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"Alright, mistress. If this is what you want, I'll go through with it. What do you need me to do?" she asked eagerly, not bothering to cover her growing enthusiasm.
"I want you and pudge to come to my office this afternoon, say about one o'clock. We have some plans to discuss."
"Yes mistress. I'll see you then," she replied.
"Good bye, Penelope," she heard Daphne say curtly, then the connection was broken.
Penelope put down the phone. She noticed that her hand was shaking.
The young mistress stared at the bare wall for several seconds, trying to take it all in. She tried to imagine how the ice queen of the English department would react to Daphne's special training regimen. She almost felt bad for the old bag.
Almost.
The bitch deserved everything she had coming.
For Penelope Paine, an English major, Ballard was a an inconvenient enemy to have. The bitch obviously hated her. Worse, she had no compunction about using her position to damage Penelope academically. She never gave her the grades she deserved and was constantly belittling her and trying to make her look stupid in class.
"Fucking cunt," Penelope snarled into the empty room.
The straw that broke the camel's back, though, was the letter.
Penelope had applied to be a teaching assistant, a stepping stone to the graduate program in the English department. Daphne had agreed immediately to write her a glowing letter of recommendation, but the ice queen had declined.
"I don't think you're teaching material, dear," she had told her dismissively, not even deigning to look up from the papers on her desk. "You're too unstable, quite frankly. Besides, it wouldn't look right. Everybody knows we don't get along."
Penelope had seethed as she stormed out of her office with violence in her mind and black wrath in her heart. She vowed that one day she would have her revenge.
And now, apparently, that day had arrived.
At that moment, pudge came back in the room, still wet from the shower. Penelope looked at her and suddenly realized that the prospect of having the ice queen under her heel was making her extremely horny.
"Get over here, cunt," Penelope growled. "On the bed," she added, snapping her fingers.
Pudge dropped her towel and scurried on to the bed, assuming her previous position on her back.
Penelope hopped on to the bed and sat down roughly on her slave's face, her right hand reaching for the paddle brush.
"Spread," Penelope said through gritted teeth.
Penelope Paine pictured the face of Professor Kathleen Ballard beneath her, the ice queen's tongue dancing inside her.
She glanced down at pudge's bare vulva, still pink from her earlier thrashing, and imagined the middle-aged professor splayed out beneath her, open and vulnerable, screaming into her pussy with each stroke.
She raised the brush.
It did not take her long to cum.
