Yes Miss Murphy

I arrived at Mancini's and took a seat at the bar. I ordered a Chardonnay and a glass of water, and paid the bartender. I sipped my water and nervously waited. When Mandy came in at about 4:15, she reached for the wine glass and said, "Come over here." She continued on to a booth, and I followed. I sat across from her, and as soon as we sat down, I blurted out, "Mandy. Please. You have me in a very awkward situation here. I'm begging you. Please return that envelope to me. Please. There are a lot of people at stake here. Yes, it's true, Katherine and I had an affair, but we're not doing it anymore... things kinda... things went south for us, and of course it was a stupid, stupid thing to do in the first place. But ... please ... just ... if this ever came out, first of all it would just devastate my wife. She is such a wonderful, caring person. She doesn't deserve the humiliation this would bring on her if this secret came out. Please, Mandy, there's no reason for you to get involved in all this. I'm begging you. Please just return that envelope to me, so I can destroy it, and we can all just move on with our lives..... "

I continued rambling for another minute or so, until I realized I was beginning to talk in circles. Mandy just sat smirking at me, and sipping her wine, until I was reduced to repeating "please... please, Mandy, please ... just ... please."

When I finally stopped, she said, "It's Miss Murphy to you."

"I'm sorry. OK. Miss Murphy. Please, Miss Murphy, I'm begging you. Please give me back that envelope."

"David, perhaps you didn't hear me this morning. I'm not giving you back the envelope. You need to learn to listen better. I've been listening to you, and you know what I'm hearing?"

"Wh- uhh... what?"

"I'm hearing you say, 'Yes, Miss Murphy, I will be the best little worker for you and do absolutely anything you say.'"

I slumped, and sniveled, and tried again: "Mandy--"

"Miss Murphy!"

"Miss Murphy, I'm sorry. Miss Murphy...."

"David, there's no need for more convincing. You already have the job, haha. I completely understand the fix you're in, and that's why I have every confidence that this little arrangement I've worked out will work out just beautifully for both of us."

"Um... arrangement?"

"Yes. Let me show you something."

At that point, she pulled a piece of paper out of her briefcase, on which she had drawn up a Monday-through-Friday schedule. It appeared to be very detailed, but at first I couldn't quite comprehend it all.

She explained: "Monday morning, you're going to meet me at work at 8:30. You're going to have those tests graded, and you're going to have a lesson ready for my 9:00 class, which is Math 190. At 9:00, I'm gonna introduce you to that class -- as my teaching assistant, Davey -- and you're gonna teach that class for me. Then you're gonna go to your 10:00 class. Then later you'll have your 1:30 class, and then that evening, you'll meet me again for my 6:30 class, I'll introduce you to those students, and you'll teach that class, too, until 8:35."

"Well, wait a minute," I said. "I don't teach evening classes, and my wife knows that. What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Tell her something happened with an instructor, and they asked you to take over that person's class for the rest of the semester."

"But ... if that really happened, they wouldn't ask me to fill in. They'd ask a part-time instructor."

"Tell her they were really in a pinch, and really needed you to step in. You're gonna have to tell her something, David, because from now on, every Monday and Wednesday night, I'm gonna need you free for this class. So you're gonna get free."

I shifted in my seat and hemmed and hawed a bit, until she said, "Got it?"

I sighed. "OK."

"Uh, the right answer is 'Yes, Miss Murphy, whatever you say.'"

I sighed again, to which she stared at me sternly. "Yes, Miss Murphy," I said. "Whatever you say."

"Good. Now, as for my Tuesday-Thursday class, from 10:45 to 12:25, it overlaps with your 10:00 to 11:40 class, so how we'll work that is, you will make up the lesson plans for that and drop them off in my mailbox before you go to your 10:00 class. Then, as soon as you're done with your class, you'll come to mine by 11:45. I'm going to schedule a break from 11:35 to 11:45, so when you get there, I'll let you know how far I got, and you'll do the last 40 minutes of the class for me.

"Same deal on Thursdays. Um, let's see. The 9:00 class meets Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, so you'll be doing that one completely from now on. Um... the 10:40 class I'll have to do on Mondays and Wednesdays, but you'll do it on Fridays...... You'll be doing all my grading from now on, and coming up with all the lesson plans for all my classes."

My mouth dropped open. Was she serious? She was going to make me do pretty much ALL her work? Her entire job? How could I possibly manage all that?

"Now, sometimes I will teach a class myself, even though you're available to do it. But you'll still make the lesson plan for me to use. And I'll probably still have you stay, so you can pass out things for me, or collect papers, whatever. The story is you're my teaching assistant, so sometimes I'll have you sit in the room like you're observing, like you're learning how to teach. That's why I want the students to call you Davey, so they feel like I'm the one in charge -- which, of course I am. And if there any kinds of complaints from them about you, I won't hesitate to let the students know I'm reprimanding you and setting you straight. So I'll still be in my classes once a week or so, to keep in touch with the students and make sure they love me, and make sure they give me glowing recommendations on the evaluations at the end. Any time there's any kind of problem, I'll blame it on you, but you will of course always have wonderful things to say about me, whether you're talking to students, or our co-workers, or the department chair, the dean, anybody. Understand?"

"Um.... yes.... Miss Murphy."

"OK. Now, sometimes students will be e-mailing me about their grades. Since you'll be doing all the grading, you'll be keeping the records, too. I will send you my excel files with the grade records in them, and every time you change one of those files and enter scores, you'll e-mail me the updated file. That way I'll always have up-to-date information when students ask me about anything."

She handed me another sheet. "Here are the dates I've already scheduled tests, and in what classes. You will of course be making up those tests and have them ready."

"So... this is what I have to do, then. To buy your silence. I basically have to ... just ... do your whole job."

"Like I said, David, you work for me now. You'll do absolutely anything I want. This is just the start. You're gonna grade my papers, you're gonna do my lesson plans, make up my tests, teach most of my classes. And none of our co-workers will know because no one pays any attention to what anyone else's schedule is. When they walk by a classroom and see you in there teaching my class, they'll just think you're teaching YOUR class. And every semester I'll get great evaluations from my students because I'm gonna have them do a separate questionnaire on you, which only I will see, but they won't know that. And when they do the real ones, I'll tell them not to mention anything about the 'teaching assistant.' So I will have a nice, cushy job, all thanks to you slaving away for me, hahaha. And I don't have to tell you what will happen if I should lose my cushy job."

I felt overwhelmed with how much time this would require, but in a way, I was relieved. At least this was do-able. I could do most of this extra work AT HOME, WITH MY WIFE. Becky wouldn't even notice my extra load of clerical work, since she was already used to me doing that sort of thing in the evening. This was actually much less dangerous than the affair with Katherine had been.

"Oh, and another thing, David. When I see you Monday morning at 8:30, I want you to bring your pay stub. We just got paid today. I want to see your pay stub, so make sure you have it."

As I opened my mouth to ask her why, she cut me off: "Say, 'Yes, Miss Murphy.'"

"Um... yes, Miss Murphy."

"Very good." Then she slid her feet up onto the booth bench beside me. She was wearing a skirt but no nylons or stockings, and her feet were clad in heels. "Now, David... I want you to slip both of my shoes off and set them on the seat beside you. Then I want you to kiss both my feet. No one can see, David. Do it. Kiss my feet and say, 'I'm your little worker slave, Miss Murphy, and I'll do everything you say.' Do it, David. Now."

I removed her shoes, bent at the waist, and brought my head down to kiss her feet. They didn't stink but were as aromatic as you might expect from being trapped in heels all day. I repeated the degrading words as she instructed, and put my lips to her flesh, took in the aroma of her feet, and looked at her beautifully painted toenails. I began to get an erection. I grew stiffer as she told me again to keep kissing her feet and pledging my obedience. She assured me that no one could see what I was doing, she told me to keep kissing her left foot, as she slipped her right foot off the bench and out of my sight. Soon I discovered where it went, and sucked in a sudden breath as I felt it press against my fly. She traced the outline of my hard dick in my pants with the toes of her right foot, and then retracted it from between my legs to place it back on the bench with the other.

"Put my shoes back on, David. Well, well.... you just can't control that little thing in your pants, can you? For a man your age, you're quite the little horndog, aren't you? Whether it's being a foot kisser, or a 'little cum cleaner', hahaha ... you'll just take whatever you can get, huh? That's why you're in this predicament, David, because you can't control your dick. Tell me, David: Do you and your wife have sex?"

"Well... that's kind of personal."

Mandy scoffed. "Personal? What? David, please. Did you forget who you're talking to? It doesn't get any more personal than the picture I have of you. Listen, there is no 'personal' with you where I'm concerned. You don't refuse to answer my questions, David. You don't have any 'personal' with me, do you understand? Do you have sex with your wife? Answer me."

"No. We don't have sex. We haven't for years. But I love my wife. I love her very much."

"I know you do, David, that's not the question. The question is if you have sex, and I'm not surprised to hear you don't, because if you love her as much as you say you do, then of course the only thing that could make you have such a reckless affair -- with your boss's wife! -- would be if you have no sex life. OK. So that's good to know."

At the time, I wondered why she cared about that, but it became clear later on.

"OK, David. I'm gonna leave. You're gonna stay here for 5 minutes before you leave. You can look over your new schedule. You have my phone number, but don't use it. I have yours now, so if I need something, I'll call you. And you better answer, or call me right back. From now on, I snap my fingers, and you jump. I'll see you at 8:30 Monday morning, in your office. Bring your pay stub."

As she gathered her things to leave, she added, "Oh, and one more thing. No touching your little weiner over the weekend. No masturbating. When I see you Monday morning, I'll know if you've been playing with yourself. You have work to do, no jerking off." She pointed at me and looked at me sternly. "What do you say?"

"Um. Yes ... Miss Murphy."

She turned and walked out.

At 8:30 Monday morning, as I sat at my desk, Mandy slipped into my office, closed the door behind her, and locked it. Without a word, she strolled up beside my chair, sat her bum down on my desk, and slipped the shoe off of her right foot. Nervously, I said, "Good morning, um, Miss Murphy." She just smirked. She slipped her foot between my legs and pressed it firmly onto my crotch. I sucked in a breath as my cock instantly sprang to life. "You didn't jerk this thing over the weekend, did you?"

"No, Mand-- Miss Murphy, no. No, I didn't."

"Good. 'Cause you're a little worker slave. You don't have time to fool around playing with yourself. No jerking off, David. Ever. At any moment I might check that thing, and it had better go 'boing' instantly." She snapped her fingers. "If it doesn't, I'll know you've disobeyed me and played with it. Now ... let's see that pay stub." She put her shoe back on as I produced Friday's pay stub from my briefcase. She put mine and hers side-by-side in front of me. "Do you see my net pay, David? And do you see yours?"

"Yes."

"We're going to switch them. You're gonna trade me salaries. So that means every two weeks, you're gonna give me the difference. In cash."

"What!?"

Suddenly my head registered a sharp impact, and I realized she had slapped me hard in the face. My mouth dropped open, and before I could respond, she slapped me again. "'What' is not an answer when I tell you to do something. I've already told you several times how you should answer me."

"But Mandy, this--" At that, she grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me to the floor, right out of my chair. The chair tumbled over, and she stood over me, holding me by the hair while I tried to stabilize myself on my hands and knees.

"I swear to God, David, if you call me Mandy one more time, you're gonna get a swift kick in the nuts."

"OK. OK. Miss Murphy. Miss Murphy. I'm sorry."

"Now, let's try this again. Every two weeks when we get paid, you're gonna give me the difference in our checks, in cash. Now you answer."

"Um... OK, um... yes, Miss Murphy."

"Very good. Such a simple little phrase, 'yes, Miss Murphy', and you're a smart enough man, David, you should be able to remember it. Now, kiss my ass and apologize to me." With that, she pulled my face up to her skirt-covered ass, by my hair.

"I'm sorry, uhh..." *Kiss kiss* "I'm sorry, Miss Murphy, um... I apologize." *Kiss kiss*

"What are you going to do every payday?"

"I'm going to, um..."

"Keep kissing my ass."

*Kiss kiss* "I'm going to, um, give you the difference" *kiss kiss* "in our paychecks, um" *kiss kiss* "in cash, um .... every payday" *kiss kiss* "Um, Miss Murphy."

"Now tell me you're my little slave, and you have no power to argue, and you're gonna do everything I tell you to do from now on without question."

*Kiss kiss* "Um, I'm your ... uh ... little slave--"

"Make sure you call me Miss Murphy."

*Kiss kiss* "Miss Murphy" *kiss kiss* "and, um ... I have" *kiss kiss* "no power to argue" *kiss kiss* "and I will, um" *kiss kiss* "do everything you say without question" *kiss kiss*

At that, she let go of my hair. "OK. Get up, and grab your things. We have a class to go to."

Moments later, we stood in front of her 9:00 Math 190 class, and I cringed once again as she introduced me as "Davey, my teaching assistant." She explained to the students that I had graded their tests over the weekend, and that she had looked them over to make sure I had done a good job. That was a lie, of course; she had not laid eyes on them since she put them on my desk three days before. She told the students if they had any issues with the way their test was graded, they should come and talk to her. This was obviously intended to make me look only semi-competent, and to make her look like the expert. Then she told them that although she would still be around regularly, I would be doing most of the lessons for the rest of the semester, so I could "learn the ropes."

So in that week, I went instantly from having one full-time job, to having two. And of course, instead of earning twice as much money for doing twice as much work, I took a pay cut of nearly 40%. Meanwhile, Mandy's -- oh, pardon me -- Miss Murphy's pay went up by over 50%, and she spent no more than 15 hours a week on campus. Only about 5 hours of that was spent actually working: She had to actually teach when our classes overlapped and I was in my own class, but of course she did no preparation, since I was required to provide her with the lesson plan to cover.

The remaining hours were spent in her office talking on the phone or playing games on the computer, until a student would come by to complain about the way I had graded something. It was easy for her to handle this; she would simply give back the points I had taken off, edit the excel file containing the grade record, and send me her edited version. I was required to then replace the version I had with hers. When I compared them, I could see that she added points to someone's score. Her strategy was very clear to me: I take off points and look like the bad guy, then she gives points back, and they love her for it.

About once a week, in each of the three courses she had made me take over almost completely, she would come to class to touch base with the students and do a few minutes of the teaching. This was basically just schmoozing time. If she was there at the beginning of class, she would stand in the hallway with me and make me hold all her things, then make a show of giving me instructions of some kind. Then she would grandly stroll into the classroom with me following behind and looking like some kind of lackey -- which of course I was. One time she was doing a little bit of teaching while I sat in a side chair up front, and suddenly she said, "Let me show you another example of this kind of problem. Davey, do you have that other example I gave you?"

I looked at her blankly, and she said, "Remember the example I gave you this morning? You put it in the green folder, didn't you? Look in your briefcase... in the green folder.... is it there?"

Of course I had no idea what she was talking about, but I fumbled around, and opened a green folder in my briefcase. I knew what I used the green folder for, but I knew nothing of some example she had supposedly given me.

Finally, she said, "You don't have it? Well, keep looking, I know I gave it to you. Oh, well, I'll just do this other example for you, class." At that point, she simply continued with the next example I had put on the lesson plan. After a few moments of rooting around in my briefcase, it suddenly dawned on me that the whole thing was just a ruse. She just wanted to make me look disorganized and stupid in front of the class, and make herself look like a professional.

TCC expects us to keep regular office hours and to inform our students of the times we are available for consultation outside of class. So Mandy did honor her office hours. (Administrators have been known to spot-check such things to make sure faculty are following the office hours policy.) But she told her students that while she was available for grading issues, or any complaints they had, if they actually needed help with math, they should see me. She did not inform them that I actually had an office (and of course she strictly forbade me to blow my cover as a "teaching assistant"), and she scheduled "office hours" for me to take place in the student center. She wrote an additional 10 hours a week of these "office hours" into my schedule; during those hours I had to sit in the noisy student center at a round table in case her students had homework questions. This time was of course separate from my own legitimate office hours, held for my students in my office.

In any dispute, she took the student's side, no matter how ridiculous the student's complaint was. While my students were very disciplined about turning in assignments on time and showing up for scheduled tests (because my policies required it), her students were always turning in work late, and/or not showing up for tests. Mandy's syllabus did contain policies about such things, so at first I enforced them. Her policies were actually stricter than mine, because she had written the syllabus before she had her "little work slave / teaching assistant", and she didn't want to be inconvenienced by student irresponsibility. But now that she was free from such inconveniences and they all fell on me, she granted students' every wish, allowing them to make up tests for any reason and turn work in late. She accepted any flimsy excuse. I would try to enforce the policies, the student would run to her, she would overturn my decision, and then I would have to accommodate them. The triumphant student would see me as an arrogant prick, and Mandy as a flexible, understanding instructor who was "cool about it" when a student shirked their responsibilities.