13 comments/ 24092 views/ 14 favorites The Unfair Exchange By: nageren For those more familiar with my romantic stories, please take note of the category for this story. It features an unlikable narrator and a tragic victim. You've been warned! ***** I'm not going to even try to defend what I've done. It was wrong, and I know it. It knew it was wrong at the time, too, but I didn't care. I could try to blame my circumstances, I could tell you what a horrible week I'd had. I could try to convince myself that I didn't mean any harm, that I didn't think it would really hurt her. But I'd probably be lying. Something in me snapped when that waitress raised her eyebrows, hinting at something she wasn't bold enough to say. And from that moment on, I went willingly and maliciously along with what my baser instincts were driving me to do. I won't even say I'll let you be the judge. I don't need that- I can judge myself just fine, and I've done so many times since that night. But I'm not brave or virtuous enough to try to go back and make things right. I doubt I even could if I wanted to... ******* It was December- a cold, drizzly, winter evening. I was in a sports bar just a couple miles away from the campus where I had been teaching. I say "had" been teaching because a few days earlier, only an hour after I finished my last lecture, I had been dismissed. "We're not renewing your contract," was the only explanation I had gotten, but I knew it was office politics. One of the other professors in my department was envious of how popular my classes had become, and she had some influence. I had a book almost ready for publication, and she knew it was going to put me in an even better position around campus. So she acted while she still could, and I got ousted. Sure, they gave me another month to wrap things up, but my contract technically ended at the end of December, so they didn't really owe me anything. I had foolishly assumed it would be renewed and hadn't pushed earlier to make it official. My own damn fault, I guess. So there I was, my car packed full, ready to drive to God knows where. I'd probably go visit family for the holidays and figure out my next steps. My lease ended that week, so I either had to renew or move. I opted to throw stuff in storage and make a clean break of it. That's why I was at the bar, getting myself almost wasted. I was planning to head over to a cheap motel for the night, then to drive across state the next morning. I was debating whether or not to get one mug deeper in trouble when I realized someone was talking to me. Over the din of the sports bar- thirty screens blasting all kinds of competitions, popular music over the loudspeaker, conversation all around- it was hard to make anything out. I swiveled around from the bar stool and looked at her. Aw hell, she was hot. And I was pretty sure is wasn't beer goggles making me think that. She was holding a big tray of food in one hand and a pitcher of beer in the other. She was shorter than average, thin, and blonde. She wasn't too chesty, but the uniform for waitresses was very flattering to all her curves. Her straight hair was tied back into a ponytail and the referee's whistle that was a part of her uniform hung between her breasts, drawing your attention to their light swells. I blinked a few times and tried not to sound drunk when I said, "Huh?" "Professor DeWitt? I thought that was you. I just wanted to say Hi." Professor DeWitt? Not me. I was Dr. Darius Allen, and I was quite proud of the work I had put in to the Doctor part of that. But she was staring right at me and there wasn't anyone next to me. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it (and not thinking clearly), I said, "Oh. Hi," and raised my mug in greeting. She gave a friendly smile and walked away. Of course, I watched her nubile form nimbly navigating the maze of chairs, tables, and unpredictable patrons. She was the kind of beautiful young girl who made working at a university both a pleasure and a trial. I wasn't bad looking, and I had been forced to turn down a few young things in my two years at that school. I was barely 30 years old, so that didn't make me so old that the girls found me creepy, and I was attractive enough that they weren't propositioning me for any reason other than a good lay. But I knew the rules and didn't want to risk my job over a fling with a hot co-ed, even if she wasn't in one of my classes and was the one to initiate it. But as careful as I had been, I was still unemployed, thanks to petty office politics. I turned back to the bar and decided to order some food. It was likely to be better there than at whatever greasy spoon would be next to my lodgings for the night. Besides, I could see that an NFL game was just coming out of halftime on one of the TV screens. I might as well stay and watch. A half hour later, I saw the waitress again. She had an empty pitcher in her hand and leaned against the bar next to me. When I looked over at her, she smiled and said, "I guess it's OK for you to be hung-over during the exam tomorrow. It's the rest of us that will be freaking out." "It's not so bad, is it?" I said, not sure why I was keeping up the ruse. Her smile faded, and she looked down at the pitcher in her hand. "Not for everyone. But I'm on the border of failing your class. This semester has kicked my butt- trying to pay bills and study. I'm worried I'm going to lose my scholarship, which would be the end of my time here." I almost made some comment about being able to understand, but I doubted Professor DeWitt had just lost his job. Instead, I asked, "Will you have time to study after work?" "It's either study or sleep," she said, faking a smile and standing up. "I haven't decided yet." With that, she walked back to the kitchen. For the next hour, I saw her moving around the restaurant, never failing to smile and flirt with customers, but often looking sad when her back was to the crowd. She definitely had the body and the look for this job, but if she had managed to get an academic scholarship to this school, she had to be pretty sharp, too. I wondered what field of study she was in. I knew all the Political Science students, so I was sure she wasn't in my department. But that didn't narrow it down much. I also knew that students with academic scholarships were held to pretty high standards, and one failed class would surely be enough to get her in trouble. Part of me felt bad for her. I had worked my way through college, too, getting minimal help from my parents, who were struggling to pay their own bills back then. Nine years later and we were all a little more financially stable- or at least I had been until that week. I remembered painting houses sixty hours a week in the summers and driving a bus thirty hours a week during the school year. I barely kept up, and every time exam week rolled around, I swore I wouldn't get so far behind on my studies the next semester. As the NFL game was winding down to its foregone conclusion (it was a blowout), I called for my check. My server handed it to me, and as I pulled out my wallet, the pretty waitress stopped by again. Still not wanting to confess to my little deception, I grabbed cash instead of a credit card. She took it from me and said, "I'll take care of it." A few minutes later, she walked back, wearing a coat. Handing me my change, she said, "Walk out with me?" I looked at the money and saw she'd returned all my cash, just changing out a twenty for smaller bills so I could leave a tip at the bar. I dropped a few bills on the table and hurried to catch up with her. "Need a ride?" I asked. "Nah," she answered. "I'm about two blocks away." She stuffed her hands in her pockets and nodded in one direction. "What's this about?" I asked casually, wondering if it was time to tell the truth. "Are you hoping I'll exchange a meal for a grade?" "Would you?" she asked hopefully. "No...I can't do that," I said honestly. "And I can't give you any advice or hints on the exam, either." "Would you exchange something else for a grade?" she asked, raising her eyebrow suggestively. She wasn't flirting or acting seductively. But she was serious. "You mean...?" "I mean I don't think there's any way I'm going to pass your exam. And even if I do, my grade in the class is going to be so low...I mean, shit, who knew oceanography would be that hard? I just needed an easy science class." She was rambling a bit, probably nervous. If she was suggesting what I thought she was suggesting, then she should be nervous. "So...you're saying..." "What would it take to get me a guaranteed A in the class? Not just to pass it, but an A, no matter how I do on the exam." "Is this something you're in the habit of doing?" "NO! I mean...I've never needed to...I'm usually a really good student, but I'm in over my head." She had no idea how in over her head she was at that moment. And all my reservations about socializing with students didn't matter anymore. I wasn't a professor there, the rules didn't apply anymore. My alcohol-impeded brain was thinking that this was just a case of a hot girl offering me a blank check. Even if it was a case of mistaken identity, I couldn't be blamed for that. She should have known better. She wouldn't know who I was, and by the next day, I'd be out of there forever. It was a dream set-up- no consequences, no strings attached, free sex. And for a guy who'd gone without a woman for a year now, it was a no-brainer. At the time, I even thought it was good karma- after a shitty week, I was finally going to get lucky. "You want a guaranteed A in my class? That's gonna cost you. One night." Her face drained of color. She pulled her coat tighter around her and looked at me pleadingly. "One night?" she whispered. "Yep. One night at your place, and I'll be gone before sunrise. That's my offer, but it has to be tonight. If we were just talking about going from a B to an A, it might be different, but it doesn't sound like that's your situation." She looked back at the restaurant, then looked down the road. In the orange light of the parking lot I could see a tear roll down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped her eye with her sleeve. "Just one night?" she asked, trying not to let her voice shake too much. "Just one," I said, my heart speeding up and my crotch tightening as I realized this was actually going to happen. "OK," she said softly. "You wanna get your car?" "No, I can walk," I said quickly, not wanting her to see that my car was filled with my belongings, which would probably be suspicious. "Do you have roommates?" I asked, falling into step next to her as she headed towards the sidewalk. "Yeah, but they're probably asleep already. And I have my own room and bathroom." "You're going to have to remind me of your name," I said, hoping that wasn't suspicious. "Joelle," she said after a few seconds. "My name is Joelle. I'll write it down for you so you don't forget which grade to change." ******* It only took 10 minutes to get to her apartment, which was in the middle of a whole complex of student housing. We walked up to the third floor of her building and she asked me to step back while she quietly opened the door. Once she peeked inside and confirmed that no one was awake, she waved me inside. I followed her past the kitchen and down the hall, slipping silently into a room at the end. She put her mouth next to my ear and whispered, "I'm going to make some hot chocolate. Do you want any?" I nodded yes and whispered, "Bathroom?" She pointed to a door on the far wall. While she was gone, I relieved myself, then looked around her bedroom. It was very simple and plain. There were no pictures of a family or anything, and most of the stuff on her shelves was just textbooks and some DVDs. I tapped the track pad on her computer and was surprised when the screensaver disappeared without a password. Not smart on her part, but lucky for me. I could sill hear her in the kitchen, so I quickly pulled up an internet browser and searched for Professor DeWitt. He was probably a few years older and seemed a little bit heavier than me, but we both had a black goatee, thick-rimmed glasses, and the same hairstyle. The funny thing was that, until the day before, no one would have confused us with each other. I usually wore contacts but had lost them while packing and had worn my glasses to the bar that night. Also, I had just that week shaved my full beard down to a goatee and had cut off my trademark ponytail. When I had seen a group of my students at the sports bar, they didn't even say hello. I had thought they were just being rude, but now I realized that they probably didn't even recognize me. I made a mental note to shave off the goatee and get different glasses- the look didn't suit Professor DeWitt and I imagined it looked just as bad on me. I looked again at my doppelganger on the screen. His first name was Carl. I wondered what he was doing that night and if I was going to be getting him in any trouble. I started to consider coming clean and leaving, but my lust was taking over. I swiftly shut her computer and moved back over to her bookshelf. Looking at the books, I guessed she was majoring in something related to sociology or education. I was looking closely at what few pictures she had framed when she came back in the room. I straightened up and took the mug from her hand. She was trembling. "By one night you mean one time, right?" she asked softly. She sipped her drink and winced as the hot beverage stung her lip. "No, I mean one night," I said bravely, knowing she wasn't in any position to bargain. She looked away, glancing at the window that was covered by thick curtains. "But look at it this way," I continued, "it's already midnight, I said I'd be gone by sunrise, and I will need to sleep at some point, so we're not talking about a long time." She sighed and said mostly to herself, "I can't believe I'm doing this." I looked over at her neatly-made bed, and thought, I can't believe you're doing it either. ******* The next few minutes were strange, almost surreal. We sat in silence, me at her desk and her on the bed, both of us sipping our hot chocolate. Neither of us spoke or made any motion other than the occasional glance around the room. I imagine we were both on unfamiliar ground and were both wanting the other to make the first move. When I finished my drink, I set it gently on the desk. A short while later, she finished hers, stood, and took both our cups to the kitchen. I heard the sink running as she washed the mugs and put them out to dry. She walked back into the room, quietly closing and locking her door. She seemed so calm about this, and I couldn't help but mention that. "I grew up in the foster system," she explained. "This isn't the first time I've been...compelled to use my body to make it through a tough situation." I winced briefly but managed not to let the guilt rise to the surface. I told myself I wasn't like those other guys who had taken advantage of her- this had been her idea to begin with. It was a flimsy self-deception that didn't hold up to the later scrutiny of my conscience, but for now that voice was currently silenced by alcohol and hormones. Sitting back on the corner of her bed she asked, "So what do I have to do first?" I guess I had hoped she would be more into it, that her demeanor would be like it was in the bar. She could have said the exact same words but with a smirk, a playful tone indicating that we were involved in a cliché porn scenario that she planned to enjoy just as much as I would. But her voice conveyed none of that comfortable sense. Instead, she sounded defeated. Not frightened or trapped, just...defeated. Still wanting to feel like she was an active participant in this, I told her, "First, you undress us." She sighed, slumping her shoulders as she began to unbutton her uniform. Shrugging her shirt off, she tossed it into a large basket near her window. With one fluid motion, she reached back, unclasping her bra and tossing it into the same basket. I didn't want to seem overly lecherous, but it was hard not to stare. Her skin looked so smooth and healthy. Her breasts jutted out proudly, despite her poor posture. I wanted to move towards her and begin feeling them, but I forced myself to wait until she had finished undressing us. Joelle stood up and shimmied her shorts down, taking her panties with them. They joined the laundry pile, followed quickly by her socks. She looked at me and asked blankly, "Now what?" "I said to undress us," I replied, trying in vain to hide the smile in my voice. She looked at me with a small amount of disbelief, then shrugged her shoulders. Standing, she closed the distance between us with just three steps, then gripped the bottom of my sweater. "Arms up," she said, sounding like a mother undressing a toddler. I raised my arms and blinked as the sweater brushed over my face, leaving me directly in front of her jiggling globes. Released of their restraints, they looked much bigger and fuller when she stood up straight. I extended a hand and gently cupped one breast as Joelle leaned in and pulled my t-shirt off. "Stand up," she said softly, and I slowly rose from the chair. Before she could make a move, I gripped her shoulders and held her still. Then pulling her towards me, I wrapped both arms around her, shivering at the feeling of her skin against mine. I hadn't felt anything like that in a while, and it made me feel so alive. I knew without asking that kissing was probably not on the menu that evening. I opened my arms and stepped back. "Go ahead," I said, closing my eyes and resting my hands on her back as she bent over and pulled my jeans down. I stepped out of them, using my toes to push my socks off. Then I walked over to her bed and lay down. I lifted my hips up and Joelle sighed again, joining me on the bed and pulling my boxers off. Once we were naked and on the bed, I made a rolling motion with my hand and said to her, "On your back." She obeyed slowly, waving with her hand to indicate that I needed to give her more room. Once she was on her back and her legs were spread, I ran my thumb along her slit. Unsurprisingly, she didn't seem aroused. I guess it was too much to hope for- that she would follow the script of such stories and find herself strangely but thoroughly aroused by what was taking place. "Got any lube?" I asked, not feeling very inclined to lick her. At that moment, it was if everything became very real to her. Her eyes widened and she sat upright. "Condoms!" she said in a panicky whisper. "Do you have condoms?" "No, and if you don't, then I guess we're not using them," I quickly replied, hoping to intimidate her into dropping the issue. I would have used them if she had them and insisted, but I was very glad she didn't. "I'm clean...don't worry about it," I added. "We can't do that," she protested. "I...I never...that's not safe." her eyes were pleading, desperate, begging for mercy. But her body was naked and available, and that was the more convincing argument in that moment. "Look," I said with feigned impatience, "when I walk out this door, I'm not coming back. If you're trying to send me out to the store, I'm going home and our deal is off. You've still got a few hours to either sleep or study." I let the words hang in the air, waiting to see how desperate she really was. In the dim light of her desk lamp, I stared at her face. She looked up at me, meeting my gaze with a look of genuine fear. When I didn't flinch, she slumped her shoulders and fell back onto the bed. After a few seconds of silence, she mumbled, "There's some baby oil behind the bathroom mirror." The Unfair Exchange I got off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, smiling. I soon returned with the bottle, squirting a little into my hand and rubbing it around the head of my cock. I didn't want too much- just enough to get in without trouble. Wiping my hand on her bedspread, I knelt between her parted legs. As I lined up my cock at her entrance, I said with an attempt at humor, "This first time probably won't take long. It's been quite a while for me." Looking to the side, towards the window, she said quietly, "Just remember to pull out." I sniffed in response. No sense flat out refusing- it would only make her upset. And no making promises I didn't intend to keep. I felt her warm folds surround my tip, and my cock twitched in excitement. I lowered my chest until I felt her breasts pressing against me. Joelle wiggled a little under me, but she stopped moving as soon as I began to enter her. I pressed slowly, gently at first. The baby oil helped ease my entry, and I was halfway inside her with one thrust. I looked at her face, which was still turned to the side. Her eyes were closed and she was wincing. I tried to pretend it was an expression of pleasure, and the wrinkling of her brow surrounded by her blonde mane caused me to pause and admire her. Instinctively, I wanted to reach out my hand and caress her cheek, but I didn't expect that would be well received. Instead, I pulled back slowly and pushed back in, going no deeper than I had already been. Joelle whimpered softly at the penetration. I pushed a few more times like that- slow, shallow thrusts that I hoped might entice her arousal. When I had denied my instincts long enough, I continued one of those thrusts until I bottomed out inside her. Joelle's chest move up and one hand quickly went to my hip, pushing back a little. I knew it was just the suddenness of that unexpected thrust. She put her hand back down on the bed and relaxed a little. I held still, closing my eyes and thanking my lucky stars that the night was ending with me buried deep in a young co-ed's pussy. It was Fate's compensation for losing my job after always doing the right thing. I worked an arm under her to hold her close. The feel of the smooth skin of her back gave me goosebumps. My other hand moved slowly up and down the side of her body, lingering on her smooth, round breasts. I moved my hips slowly, not wanting to cum before I had really enjoyed the feeling of her body against mine. After a few minutes of traveling all along her body, my hand settled on her small, tight ass, pulling her towards me as I thrust. My hips began speeding up and my lips tasted her neck. She made no sound other than the occasional grunt or moan in response to a harder thrust. Her face remained fixed, looking to the side with eyes closed. Her eyes would wince or her eyebrows would rise now and then, but she otherwise gave no response to my presence inside and above her. But that didn't slow down my rapid pursuit of release. Her walls were clenching me too tightly and her body looked too perfect for me to have any problem. Once I remembered that I had her body at my disposal all night, I saw no point in delaying my orgasm. My thrusts didn't speed up, but they became harder. I pressed deep and held it there with each thrust. My breathing sped up and became louder. Gasps became grunts, grunts became cries, and finally, with a subdued shout (subdued because I remembered her roommates at the last second), I held deep and released. The arm I had under her was gripping her shoulder while my other hand pressed the small of her back, not giving her any room to maneuver. When she felt my pulsing begin, she of course tried to pull back and object, but I gripped tightly, my whole body stiff until each spray was finished. Joelle stopped resisting after a few seconds, probably realizing it was pointless and too late. Even after the last pulse released inside her, I continued pressing down, not ready to pull my member from its temporary home. When I finally rolled onto my back, she quietly hissed, "You weren't supposed to do that." "Says you," I retorted, still catching my breath. "I've got you for one night, I make the rules." She looked away and said nothing. I took some deep breaths, thinking through what else I wanted to do that night. Once I had the next steps planned out, I hopped out of bed and said, "Come join me in your shower." With her hands folded across her belly, Joelle closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then got up and followed me. ******* The shower wasn't built for two- I had noticed that earlier. But it was big enough for us to stand up against each other, even if it didn't allow for much motion. We faced each other, and she closed her eyes as the warm water ran down her hair and shoulders, dripping off her elbows and nipples. I unabashedly ogled her body, sliding my hands across her skin wherever I pleased. After a few minutes, I grabbed the soap and handed it to her. "Wash my back," I told her. "Turn around," she replied. "No, you reach around," I explained. She looked up at me sadly, then reached her arms around my body. Her hands moved up and down my back in a mechanical way, rubbing the soap all around. My hands, meanwhile, rubbed her back smoothly and sensually, pausing in certain spots to give a small massage. She exhaled loudly but otherwise didn't acknowledge my touch. "Good enough?" she asked, once my back had been thoroughly soaped up. "Yeah. Now my cock," I said. I watched her jaw clench at that command, but she reached down anyway. With both hands, she covered my soft member and my balls with a thick, soapy lather. A few seconds into her ministrations, however, I responded to her touch. My cock swelled and started rising. I took the soap from her hands and returned the favor, soaping up the whole area between her legs. I ran my hand up her crack, soaping around her other hole. Her whole body tensed at that, and I decided not to press that issue for the night. "Turn around," I ordered her. She turned her back towards me and I said, "Hands on the wall." She obeyed, spreading her legs slightly without needing to be told to. Our height difference was significant enough that it would have been very difficult to fuck her in that position. Instead, I slipped a finger between her folds and pressed firmly in. Joelle gasped and lifted her head. I could see her eyes clenched were shut and she was biting her bottom lip. I started moving my finger around, trying to press against her G-spot and sometimes withdrawing to run circles around her clit. Judging from the sounds she made, Joelle felt either mild arousal or mild discomfort. I quickly lost interest and pulled my hand back. Washing off, I told her we were finished. She straightened up as I turned off the water. Joelle only had one towel, which we took turns using. After she dried herself off, she started pulling clothes out of a drawer, but I stopped her. "Not tonight. You need to stay naked." She didn't object, but I could tell she was disappointed. I sat in her desk chair, still naked and still fully aroused. I noted the time- it was just after 1 a.m. Joelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows slightly, silently asking what I expected. "Use your mouth," I explained, leaning back in the chair. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Then she knelt on the floor in front of me. She put one small hand around my shaft and started working it up and down slowly. After a few strokes, she hesitantly moved her mouth towards the head. Then she pushed all the way down with her hand, gripping me tightly at the base as she put her mouth on the exposed section. I groaned from the sudden sensation. Joelle bobbed her head slowly up and down a few times, her hand still tight at my base, making the skin of my shaft taut. It was an interesting sensation, if not totally pleasing, but I guessed it was only the beginning. Sure enough, after less than a minute of that, she started moving her hand along with her mouth. I let out a long moan of appreciation. Even after having just cum inside her a half hour ago, I felt like she could drain my balls again very soon. I put my hands on the sides of her head, not controlling her motions but just increasing the physical connection I had with her. Joelle knew how to give a blowjob. I had never had one so good, not even in college. Her hands took turns stroking my shaft, rotating and twisting just enough to be exciting but not so much that it hurt. Her teeth never scraped me, but her mouth felt tightly sealed around me. Her tongue was fully engaged, adding an extra level of stimulation. She didn't deep throat me, but she would sometimes pull her hand away and take me deeper for a few strokes. I was torn between wanting to release my load and wanting to continue to experience this masterful example of giving head. I had planned to stop the blowjob and finish inside her, but now I was thinking that, with a girl this hot, I might be able to get it up again before I fell asleep. And even if I couldn't, there would still be time in the morning before I left. With that in mind, I warned her in a voice that was much shakier than I expected, "Get ready to swallow." She glanced up at me with angry eyes but didn't stop. My hips started bucking and my hands gripped her head more tightly, signaling the imminence of my release. Joelle took me deep in her mouth two more times, which was just enough to send me over the edge. She pulled back, sealing her lips around my crown and squeezing my shaft with her hand. I grunted and tried to push up into her mouth, but Joelle seemed to move back at the same time, keeping me right where I was in her lips. Nevertheless, her hand helped milk out my load so that, once my spraying had reduced to a trickle, I felt thoroughly drained. Joelle pulled her mouth off of me, using her lips to suck off what was left on my tip before swallowing the whole load. I slouched down in the chair, not wanting to lose that sense of euphoria. Joelle, meanwhile, stoop up and glanced around her room. Finding what she was looking for, she picked up a backpack and pulled out a sports drink from the side pocket. She quickly drank the few gulps that were left in it, swishing the beverage around in her mouth before swallowing it. After a minute of silence, she asked, "Are you tired?" I'm sure she didn't mean for her question to sound as hopeful as it did. I was tired, but I also wondered if I had one more round in me for the night. I thought about telling her to use her mouth again to get me hard, but, whether out of mercy or genuine sleepiness, I decided to get in bed. "Tired, yes, but not necessarily done," I said. She was visibly disappointed by that answer, but I continued. "Just spoon with me, and we'll see if sleep or horniness takes over." I held up the blanket for her to slide in next to me. It was only a double bed- enough room for two people who are sleeping close to each other. She turned off the desk lamp and crawled into bed, facing away from me. I scooted as tight in behind her as I could and put and arm around her warm body. Holding her in that embrace, I felt a twinge of sadness that there was no true intimacy between us. It had been a long time since I'd held a woman in this way, and Joelle seemed like a beautiful, smart, sexy woman that I would have loved to have as a part of my life. But after that evening, I knew it could never happen. Rather than feel bitterness towards her, though, I felt the onset of guilt. I could never have her because I had forced her to have sex with me under false pretenses. Maybe I was really sobering up or maybe my hormones were settled enough to let me think clearly. In any case, I started to feel awash with the realization of what a horrible thing I had done. My body continued to enjoy the softness of her flesh against mine, but my mind was repulsed by this stranger of a man doing these things in my place. Perversely, my hands rubbed her skin thinking it might comfort the poor girl for the ordeal she had just undergone, conveniently pushing aside the thought that I was the cause of that ordeal and the touch of my hands was probably only making it worse for her. I curled my legs up, pressing my crotch against her cool ass cheeks. I put my arm all the way around her, cupping her breast and drawing her close, trying to hug her as a lover would. It was in that position that sleep overtook me. ******* I had set my alarm for 5:30am, wanting to ensure I took advantage of Joelle's presence to satisfy my morning wood before the sun rose. The soft chiming of my phone on the desk didn't seem to wake her, and so I lay there listening to her steady breathing for a few minutes. After a short night's sleep, I was feeling even more guilty about taking advantage of her. And yet my hardness insisted that, since the damage had already been done, there would be no additional harm in using her one last time. She was on her side, facing away from me, still naked under the covers. I slid my hand over her hip and slowly worked my fingers towards her slit, wondering if her soft moans meant that she was subconsciously enjoying my touch. I was pleased to find some moisture at her entrance- it would make this a little easier. Pulling my hand back, I gripped her hipbone and firmly pulled her towards me, rolling her onto her back. Moving into position above her, I guided her leg to the side and lowered my cock to her entrance. Joelle moaned groggily, rolling her head to the side and sleepily moving her hands into contact with my arms. Once my tip was nestled at her entrance, I swiveled my hips a bit, encouraging her wetness to spread around. That motion seemed to wake her. She squinted up at me in the darkness and hoarsely asked, "Wha...?" Her question was cut off and turned into a sharp cry as I thrust firmly into her. Her back arched and her hands went to my chest, trying to push me away. "One more for the road," I mumbled. She was much drier once I got past her entrance, so my first penetration was slow and forceful. With two solid thrusts I was fully inside her, noting how much tighter she felt this time. I paused to catch my breath and to get my arms better adjusted around her. I heard rather than saw her crying. I almost asked, "Are you OK?" before realizing what a stupid question that was under the circumstances. "I had hoped it was just a bad dream," she said, and I wondered if she was expecting sympathy. Was she just reaching out for some human connection in the midst of her despair? I resolved not to give her that. If I opened myself up to being kind or gentle, there was no telling where that would end. It was easier to keep playing the role of the asshole. And so, without even acknowledging her comment, I pulled back and thrust slowly back in. She groaned in pain and I moaned in pleasure. She was dry and tense enough to be tight around my cock, but not so dry that it hurt. It was the sweet spot of selfish male pleasure- just enough room to move but plenty of resistance. So what if it was somewhat uncomfortable for her? It was the price of the deal she had made Besides, I told myself, this will make me cum quicker and end her ordeal. I started thrusting slowly, feeling like I could cum at any moment but still wanting to enjoy those sensations for as long as possible. Joelle hissed in pain as I moved in and out of her. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that her gasps and moans were from pleasure. I tried to imagine that her hands gripped my arms in desire and not repulsion. It didn't work. So I focused on one thing- the feeling of my cock pressed deep into her warm pussy. There was no morality there, no gray areas, no guilt, no blame. There was only the sensations of warmth and tightness and pressure and rising tension. After a few minutes, she stopped crying and seemed to resign herself to this final indignity. I encouraged her to move with me, to fake involvement. I told her it would speed things up and get me out of there quicker. But I knew that was yet another lie. I wanted her to be involved so that I could try to convince myself that, on some level, she wanted this. Psychologically, I needed that. The more this felt like forcing her, the less aroused I was. She indulged me, at least from the waist down. Her face and hands remained stoically still, but her hips thrust up at me and her legs wrapped around my thighs, locking at the ankles. I moved my mouth to her breasts, where I wouldn't need to see her face. I took her nipples into my mouth, each in turn, sucking gently to bring them to stiffness, licking around her aureoles to hopefully elicit some kind of response from her. But the only response was on my part, as my desire surged. The motion of her hips was helping to climb that last peak. I put my head next to hers, burying my face in the cool pillow. I tried to think of past lovers, something to get my mind away from the moment. As hot as she was, as exciting and young and nubile as this body below me was, I couldn't escape the slowly growing thought of what I was doing to the person that inhabited it. I clenched my eyes shut and remembered old girlfriends. Finally I called to mind a student who had boldly invited me out last semester, whom I sadly had to deny. I imagined what her form would have looked like below me, grunting in pursuit of her own release as mine rushed towards me. Wrapping my arms tightly around the yielding body below me, I sped up. Joelle stopped moving, not wanting to throw off my rhythm. I was on the very edge, panting loudly with exertion, pushing hard and deep. I propped myself up over her, locking my elbows. I could distantly hear the girl below me grunting as I began to pound her, treating her body as an inhuman object for the sating of my lust. Squeezing my eyelids shut, I pictured that sexy brunette student who had playfully suggested we let off some steam together. I pictured her face twisted in orgasmic joy as I filled her. That image was enough to send me over the edge. I collapsed onto Joelle, pushing deep into her. She cried out in complaint against the force of my last lunge, but I wasn't interested in hearing her at that point. My cock expanded in long bursts deep inside her. Her arms were folded between us, her hands still pushing against my chest. Nevertheless, I pressed down and in, stretching out my last moments of release until I relaxed with one loud sigh. I rolled away, aided by her pushing me off. I was surprised that she didn't hop up out of bed and run to the bathroom. Neither did she lay there weeping, as I might have expected. I was panting from exertion and staring at the ceiling for a minute, and Joelle lay there next to me. Then she abruptly stood up, walked to her bathroom door, and grabbed a robe. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she grabbed a post-it note from her desk, jotted something down, and handed it to me. "That's my name and student I.D. number," she explained, her voice soft and sad. "The sun will be up soon." Then she sat down at her desk and looked out the window. I took the paper and forced myself to sit up. Very reluctantly, I swung my feet off the bed and started to get dressed, putting the paper in my wallet. I was tired and wasn't looking forward to the long drive ahead. I had saved money on a hotel room that night, but maybe I'd stop at one a few hours down the road and catch a nap. "Do I even need to go to the exam this morning?" she asked, her voice flat. I thought for a second. "It would look strange if you didn't," I answered, pulling my shirt over my head and picking up my coat. I groaned inwardly at the cold morning walk that was between me and my car. "I guess you're right," she said, then sighed deeply. "I'd just rather not see you again." The Unfair Exchange "I can almost promise you that," I said, slipping on my shoes and heading towards her door. Joelle stood to follow me. I cautiously looked down the hall before opening her door all the way and heading back towards the front door. "I need to lock the door behind you," she said as I shoved my hands in my coat pockets and stepped out into the chilly air. The sun wasn't up, but the clear sky was showing the first hints of light in the east. A few stars were still visible in the west, and I wondered if either of us was capable of appreciating the beauty of the sky that morning. I had known her for less than 12 hours, and the sun had never crossed the sky during that time- it was a connection best left in the dark, I guess. I turned to say something before walking away, but anything that came to mind seemed either trite or cruel. I simply gave a small wave, then turned and left. The door was closed before I finished turning. ******* I read about it in the news a few months later. I hadn't even thought about that possibility- it made me glad I no longer looked anything like I had that night. I had just assumed she would drop the issue once she realized she'd been had. But no, she accused the bumbling Professor DeWitt, and the details of her accusation were made public. Exchanging grades for sexual favors was definite headline material, especially when the professor denies it ever happened. Fortunately for him, it didn't devolve into a "he said, she said" scenario, because he was on a red-eye flight, returning from a friend's funeral that night. The real Professor DeWitt arrived at the nearest airport around the same time I was enjoying Joelle's sweet lips on my cock. The TA administered the exam the next morning, and I can only assume Joelle failed both the exam and her class. She didn't go public with her accusation, though, until she turned up pregnant. Once the professor's alibi was checked and triple checked, the poor girl ended up looking like a foolish slacker who was trying to blackmail her way out of some bad choices. (The mainstream media carefully avoided the word 'slut,' though social media was not so kind.) The media played up her troubled background- foster system, no stable family, probable abuse growing up. You could read the subtext: She's not good enough, she's not smart enough, she's just like the trash who raised her. I guess that's what bothers me the most- I know she's a sweet girl who's working hard. She got taken advantage of by a half-drunk, bitterly angry guy on a bad day who didn't think through the consequences of his actions (hell, I thought it might be something I'd look back on and laugh). At first I told myself I was in the right place at the right time. Now I understand it was really that Joelle was in the wrong place at the wrong time- she should never have met me. I know I don't have the balls to make things right, though, so I don't need to hear that from anyone else. I know I'm the bad guy here. Would I do it again? Hell no. But that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at the time. And it doesn't mean my mind doesn't try to pull up those memories as fuel for some of my fantasies. But in the end, it never works. There's no pleasure in those memories, only guilt. I can only hope Joelle was left with something better. ***** From the author: Joelle was left with something better, as referenced at the end of the last chapter of A Strange Arrangement. That's the only connection between this stories and my others, but I had been wanting to tell Joelle's story for a while (and I had gotten a request for a non-con story- this is for you, Angela!). I don't think I have the heart to write about her foster years, but perhaps I'll eventually get around to writing her a happy ending.