3 comments/ 17608 views/ 14 favorites There Goes My Tenure Pt. 01 By: Soldieringon There Goes My Tenure Pt. 01 I groaned something unintelligible as my eyes rolled back in my head. "What if I call it 'my cunt,'" she continued. I was hard as a rock. "Do you want some more of my...cunt? Does that make me a dirty little girl, Mister Rikes?" She asked. She put a lusty pout into the last few words. "Can I be your dirty little girl...Sir?" Oh, fuck, I thought. I have completely lost control of this situation. She dragged her nail down my polo shirt and then lifted it over my head. The air felt cool against my sweaty chest. "Get on the bed, sir," she demanded. I felt myself complying, though I have no idea why. I had tentatively sat on the edge, unsure of where this was going when she reached out and pushed me back. "Lie down like a good boy," she instructed, "and I'm going to tell you what happens from here." My head smacked the painted brick of the dorm wall as I simultaneously tried to lay back and adjust myself on the bed. "I'm going to sit on your face," she said. "And you're going to eat my tiny cunt. If I cum, I may let you do this for me again before the end of the semester. If I don't... we'll think of something." "This isn't how it's supposed to go," I protested. "You came to me!" "Shhhh..." She placed a hand across my lips. "You think I didn't notice you staring at me during the football games?" As faculty I had to be there. As family, I was there cheering my little brother on. "You think I didn't see the efforts you made as you tried to hide your erections during class? We all noticed it. Every single girl in your classes knows. From the moment you walked into my dorm room I won a bet as to who could get you first." I sputtered and stammered, trying to form the words of denial. It was no use, however. There were a lot of girls in my English class, and a lot of long silences while they read a passage or wrote a response to a question on the whiteboard. I couldn't help but look, even if the youngest freshmen like Heather were only half my age. Nubile teens in immodest tops caused frequent disturbances at my desk and many times over the last semester I had had to give the lesson or answer questions from a seated position lest I give myself away. Apparently I wasn't good enough at hiding it. While I contemplated this, she straddled me, still wearing her skirt and gray socks. I heard the click of her heels as she settled into position on my core. "You little bitch..." I said wonderingly. "Now be a good teacher and let me know what an orgasm from a grown man feels like," she said teasingly. She scooted forward, pinning my arms under her thighs and reached out in front of her to slide the drapes open, letting in the morning sunlight. We were on the third floor, so I had no illusions that we were going to be seen, but the thought of being exposed drove me to new heights of lust. She settled forward, bracing her arms against the cheap headboard; the stackable kind you find in schools and military barracks that can be converted readily into bunk beds. She rolled her hips against my face and reached down briefly to drag her panties out of the way before grabbing the headboard again. She bucked and ground against my face, alternating between fondling her breasts and grabbing the top of the bed as I buried my face and mouth against her slick pussy. I hadn't had sex like this in years. My marriage had grown stale and I had forgotten what passion was like until Heather set me up in my office. She fucked my face this time and I eagerly lapped up her juices, feeling her swollen clit against my lips and sucking greedily at it. I tried reaching up for it with my hands, but her stockinged thighs pinned my arms down even harder. I settled for grabbing her ass instead and forcing her labia even harder against my mouth. She moaned, and gasped, and wiggled on my face, cries of pleasure mixed with gasps, and young, girlish giggles. I tried forcing my tongue in, but her snatch was clenched so tight that is was a futile exercise. I could taste the change in her nectar. She was close. My mouth and nose were full of the scents of Lycra and cotton mixed with Heather's juices as she began to cum. As I worked her quim with my mouth she began to gyrate earnestly and reached back to start stroking my cock. Dribbles of hot pre cum started lubricating her hand as we both twitched and jerked. She gripped my shaft intensely, cutting off both the blood flow and directing my orgasm as she moaned and cried out loud. I tried to respond but all that came out were muffled gasps as I shot my load across her back and into her hair. "Nice shooting, Tex!" she chirped. "I haven't been fucked like that in weeks! She released my cock and settled her hips back on my chest. I felt light headed and disoriented as she started talking. I realized that the artist had changed on the speaker again, and I was dimly wondering if we were running out of time before the next class. "Oh no!" She intoned. "What will your wife think if she finds out?" Those words dragged me back to reality in a hurry. Amanda would drag me through the mud at the first opportunity if she even heard a hint of any allegations leveled against me. She and I hadn't been intimate in a long time, and the idea of me being led around by my cock by a teen temptress would be amazing ammunition whenever the court date came. I could lose my house, my job, my reputation, everything in one proverbial stroke. I began to panic and tried to scramble into a sitting position. Heather settled her full weight on my chest. She wasn't tall, maybe a petite hundred-pounds, but she could have weighed a ton at that moment. I had no leverage and was too exhausted to fight her off. Or maybe I didn't want to. I could smell her come on my face, her juices in my beard. "What do you mean 'what will your wife think,'" I countered? "How can you prove anything?" I pointed at her closed laptop. "If you were planning on recording me with that," I smirked, "I closed it. It's off by now." "What, you've never heard of a GoPro?" Heather said, shaking her head sadly. "I thought you were smart." I looked across the room at her roommate's shelves, where Heather pointed at a black plastic camera with a piece of what looked to be electrical tape, presumably to hide the recording LED. Fuck. I felt pressure against my lips as she shoved the candy still on her finger into my slightly open mouth. It tasted like pussy. And artificial cherry. "I was suddenly deeply, unutterably worried. "I want that damned video. You set me up you little slut!" "Don't worry, Mister Rikes, Sir." She mocked, pronouncing my name with a sarcastic pout. "Take the chip. You earned a copy. Besides, it's already in the cloud. There's an app for that. Laura helped me record it all. Just make sure I pass, and I promise I won't share the video with anyone. One peep though, and it goes straight to YouTube." She traced a lacquered nail down my nose and rested it on my lips. "From now on though, I'm in charge. Besides, I want more. I'll let you know when." Winking at me, she climbed off my torso and walked behind the screen, presumably to get dressed. I sat up for a second, considering the implications of what just happened before getting off of the bed myself. Checking my watch, I started walking quietly to the little camera on the shelf. There were 45 minutes until the substitute finished my class. I had at least 5 before her roommate showed back up. I heard drawers closing behind the screen, and Heather spoke. "You can have the card, but not the camera. It's Josh's, it goes on his helmet." Fuck. I had hoped for a second that she was bluffing. Though I supposed I'd find out when I put the card in my computer. The little SD card came out of the camera with a small 'click,' and it quickly went into my billfold, which was otherwise empty. "Does Laura know what's going on?" I asked. No answer from Heather as I started getting dressed, and I knew that she was deliberately ignoring me. "Heather? Does. Laura. Know?!" I emphasized every word in an attempt to get through her teenage brain. "She doesn't have to..." she finally replied. Fully clothed and ready for the cold weather, I took the hint and snuck out of her dorm room, down the hallway, and out the back stairs. I walked quickly down the hill to my car and sped back to my apartment. After calling in sick today the last thing I needed was to be seen leaving the dorms. There Goes My Tenure Pt. 02 ***Disclaimer: All persons in this story are over the age of eighteen. Please do not reprint or repost this work on any other website without the consent of the author*** Also, with special thanks to my editor, who handled the editing duties wonderfully on parts I and II, and who will hopefully handle editing on III and IV. ***** I teach three English courses for a total of six classes a week. Introduction to Literature (Eng/190) on Mondays and Wednesdays, American Literature 230 after English 190, and the third on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Heather was in English Composition II, my Tuesday/Thursday class. I don't teach Fridays because I usually hold office hours instead. Not this week though. After calling in sick on Thursday to fuck my student, I decided it would probably be best to stay home and avoid campus for a bit. What I was really trying to do was avoid Heather, though I was loathe to admit it. Instead, I stayed at home and buried my head in mountains of red ink. Grammar issues abounded and helped distract me from the thought of burying my face in something else. I graded and graded, and was disappointed not to find a paper from Heather in the pile. It was going to be difficult to justify the rise in her class average if questioned. I had to think of something. But at the same time I had to stop thinking about her. Whenever I let my mind drift I could almost feel the texture of those long gray socks against my face. The scent of her skirt and that tight little slit lingered in my mind and triggered lustful memories. I became desperate. I lost track of how many times I came that weekend. Standing by the shower, aching cock in hand as I made deposit after deposit into the bowl, I began to feel ashamed of what I had done. But every time I felt guilty I heard her say 'from now on though, I'm in charge,' and became instantly hard again. I felt a profound sense of worry coming into class on Monday morning, and even though I was reasonably sure I wasn't going to see Heather until Tuesday, I was still uneasy. After five hours teaching three separate periods back to back, I was drained. It had been a challenge for me to focus on the lesson at hand. We were discussing Milton's Paradise Lost, and the juvenile part of my brain wondered if Milton had ever buried himself in a nymph like Heather. He might have titled it Paradise Found, instead. I was distracted and on edge, hoping each course would end, and I believe that the students knew it. Finally returning to my office, I expected that Heather would leave something behind, or even worse (better?) be waiting in my chair, but my office was empty, and I don't know if I was pleased about that or not. Like I said, I was desperate, and now conflicted as well. Waking Tuesday brought a whole new set of worries. She was in my first class of the day and decided to occupy a chair in the front row that was normally left empty. I don't know what I had anticipated. A scene, most likely. Visions of her in a cheer skirt flashing her panties, or sucking on candy had worried and excited me all night, but she was dressed plainly today, in jeans and a maroon varsity jacket, most likely Josh's. In this class we were currently focusing on a graphic novel called Maüs, where the Nazis were represented by cats. "Mr. Rikes?" she asked. "Yes, Heather?" "We're two minutes over." I looked at my watch. We didn't have bells here, as different classes were on intervals that varied, and the clocks in the classroom were never accurate, being powered by batteries. My students were always instructed to let me know if I rambled on too long, lest they be late for the next course. "Whoops!" I exclaimed. Pointing at the board behind me I reminded the students, "I'll see you Thursday. Remember, I want two pages, typed, double spaced, on the use of mice as the Jews and how that played into Hitler's references that the Jews themselves were rats and vermin. Source the internet if you must, but only reputable sites! And no wikis!" As they began to rise I said: "Ms. Winston, can I see you for a minute?" There were a few chuckles, and some clown in the back who intoned 'OoOoOoooh'. I ignored him and sat at my desk gathering submitted papers one by one as the students dropped them off. Heather walked up as the rest of the class was leaving, her hands empty. I estimated we had less than five minutes alone before the next group started filing in. She placed her hands on my desk, looking down at me. "What's up, Mark?" she asked. I ignored her use of my first name as there wasn't time for this, and handed her a stack of papers instead. She read the first of them, and then the second. Each was about a paragraph long. "Seriously? Essays? Extra Credit essays? Are you for real?" "Very," I answered. "What the fuck? I did all my extra credit last Thursday..." Her tone was aggressive, and I paused for a second, looking for the calmest way to explain this. I remained seated, unwilling to escalate any potential confrontation. "Listen to me very carefully, Heather. Look. There are ten of these. Each is worth fifty points. Even if I correct and bump your grades on every assignment from here to winter break, I can't justify the change in your average needed to pass because too many failures or missing papers are already recorded in the computer. I can't change grades that are in the school system without explaining myself to someone." She was careful to lower her voice, but her tone was flat. "If I wanted to do extra work, I wouldn't have sucked your dick." I let that hang quietly in the air between us, but now I was the one starting to get angry. "You don't have to do well on these, you only have to complete them. I'll bump the grades on all of them anyway, even the stuff for the rest of the semester," I growled, "but neither of us want your grades investigated. When your average shoots up this high, this fast, there will be questions. You have to work with me here. There's five hundred points available here. That's half a semester's worth, and it's easy shit. They don't even have to be good, just complete." I paused again for deliberate effect before continuing, "I have never done this for another student. Ever. This will let me justify your 'A', and keep us both here. Or maybe you'd like to watch cheer from the sidelines next semester as a dropout? Please, Heather, work with me, and not against me." I had taken the wind out of her sails. She was practically muttering and I had to struggle to hear her. "Ugh. Fine. I'll do this shit. But remember, this is supposed to be on my terms. I'd better pass." She didn't have to imply the obvious 'or else.' The beginnings of the next class were starting to file in and take their seats. Heather started stuffing papers in her backpack. I had expected even more argument, but she had chosen not to make a scene. Suddenly a wry look came over her face, and she leaned closer. "I have an idea. You're good with English, this'll be easy for you," she smirked. "What are you talking about?" I asked. She flipped her hair to the side with a practiced motion and answered: "You'll see." She walked out the door and left me with an amazing view of her ass. Those jeans were tight. She had a blue button on her bag with a digital thumbs up from some social media site. It read: 'you like this.' I did. The next ninety minutes went smooth. I gave the same lecture, anticipated the questions from the previous class would be asked, and generally forgot that there had even been an encounter with Heather for the rest of the period. I was in my groove and the class ended without incident. Much better than yesterday, and definitely better than the end of the earlier period, though Heather's last comment concerned me. Since there were only two periods today, I was done lecturing. Slightly relieved and a tad bit apprehensive, I walked down the hall to my broom closet of an office and opened the door. I was ready to start grading papers, eager to distract myself, and thankful that I didn't encounter any of my colleagues, though I usually didn't until later in the day anyway. I must have forgotten to lock my office before my first class. I hadn't been back since then. Nothing looked out of place until I went to sit down. As I came around my desk I noticed a flash of blue on my chair, and I picked up a pair of tiny G-string panties from my seat. They were satin, and where there would normally be a panel of cloth in the back there was instead a little silver heart charm, covered in rhinestones and suspended in an empty fabric triangle from a little loop at the top. I reached for the note that they had been laying on. It was written in purple ink, and a little difficult to read on the white paper. 'I'm sorry,' the paper read. 'I forgot to wear these today. Write me a story on how that makes YOU feel and I'll turn in my extra credit like a good girl.' She had colored in the little heart she drew at the end and written her phone number at the bottom. 'P.S. Text me when my story is done.' Instinctively, I pressed them to my face, and was disappointed they only smelled like laundry. Stuffing the panties in my pocket, I sat down at my desk, and ignored the pile of papers, suddenly disinterested. Spinning my chair to my laptop, so help me, I fired it up and began writing. My cock bulged in my pants as I typed furiously. When I was done I was so hard I could barely stand. With a sudden start, I realized my office door was still unlocked. Anyone could walk in unannounced. I hurried across the office and turned the deadbolt with an audible click, grateful I got away with this so far. I was desperate to relieve myself, and couldn't stand it anymore. Pulling out my wallet and grabbing the tiny chip from the camera, I crossed the office again and plugged it into the slot on the laptop. Watching myself on screen fucking my teenage dream from behind, I viewed us now from the observers' point of view, and it was a whole new experience. Her skirt bounced in time to my thrusts and I could see the look of pleasure on her face every time I slammed my cock home. The force of my pelvis repeatedly shoved her face into the pillow on the floor, and the camera was good enough that I could see smears of her pink lipstick rubbing off onto the cover. I was so on the edge at this point that I didn't even have to stroke myself. I went to unzip my pants and pull it out, but the sensation of rubbing fabric caused me to explode near immediately. Hot jets of sticky cum filled my boxers. I was suddenly wet and messy, while simultaneously relieved and ashamed. I was also keenly aware that I didn't have a change of clothes here. I closed my laptop without even bothering to shut it off, and threw it in its bag along with the papers I had intended to grade. I made my way to the men's room, using my computer bag as cover for my crotch while the muffled sounds of my student's orgasm preceded me softly down the hall. Thankfully the video quietened before I got out of the restroom. I had been fortunate not to be seen (again), but this had to stop. I needed to keep this sort of thing at home, where I couldn't get caught. After cleaning up as best I could, I managed to make it the half mile down to my car without being stopped, though my face turned red when I had to wave to students and faculty. My overcoat covered the worst of it, however my boxers were now in the trash in the second floor bathroom in the University's main building. I felt like a teenager, sneaking around and looking to hide evidence of my crimes. Finally, after what seemed like forever I made it home in my beat-up coupe and into my apartment. A hot shower and a change of clothes made me feel a lot better, and the interminable time gave me much needed distance from the escapade of getting out of my office. For some reason I didn't understand, I pulled her panties from my slacks and hid them in my dresser drawer, like some illicit trophy. Freeing the laptop from the bag, I fired it back up. It had gone to sleep, and the video paused with a picture of me being pinned down helplessly by someone half my age and weight. Once again aroused, I closed the video, and connected the laptop to my LaserJet to make a hard copy of Heather's story. Then I promptly deleted the story from my machine. I don't know why I had obeyed her so quickly, but I had no desire to make her wait, either. Perhaps I was trying to simply get it over with. Spent, confused, and emotionally conflicted, I sat down on the couch in a pair of black gym shorts and a school sweatshirt, then unlocked my phone to text her. Punching in the number from the note she left, I sent 'I'm home. I got your gift. I have what you wanted too, let me know when I can give it to you.' I wanted an immediate response but unfortunately didn't get one. I fired up the television and played a fighting game to distract myself instead. Hours went by as breasts and barely covered women bounced across the screen, and I began to worry. I was impatient and frustrated, but the games did enough to keep my cock under control. Did I text that to the wrong number? I was deliberately vague in what I said to guard against that very possibility, but still I worried. I checked my phone against her note. No, the number was correct. Fuck. I was acting like a love struck teenager. Two hours and there was still no response. I got up and made a quick dinner out of some box spaghetti and toast with garlic butter and a beer. It had been dark for at least an hour, and moisture was starting to freeze on my windows. Finally as I decided to go to bed early and sleep off my lust, my phone went chirped. It was a message from a restricted number and all it said was: 'Media content. Click to download.' I did. The picture resolved to a close-up of a bald pussy on a black background. It was overexposed, as though the flash were too close. I stared. Then the phone chirped and buzzed again in my hand. It was another media content message. I downloaded again to find another extreme close-up, this time of painted red lips around a large sucker. I was instantly hard again. Reaching down to relieve myself I began walking to the bathroom when I heard a knock at the front door. Who the fuck is it?! I wondered. No one ever came to visit me. I didn't even list this address with the school, since I had moved in only a few months ago. I looked through the peep hole to see long red hair and a spattering of freckles. Heather. I opened the door to find her standing there with her backpack over her shoulder. She had changed into a white sweatshirt and black compression leggings. There was a large red candy sucker in her mouth and she shoved her way in past me, ducking under my arm to do so. I could see the remnants of lipstick that she had tried to remove. "Wouldn't want to be caught here at night," she quipped. "Someone might think something dirty was going on." "How the hell did you find my apartment?" I asked. "Duh, your last name's on the mail box with your number. I see your car every day while I jog to the gym." She made point of looking around while I closed the door and tried desperately to figure something out. Finally I asked "What are you doing here?" "You said you had my story, and I have the first assignments ready." She sounded exasperated. "Or, you can like, read it to me in class..." She took the wrapper from somewhere under her clothes and covered the sucker before tossing it in my trash can. "Read it to you? I'm not reading this to you!" I stated. Somehow the act of reading it to her would make this emotionally intimate, and I wasn't ready to deal with that. Reading, to me, was something that couples did together and we were definitely not a couple. "Again, what are you doing here? This is my home. I live here. Why are you at my home?" Heather looked at me coldly. "What," she began, "you wanna get caught? You want to keep this up at my place? I have a fucking roommate! We can't do it in your office, so where else is there to go?" She was getting pissed, and raising her voice. "We had an agreement. This was on my terms, remember?" She paused, before sweetening her voice and taking the volume down a notch. "Work with me, not against me," she chided, parroting my earlier statement. My heart skipped a beat. I realized that the stakes were only getting higher, and that by the end I would owe this little girl everything unless I called her bluff now. Sitting down in the beat up recliner by the door, I gambled. "All right, I'll read it, but after this we're done," I said. "Suit yourself. I'm just gonna take it one step at a time," She said, walking over to the kitchen. She apparently chose to ignore my declaration. "I know you liked my photos. I took them in the girls' locker room before I came." I ignored the double entendre, even if my cock did not. "You got anything to drink?" she asked. "I had to jog over here, and it's cold out. I'm thirsty." She sounded slightly petulant. "Water and soda in the fridge, I guess. Coffee if I have to make it." Glass clinked as the fridge door opened. I heard the 'pop' of a bottle being opened and Heather walked out with a beer in her hand. "You mind?" she asked. "Too late now," I said sullenly. Of course, it's a bit late for everything now, I thought. She flopped down on my couch, facing away. "Is it easier for you if you can't see me?" she asked as she scooted low on the cushions, propping her feet up on my furniture. All I could see was her head, red hair above black imitation leather, and the tips of her sneakers at the far end. I suddenly knew how therapists felt. Of course, reputable therapists weren't fucking their patients. On the other hand, neither were reputable educators. "I want my story." I walked over to the table, grabbed the paper and sat quietly at my secondhand easy chair. "I guess you're in charge," I answered. Heather took a long pull of her beer. "I like the sound of that," she replied. And so I read. It certainly was easier once she was out of sight. Unused to the sound of my own voice using certain words out loud, I took some time to settle into a rhythm. I read slowly, clearly, and was unsure of what would happen at the end when I was done. It wasn't a long story, but even short stories take a while when you read them for an audience. It felt odd reading my power fantasies to the very subject of the story, and occasionally I would hear rustling as she settled or shifted into another position. She didn't make a peep, and I found myself wondering why she couldn't be this patient and silent in class. Near the end I looked up to see Heather's white sweatshirt in a puddle on the floor. Her head had disappeared. Did I put her to sleep? I stood up and walked over. The beer bottle was on my coffee table, empty. She was laying on my cheap vegan leather sofa with one hand down her pants rubbing slowly while she chewed her bottom lip in ecstasy. She lay there in back leggings with a gray stripe, and a neon yellow sports bra that matched her shoes. She was panting softly and began moaning in sexy little whimpers that made me instantly hard. The blanket I normally had over the arm of the couch had been kicked off, and lay on the floor by the wall. "Is that what you...mmmf...think of me?" She was clearly on the brink of spilling into orgasm. Apparently I did well. "You want to...unhh...tie me up? You need to write more for me." She let out a huge moan that I was sure the neighbor would hear through the shit walls. "That part...where you stuff my panties in my mouth? So fucking hot." There Goes My Tenure Pt. 03 ***Disclaimer: All persons in this story are over the age of eighteen. Please do not reprint or repost this work on any other website without the consent of the author. I would also like to thank my editor for his work on parts 1-3 of this story, and his continued efforts to make me a better writer. Let's see how well Part IV goes.*** ***** I woke on the wrong side of the bed. Not figuratively, but on a side that I had never slept on before. It felt unfamiliar and stiff, whereas my normal spot was broken in, and comfortable. I normally liked sleeping facing the edge of the bed, towards the bedroom door, but I instead woke on the edge facing the window. The other side, my side, was empty. I cleared the cobwebs from my thoughts and lay there for a long moment. I had slept poorly, wondering how she had gotten to know Amanda's name. I had been very careful about separating my home and work lives over the last fifteen years. I didn't mention my wife, the house, the separation, or anything else to class or faculty members, except the Dean, whom I once had to ask for a leave of absence. Until Heather, I had learned to view my students as transitory and tried to fill as much lesson plan as possible in my minimal time. The sound of her arguing with someone outside of the bedroom filtered in to me from afar. Rolling out of bed and walking to the dresser, I threw on a pair of sweatpants and quietly tread the hall. I was grateful for carpeted floors as I snuck around the corner to peek at my student. I leaned against the door jamb, enjoying the view but wondering how deep I had really gotten myself in. She was pacing barefoot back and forth, holding the cellphone to her head with one hand and talking with the other. Every twist and turn of her lithe body required her to hold my sweatshirt in an act of modesty. I stared at her toned legs, which started at mid-thigh in my clothes. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?" There was a pause as she gathered her words, and I could hear the tears building in her voice. "I'll buy you another memory card, okay?" This must be Josh. There was something surreal about watching her, naked beneath my school shirt arguing with her boyfriend. Thoughts of my own infidelity panged me briefly. I was separated, and waiting on court, but I was still married. "Okay, there was tape on the light." She choked back the sadness, and quickly switched to anger. "Cheating on you? Cheating? All right, sure. What the fuck ever." She turned in her pacing and caught sight of me leaning against the door frame. She held up her finger as if to say 'wait a minute.' "It's not like I didn't catch you too!" There was a pause. "What I mean is that lip gloss in your cup holder isn't mine! I don't buy those little eggs, Josh. That wasn't my scrunchy, or my sunglasses in your room either...It's not like you have a sister, Josh!" I went to the kitchen to busy myself making coffee, leaving her to demand answers from Josh while I waited on answers of my own. They argued for quite a while, giving the coffee time to finish brewing while I looked through my junk mail. The kitchen table that held it all was knocked together with some two-by-fours attached to the end from a cable spool. There were three padded folding chairs surrounding it. When Heather was finally quiet, I went out to the living room and set a mug that said "Welcome to SEOUL! " on the coffee table in front of her, and then sat on the opposite end of the couch. I had made her coffee like mine, believing that sugar and cream was safer than not at this time of morning. She didn't look like a black coffee type of girl to me anyway. "Thanks," she sniffled. "This whole thing is really fucked up." "You mean with Josh?" I asked. She nodded. "He's fucking pissed. So's Laura. Josh is her brother. He told her I'm cheating on him." I stared at her flatly. "But, you are," I responded. "And he's cheating on me!" she replied. "My life's fucked." "There's a lot to unpack here, Heather." I said. "Let's lay it all out. One: You needed help, and you trapped me after I agreed to it. I mean, I was wrong, but so were you." I paused, counting it out on my fingers as I went. "Two: You blackmailed me, and now it sounds like you lost your boyfriend in the process." I took a deep breath, unsure of whether to continue. She stared at me, tucking her legs beneath her. Her eyes narrowed, but I took her silence as consent. "Three: You're mad at him that he's cheating on you while you cheat on him with your teacher. I can't help you here. All of that," I held up a fourth finger, "...and I'm pretty sure that you're hiding other things from me." "You're a dick," she replied. "I'm about to lose everything, and you're talking shit." "Mostly because I'm worried, Heather," I softened my voice. "You trapped me. The sex was great, but that's the bottom line. This may feel like 'everything' to you, but he's only a boyfriend. I have almost twenty more years of things to lose in this, and I'm a little fucking scared. I can't exactly fix your relationship with Josh the Jock, when my own home is about to catch fire around me, all because of you." I leaned back and took a sip. My mug said 'Vermont Runs on Sonoma Coffee. ' "You could have said no," she replied. "You could have fucking said no, and, I would have just been kicked out and you'd be fine," she finished, her voice escalating. "I should have said no," I agreed. "But I thought with my dick, who's not that bright. What was it you said yesterday? Something about 'now that I'm in, I'm really in? ' There's a lot of truth there. There's no backing out for me at this point, so the least you can do is be honest with me, and tell me what you're hiding," I said. "What do you mean?" she asked. There was apprehension in her voice, and I was positive now that she was hiding something. I pressed on, and asked the question that had bothered me all night. "How do you know my wife's name?" "I got it somewhere, you must've mentioned her in class, or I picked it up off your desk, or..." she said. There was a hesitation, and when I reached for my mug again she wasn't looking at me, but instead staring off at the clock on the DVR. It read eight minutes after three. "I don't buy it, Heather. I purposely won't talk about my personal life in class. I don't even have a photo of her in my office anymore. Not for this whole semester and part of the last." "The mail on your table-" "Nope, not there either. Everything says 'occupant' and Amanda's not on the rent. Anything I get goes to my attorney, and I pick it up on Fridays. That stuff's already gone into the shred bin at school." I cut her off. "Stop lying to me Heather." I sounded stern, like my own father. I probably sounded more like her own father than she was comfortable with, too. "I don't know." "God damn it, Heather stop lying to me! You're fucking toying with me!" I was yelling now. "You're gonna be mad!" she replied. I stood up, feeling the need to move. I began pacing. I was angry, and quickly becoming seriously angry. "Bit fucking late for that, don't you think?" "Stop yelling at me! You're scaring me!" She had somehow managed to scoot farther back into the couch than I previously thought possible. I quieted down. I wasn't huge, but I could see how I could be intimidating to someone as short as her. "I'm not going to hurt you, Heather. I don't want to hurt you, or your future. I want you to pass and graduate, and get out of my life. I want nothing but happy, lust filled memories. But I deserve the truth. I'm scared. My fucking career and my court date and my home are on the line here, and you're leading me on. I'm going to ask again, how did you know Amanda's name?" She was staring into her mug now. She looked up at me over that cute freckled nose and spoke softly. "A couple weeks ago she stopped me coming out of your class. She took me to lunch. She offered to pay for my tuition next semester, and give me enough spending money to last a couple months. We made a plan together, for me to go to your office and record you. Then I was supposed to take video of us in my dorm and give it to her." Her eyes were wet, but she was managing to hold back the tears. "What tuition? You told me you were on scholarship!" "I am, but not a full scholarship" she answered. "If everything worked out, I could keep the extra money. But if I lost the scholarship, she'd pay for my tuition when I could come back." "You bitch." "I'm sorry Mark, Okay? Jesus. I'm fucking sorry!" "You fucking used me!" "You used me too!" She answered. She had me there, though I was certain that of the two of us, I was by far the less guilty. I paced the living room, thinking, my coffee forgotten as I pictured my life going down in flames. "So, like, what now?" She asked. "I don't want to fucking see you again. I want you to log in and delete the video from the internet. Now. Tonight." I turned to stare at her. She was huddling in the corner of my couch, looking vulnerable and wounded. "You're going to sleep out here tonight. When I get up, I want you gone. You're going to get your homework from your roommate or someone else in class. I don't care who. I'll just fucking mark you present. You can drop the extra credit off with my T.A., and you can do your fucking homework. I'll pass you, if, and only if, I never see you after tonight." She looked like I had slapped her. Tears started rolling down her face, marking my sweatshirt. "I'm still going to pass you," I said. "We had an agreement. But I'm going to go fucking talk to Amanda, and if she goes to the Dean, There's nothing I can do; and none of the extra credit is going to ever matter." I walked over and booted up my laptop. The chip poked out of the slot on the front, a blue plastic reminder of how this all started. Once I logged on, I called her over. "This is you," I said. "Log on and delete that shit." I have a tendency to profanity when I'm angry, and I was furious. She sat down in front of the desk in the fourth padded chair and logged into her account. Within seconds there was a message that read:      'This cannot be undone, are you sure? Yes/No';' She clicked yes, and like that it looked like my blackmail problems disappeared. Heather spoke. "Can I, um, make it up to you somehow?" "Fuck no, Heather. There's no fixing this. You got what the fuck you wanted. You're going to pass, you got laid, you got your money, and you get to go on your merry little way consequence free while I spend the rest of my career waiting for the other shoe to drop from Amanda. What could you possibly want to make up? This was all on your terms, remember? Take what you can get." With that, I shut the lid on the laptop and walked towards the bedroom. I was almost down the hall, when a thought occurred to me. I stopped and walked to the doorway that adjoined the living room and asked her. "How was she supposed to know you were done? Did you give her a copy of the video from the dorm?" "I'm sorry, Mark-" she started. "Jesus. Answer the fucking question, Heather!" "I told her it didn't work, so she told me to go to your apartment. She gave me your address." "Am I being videotaped again? Is there more coming? What the fuck else do you have on me?" "I don't know," she answered quietly. "All I gave her was the tape from your office, and then we only talked on the phone. She told me to come here and fuck you. That she'd take care of everything." I went back to the bedroom and called Amanda. Dialing the numbers furiously, I almost missed the fact that the photo Heather had taken last night was now my phone's lock screen. There I was, covered in whipped cream, bound, and gagged. My swollen cock hid my face. I was too angry to be aroused. I'd have to change that photo before anyone else saw it. Amanda's cell phone rang once and went straight to voicemail. She was a realtor for corporate developments. Her phone was never off. It was probably safe to assume my number was blocked. I wasn't going to get anywhere tonight. I hung up without leaving a message, and then closed the bedroom the door with a sharp snap behind me. If I wasn't going to get any sleep, the least I could do was to email her, and then look for solutions to the mess I had gotten myself into. I drafted email after email, but never sent any of them. Each one became more formal and less reactive than the previous. At the end I had a strong, yet vague email full of things that only she and I would understand, but that weren't necessarily incriminating. I still didn't send it. Something was bugging me. Why did Heather tell her that the video didn't work when clearly it did? I decided to go out and ask her. She lay on the couch, curled under the blanket she had kicked off earlier. My sweatshirt was on the floor, her coffee dumped on it. The shirt was going to be permanently stained, probably the carpet, too. She was wearing her own sweatshirt again. I nudged her awake, and she blinked back at me through eyes that had been gummed shut from tears. "What the fuck do you want?" She asked sleepily. She seemed to draw the wrong conclusion by my presence. "Already? Okay, I'm leaving. Just let me get dressed." "It's not time, Heather," I responded. "Why did you tell Amanda that the video didn't work?" She blinked at me rapidly, clearing her vision and gathering her thoughts. "Why should I tell you? I just got dumped twice in one night. Fuck you." "It's important, Heather." "Why?" she challenged. "So you can feel better about yourself?" "Because if you told her the camera didn't work, you didn't have to come back. Why bother?" Heather hesitated before answering. "You're not going to believe me anyway, but I wanted to, okay? I felt...guilty. I didn't want to go through with it anymore. She told me I needed to go back, so I wanted to make the most of it. If this was the end..?" "So in class, when you complained about the extra work...was that just an excuse?" I asked. "That was real..." "And the panties, your idea or Amanda's?" Please don't let that be Amanda's, I thought irrationally. "I wanted it to be really, really good. I always wanted to try something like that, and you were easy for me." "Thanks, I think. Goodnight, Heather. Let yourself out in the morning." She said something after that, but I didn't catch it as I was walking away. I was lost in my thoughts. The first thing I needed to do in the morning was to get hold of Amanda. I slept fitfully for the next few hours, waking ahead of my alarm. Purposely avoiding another confrontation, I lay awake in bed listening for the sounds of Heather leaving. I didn't hear anything, and eventually showered and dressed to go to work, studiously avoiding the living room. When I came out, Heather was laying papers down on my desk, and she was dressed in yesterday's gym outfit. I couldn't help but remember that all of her underwear was in my dresser. "I thought you were supposed to be gone," I stated matter of factly. "My clothes were in your room, I couldn't get dressed until you got up. Don't worry, I'm leaving. I'll walk back; don't bother offering me a ride. Here's the first two assignments, as promised." I stared at her as she closed her backpack and walked out of the apartment. I felt guilty, ashamed, used, and angry. Guilty or not, I still managed to notice her ass. I don't know what I expected to come out of all of this, but this wasn't the outcome I had hoped for. Thankfully today was Wednesday, and she wasn't in any of my classes today. The drive to the campus was short, but waiting on Heather combined with the surprise cold snap of the night before had caused me to be nearly late. Scraping my windshield and breaking my tires free of the small amount of ice that froze them to the parking spot took up almost twenty minutes. Even with the delay, I should have seen Heather on the way but I didn't. I reasoned that she had taken a shortcut or been picked up by a friend. The delay meant I had no time to call Amanda, though I really wanted to demand an explanation before work started. It also gave me all day to develop a sinking feeling about my prospects. I suspected I was still being lied to by Heather. Did Amanda actually receive a copy of the video from her? Did Heather bug my apartment? I had no idea, and the only option I had was to hope that Amanda would tip her hand when I spoke to her. The day passed without incident. I collected homework on Paradise Lost, picked up late assignments on Maüs, and generally got on with the business of educating, even if my head and heart weren't in it that day. When I finally made it out of class and to my office, there were no illicit notes, no surprise office visits, no voicemail messages or emails to be concerned with. There was also no contact from Heather, even in the form of another extra credit assignment. I picked up the office phone and dialed Amanda's cell again. It went to voicemail, but took several rings to get there. My cell number was blocked, then. I tried her office from mine. It was early enough that she might still be there. What I got instead was forwarded to the receptionist after a certain number of rings. She was either ignoring the phone or not in the building. A perky voice chimed in on the other end of the line. "Mueller/Thompson Real Estate, how may I direct your call?" "Hi." "Hello, sir, how can I help you?" "I'd like to speak to Mrs. Rikes, please." "I'm sorry, sir, but Mrs. Coyle is out with a client. May I ask who is calling?" She's gone back to her maiden name, I thought. "Yes, please tell her it's her husband," I said, emphasizing the word. "Also, please tell her it's urgent," I responded. The voice on the other end of the line went cold. I could tell right away that she knew there were problems between Amanda and myself. "I will pass that message along, Sir. Is there anything else that I may tell her for you?" Every word was punctuated and distinct. "No, that'll be all, thank you," I said before interrupting myself. "WAIT! You can give her my office number please, and let her know that I'll be here until six. After that she can reach me on my cell." The voice on the other end got even frostier. "I see. Yes. I can certainly pass that along. What is your office number?" I recited it for her. "Is there anything else, Sir? " I was tempted to hang up the phone, but decided on politeness, instead. "No, thank you, and you have a nice da-" I said to the low hum of the dial-tone. There was nothing left but to wait, and I was twitchy while I did so. I graded lacklusterly, giving students far more leeway than they deserved, simply because I didn't have it in me to read into things with any sort of critical eye. I was phoning in my job while I waited for Amanda. Six o'clock came and went without either phone ringing. I had finished the papers almost an hour ago and was killing time window-shopping online. My mind kept drifting to Heather and those outfits, and I found myself looking for the items she wore just to see how much she had spent on clothes to fuck people in. It seemed a strange thing, like searching through her dresser, but I was conflicted, bored, and for some reason slightly aroused. I finally packed up the laptop in frustration and went back to my apartment. I tromped up the steps in my building, knocking the last of the snow off of my shoes to find Amanda standing in my hallway, staring out the large storm windows across from my door. She was looking out at the parking lot, which was littered with gray piles of slush as the plow cleaned. She turned to face me, and I could see the plow behind her filling up the back parking row with snow.