough, the mother instinct in me wants to scold him for his language! I almost giggle. It's funny how insanity presents itself.

He caresses my smooth haunches, completely ignoring my seniority to him on the academic totem pole. Silent tears stream down my face.

"Why is this happening to you Sulan?" he whispers my first name lovingly, as if by right. "What did you do?"

I cannot answer even to deny that I did something to deserve this. I pry my eyes open with all the inner strength that I have left, and look around at him, seeing who my white knight is. My heart skips a beat. It is Kurt Schmidt, the youngest member of my Theory and Criticism of Film and Television class last year. At 19 he is about to be the youngest doctorate at the university, having eschewed actual film direction for further studies because he still had the time, and his parents the money. Sadly for him though, his appearance and social assurance haven't caught up with his intelligence and so he is just a fat, pimply, awkward, though undoubtedly brilliant kid to most of us in the department. I don't know him well, but I do recognize him as one of your disciples and hope, fleetingly, that he will move beyond the gawking teenager impression that he is doing now, to save me.

I wonder desperately, what it will cost in blackmail fees for him to keep his mouth shut about this and how I should go about negotiating the amount. I wonder if he would help me if he knew that I was your woman. Instinctively, I decide not to tell him that I know you socially. I wonder briefly if you have sent him here to torment me further. Given the circumstances, his appearance seems all too coincidental. I'm just about to beg him to help me when I hear him speak again. My heart sinks.

"If you want me to help you, you'll have to stop being so stuck up and speak to me, Professor Henderson," he says crossly. He emphasizes my name with scorn. I had no idea that he is such an angry young man! I need to pay closer attention to the students, I think to myself. Suddenly, I remember that I have no future among students. I stop daydreaming and return reluctantly to my reality.

"... Don't you realize that I can just leave you here? Or, I can just take my cock..."

Horrified, I hear his zipper sliding.

"...and put it here," he croaks, his voice breaking under the weight of his desire and frustration. Obviously, he doesn't even know what he wants to do with me first and it is killing him to have to decide. He presses his body against mine, his hard cock nestling in the crack of my fleshy buttocks. I try to pull away, but this presses my chest against his arm. He fills his hand with my large right breast, bouncing it slightly in his palm, before squeezing it apparently as hard as he can.

My nipple hardens involuntarily, as I stifle a scream. It responds as it would have done had you been the one milking me in the privacy of our home.

"My god, Sulan! You are exquisite!" he whispers almost reverently.

"P- please h-help m-me!"

The tear-filled words burst from my mouth, unbidden. I can't even say his name now, lest that be misconstrued as inviting more familiarity.

"Oh my," he whispers to himself again. "I love seeing you like this Lani; you are exquisite! Say something nasty to me in that sexy little Jamaican accent of yours! I have never been so hard in my life! Who did this to you? He's a lucky man!" he rambles on while pushing his jutting cock between the lips of my cunt.

He rubs it slightly, rocking his hips against me, moving into a trance at the imminent prospect of losing his virginity.

I break, and begin screaming again, and try desperately to free myself. I curse him with every Jamaican swear word that I know, alternately with begging him to have mercy, and free me. I offer him money. I threaten him. I beg. I appeal to his good sense and his finer nature as a gentleman. In reply, he laughs meanly, obviously discovering for the first time how much he likes seeing bound, naked, terrified women.

We both freeze at the sound of another photograph being taken. Instinctively, I turn away from the sound, but I know that Kurt has a full frontal shot taken next. I hear him swear violently and although sympathetic, again I think to comment on his language. Too busy for that now though. I need to think my way out of this. He pulls away from me violently but not before I feel the gush of warm liquid on my thighs and smell urine! Kurt has pissed himself and me! Some of it trickles down my leg and into my boot! I'll have to throw them away! This is not good on so many levels! Who the fuck has come to claim me now? A group of armed men? With weapons? Since when do students get to class an hour early? Weapons aren't allowed on the Campus! Nick! Please! Come back! I'm not your slave! Why the hell have you done this? You have no right! No fucking right to do this to me! I'm not your wife! I don't belong to you! I'm going to kill you when I get out of here!

Suddenly, I don't care who hears me anymore! I'm ruined anyway. At least I can go down fighting. I begin to scream again and curse and struggle desperately to free myself. I don't care if my hands bleed, I just need to get these cuffs off! I turn to see who the new people are, but Kurt's bulk is in the way, and my mobility is limited anyway.

A smooth, cold, male voice responds. It is music to my ears. My anger evaporates as if by magic. I feel only gratitude.

"Why don't you help the lady, Kurt?" you say, sardonically. "Or is this some wild, public sex session that you young people go for these days? I can't be sure if Professor Henderson's reluctance is feigned or real, but either way, maybe we should call the Campus Security and have them sort this out. I am not sure that you and Professor Henderson realize the seriousness of students fraternizing with the professors like this. It's disgusting! I am very disappointed in you, Sulan. What are you thinking? Don't you care about your career?"

Neither Kurt nor I had heard you walk up behind us. I'm not sure that this is real or if I'm just dreaming it. I take a chance that I have not just completely lost my mind with fear.

"No!" I scream, gathering my wits. "Please! Don't call the Security. I don't want this to go any further! I'm not pressing charges! I don't want anyone else to see me like this! Please, help me, Sir!"

You ignore me completely and address Kurt instead.

"Fix your clothes, Kurt. I really don't need to see you like this."

Kurt steps away from me quickly, pulls up his pants, closes his flies and apologizes to you.

You ignore him.

'Are you sure?" you ask me cryptically. "Kurt here looks as if he was about to rape you! Was this just him capitalising on an opportunity or did he kidnap you? Did he imprison you illegally? Who did this? I don't think that you should just let this go! Think of your reputation as a leader in the film industry and in academia. You owe it to all students to speak out against hazing and the dangers of being a woman on Campus."

Kurt gasps.

Obviously, he had not thought of the police becoming involved. Somehow it had been clear to him that I would have been in little position to report him even if he had raped me. That he could have been implicated as my attacker had been less obvious to him. I could have claimed that he had set the whole thing up; the scratches on my body and his semen would have corroborated my story. I could have saved my career at his expense!

I don't care about him and his issues though. I just want things to go back to the way they were before. I want to cuddle in bed with you and have you suckle me again before we make love. I want to know if we can resolve this at all; if you've forgiven me. I need to find out what you're going to do with the photos that you've just taken of Kurt and me. I want to know the time because I'm afraid that the other students could come at any moment now. I want you to release me now!

"Please Professor Kellier! Please help me! I just want to forget about this!" I pant. "Kurt and the other students had nothing to do with it! M-m-my boy-boyfriend," I hate myself for not being sure, even now, of your intentions and if we can still have a future together, but I continue, trying not to sound so hysterical since I know that you hate hysterical women.

"My boyfriend and I had a fight this morning! He's punishing me, but I just want to go home to him and apologize. I love him so much, despite this! I worship him, Sir; believe me! I was wrong and I deserve this and I'm sorry and I just want to tell him t-that! PLEASE!" I burst into tears again and struggle with the handcuffs again.

You hesitate. You look at me, expressionlessly. Through my tears I see you struggle to remain unmoved. I see you decide my fate eventually. You shrug your shoulders and glance at Kurt.

"Kurt, go get a crowbar from my car," you order.

Unsmilingly, you throw your keys at him. He misses them and must bend over to pick them up from the white marble tile.

"When, we're through here I'm going to want to see you in my office. We have much to discuss about the last draft of your paper."

Kurt turns quickly toward the direction that you indicate you have left your car and begins to leave us.