Tolerance
Chapter Six
There were only three days until the halls closed for fall break. DJ spent them going through his usual routine: work, class, hanging around the dorm—with a few pleasant modifications. He had an exam in history on Thursday; he did his best, then had the professor give him an answer key so he could see how well he would have done. B+, as it turned out—not bad for not having studied. He changed the answers to match the key, then turned it in.
For her part, Dr. Missy adhered to her assigned dress code, arriving in class in a tank top and miniskirt. The skirt might have technically been a little longer than he’d indicated, but it was pretty close, and the tank top was many sizes too small for her, probably the biggest she could find that would still be short enough to reveal her “BITCH FROM HELL” tattoo. She definitely looked uncomfortable in it. Still, DJ hadn’t told her she could wear a bra, so before class started he approached the podium and had her remove it; her balking meant she had to lose her panties too. (She’d opened her mouth to complain before he’d told her to consider what she’d lose next, then handed them both over.) She didn’t even lash out at the inevitable snickers when she turned her back and everyone got a good look at her ink.
DJ had intended to fuck her, but frankly from all the sex he was having around the dorm, he was pretty worn out. He’d done a little analysis; of the thirty-two girls on his floor, he’d be interested in sleeping with fifteen. Just under half, not so bad for random selection (or at least, random selection of college co-eds). A few of them were borderline such that his mind might change if he got to know them better, but after Jillian at the floor meeting and Janelle the day after (turns out his night-time gropings had inspired a desire for morning sex), that still left thirteen to get through before he’d feel the need to get curious. (Twelve if one counted the shower with Stacey and the blowjob that accompanied it; he didn’t.)
He figured on doing an inspection a day or so. His first day was with Cassie, an international student from Germany. She wasn’t the hottest girl on the floor, but she was still pretty, and her accent was unusual enough in his experience that it her somewhat exotic (oddly, considering DJ was half German himself). A dirty talking German was just… well, not a kink he ever thought he’d have, but hey, now he could have all the kinks he wanted. (“Oh ja,” she’d said, “shtick your fot cock in mine poosy.” What’s not lovable about that?
His second daily inspection, however, was not deliberate at all. It was Thursday night; half the floor had already left for fall break, and the quiet was perfect for eavesdropping. Some RAs were the sort to relish in this, as an ideal opportunity to overhear activities meant to be clandestine; DJ was more the sort to miss the background noise that kept him from having to hear girls bickering, guys shouting at their video games, Brittney’s boyfriend yelling he was under no circumstances going to start using a condom.
Wait, what?
Brittney was undisputedly the hottest girl on the floor, maybe the hottest girl in the building. Tall, long legs, hourglass figure, big teardrop tits, gorgeous face with long dirty blonde hair and wide blue eyes… she was one of those girls one wondered why she wasn’t in modeling, or pornography, or something that made use of her jack-pot-winning genes. Then DJ found out she was a model—not a major one, but she’d been in magazines. Before that, she’d been homecoming queen of her high school. She’d been encouraged to pledge every non-academic sorority on campus, and had standing invitations to any frat party she wanted to go to. In DJ’s life experience, she was one of those girls who balanced out people like him, people who soaked up no attention at all. She was the sort of person who made it possible for him to be invisible. Hell, her roommate Mercedes (yes, Mercedes) had been prom queen at that same high school and was objectively at least an 8 herself, and Brittney nearly made her invisible.
Brittney’s room was four doors down, just past the swinging door that nominally separated the genders on the floor, but her boyfriend’s voice—whose name DJ couldn’t remember offhand—was loud enough that none of the barriers blocked it completely. Curious, and perhaps a bit worried, DJ headed down the hall and stopped outside the door.
Up close, he could make out Brittney’s comparatively smaller voice. “I told you, Brayden”—UGH that’s right his name is Brayden, of course it is—“it’s the new rule. I could get in a lot of trouble if I get caught not using one.”
“A lot of trouble? What the fuck are you talking about?” he thundered.
“All kinds of things! There are fines, and… I dunno, I missed the floor meeting ‘cause you wanted to Netflix and chill, but I heard it was like super super serious, all kinds of crazy penalties. I didn’t believe it at first, but I heard it’s already being enforced.”
“Well I don’t give a fuck what the rules are, I’m not wearing no fuckin’ condom. Now get your ass over here and get the lube.” His voice dropped to a sort of grumble. “‘Wear a condom’ my ass. Loose as you are I can barely feel you as it is, you fuckin’ ho.”
A little sobbing sound, he thought. “Oh fuck, don’t start crying on me now, Brit. Damnit, every time you get upset it’s the waterworks. It’s not fair, always trying to make me feel like I’m some asshole every time your tender little feelings get hurt.”
“I’m not crying,” she insisted in a plaintive tone that definitely sounded like she was.
Finally, DJ had heard enough and opened the door. Brittney was sitting on her bed, indeed not crying but looking close to it, and Brayden was standing over her. He definitely looked the part of the archetypical bro, hat on backwards, track pants, $400 sneakers, corporate logo proudly emblazoned on his t-shirt. Brittney was dressed for lounging around the dorm in just a blank tank top and sweatpants. God, even in that she looked amazing.
“Oh, hey JD,” Brittney said. He was so used to hot girls not knowing his name he didn’t even wince at the error. “Sorry if we were being loud.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “No, I just heard you guys arguing, wanted to make sure everything’s OK…?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” she said, glancing nervously at Brayden. It was the sound of someone trying to soothe a savage beast.
DJ’s step-mom and step-sister were always watching those Lifetime movies with scenes just like this, where a plucky guy with boy-next-door looks steps in and stands up to the hulking bully just before, or sometimes just after, he hits a beautiful woman. The plucky guy usually gets beat up a little, and only then the woman realizes what a jerk she’s with, and from there, a beautiful romance develops. He’d seen it play out a thousand times in his living room.
This was not to be one of those stories.
Brayden was not yet aware of this departure from pop fiction, and turned to look at DJ. “Hey, what’s this shit she’s talking about, new rules about using condoms and some shit?”
DJ, a good six inches shorter and not even half the muscle mass of his adversary, regarded him with perfect nonchalance. “Yeah, it’s new policy.”
“Oh yeah? Well fuck your policy. What I do with my junk is my fuckin’ business.” Brayden took a step toward him, looming large.
DJ calmly used his foot to nudge Brayden’s legs apart; the brute looked a little confused, right up to the moment where DJ’s foot connected full speed with his balls. “Well, looks like I get some say in what happens to your junk, too,” he said as Brayden’s face went purple and he collapsed to the ground.
Brittney was on her feet, shocked and exclaiming wildly. For DJ, as confident he was he’d go unharmed from this, instinct was tough to conquer; if Brayden somehow did get up and start swinging, he’d tear DJ apart, and who knows what would happen to Brittney after. He watched him spasming and crying on the floor for a couple minutes nervously until he was sure the man was recovered enough to kick his ass if he wanted to. Then as he made to get up, DJ planted a foot firmly on his back. “Stay down there, all right?”
“Fuck you, dude!” Brayden yelled, yet he didn’t struggle.
He ignored the jibe and looked to Brittney. “So is he like this often?” When she blinked uncomprehendingly, he prompted more specifically. “Pushy, controlling?”
“Not always.” She was quiet a moment, and seeing him down on the ground emboldened her. “Well, yeah I guess. But that’s just how guys are.”
He looked at her. She was timid, vulnerable. And wildly gorgeous.
Well, what’s one more.
“Yeah, we sure can be. Which reminds me of the other reason I stopped by—it’s your turn.”
She blushed a little. “Oh. This is that thing Jillian told me about right? Where like, you make sure we’re on the pill? ‘Cause I got my pills right here,” she said, quickly producing a pill packaging with days on it that showed a little white tablet missing from each day up through today.
DJ was relieved, to be sure; having his harmless fun was one thing, but he didn’t want some girl actually getting pregnant over it. But still. “Well that seems good, but I need to be extra sure, so… time for inspection. Let’s lose the pants.” He tugged downwards on the waistband of her sweatpants, enough that he got a little glimpse of black panties underneath.
As Brittney, who seemed inclined to comply with men wanting her to take her pants off by years of experience, tugged them down, DJ’s attention was so riveted that he barely heard Brayden. “What the hell? You gonna try to fuck my girl, bro?”
“He’s not ‘fucking me,’ Brayden. He’s making sure I’m protected is all.”
“It’s all very official,” DJ assured him.
“Yeah, just a routine thing. You should go on back to the frat house, honey. I’ll text you later,” she said, standing there in the tight black tank top and the matching panties.
“No, I don’t wanna wreck your whole evening. Brayden, go ahead and hop up on the top bunk there, and as soon as I’m done with her, she’s all yours.” DJ patted it invitingly as he lifted his foot off his back. “Come on. I insist.”
With an angry glare at DJ and a sullen, puppy-dog look at Brittney, he hoisted himself off the ground and hopped up into the upper bunk. “Shoes off, babe,” Brittney chided him. “Mercedes will lose her shit if you track anything in her bed.” With some grumbling, he kicked his shoes off onto the floor.
“Speaking of things we don’t want in bed, let’s ditch the top, Brittney,” DJ said.
She reflexively covered her chest with her hands protectively. “I thought you were just checking to see if I was on the pill—why do you need my top off for that?”
“Well, Brittney, for refusing a direct order, I’m afraid you just earned a demerit. That’ll be one blowjob as your sanction. On me, right now—well, after you get the top off.” Seeing her open her mouth to plead, he cut her off. “Do you want that to be two demerits?”
Brittney pouted. “No, I’ll take it off.” And then she did. She even took it off in that sexy, cleavage-enhancing way girls had of cross her arms and grabbing the bottom of it and pulling it off over her head. Her bra followed so quickly after that he hadn’t even gotten over the shock of how amazing she looked with it on. He took her panties off himself, helping himself to a feel of her booty while he did it.
Brittney fucking Jenner. He’d quickly been learning about the difference between girls he’d seen naked online, and hot naked girls in real life. Real girls came with surprises and quirks. Ashley had those gigantic nipples, Missy had a big mole on her butt, Jillian had a little surgical scar on her mid-section. But Brittney…
She was built like a porn star. Her tits jutted out as if no one had bothered to subject them to gravity, massive perfectly shaped hemispheres, hard pink nipples, evenly tanned with the rest of her complexion. She had a narrow waist with a perfectly flat stomach, then wide hips with a big bubble butt behind it over two long meaty thighs. Her skin didn’t have a blemish anywhere on it; her hair shined like it was ready for a shampoo commercial; her teeth gleamed like they’d just been bleached. Maybe they had. Her pubic hair was even trimmed into a neat little heart shape, for crying out loud.
Once she was naked, he didn’t even need to prompt her again; she just sank to her knees, undid his pants, and started licking. He was already rock hard just from the sight of her, but she went through the kissing and sucking motions she’d always used to kick off blowjobs before like they were just habit. A girl as hot as Brittney had surely never needed to suck anyone off; if she’d developed talent at it, it was either because she enjoyed doing it, or—he suspected more likely—that she was susceptible to being pressured into it.
Either way, DJ was glad to be the recipient of her training. Brittney sucked cock like a pro, licking and bobbing, even throwing in some theatric moans. Her feigned—probably feigned?—enthusiasm only encouraged him to push her harder. “Play with your tits, Brittney.” Her big blue doe eyes locked on his as her hands moved up to squeeze and caress her breasts, the blowjob pausing just long enough to murmur a “yes sir” before she dove back on it. Her moans increased in intensity and frequency as she pawed at herself, pinching and twisting at her nipples. The way she was looking at him, it was if she was gauging which things he enjoyed most, and then using those techniques more often.
It had been his intention to pull back before climax, then proceed to do the “inspection,” but Brittney was insatiable. “All right, Brit, let’s get to—” but she shook her head fervently.
“I haven’t finished you yet,” she said, sounding all the world like she was worried she wouldn’t be allowed to finish sucking him off. She got right back into it, her bright eyes staring up into his, paralyzing him in their grasp. Soon, her earnest ministrations had achieved their fruition. His eyes clenched shut and he roared as he came, Brittney’s tongue not missing a beat until it had coaxed every last drop out of him.
He was still seeing stars when he heard Brittney’s voice. “So was that good?” Focusing on her, she was still kneeling, still cupping her breasts, smiling nervously. The question had a hint of teasing in it, but there was also earnest desire for approval on her face.
“That was… that was maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to my cock.”
She flushed with pleasure at hearing his words, and it only slightly faded when Brayden spoke up. He was staring at the ceiling, and his voice was mocking, bitter. “Bitch sucks dick like she was born to it, doesn’t she?”
“Better than being born to haze freshmen and drink shitty beer. Now shut the hell up while I fuck your girlfriend.” He looked back to Brittney, who was clearly stung by his jibe. “You did amazing, Brittney. I’ll remember that for the rest of my life.” DJ offered her a hand up, then guided her down to her bed. She quietly watched him take off his clothes, but seemed mollified.
Once naked, he crawled into bed next to her, lying face to face mere inches apart in the small dorm bed. He couldn’t resist touching her; she felt every bit as amazing as she looked. “Are these even real?” he asked as he squeezed one of her breasts appreciatively.
“Yeah—why, do they like look bad or something?” she asked, frowning self-consciously.
“Bad? Good God, Brittney, there isn’t a square inch of you that looks bad. You’re fucking perfect. No, I only asked because they look too good to be true.”
She smiled brightly. He almost felt bad; clearly she had had someone do a number on her psyche somewhere if she was this dependent on others’ approval. Usually even with his power they put up a bit of a struggle, but Brittney was hardly even making him work for it. He sure wasn’t going to fix her today, so for now, it was endearing, and made the bombshell beauty less intimidating.
She quietly let him explore her body, his manhood steadily recovering, for a good while. Brayden was silent, but his bulk shifted occasionally on the bunk above them, creaking and groaning loudly. Then Brittney asked shyly, “DJ? When you do your inspection… I know it’s just like a procedural thing, but, um, could you like maybe pretend we were just having sex, like a regular couple or something? I feel like that would make me less nervous.”
You mean, could I pretend I’m fucking you while I fuck you? How meta. Strangeness of the question aside, it also struck home to him suddenly how little experience with this sort of thing he had. Sure, he’d fucked a few girls this past week or so, but it had been almost entirely him taking charge, coercing the cooperation of his partners. But this—a girl asking him to have sex with her, asking so tenderly… he couldn’t help but feel obligated to be a little more tender with this one.
“Yeah, I could do that. Is there, um, a certain way you prefer to do it?”
She looked relieved. “Well, lots of ways are good. A lot of guys like it with him on top, because they like to be able to see and play with my boobs. There was this guy Trevor who used to like it reverse cow-girl—that’s me on top, but facing away from you—because he was really into my butt, but I think it’s weird, just seeing the legs of the guy you’re with and nothing else, right? Or, let’s see, there’s always doggy style, then I don’t get to see you at all but guys usually say the angle feels better and again, if you like my butt, or there’s missionary which everyone says is boring? But like, I think it’s nice because we’re face to face and it feels more personal. Or we could try—”
“Missionary’s fine, Brittney.” Good Lord she’s a talker. She is right though—why anyone wouldn’t want to look at her while they’re nailing her, I can’t imagine. But, well, that ass…
“Cool. I was sort hoping you’d say that. So, like, are you ready? I can warm you up again if you need it.” She grinned, licking her lips.
Excited as he was to get to her pussy, he couldn’t resist that offer. This time though, she possessed the restraint to slip off of him with a pop, and roll onto her back. He positioned himself on top of her, planting his head right at the entrance. It was already good and ready for him. Holy shit, I made Brittney Jenner’s pussy wet. “You ready?”
“Trust me bro, she’s always ready,” came Brayden’s voice from the top bunk. But down below, she nodded, and he slid into her. She felt divine, and she seemed to be enjoying herself as well.
“I don’t know what the hell you were talking about earlier, about her being loose. She feels pretty fucking good to me.” Brittney beamed that beatifically grateful smile of hers and held her fingers up a few inches apart, then pointed up at Brayden. They both laughed, and the sullen silence from the top bunk was enough to tell them Brayden understood the nature of the joke.
DJ took his time with her, and Brittney just lay there, a dizzy smile painted on her angelic face the whole while. He’d learned by now to recognize the sight and sound of a woman about to cum; she was gasping, big tits flattened by gravity bouncing like mad with each breath. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
“Cum for me,” he said. And she did, in a loud, shrieking orgasm, her body spasming and her face contorting between shock and pleasure. DJ followed her a moment later, slumping on top of her.
For a few minutes, they caught their breath until they were interrupted by a slow clap issuing from the top bunk. “Nice job, slut, you just fucked your RA, because he told you to. Hope you feel real good about yourself.”
DJ responded, but to Brittney. “You should feel good. Not only are you the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and not only was that the best sex I’ve ever had, but I have good news.
“You passed inspection. Good girl.” And somehow, those simple words of praise and approval triggered the jumbled-up web of insecurities, dependencies and authority-figure-issues in Brittney’s brain, and from them, another small orgasm rocked her soft body, quivering all around DJ’s cock where it still rested inside her.
When she finished, he stood up and, after Brittney hurried to suck him clean (of her own volition), he tugged his pants back on. Brayden glared down at him. “Yeah, cool. Now you mind getting the fuck out so I can get to my sloppy seconds? Or shit, thirds, fourths, whatever it’s down to.” He sneered at Brittney.
“Well, first off, I doubt you’re going to be good for a much with your nuts smashed into oblivion. That aside, I would say yes, but unfortunately, it’s after visitation hours, so I’m afraid that’s a fine.”
“What!” Brayden leapt down to the floor angrily, fists clenched. DJ flinched, instinct assuring him he was about to get beaten to a pulp, but when those fists just remained in impotant balls at Brayden’s hips, DJ remembered himself and gently spun him with a nudge on his shoulder and helped himself to his wallet. He emptied it of its contents—$80, not bad for walking around money—and dropped it on the floor.
“That should cover it. Also, to help us crack down on guests after hours, I’m afraid there’s a special penalty too…”
Brittney, back in her clothes, walked with DJ as he escorted Brayden to the floor’s door to the outside. Girls were following along to stare at the well-built frat guy, who was now clad in nothing but one of his unspokenly-ex-girlfriend’s thongs, hooting and hollering. “Now Brittney tells me the thong isn’t have that much harder of a day than usual, but next time you piss off me or one of my people, the fine will include that too.” And with that, Brayden was shoved out into the cool night. It was probably only a five-minute or so walk back to his frat-house; he’d be fine.
As the crowd dispersed (some of them following Brayden), Brittney turned to DJ. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, but she was smiling.
“I know, but he was being a pain, getting on my nerves. You really don’t have to put up with jerks like that. You could have any guy you want.”
She shrugged, the smile fading. “Eh. Most guys are like that. He wasn’t that bad.”
“Brittney, he was getting ready to rape you when I came in,” he retorted.
She shook her head. “No he wasn’t. I wasn’t in the mood was all. He’d have warmed me up—he asked for the lube and all. Some guys don’t even bother with that. Besides,” she added, “if that’s a crime, then what do you call what you did?”
“It’s not,” he shot back too quickly, too defensively. “You agreed to it, didn’t you? And, um, you seemed like you enjoyed it.”
“I did,” she said. “You were so… I dunno. Appreciative. It was sweet. And I’m not pressing charges, am I?”
He smiled. “What’re you doing for fall break?”
She looked taken aback by the question. “Me? Oh, nothing much. Heading home, family stuff.”
“You close with them?”
“Nah. My mom and I used to be, before she married Earl. My step-dad. He’s not… We’re not…” She shrugged, a distant look in her eyes. It spoke volumes, and for DJ, justified far too much of what he would later do to her.
“How would you like to come with me to my place instead? I promise, it won’t be boring.”
“Wow, I dunno, I mean, my family’s expecting me, and like, I barely know you and all…”
“You’re coming home with me, Brittney. Say it.” He looked at her sternly.
Her resistance crumpled in the blink of an eye. “I’m coming home with you,” she repeated.
“Pack your stuff tonight—we’re leaving tomorrow morning.” He leaned in and kissed her. “That’s my good girl.”
Brittney just beamed, unknowing, unthinking, unquestioning.