Rutwell College Chronicles: Ch. 05

Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Introduction:

Welcome to Rutwell College.

A place of learning. A stepping stone for all who enter its halls in the great journey of life.

For over two centuries, students at Rutwell have found themselves growing, stretching their limits, encouraged to try new experiences, to embark on paths they never considered before.

In these lecture halls and libraries, this haven of scholarship, the faculty find fresh minds to mould, empty vessels looking to be filled. Youth and experience coming together in creative and unexpected ways with astonishing results.

As the motto of the college says, 'Mens Aperta, Corpus Saturatum'... 'Open Mind, Sated Body'.

Chapter 1:

The image of the screen continued to flicker, the two viewers shifting uncomfortably in their chairs as they watched on.

The scene had been playing out for about twenty minutes now and seemed to be drawing to a close. A young, very attractive brunette was lying on a bed, staring up at the ceiling when the camera recording it all looked to have been fixed in place. Naked and sweating, her slender frame writhed in ecstatic abandon. A dark-skinned individual was the conjuror behind the pleasures that had the young woman mewling with delight. His identify was a mystery, a red ski mask obscuring his face from the moment he'd walked into the camera's field of vision. Eventually the two viewers were 'treated' to the finishing strokes of the pornographic drama, the black male pulling out an impressively sized member, depositing wads of semen on the stomach of the young woman.

The screen blinked into blackness as an older white woman, perhaps fifty years of age, leaned forward to turn it off. Her once blonde hair had now become snow white and she wore it in a short sensible pixie cut with a side swept fringe. The change in her natural hair colour was one of the few signs of her age, her skin remaining relatively wrinkle free bar a few at the corners of her mouth and eyes that the other person in the room felt were more the result of her stern demeanour rather than the steady advance of time.

That other person now sat back in his chair, surreptitiously adjusting his pants so as to not reveal the results of the highly charged sex scene on his now erect cock. Calvin Weeks was the head of security for the Rutwell college campus and had in fact been hired by the woman sitting opposite him, Ms. Thompson, an administrator in Admissions. An incident involving his daughter who was also a student at the college had brought the two of them into contact and the result had been Calvin being taken on. (See Rutwell College Chronicles Ch. 02).

The handsome black man raised an eyebrow now that the show was over, silently questioning why he'd been asked to sit quietly through it all.

"Disgusting I know," Ms Thompson finally broke the silence. "Still, I felt you needed to see it so as to fully understand my concerns."

"Concerns?"

"The... ahh... the young woman who took such an active role is Megan Richards, a student here. (See Rutwell College Chronicles Ch. 01). The film was discovered on a memory stick in the Audio-Visual department by a lecturer there. Thank God they had the sense to bring it to my attention immediately." Whatever else Calvin might think of this woman, he'd never fault her commitment to the college and the students attending it. He knew very little of her personal history, although he was aware that even though she styled herself as Ms. Thompson she was in fact married. There was some talk around the faculty that her husband had long suffered from a debilitating illness. Whatever strains and pressures that might have caused, she never gave less than a hundred percent to her job and as a man who prided himself on having a professional work ethic, Calvin could only feel respect for her.

"A student involved and evidence found on campus, that suggests the second individual is also a student?"

"Yes, my thoughts exactly Mr. Weeks. That young Megan was aware she was being recorded is undeniable," they had both seen the young brunette smiling at the camera. "The fact that one of these... sex tapes... is potentially floating around is intolerable. You are probably not aware, no reason you should be, but her parents are very prominent in the legal profession and if this was to get out into the realm of the general public, I don't doubt but they'd hold this institution to account."

"Yes, that's the way of things now isn't it. Find someone else and set the blame at their feet, in this case, the college."

"But I, we, won't let that happen, will we Mr. Weeks?"

"As you say Ms. Thompson. As you say. So, you want me to track down this other person, make sure that any and all evidence is destroyed?"

"Exactly that. However, given the sensitivity of what occurred, perhaps if you could leave Megan out of things?"

"Well, that makes things more difficult but I'll try without her involvement for the moment, if I don't get any leads, you may have to change your mind."

"Thank you, Mr. Weeks," Ms Thompson rose smoothly to her feet and extended her hand. "I knew I could rely on you."

"Pleasure, Ms Thompson." Calvin shook her hand. Every time he met her; he found himself struck by the contrasts in her. Physically she could bring stirring emotions out in him, her statuesque five-foot ten-inch figure with gravity defying bosom screamed 'amazonian queen'. But her business-like manner and robotic adherence to rules often left him cold. He wasn't the only one on campus to feel that way, her nickname of 'The Ice Queen' was well known. He plucked the memory stick from the port on the laptop and left to begin his enquiries.

<<0>>

Calvin had already formulated a plan of action before he left Ms. Thompson's office. He'd noticed the file on the memory stick had a date and time associated with it. The fact that it had been discovered in the Audio-Visual department led him to suspect that the camera used in the making of the sex tape had been acquired there as well. That college property had been utilized in this manner would no doubt enrage Clara Thompson even further. Which was why he hadn't mentioned his suspicions, not until he had some concrete proof in the matter.

There was one student in the equipment room of the AV department when Calvin strolled in. Unlike the rest of the campus police, Calvin didn't wear a uniform, his position as its head allowed him some leeway on the dress code. It also helped to put people at ease when he spoke to them. A hoodie and jeans were a lot less intimidating than a formal uniform and badge.

"Can I hel... oh, Mr. Weeks, what are you doing here?" The young man's face was drawing a blank until he limped away from the projector he was working on, a bulb in his hand. Calvin remembered him now, a mugging victim from about six months before, just as Calvin was starting in on his new job. Some junkie from the city had figured on the campus being full of easy marks. This particular 'mark' was called James Logan, a teaching assistant, and in the course of the robbery he'd been pushed off the sidewalk, taking a nasty clip from a passing car. Calvin wasn't sure if the limp was permanent but it had jogged his memory.

"James, how are you? Been a second."

"As you see me. Mending a little bit more every day."

"Glad to hear it. Listen, I need some help tracking down AV equipment. Anyone taking anything from here needs to sign it out right?"

"Absolutely, absolutely. There are thousands of dollars' worth here, can't have every wannabee Scorsese from the film department dipping in for cameras or mics. We'd have no way of tracking them down otherwise."

"Fantastic, I knew you'd be the man to see about this. I'm looking for a camera, handheld probably. Would have been checked out before or on the fifteenth of last month. Can you check that for me?"

"Sure, just need to go through to the office over there, let me log in."

Calvin walked behind the young man who limped slowly into the indicated office. As James tapped away on the desktop computer, Calvin shook his head in sympathy. That the junkie had been caught, tried and convicted wouldn't lessen the pain the young man was forced to endure on a daily basis. The fact that the law and actual justice were not the same thing wasn't lost on Rutwell's head of security.

"Here we go. Just one, a Canon EOS 300 III. Taken out on the twelfth, returned on the seventeenth. Looks like some other items with it, mounts and the like."

"Who checked it out? I need a name."

"Brandon Parks, he's in film studies. Actually, pretty good. He's done some videos for local bands, pretty impressive stuff."

"James, you're the man. Thanks for that."

"My pleasure Mr. Weeks."

<<0>>

"This is him? You're sure?"

"Yes Ma'am," Calvin answered, back in Carol Thompson's office just over an hour after having left. "Pretty straight forward investigation really. Kudo's really go to the AV department and their tracking system. You might put in a good word for James Logan with his Professor."

"I'll be sure to do that," Ms Thompson said absently, flicking through the file open on her laptop for Brandon Parks. "Aside from the fact that the camera was in his possession, how can, you be sure?"

"I took a stroll to the lecture hall he was scheduled to be in, eyeballed him myself. Same build, same height and then there's this." Calvin put the memory stick with the sex tape into the laptop, opening the file and forwarding a couple of minutes. He paused, the naked but masked figure dominating the frame, his back to the camera.

"You see here? Back of his neck?" Carol Thompson peered at the screen, picking up her glasses from her desk and looking closely again.

"Is that a scar?"

"Yes Ma'am. Irony being if he hadn't used such a good camera, might not have spotted the scar in the recording. I saw the same scar when I went to the lecture hall. It's him, no doubt."

"Well done Mr. Weeks, really well done."

"As I said, a simple matter to resolve. I know you want this kept quiet so would you like me to pick him up?"

"No, no, no. No, I think I will handle this myself. I don't want to bring any formal charges against him. He might be in breach of the college regulations on a number of counts. However, if I make this a formal matter then that simply attracts publicity and that the college can't afford, not after recent events." By this she meant the strange goings on with science and research facilities on campus. For a few years now there had been stories, rumours really, of experiments gone wrong. However, a local newspaper had decided to print some of these stories, the furore spreading far beyond the paper's meagre circulation thanks to social media. Tales of zombies and werewolves in sexual congress with students and faculty had caused a fair number of blushes, especially with the Dean as he sought out donations from Alumni. (See Hair raising Halloween & Rutwell College Chronicle: Halloween). Then there were the rumours of underground fight clubs and gambling syndicates. These rumours at least he knew to be true and the only person blushing over that was Calvin himself as he was responsible for finding the person behind it. (See Rutwell College Chronicles Ch. 04)

"Well, that's your call of course," Calvin didn't sound too happy about it because he wasn't. If there was the slightest chance this guy Brandon was taking advantage of female students... his daughter Jo attended here.

"Yes, exactly. I've his class schedule here. I'll pick a time to approach him, see if this can't be sorted amicably."

"And if it can't?"

"Why Mr. Weeks, if my charm and good sense can't win the day, I'm sure yours will have an impact." Calvin gave her a grim nod of approval. If the Ice Queen couldn't make the young man see sense, then he certainly would.

Chapter Two:

A few hours later, the halls of the accommodation block where Brandon Parks had his college room were thronged with students. Evening had settled on the campus and, released from the lecture halls and library, the students were blowing off steam.

An unnatural calm settled in the wake of Carol Thompson's passage as she walked towards Brandon's room. Students falling silent mid-sentence, only to take up a fresh topic in whispers with her passing. Seeing her out of her office was a rare enough sight although the majority of the student body knew her by reputation, her tall, vast bosomed appearance was well documented. As was her reputation. Strict but fair, the emphasis being on the former.

Reaching the film students room, she rapped her knuckles firmly on the door. A few moments later a dishevelled looking young man answered.

"I told you; I need to stu-... uhhh, Ms Thompson, umm, am I in trouble?"

"Not that I am aware of, unless you feel the need to unburden yourself of something?" That was as close to a joke as she could make, however it was lost on the confused looking student, caught between surprise at her appearance and sleep deprivation as he struggled to stay on top of his assignments.

"Uhh, no?"

"Very good. Is Brandon Parks here?"

"No, he left about an hour ago. Said something about helping out the debate club. I think he is working on fixing sound or recording equipment in the Auditorium in Block C."

"Excellent, well, I'll let you get back to your study then," she looked at the students whispering quietly in the hallway. "That is if you can." She pitched her voice to carry and like frost melting beneath the sun, the students seemed to disappear as they retreated to their individual rooms. Pleased she'd been able to refocus those young minds on what was important, Carol headed downstairs and across one of the courtyards dotted about the campus.

Block C was almost totally comprised of lecture halls, save for a large Auditorium on the second floor. Given the fact that it was now late evening, the building was understandably empty of life. She walked briskly, the mid length heels of her shoes beating out a cadence that resembled a snare drum rattling to life as it called troops to arms. The Sicilian grey twill pants suit she'd worn to the office today over an open collared white shirt added just the right tone of sobriety to her appearance, a lucky choice as she anticipated the upcoming confrontation would benefit from her having the hallmarks of Judge, Jury and Executioner.

She entered the Auditorium via one of the rear entrances, looking down the expanse of tiered seating at the large room's sole occupant. Brandon Parks was stretched out by the raised dais, working on a set of wires that led from the speaker's podium and down into the foot high stage itself. He hadn't noticed her arrival, intent as he was on his work. That suited Carol, she preferred to make an entrance, it gave her an edge.

"Mr. Parks, a moment of your time?" She didn't even have to raise her voice, the acoustics of the room doing the work for her. The young man jerked as if stung, half sitting up.

"Jesus, you scared the life outta me," he complained, peering up at the distant figure. "Ms. Thompson?"

"Yes. Can we talk?"

"Sure, I'm pretty much done here." Carol began walking slowly down the auditorium steps, each click of her heels echoing out. As she descended, she saw the black film student finishing up his task, placing the wiring he'd been working on back inside the dais, slipping the metal covering that he'd removed to access them back into place. His hands didn't quite tremble but Carol was sure the occasional fumble she spotted were on account of her, each one coming in the wake of another clicking step.

"Yeah, so how can I help you?" Brandon was now back on his feet, dusting down one pant leg.

"Why don't we take a seat," Carol suggested. There were eight chairs further back on the dais, four on either side, put in place for the debating students to sit during the upcoming event.

"Okay, sure," he answered, sitting on a chair. Carol opted to take her own seat directly opposite him, opening the single button on her suit jacket as she sat back into the chair. Her bust strained all but her loosest clothes and sitting on a chair with the jacket closed wasn't an option. She let the silence stretch for an uncomfortable time, watching him as she did so. Judging it perfectly, Carol began to speak just as he was about to say something, cutting him off dead.

"Megan Richards," she said, naming the young woman from the video. Brandon didn't give any appearance of knowing the name and if it wasn't for her absolute faith in the abilities of Calvin Weeks, she might have thought she'd the wrong man.

"Sorry, don't know her," Brandon replied after a heartbeat.

"Not even biblically?"

"I'm sorry? What?"

"Please, let's not insult my intelligence with lies or your own by playing the fool," Carol said. From the side pocket of her jacket, she pulled out the memory stick, holding it up so he could see it clearly. For a moment she thought he would continue with his innocence act but instead he gave a rueful shake of his head.

"I looked everywhere for that, where did you find it?"

"That doesn't matter. Can I assume you aren't going to deny your part in this... production? Even though the person was masked?"

"Doesn't seem to be much point in doing that. If you didn't know it was me, you wouldn't be here."

"Very good, I'm glad you are being so sensible about this," she said with a hint of a grim smile on her face. "Now, is this the only copy?"

"It is," he answered.

"Excellent."

"Of that one," he then supplied.

"Wh-what do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what you probably fear," he replied. He seemed confident, with no justification for being so.

"You've made other tapes... with other students?"

"Yes, that was the first with Megan," he answered.

"Why? You obviously know it is grounds for losing your place here at Rutwell. Why do it? Why risk your future?"

"Are you serious? My future? I did it for my future."

"Please. Brandon. I've looked at your file, you are doing very well, top ten percent of your course. Something like this, it's poison for your life. You'd lose out on graduating, the scandal would follow you, forget about a career in the arts and entertainment industry." Carol Thompson sat forward a little in the chair, trying to convey empathy with him. "For your sake, for these young women's reputations, for the college's sake... just give me any of these recordings you've made. I give you my word, it goes no further than this."

"Wow. Ms. Thompson, I have to say, the acting world lost out when you went into academia. You almost had me believing that horseshit."

"You should believe me. You wouldn't like the alternative," she said, her voice firming.

"The alternative? Please... this place is lurching from one incident of negative publicity to another as long as I've been going here. Last thing you or this place needs is a sex scandal. So don't go threatening me, it won't fly."

Carol blinked in surprise. She'd expected denials, lies, excuses and some begging for leniency. She hadn't counted on the young man calling her bluff in such a hard-nosed fashion. Her game plan was a bust so she had to think on the fly. To give herself time to think, she posed him a question.

"Okay, say you're right. It's simply mutually assured destruction, your own career going down in flames before it's even started. Why would you risk it all?" Brandon leaned back in his chair stretching long legs out in front of himself, crossing them at the ankles. He seemed to give the question some thought which was good, a bit of self-reflection on his part might bring him to his senses, at the very least it gave Carol time to consider her next tack.

"You saw my file, right? Top ten percent you said," Brandon spoke. His body language remained calm, but a measure of heat was in his voice as he talked. "Total fucking bullshit. I should be top of that course, first percentile. Only the professor thinks film making peaked with Orson fucking Welles, anything that isn't consistent with his expectations gets marked for shit. So, I'm here, buried in student loans, and getting no recognition. Meanwhile you got trust fund babies like Megan living their best lives."

"You think you're the only person struggling financially?" Carol challenged him.

"Course not. I got no problem paying for an education but not for one that's just looking to ignore me and my efforts, punishing me. You think the Oscars are dominated by white actors and filmmakers? You should take a long look at the department this college is running."

"So what? You're paying back the college establishment by making sex tapes? You want to ruin lives and Rutwell itself because you feel unfairly treated? I'm sorry Brandon, I don't buy that. If you're as smart as you say and I have no reason to suspect otherwise, you know that's not the answer. Be reasonable, give me the recordings. If what you say is true, I'll go to the Dean, have him investigate the film department. He's a fair man, if there are improprieties there, he'll deal with it."

"Like I said Ms. Thompson, you could have made a fine actress." Carol made a harumphing sound at this, but beyond that she managed to hide her irritation. The stick hadn't worked, nor had the carrot. She was loath to unleash Mr. Weeks on this problem because despite the situation, she felt a certain amount of sympathy for this young man. She'd met her own obstacles in her career where her looks, her sex had played against her. If it was the same case for him then his actions were... well not understandable but not perhaps worthy of him being strong-armed by the head of security. She just had to find another path; she needed more information to go on.

"So, enlighten me then Brandon, if you didn't do this to embarrass these women or this institution, why do it?"

"Money of course. If I am not going to finish top of my class, then to get noticed I need to go the independent route, make some low budget films, buy a decent script. Investors, they'll look at my credentials... and we're back to the class ranking again. So, I need cash to finance some of it myself."

"Oh my god, are you actually suggesting you'd sell these sex recordings to some porn site?"

"Why not? Trust me, my stuff is high end, no amateur shit. I'd get good money for what I've got stored away."

"You can't do that, it's unconscionable. Think of the lives you'd ruin," Carol said angrily.

"There you go again. I know you Ms. Thompson. Way, I hear it, you'd lie down in traffic for this place, Rutwell to the core. From my perspective, the only thing you truly care about is this place's reputation."

"That's true. To a point." Carol took two slow deep breaths to calm herself, unaware of Brandon's gaze fixing on her heaving breasts as she did so. "It's not the whole truth however. As far as I am concerned, Rutwell is its student body. An attack, a miscarriage of justice on them is an attack on the college itself. Please, I am asking you to be reasonable here, to do the right thing. Give me the recordings."

"Reasonable? I give them to you, where's my leverage? My gain? You get the recordings and I get booted from college. No degree, loans that need to be paid and no product to sell to a porn site. Got to tell you, I don't see the upside in that."

"You're forgetting I am involved now. I will personally take up your fight. You do the right thing and so will I. If you are being treated unfairly, I WILL put a stop to it. You have my word." She could see he remained unconvinced, shaking his head, stubbornly refusing to back down.

"Brandon. Talk to me. Tell me what I can do to convince you. Obviously, you need to believe you can trust me, so come on, what's it going to take? A signed letter of intent from me guaranteeing you amnesty and my involvement with your complaint?"

He smiled suddenly and Carol felt that finally she was on the right track to settling this.

"Okay Ms. Thompson. You want to convince me. Answer me a question."

"Of course, ask away," she replied.

"How many times did you watch that video of Megan and I?"

"Thre- ah, I don't see what that has to do with anything," she said, shifting in embarrassment at having answered without thinking.

"Three times? Why'd you do that? Once should have told you what you needed to know. Tell me why you watched it so many times, if you really want to earn my trust like you said."

Carol bridled at this line of questioning. She was reluctant to answer truthfully as the answer came too close to a personal tragedy, one that he hadn't the right to know anything about. She wasn't happy to have hinted already at the guilty pleasure she'd felt in watching and rewatching the footage. She hadn't had relations with her husband in over two years now. Work had become her way of dealing with that change in circumstances but her reaction to watching Brandon's fit body on top of Megan's slim figure was evidence that her coping mechanism wasn't as effective as she'd thought. Mike, her husband, had suffered a back injury some time ago and complications with the damage to his lower spine had resulted in him developing Arachnoiditis. This inflammatory condition had left him in chronic pain that prevented him from engaging in anything more strenuous than a gentle walk. It had also left him with bowel and bladder issues and had rendered him incapable of performing sexually. Bless his heart, he'd worried about her more than himself. As a literary editor, he'd managed to keep working remotely, anxious that her standard of living wouldn't be affected by any loss of income and the high medical costs of his pain management through medication.

Brandon Parks hadn't the right to know that. It was personal. Some of her reputation as 'The Ice Queen' was a direct result of her personal pain. It was a cruel nickname to her reckoning, those who used it didn't know the depth of her heartache.

"I found it exciting," she finally admitted, granting him that much truth. And it was true. She could have said a lot more besides how the energy, the raw hunger of both Brandon and Megan had been captured by the camera. Carol could barely admit to herself that she'd become physically aroused watching it, so there was no way in hell she'd be sharing that with him.

"Thank you. You're the first person who has seen it. I wanted an honest audience reaction," he said, a cocky smile on his face now. She knew he had the best cards in the deck; if she couldn't get him to fold, she'd need to play her joker, Mr. Weeks. That was still a last resort though.

There was a bag beside the rostrum, a plain backpack that obviously belonged to him. Brandon rose to retrieve it, sitting back down after he had. From inside it he pulled out the red ski mask he'd worn in the sex tape.

"What's that for?" Brandon didn't answer at first, just pulling it down over his head.

"Call it a movie prop," he said lightly. "I have to admit, I didn't think you'd admit to that. I still don't trust you but I do respect you Ms. Thompson." Carol Thompson found she couldn't look Brandon in the eye now, the memory of the sex tape was vividly replaying in her head now that he'd donned that same damned ski mask he'd worn in the scene. She realised suddenly that she hadn't responded to his last statement, her normally ordered mind thrown off kilter.

"That's something, a start at least," she said hurriedly. "Why don't we leave it there for the moment Brandon. Let's meet properly tomorrow at my office, see if we can't come up with a solution, we can both live with." Carol realised that she really didn't want to be in this young man's company any longer. It was so stupid; she was better than this. Losing control of her thoughts, failing to keep the conversation on course... this wasn't her. Worse, having what could only be described as lewd daydreams about a college student... that was the sort of thing that happened in books or films. At worst to people who'd allowed drink or some personal circumstance to alter their normal behaviour. The abnegation of her own needs through no choice of her own, it wasn't reason enough for her to become this hot and bothered. Yet there she was, looking to put off a situation that needed resolving sooner rather than later.

"We can keep talking now Ms. Thompson, I'd prefer that," Brandon answered. "You still want to prove to me that you are willing to go that extra mile for me, to set things straight?"

"I said so, didn't I? If we meet tomorrow, we can put some sort of contract, an action plan together. I can document your grievances properly at my office. Why don't we do that?" She was talking too fast. It wasn't babbling but she knew she was losing whatever authority her position deserved in the poor manner she was dealing with him. He'd be a fool not to see he'd rattled her and something told her, a fool he was not.

"Something wrong? You look flushed? It's the mask, right? That's what's bothering you?"

"To be honest, I'm not comfortable at all with this issue. Not from the first." Carol tried to draw herself together, to buttress herself with moral indignation. "It was bad enough to learn that one young woman had been exploited by you. Now I find there are more involved and despite my best intentions, to make an ending to this where everyone, yourself included, is a winner... you set out to mock me by putting on that ridiculous mask."

"Ridiculous? It's just a prop like I said. I'm maybe being a bit of an exhibitionist right now, but that's just part of my artistic leanings. But you know what, you're right. You are trying to do right by everyone." This admission took Carol by surprise and she found herself staring at Brandon, despite the mask, waiting to hear what came next.

"How about I make a gesture of goodwill, and you match it? I'll delete one of the recordings but only if you watch it with me first. Deal?"

"I'm not... I don't have any desire to be a party to any more of your recordings except for their deletion."

"Better you watch it than it go online, right?" It made sense after a twisted fashion, Carol giving in with a sharp nod of agreement. Delving into the same bag Brandon pulled out a slim laptop which he placed in his lap, opened it and then began tapping rapidly on the keys while Carol found herself wondering exactly how many rules, she was now in contravention of having agreed to this 'deal'.

The young man pressed a final key with a flourish, turning the laptop about so that she could now see the screen. The footage was already running and despite herself, Carol leaned forward slightly in her seat to view it. It looked to be the same bedroom where Brandon and Megan had made the video Carol had already watched. She couldn't be sure of that, college dorms and furniture being fairly similar but if she was the type to wager, she'd bet on it.

Another young dark-haired girl, very similar in looks to Megan, was sitting cross legged on the bed, the camera filming from above and at an angle so Carol could make out her face. She didn't recognise her. Brandon, it had to be him under the same red ski mask, stepped into view. He was as naked as the young woman and already hard. Carol's breath caught in her throat as she saw his big black cock jutting proudly out before him. It was difficult to judge from the recording, but Carol thought he must be almost a foot long if not the full twelve inches. When the young woman put both hands around his shaft, so much of it left uncovered, Carol gave a small internal yip of shock at the dimensions. She'd met her own husband while in college and so her lifelong sexual experiences had amounted to the three boyfriends she'd had prior to meeting Mike. None had boasted an appendage that came close to the mass of the one on the laptop screen. The comparatively small pale face of the young woman moved forward to take the cock in her mouth and Carol looked away in acute embarrassment.

"That's not the deal, you need to watch it all," Brandon chided, watching her from above the laptop. Color bloomed in her cheeks. Anger at him for insisting on this, annoyance at herself for failing to think of a better way of handling the situation, and worst of all, shame at her reaction to what she was watching.

Carol continued watching, the young woman slobbering noisily on the cock, attacking it with a greedy mouth. She couldn't see the progress bar on the footage but based on the other video, Brandon had considerable endurance when it came to his own climax, lasting nigh on twenty-five minutes. Carol didn't cross her fingers exactly, but she hoped this recording wouldn't last as long.

By the time the masked Brandon in the video had eased the woman off his cock and onto her back, a good five minutes had passed by Carol's reckoning. Still holding the laptop for her to watch, the real-life Brandon kept an eerie silence. She didn't want to hold a conversation with him, not while watching this, but the almost unblinking presence that he held as he watched her was getting to her. The response of her body, a distinct heat building between her legs, her nipples throbbing against her straining bra, these were mortifying enough without having him silently staring in judgement.

The action on the screen had proceeded to full sex, the young woman's moans sounding shrill and discordant through the speaker on the laptop. Carol found herself shifting on the seat awkwardly. The heat she felt had now added a moistening element to it. She was wearing a pants suit, there was no way he could know what was happening beneath it, still she twisted back and forth trying to ease the distracting sensations.

"I know, the single camera perspective gets boring. I really could use an assistant when it comes to shooting," Brandon said, breaking his silence. Boring wasn't how Carol would consider what was happening. On the screen the woman's legs were wrapped about his waist as he buried himself to the hilt inside her, lifting her hips up so as to pull her onto his cock as he plunged forward. The moans becoming ever more strident now, Carol convinced the young woman was about to orgasm at any moment.

"I don't... ahem... I don't think bringing another person into this would be in your benefit. This, this needs to stop. You need to stop," she said, flicking a glance at him.

'Don't stop, don't stop, cumming, I'm cumming,' the woman shrieked from the screen of the laptop. Carol couldn't tell, not with him wearing the mask and her keeping her eyes on the sex tape as agreed, but she was sure the cocky bastard was smiling at her.

By the time the dark figure in the video was slowly jerking his cock, milking the last drops of his cum onto the small firm breasts of the woman on the bed, Carol was intensely aware of her physical reactions. She'd been excited and aroused watching the original video in the seclusion of her office. Under Brandon's gaze, she had advanced to a point where she felt she was in the midst of a bout of foreplay, all without a finger being laid on her. He hadn't spoken since commenting on the lack of camera angles and she was relieved as her brain had the intellectual adeptness of a bowl of porridge. She needed to leave; she could sort this out tomorrow. Perhaps she'd been too hasty dismissing Mr. Weeks as the first option. Carol found herself resisting the urge to bite her bottom lip at the thought of Calvin Weeks's handsome black face. Goddamn this voyeuristic asshole Brandon and his equally contemptible professor! Now she had not only the reputation of the college and those young female students to safeguard, she had her own sanity to preserve as well.

"Delete it. Now." The instruction was made without a single warbling syllable. She amazed herself with that performance.

"Deal's a deal." Brandon made a show of doing it, opening up a file on his computer that contained well over a dozen MP4 files. He clicked on the top one, sending it to the recycle bin.

"The others as well. No more fucking about." Carol winced as her composure broke. She never cursed, well almost never but certainly not to or in front of a student.

"It was a show of good faith. The rest... well I'm still not sure I can trust you to have my back in all this," Brandon replied.

"I... I don't know what else I can say or do. What goodwill did I earn by watching... watching... umm... that, if you are still not sure my word is good? What do you want? I want those recordings gone. What do you want?"

"How about you show me your commitment to me, to the college by showing me your tits instead? If you were willing to do that, I think I could believe you were the trustworthy type, that you were willing to do whatever had to be done."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said lurching to her feet, the suggestion shocking enough to sober her porn drunk mind somewhat. "Absolutely not."

"Is it a race thing then? Same as with my professor?"

"Now you're just being insulting. It's not about race, it's about propriety. I'm married for a start," Carol said heatedly. She had nothing against interracial couples, racism was a dirty word, a hateful concept as far as she was concerned. The accusation stung because it simply wasn't true.

"Fact you were married didn't put you off watching the video though, both videos." Carol was all too aware of that, the still present warmth of her aroused pussy feeling like a betrayal to Mike, her husband, for all the pleasure that emanated from it. She sat back down, raising a hand to her forehead, confused by the polar opposite reactions between her body and her mind.

Brandon taped quietly on the laptop as he watched the older woman's obvious struggle. He'd spent the better part of an hour setting up the cameras and sound recording equipment for the debate club. He'd tied in his laptop to test it and so it was a simple matter to start the camera recording to his hard drive. He started it, setting the laptop aside.

"Take off your jacket and shirt," he said in a low, commanding tone. He made no mention of earning trust or making deals.

Carol dithered. She was very much out of her comfort zone now. Her reputation and position were normally all that was needed to cow a student or even a member of the faculty. This young man's belligerence and the hold he had over the college was something beyond her experience. She'd given in already, a small concession to earn goodwill. He was asking for a lot more though. He'd said earlier that her reputation was that she'd lie down in traffic for the college. Isn't that what she was being asked to do now? Giving of herself for the greater good, for Rutwell's reputation?

"You'll delete more files?"

"We'll see," he said, not committing to anything. She should have pressed but she wasn't thinking clearly to even be considering this. So, she didn't, she just stood up once again.

She rose to her full height, not to intimidate, simply as a means to remove the clothing he'd requested. The jacket sleeve snagged on the diamond set in her engagement ring, a reminder of her husband, not that she needed one as he was never far from her mind. After she'd taken the jacket off, she began unbuttoning her shirt.

"Slowly," Brandon requested. She blew out an exasperated breath, having no intention of doing as he asked. Nevertheless, her nervousness made her fumble with the buttons so the act of removing her shirt was slowed all the same.

"Fuck," an instinctive response from the young black man but one that pleased and mortified Carol at the same time, the sight of her bra clad 38H breasts as her shirt came away making him sit up straighter in his chair. "You're older than my mom but holy shit you've got a banging body there Ms. Thompson."

Was she so in need of affection that a crude remark like that would bring her a sliver of joy? Apparently, the Ice Queen wasn't frozen to the core because she did feel an inner glow warming at the compliment.

"Let me even things up," Brandon said from beneath his ski mask, standing up as he began tugging open the buttons of his own shirt. Carol found herself coping with a fresh influx of memories of the sex tapes at the sight of his bare torso. She found herself making fists from hands that hung limp at her sides, feeling levels of awkward insecurity, something she hadn't had to deal with in three decades.

"Pants as well," Brandon requested, his hands at his belt as he spoke. Carol complied, reminding herself that in her bra and underwear she was no more exposed than if she was standing on a beach in a bikini. It wasn't the most comforting thought but it was all she could rally at that moment. Finished, she tried not to sway on the spot, the urge to shuffle her feet in a bashful fidget quite strong.

Brandon was just wearing a pair of black boxer briefs, the bulge of his cock, a grotesque mass to Carol's peeved eyes, seemed to writhe beneath the fabric as he moved a little closer towards her.

"There. I earned your trust. Give me what I want now," she said, her voice no longer firm, now uncharacteristically meek, unsure.

"What you want," Brandon echoed flatly. "Yeah, I can see from those nipples poking through your bra, that damp patch on your panties, I can see exactly what you want. So sure, I'll give it to you."

Carol's eyes widened, a hand reflexively shooting up to clutch at her snow-white short hair, her mouth falling into a gobsmacked 'O'. Brandon had simply pushed his boxer briefs down a couple of inches so as to allow his cock to spring free. The sight of that much hard, young flesh leaving Carol in a thunderstruck state. It bobbed in place. She'd studied Classics when she'd been a student. To the shocked college administrator, this young man's huge black cock was a Siren from Homer's Odyssey, alluring beyond words but ultimately a herald of dire repercussions.

Touching his cock... part of her wanted to dry retch at the thought of touching the sex organ of anyone other than her husband of twenty-two years. Part of her wanted to know how it would feel in the palm of her hand.

Touching it would get her the recordings. She could save those young women's reputations, save the college's blushes. Carol would keep her word as well; she'd help Brandon with his case. Not for him, but for any other students now or in the future who might be discriminated against. That's all her mind could manage as a justification for doing it, hearing a deal that hadn't been proposed by Brandon.

She reached out, her hand touching his hardness, an actual thrill like electricity passing through her as she did so. He was barely into his twenties, she was fifty. He was a student at the college, she held a senior administrative position. He apparently had no desire to embrace a monogamous relationship while she was married twenty-two years. He clearly cared only for himself while she saw herself a part of a bigger, greater enterprise, the college, her marriage. As she felt the hard flesh in her light grip, the youth and vitality of his cock in stark contrast to her husband's constant flaccidity from his injury... it was no longer a game of opposites, Carol and Brandon coming to an agreement on something for the first time.

Chapter Three:

Carol moved her hand up and down his length, slowly exploring this strange cock. Nervous didn't begin to describe her feelings as she touched it. She couldn't contemplate him fucking her, or rather she didn't dare to let herself imagine that scenario. Jerking him off, maybe using her mouth, that was as far as she saw this going. Exclusively fixated as she was on his cock, she paid little mind to Brandon's hands until they began to paw across her massive bust. It seemed that her breasts were as intriguing to him as his cock was to her. The bra she wore frustrated him at first but he leaned in closer to get his arms around her, the clasp parting to a grunt of satisfaction from him, the white bra slipping off as he breasts swung free to fall at her feet.

Two pale pendulous mounds of flesh hung free between them, both topped with large areolas whose pink tinge were still shades darker than Carol's pale white skin. Her nipples, long and hard from an excitement that had built and built since the beginning of the sex tape, throbbed with relief, no longer stifled against her bra. Brandon's hands dived onto them, strong dark fingers teasing, tweaking, sinking into soft white flesh as he fondled them.

"Fucking sexy, fat white tiddies," he growled. Carol continued stroking his cock, her hand moving a little faster as he lifted her right tit only to engulf the nipple with his mouth. She bit back a squeak as his lips fastened onto the nipple, sucking on it hard. A second squeak was also fought down as his teeth nibbled her pink teat, ten percent pain, ninety percent pleasure. The third squeak almost slipped past her defences unnoticed, emerging in a strangled fashion as he pinched her second nipple while sucking on the first.

"Biggest tits I ever seen," he said, coming up for air. She had stopped stroking, distracted by his ministrations on her breasts. Carol had just restarted, her hand moving up from the root of his long appendage when Brandon sent a firm but gentle slap across her chest, setting her tits swaying left to right. "Firm fuckers for an old woman like you."

That rankled a little. It rankled a lot. Carol had never worried about growing older. Children, a family, had never happened for her and Mike. They'd tried, failed and after a time, they'd just given up, happy with the life they had. Her hair had changed from blonde to pale white and she'd never been concerned about it, taking it in her stride. Her body and face had remained fairly tight, her skin almost wrinkle free. But being called old by this twenty something, it got to her.

"Not old," she protested, stroking his cock a little more firmly in her pique.

"Older than me, older than my mom, so that's old as far as I'm concerned," he replied. Before she could say anything in rebuttal, his hand was stroking between her legs, one finger tracing the damp patch on her panties, skirting over the puffy lips of her labia. Her hips flinched at the indecent touch but they rocked back in search of his fingers almost instantaneously.

"Wet for me, aren't you? Guess there's still life in that pussy yet." So crude, but she found herself nodding in agreement. At five foot ten, Carol had always found it easy to meet men in the eyes, Brandon wasn't much taller at six feet but in this situation... she found it hard to return his gaze, lowering her eyes instead. It was so unlike her; she couldn't fathom the cause. Shame she supposed.

"Take them panties off for me," Brandon said, stepping back so that Carol's hand was forced to abandon his cock as he distanced himself. Now that he was out of reach, she couldn't get him off. Getting him off would get her the trust she needed to get those recordings destroyed. So, she'd take off her panties. Not for him, not for her. For the college, for the greater good.

Hooking her thumbs into the cotton band at her hips, she pulled her underwear down to her ankles, only then straightening up to set clear of them one foot at a time. Nude, she should have been wracked with shame but even as she saw him looking at the neatly trimmed triangle of white hair that covered her pubic mound, Carol found herself holding onto her latest thought, doing what she must, regardless of what it was, for Rutwell.

"C'mon then, come back over to me, come get what you want," Brandon said cockily. The red ski mask might hide his face but the arrogance was in his stance and tone. 'For Rutwell' Carol repeated to herself, pacing forward, hand outstretched.

"Nah, nah, the mouth, get it with your mouth," Brandon said, taking a half step back to keep Carol from seizing his cock. She'd been expecting this, had made her peace with it. To earn his trust, to destroy the videos, she'd use her mouth on him.

The floor of the dais was carpeted, albeit thinly, so slipping onto her knees wasn't the uncomfortable situation it might have been. He rose above her, Carol taking in for the first time how fit he looked. When she'd watched the sex tapes it had been an assault on her ability to process everything, the action, sounds, the size of his cock entering Megan and then the other young brunette. On her knees, her eyes looking up instead of lowered as they had been, she could appreciate the toned abs, the sculpted hairless chest. Brandon might have been a film studies nerd but he had the body of a jock all the same.

"No hands, just that mouth," he reminded her. Carol put her hands on her thighs, taking a hesitant swallow as a fresh wave of guilt washed over her. Brandon suddenly looked up towards the back of the auditorium, before sidling left a half pace. Her heart leapt into her mouth as she feared he'd heard someone approaching, but there was no one there. Yet it made her even more reluctant, the idea of being caught like this.

"Guess you were all talk huh? I reckoned that'd be the case," Brandon said, watching as she wavered, her resolve to put the needs of Rutwell ahead of her own fading. He might not have meant it to be a spur but those words acted as one nevertheless. Carol wouldn't stand... well kneel... for anyone implying she couldn't make good on her word. She shuffled about on her knees, side on now to the dais and the rear of the auditorium, and back facing his cock.

She hadn't sucked a cock in... was it really ten years? Mike hadn't really been into it and when they'd still enjoyed an active sex life, the emphasis had always been on sex. Still. Ten years or ten minutes... it was like riding a bike, some things once learned were never forgotten. Her mouth gaped open as she lowered her face onto his hardness, the sensation of his spongy head rubbing against her bottom lip making her shut her eyes, disturbed by her own behaviour and her body's disregard for the perspective her head had settled on, that this was for the greater good and absolutely not about her being adulterous.

The inflexibility of the young man's cock was such that Carol was able to draw her lips and tongue down its sides and then back up the underbelly of the black leviathan in one long slow lick without needing to steady it with her hands. The educator in her was fascinated by the size, shape and sturdiness of his cock. The administrator part of her makeup was pleased that a student of the college could excel in a field, any field. The slut inside her, woken from a slumber so deep that Carol had forgotten that part of her even existed, was dementedly straining to take control, to work that cock hard.

He pushed her onto his cock, one hand at the back of her head to pull her closer, one beneath her chin to exert control. It filled her mouth, the tip touching the back of her throat and sending her into a spasm of gagging. Instead of letting her free, the young black man kept a hold of her head so that her mouth lashed the exterior of his shaft with soft lips and tongue and Carol's drooling coughs coated his length in thick rivulets of spit.

"Don't fight it," he said, Carol gasping for air as he let his grip soften and she could pull the cock free. Before she could protest, he took a grip of the back of her head, holding tight to her white hair. A slight twist and her face was now diagonal to his crotch, the cock in her mouth pressing into the inside of her cheek as he shoved it into her mouth, making it bulge out obscenely.

"Don't fight it," Brandon repeated, Carol nonplussed as she was going along with his wishes for the sake of getting his recordings destroyed. "Don't fight it, don't fight the slut inside you, the urges. It's all natural, it's all good."

If he'd tried a line like that in a bar, she'd have thrown a drink in his face or just laughed at him till he slunk away. If he'd attempted to label her a slut at any other time, she wouldn't have needed campus security unless it was to pick up his battered remains after she'd gotten through kicking his ass. Brandon had picked the right time to do it though, Carol getting more and more into giving him head. His touch, his taste, it made the hot wetness of her crotch spasm in wave after delicious wave.

"That's right," he commented, releasing her head as Carol began swallowing his length like a circus performer. He used his now free hands on her huge tits, gripping and groping them, giving the much older woman no choice but to emit small whimpers of pleasure, a necessary pressure relief else she might burst.

She had to make him cum. She had to make Brandon cum. That thought was uppermost in her mind as she slobbered on his cock. He'd come, she'd win... something. Her mind was hazy on specifics, firm on objectives at this point. He must be close; he had to be close...

The sound of her own panting breaths sounded loud in Carol's ears, no longer muffled by his mighty cock in her mouth as Brandon stepped back, keeping her at bay with a grip on her hair at the top of her head. With his slightly longer reach, Carol even lost her hold on his ball sack, watching it swing heavily out of range, still filled with sperm despite her best efforts.

"How about we take things up a notch?" Carol knew what he meant but she'd compromised enough. Stripping naked, sucking his cock. She'd sacrificed enough for the college, she needed to think about Mike. She shook her head.

Brandon laughed and it stung. It was sardonic, a jeering snigger that acted as a mirror to herself, to what she'd already done. She'd come this far... No! She was married and what he wanted was a step too far. Still when he offered her his hand, helping to raise her up from the floor, Carol took it without hesitation. She felt herself being led a few steps across the dais to where the speaker's podium stood. Four feet high, a simple cuboid of wood with a slanted top for notes during a speech or debate. With deliberate intent, he set her hands atop the podium, Carol still at a right angle to the dais. She leaned forward, resting her head on her hands, closing her eyes against the shame. Not that it helped, the darkness only made her recall of sucking his cock all the clearer.

Carol Thompson, College Admin, The Ice Queen of Rutwell. Stalwart defender of students and their rights. Janissary of Rutwell college and its ideals. Wife and career. Titles and tributes she'd earned over fifty years of life. In the last twenty minutes she'd earned a fresh cognomen... slut.

She felt his hands fall on her again, rubbing her shoulders, working down her spine in a practised manner as he massaged her. His touch eased none of the tension she felt, it just added to it. As his hands dipped lower, caressing the curve of her ass, one hand slipping between her legs to find that molten cauldron her pussy had become, she knew he was going to continue to press her to give more. This was no longer about her proving how far she'd go to protect the College and those students he'd made sex tapes with. This wasn't about building trust between Brandon and herself so that he'd do the right thing and destroy the recordings. It was about the trust her husband had in her and her betrayal of it. It was about a need inside her that wasn't going to be satisfied with anything less than the big black cock she knew loomed behind her.

"Ready Ms. Thompson?"

Barely perceptible, she nodded, her head still resting on her hands.

"I'm gonna need an actual answer. You know the College guidelines on consent. Affirmative consent should be given in words and actions, to show clear permission and willingness to engage in sexual activity." Carol blinked at a tear that was forming in the corner of her eye. She wasn't even crying for Mike, she was crying for herself, self-pity despite all this being by her own choice. Now she was having to hear words she herself had helped formulate regarding permission and consent. Brandon really was a bastard.

"Fuck me," she said quietly.

"Louder please," Brandon said, wanting to be sure the microphone recording all this picked it up.

"Fuck me," she said, louder, with a lot more conviction.

"Your pussy is really wet; guess it made its mind up quicker than you did. Well let's see if I can melt the Ice Queen." Another laugh, all confidence and swagger and then Carol was gritting her teeth as he wasted no time at all in pushing up into her. He was in her pussy. Another man, not her husband, had pushed his cock into her. It was sordid, terrifying and aberrant. And she wanted him to push more of his cock into her, because he'd only pushed the tip into her hot, tight slit when she began trying to push back on him.

"Shit, you're like a cat in heat, aren't you? Where'd that upstanding married Ms. Thompson go, eh? I can't see her, all I see is Carol the slut," Brandon said, strong hands on her hips, the muscles on his arms standing out as he held her back from backing up onto his cock. Frustrating her, inflaming her pussy to a white-hot vessel of physical need.

"You want some more, that it, Carol? Want me to push another few inches of black cock into that married pussy of yours?"

"Yes, yes do it," she hissed through clenched jaws. He pushed deeper, Carol feeling the stretch and depth she hadn't known since her husband's illness, a cock almost five inches deep into her. Long fingernails scratched on the top of the wooden podium.

"Hot married pussy just clenching the shit out of my black cock. This your first time going black Carol? You a fifty-year-old virgin for black cock?"

"Hhhnnn," she moaned in frustration. He was in her but stubbornly immobile. This wasn't fucking, this was torture. "Yes, yes, my first black cock," she said hastily, hoping he'd move.

"Little birdie tells me, it won't be your last one," the masked student said with real conviction. He fed another inch into her pussy, his big cock straining now despite the wetness of her vaginal tunnel.

"No, just this time... never, never again," Carol gasped. It might have been more convincing if her knees hadn't begun to tremble as his cock ground a hairs-breadth deeper inside, causing her to moan at the friction.

"You'll come back to black. Too smart to think otherwise, too slutty to refuse."

"No... uhh, no," the white haired fifty-year-old groaned out her denial.

He held her hips tight, pulling out to cock his hips. Like a sniper zeroing in on his target, the young black man pulled the trigger, hips surging forward powerfully, his body lending weight to the thrust and he drove two inches deeper with that forceful stab. Brandon didn't let up, switching from sniper to machine gunner, plunging in and out of Carol's body at a breakneck speed.

"Wuuh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh," she moaned helplessly. Her breasts swung as her body was pounded, heavy and ponderous, slapping forward against the podium so that her nipples stung deliciously with each impact.

"Yeah, now you feelin' it, nearly got you resized for black. Better late than never, right Carol? You want that? Want me to resize you proper, give you the full deep dickin' that slut body of yours needs? All you gotta do is ask."

"Wuuuuuh, uhhhhh, oh, oh no, oh Jesus no, oh God, you're making me cum," she wailed, hating that she was loving it all so much.

"Well, if that's not a yes, fuck knows what is," Brandon grunted as he felt her pussy undulating against his hardness. "Let's get you on the ground, I want to see those big fat tiddies shake when I get you all hooked up and infatuated for black dick."

Helpless, hopeless, tamed it seemed by the younger man's virility, Carol was unresisting as he positioned her on her back, the carpet of the dais offering little by way of comfort. Still stunned by the force of the orgasm he'd caused; she didn't see the furtive glances Brandon made towards the still recording camera's set at the rear of the auditorium. He'd ensured she was never blocked from view, that at least some of her face was in shot at all times.

"Time for the final scene slut," he said, kneeling between her legs. He eased them back, opening her up and then pressed his cock home into her pussy. Almost immediately she found her legs wrapping around his waist as he pounded into her, gasping as his cock went deep from the onset, the young man powering into her. As he predicted, her tits began shaking and juddering from the strenuous sex. Brandon only slowing his thrusts occasionally in order to seize one or other of them for a squeeze, lick or suckle as the mood took him.

She came again. And again. And again. Carol hated herself for betraying Mike. Hated this ski masked man for taking advantage of her desire to do right by everyone. She hated her body for responding as it had, backing her into a corner where her compliance was her only option. All that hate, but not for his cock. That, she loved, she couldn't deny.

"Cumming," she moaned again, thrashing on the ground.

"You cumming like that, really are in heat aren't you. Body just begging to be used. Shit, I'd never have guessed a stuck up old white bitch like you would be such a cock hungry slut deep down." He turned Carol onto all fours, slipping back inside her quickly. His hands gripped her tits as he pulled her into him, grinding and thrusting into her. Then he pushed her back down, a hand pushing at her upper back till her face pressed against the carpet, her ass raised up high and proud.

"Yeah... don't you move... there you go... stay right there... shhhiittt, oh I know you lovin' this," he said as he slammed into her mercilessly.

"Yeah, yeeaah, yeah, yeah," Carol squeaked with each thrust.

"Gonna nut, uhhh, gonna nut soon. Where you want it huh? Where you want me cummin' slut?" Part of her hated the fact it was coming to an end, more of her despised the fact that she actually considered letting him cum inside her.

"On my tits," she gasped, fearing she'd left her decision too long, his cock noticeably throbbing inside her. With a gasping roar, Brandon pulled out of her, twisting her around one handed so that her ass bounced off the carpeted stage. He jerked his slick cock half a dozen times and then Carol saw the first spurt arch from the tip, catching her right breast. A second ejaculation landed in the deep cleavage of her chest. The subsequent spurts dropped in volume and power, leaving a trail of gloopy cum from the shadow of her tits, down her stomach until at the last he milked his cock over her white pubes, turning the neat triangle into a marshland.

Brandon got to his feet, standing over her, still masked.

"We... this... this never happened," Carol said. Her authority lacked conviction, covered in his semen as she was.

"Whatever you say Ms Thompson," Brandon said.

"The recordings?"

He didn't answer, walking over to the laptop and opening it. He cut the cameras in the room, saving the file away. Only then did he look up at her.

"What was that?"

"The recordings? You'll destroy them?" Brandon pulled the mask off, his face covered in sweat. He licked his upper lip, tasting the salt on his tongue as he seemed to ponder the question.

"Tell you what. I'll keep them safe, no-one else will see them. You keep your word, get me a fair shake when it comes to grading on my course, I'll keep them from ever seeing the light of day."

"Not ideal but good enough," Carol said resigned to the fact that she was unlikely to get a better response.

"One last thing Ms. Thompson. Then we got a deal."

"Jesus... what?"

"I want a dorm room to myself, sick of having a roommate." Carol could just about remember the dishevelled young man, irritable and desiring only to study. Were she like Brandon, she'd probably want a room of her own as well.

"Done," she said, getting to her feet on legs that still trembled from multiple climaxes. Her clothes lay a few feet away and she tottered towards them. Catching Brandon's gaze, she suddenly felt shy, despite what had occurred between them. He picked up on this, turning his back to give her privacy.

"My own room," he repeated.

"Yes, yes I heard you," Ms. Thompson said in a slightly vexed voice, already feeling more like herself as she began to dress.

"Good," Brandon said in a whisper only he could hear. "Because next time I'll need privacy if I'm going to get to break in that ass of yours."

He glanced over his shoulder, watching as the college administrator rubbed his sperm into her skin of her huge breasts, smearing it across them as she tried to make herself presentable. Now that he had her performance saved to his laptop, he didn't think it would require much persuasion on his part to get her into his bed for a second bout of fucking. Brandon had little doubt she'd set things right with his professor and he'd happily show his appreciation giving her the fucking she needed, using every hole she had the next time. The thought of it reversed the softening of his cock and he turned, thinking he'd don the mask again before she left.

However, it was too late. The Ice Queen had donned her armour as it was, the pant suit looking a little wrinkled, the shirt beneath it boasting some damp patches where she hadn't quite rubbed away his nut.

"Mr. Parks," Carol said, walking past him stiff backed as she tried to leave with a little dignity.

"Ms. Thompson," he answered, tracking the sway of her hips as the mature woman ascended the stairs, not looking away till the door into the auditorium cracked shut behind her.

"Next time," he said to himself, moving to get dressed as well.

To be continued.