CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: SEDUCTION PLANNED

With the certainty that Professor Stroggleoff has invaded her memories Griselda has decided that he needs seducing... sexually.

When Griselda woke in the middle of the night she felt as if she'd been drained, which in a way she had. And she had one hell of a hangover, which served her right for drinking so much from a bottle that shouldn't have been there in the first place. I mean, how could so astute a lady as Griselda Entwhistle drink the liquid from a bottle that had appeared from nowhere by magic, especially if that magic had nothing to do with her? But her excuse, as she was to explain later, was that she had been tired and in need of sustenance, and as far as she was concerned that was excuse enough.

She started feeling uncharacteristically sorry for herself. She didn't do it very often, but when she did she became quite irrational in a dejected kind of way. And, she supposed, she had enough to feel sorry about. All she wanted to do was get enough training to be accepted as a priestess so that she could taunt the local priest for his very unpriestly and frequently carnal errors of judgement. It was a simple desire and one that really should not have put her to so much trouble.

Oh woe is me, she sighed to herself in the silence of her throbbing head (if a throbbing head can ever be actually silent), oh woe is me, everything's going wrong that can go wrong, this damned place is getting the better of me and I can't even get a bit of shut-eye without waking up feeling crap! And to cap it all someone has drained me of myself! I am less of the woman that I was! It's outrageous!

When that last thought crossed her mind she sat bolt upright because, absurd as it sounded, she knew it to be true. Someone had drained her memories from inside her head, or rather someone had made the equivalent of a carbon copy of her entire life. She knew someone had done precisely that even though she had no evidence to base the theory on. Her head felt as though it might have been dragged through a mincer and everything put back in not quite the right order, and that would surely be enough to disconcert anyone.

“That damned Stroggleoff!” she hissed between clenched lips. “Well, it's time for me to sort him out once and for all! He'll have a weakness because he's a man! There's not a male on this planet who isn't governed by his private parts, and so that's the way I'll get to him. I'll use his weaknesses, that's what I'll do! It's time for me to seduce him like he's never been seduced before and when he's one quivering lump of unfulfilled sexuality it'll be time for me to cast a spell that will keep him that way! Then let's see him become Pope, with a torment of unfulfilled lusts constantly bubbling inside his old, cold heart! And while I'm doing it I might get to see what he's done to my memories!”

No sooner had she decided to do it than she put the plan into action. To start with she knew she had to make herself more desirable than she'd ever been before, and that was saying quite a lot. Over recent years she had contrived to make her flesh as young and desirable as female flesh can be in several different ways.

Now let me see, she thought with a small smile hovering on the corners of her ancient lips, let me see, what kind of flirty young thing might the silly old fool of a professor fall for? Something young, me thinks: that's why he's kept the silly Anne Boleyn young and flighty. It's not been for her own good, that's for sure. No �" it's plain as the nose on your face that he likes his women a bit on the young side! So how old would he like me to be? I reckon he's the sort to be a bit pervy with a piece of young flesh, so I'll be sixteen... Maybe even sixteen is too old, but I'd better be careful...

She muttered a strange assortment of meaningless sounds under her breath together with a wide range of tickling t*****s and quick as lightning she started to change. Her sharply pointed nose and chin quivered before settling down as freshy young features on a peaches-and-cream face. Her straggly hair became fine and it seemed to dance with a life of its own, shining in the darkness of her little room, beautiful, long, sensuous, just like she thought Professor Stroggleoff would like it. Her tatty old clothes fell away, dissolved into the air, leaving her standing naked in her room with just the moonlight that found its way into past her curtains to hi-light her growing charms.

I'm pretty sure he goes for bosoms, she thought with an every-happier smile on her face, I reckon he has dreams about bosoms. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't sometimes do unmentionable things with his own private parts when he thinks of bosoms, so I'll have bosoms, all right. I'll have bosoms like I've never had them before, nice and plump and soft and yielding and everything a man of a certain age might swoon over, and all perfectly natural, not the texture of silicone anywhere! And n*****s! He's bound to like them, nice and firm, like chapel hat-pegs!

As the thoughts passed through her mind her chest region adjusted itself, growing ever larger until it resembled a cartoon chest rather than a real human one. But Griselda didn't care: she was serious and needed a full armoury if she was going to defeat the professor, and she knew that his much longer life and application to whatever dark arts he'd got access to would give him a certain advantage over her. But then, he might provide his own weakness. His newly-awoken raging hormones might get the better of him, and that would certainly give her the kind of advantage she'd need in confrontation that she envisaged.

Now for the backside, she thought. Men like nice rounded and soft backsides on their ladies. They like to squeeze them, the brutes, and pinch them! It might be animal, but that's the kind of thing men like to do and if the dirty old professor's going to try that kind of trick I'd better provide him with something worth pinching!

The thought had no sooner passed through her mind than her bottom started swelling in the kind of way she was sure would entice any man on planet earth to become something akin to putty in her hands. It became rounded, firm, and, even to her own mind, deliciously shaped. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and wondered why she'd never been bothered about the shape of her bum before. It was gorgeous! Even she could quite contentedly caress it. She shook herself, and the thought disappeared from her mind.

Now for clothes, she thought. I can't go challenging the silly old fool and leave simple things like clothing to chance. I think a nice pleated skirt to emphasise my backside, something so short it'll make his heart beat all the faster just by looking at it, but not so short that it shows everything. Best leave something for the old fraud's imagination to tumble over. And I think that a tight tee-shirt half a size too small would be just the job. Something that will emphasise my already massive b***s … that's perfect! No stockings or tights: I want him to see that it's skin he's looking at when he can't keep his bulging eyes off my legs. Now let me see. Yes, that's so good it's even got me fancying myself!

She made that last observation with a twinkle in her eye as she examined her own reflection once again. A generous bottom, she noted, can look all the more generous in the right skirt...

At last she was ready. No tights, no socks, nothing on her legs, hair long and straight and black as a raven's wings hanging round her shoulders, teasing the breasts she had conjured into being. A simple pair of sandals on her feet, and she was ready to seduce the sad old Professor. He can have had no idea of what she planned to happen that night!

I don't know what you did to my memories, but you've done something whilst I slept and that's just got to be sorted, she thought, and the notion made her angry. He would need dealing with good and proper, there could be no doubt about that. He had intruded into the very substance of her life, and that needed punishing.

Finally, and it was the darkest hour of the night, the one that beckoned the dawn, she was ready.

Silently she crept out of her room. There was nobody about �" but then, in a block of students' accommodation early in a new term there wouldn't be �" and she drifted like a mini-skirted, tight tee-shirted shadow along the corridor and down the stairs that led towards the lecture rooms, the reception booth and the administration block.

I love me, she thought as the passed a reflective window. And now it's time for me to tackle the good professor on my own terms when he's not expecting it, and make him love me too!

The Professor's office was the last one down the stub of a corridor, right at the end. Like a shadow, or the shadow of a shadow, she drifted towards it and pushed at its oaken door.

It was locked, but as chance would have it there was a key sticking out of the keyhole, a beautiful old iron key jutting out of a lovely old iron lock.

Slowly, she turned it. And slowly it rasped and squeaked as tumblers fell against tumblers deep in its ancient workings. The sound seemed like thunder in the silence of the night as Griselda paused, half-turn. Then she pushed the key the last little bit round and there was a loud clunk as the lock opened and the door started to swing open.