dirk_grey
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Mafia in College 4
🕑 Added 2019-02-06 17:13:42 +0000 UTCWhen Amelia turned towards me, the flickers of doubt was alive on her face once more. Her urgent need to prove something was absent after the disappearance of her boyfriend, loosening my grip over her. Loosening, but not completely lost, and I had no intention to repeat my earlier slip.
Trusting her arousal to speak its magic, I let my hand disappear into her hair. I tightened my grip as I carefully watched her expression, looking with signs of dissatisfaction, but found flaring ambers of desire. Secure in the knowledge that I was on the right track, I pulled her head back roughly, which brought her mouth to a convenient angle. Her lips opened in preparation of a protest, a reflexive action only. My lips proved to be faster than her reluctant words. They closed over hers, cutting the path of her words.
Interestingly, during the debacle, she had managed to miss one extremely important detail. My fingers were still resting inside her panties, pressing gently against her wet lips. As a true gentleman, it was my job to remind her. I twisted my fingers, teasing her knob softly. She let out a surprised cry, but my lips were up to the task of muffling her words, so the only effect was the opportunity to slip my tongue into her mouth in another layer of domination.
I let the moment to stretch for a while, ensuring her arousal was high enough to prevent her from changing her mind. With each passing second, her struggles lost their power, and her moans intensified. After lengthy treatment, I pulled back. “You like this, don’t you,” I said, enjoying the expression of the helplessness on her face, mixed with desire. “You cannot stop yourself.”
“No-” she tried to say, but two of my fingers, sliding inside her wet tunnel, more than sufficient to cancel the rest of her words, replacing them with a shocked yelp. I closed in for another kiss. As much as I would have enjoyed her cries, they risked pulling an audience, which would be extremely inconvenient. I had no intention of dealing with several old coots having heart-attacks.
I only pulled back after she managed to develop a layer of control over her cries. “You need to be honest with your desires, my dear professor,” I murmured softly into her ear even as I continued to pump my fingers. “Do you think we would be in this position if your dreams weren’t filled with the scenes from the last night, where I took you against the door of your home.” She stayed silent. “It’s a fitting parallel,” I commented casually. “The first time, I took you against the door of your home, now, it’s the door of your office.” I let a second to drag in silence. “Maybe it’s not about me at all, and you have a fetish for doors?”
“Shut up,” she whispered, blushing, but I counted it as a win, as her efforts to get away had disappeared completely. Her body was pressing against mine, her naked tits resting on my chest.
I decided to follow her advice and stopped speaking. That decision left my lips without a job. A waste, I decided. I let my lips roam freely over her neck, sucking a particularly tasty-looking spot that carried the signs of my attention from the last night. Despite her best efforts to keep it contained, a moan slid out from its prison, filling the room with a raspy voice that flared my desires even further.
Still, the pleasure was not thick enough to make her forget where she was. She squeezed her mouth to prevent another moan from taking the same path for freedom. She even brought one of her hands over her lips to reinforce the barrier, the other resting against the wall to keep her balanced.
With both of her hands busy, I was free to invade her body however I wished. Their first destination was the back of her bra, unlocking it with a fervor that reflected my arousal. Yes, her bra was away from anywhere that mattered, but its presence was still annoying. My fingers followed the straps, pushing them aside, trying to divest her torso from the last scrap of protection they had. Her eyes found mine, begging; to make me stop, or hurry up, I didn’t know. But I liked gambling enough to bet it was the latter, so I pulled off her shirt. She readily opened her arms, even as it left her mouth without a barrier to keep her voice low. As a gentleman, I was ready to assist her in her plight, and caught her lips in a tight kiss that muffled any cries that might let out. Her shirt came off, followed by her bra shortly after. Both ended up discarded in an abandoned corner, leaving her body defenseless against my grabby hands.
I let my lips trace down. With her hands-free to return their task of keeping her silent, they were free to tease her other sensitive spots. A journey they started with a brief stop on her neck, before moving down, following the path that was created by her delicate spine, leaving a few kissed on each soft bump.
All the while, one of my hands were still buried in her panties, teasing her entrance relentlessly even as her juices gushed around my fingers. The other was free to dance over her body, reacquainting itself with the delicious contours of her body. Then, without warning, I grabbed her hair and pulled, forcing her to twist until it was her back that was pressing against the door. I pressed my body against hers, our gazes aligned. Her eyes told a story of arousal and surrender.
Then, I had let her hair go, leaning down to capture her nipple between my lips instead. I rolled it gently between my lips, with the occasional assistance from my tongue. One of my hands slid into its previous place in the confines of her panties, returning to its earlier task. The other one, already sunken deep into the supple flesh of her breast, was making her challenge to keep her voice down even more difficult. Despite her reinforced vigil, occasional whimpers escaped their prison, my assault intensifying with each second.
My concentrated assault worked even better than I had guessed, though the location likely played an important role, the risk of being caught always at the forefront of her mind. A lapse of control, resulting in her unmistakable cries echoing through the corridors of the school, would destroy almost everything she had built during her short but overachieving career.
I understood exactly how she felt, because I was also under the same delicious pressure. I might not care about the job itself, but I needed it as a cover. Even more, there was a risk that a local newspaper might run the juicy news of two teachers being kicked out for workplace fraternization. From then on, it was a virtual certainty that someone from mafia would pick on it, and the chase would begin anew. Any rational person would have pulled away, correctly prioritizing their life over the momentary fancy of mind-blowing sex.
Admittedly, I didn’t exactly count as a rational person. After all, a rational person wouldn’t have joined mafia despite better options. And even if he did, double-crossing the same organization, with its well-armed, trigger happy executioners would never be an option, regardless of the sums involved. Which was why, instead of stopping like any sane person would do when Amelia started trembling under the effects of a stiff orgasm, I grabbed her hair roughly, dragged her to her table, and pushed her down, her skirt conveniently bunched up.
My hands worked like lightning, releasing my belt, followed by the rest of my clothes, and my shaft was dangling freely. Another push, this time sidelining her panties, soaked with her juices enough to turn transparent, giving me free access to her entrance. My only warning was my hands, sinking into her buttocks as I leaned forward, once again capturing her body between mine and an object, this time her precious desk, the physical embodiment of her authority.
I pressed my shaft against her entrance, tasting her burning arousal in a more intimate way. I could feel her stiffen, but it was about her expectations and excitement rather than fear. Her bottom wouldn’t have risen invitingly otherwise, giving me the perfect angle to defile her. Then, I pushed inside her scorching hot tunnel, her walls tight around my girth as I invaded her mercilessly.
Her first reaction was to let out a loud cry, which was, thankfully, muffled sufficiently, thanks to her hands pressing against her mouth. I pulled back, only to impale even deeper, which forced another cry out, this time even louder. “Keep it down,” I warned, punctuating my request with a stiff slap on her bottom. Admittedly, my actions weren’t exactly helping, but I was well past the point of caring.
“I’m trying,” she murmured. “Maybe if you-” she tried to add, but that, I interrupted with another spank.
“Rejected,” I said mockingly even as I pushed myself even deeper into her. On my skin, I could feel her burning desire, roaring even stronger after her first orgasm. No matter how hard I pushed inside her, her walls tightened around my shaft, trying to keep them inside. “I’m sure you can manage it though, professor. After all, there is nothing you can’t do, right?”
Her hands pulled away from her mouth, and her lips parted open, but before she could form a word, my hand landed on her bottom, preferring to squeeze her plump flesh. She was barely able to bring her hands back to her mouth to suppress the next cry. “Better,” I called with a smirk.
Next few minutes passed in silence, discounting rhythmic sound of flesh hitting flesh, mixed with occasional moans she barely managed to muffle. Her tunnel continued to squeeze me relentlessly, pushing me even closer to arousal, but I stayed inside her. Only at the last second, I pulled back, covering her panties with my seed. She continued to lay there listlessly. I left her like that, fixed my pants, and left the room, though I checked to see corridor was empty before.
I stepped on the corridor, leaving Amelia behind, used and exhausted. It was tempting to start another session, as I had quite a bit of time to kill, but I decided to cut it short. I still needed to attend to Megan. As a teacher, it was my responsibility to educate her about ill-advised actions, and their consequences…
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
For the next stage of my plan, I stopped by my office, and pulled a couple of phone numbers from the system. Then, I went back to my minuscule apartment I temporarily adopted as my residence, getting a packaged lunch on the way, a large burger, with extra fries. Not my usual fare, as I tried to stay away from heavy food for lunch, but after all that happened, I was deserving a reward. Not to mention that I needed energy for what was going to happen in the next few hours. I pulled a beer from the fridge for good measure, then took a seat on my computer desk.
I turned on my computer, and started fiddling with the keyboard with one hand, leveraging the other to destroy the greasy reward I had acquired. After turning on a few programs that would prevent my location from being detected, I clicked on the last tool, and a large -and currently empty- room appeared on my view. A room that I had visited just yesterday, its visuals communicated through the infected computer of its occupant. For a second, I lamented that the room was empty. Even back in the business days, I never liked stakeouts.
But I decided to stay put and wait for Megan to arrive, suppressing my dislike for stakeouts. Not because I lacked a more direct way of reaching Megan, but because that way would be too effective. Yes, I could go to her and show that I had enough evidence to screw her over, dominating her directly. It would barely take an evening to teach her the mistake of selecting her targets carelessly. But then, boredom would return. I needed to take it slow, showing my hand as little as possible, letting her think that she had a hope of escaping my web.
I had just finished my food, and getting a second bottle of beer when I heard the sound of a door slamming, accompanied by the slight cracking of my speaker. Miss amateur blackmailer had arrived, I thought, hurrying back to my room to check the screen. “Jackpot,” I murmured. Megan was indeed back in her room, but she wasn’t alone. A certain Latino student was with her, whose wrist was captured in the tight grip of Megan, getting dragged towards her bed.
Their mode of dress caught my attention. Unfortunately, Camilla wasn’t wearing the clothes she was wearing in the morning, choosing to replace them in favor of a modest skirt, and a utilitarian shirt in boring brown, which became even more unremarkable with her dusky skin tone. Thankfully, Megan had gone other way to compensate for it. She was wearing jeans, but they were tight enough to be painted on her, displaying her long legs to maximum effect. And her tank-top granted me with a delicious view of her belly, its whiteness standing out against her bright red hair. “Delicious,” I murmured. I couldn’t wait until I tasted her directly.
“What do you mean you lost the recorder,” Megan hissed, her face twisted as if she was trying to breathe fire, her fiery hair fitting her mood completely. Camilla mumbled something, too low to be heard from the speaker. “Speak louder, you stupid slut,” Megan ordered, making me realize that I wasn’t the only one that couldn’t hear Camilla’s fragile whispers.
“I don’t know,” Camilla said in obvious distress. “It must have fallen off from my pocket while walking.”
A cry escaped from Camilla as Megan’s grip tightened around her wrist. “How can you be that careless, you idiot. What do you think would happen when someone finds it. We’re screwed.” With that, Megan launched an angry tirade, Camilla’s shoulders lowering further with each shout. I sighed, once again reminded of their amateurish approach. There was no point in Megan’s panic. Even if a third party found it and went to the administration, only Camilla and I would have been harmed by it. There was no reference to Megan’s name, and Camilla looked cowed enough to keep her mouth shut about Megan’s involvement.
Still, I didn’t want to watch their fight for an hour, so I sent a mail to Megan from my official account, informing her that I had found an old-style music player in my office, and maybe it was hers. Her phone rang but she ignored it, busy listening to Megan’s angry exclamations, forcing me to send another mail. This time, she checked her phone, and her face lighting up in panic. “It’s the professor,” she exclaimed happily. “I forgot it in his room!”
“Stupid girl,” Megan called. “Why are you happy, it means that we are caught!”
“No, we’re not,” Camilla informed her as she showed her the mail.
Megan’s panic replaced with elation as she slowly read my mail. “That schmuck,” she called with a peal of merciless laughter. “I knew he was an idiot, but this much.” She waited a few seconds, clearly enjoying the moment. “Quick, write him back and say that you are going to go to his office and pick it up as soon as possible, before he smartens and realizes it’s a recording device.”
I shook my head in exasperation, surprised by the ease they believed to my paper-thin cover story. Getting underestimated this much was annoying, even if it made my self-appointed task easier. A few exchanges later, Camilla left in a hurry, leaving Megan alone in the room. “Incompetent nerd,” Nancy murmured to the empty room as she sat on her bed. “Why do I even bother?”
A minute later, she stood up once more, a movement that presented her body, which could be described as willowy if it wasn’t for her impressive chest. She sighed, dragging her fingers through her luscious red hair, trying to calm herself. I reached for my burner phone, about to send her the first of many messages when I noticed she was reaching for the button of her jeans. There was no harm in a short delay, I reasoned as I leaned back, taking another cold sip from the bottle. More vulnerable, the better. Though my viewing pleasure paid an important part as well.
I watched in rapt attention as she slowly peeled off her jeans, revealing the milky expanse of her legs, ending with a g-string in the same hue with her hair. She carelessly threw the jeans on her bed. Doing that, she gave me the first glimpse of her bottom, tantalizingly white. I couldn’t wait until I christened her pristine skin with my slaps while I thought her a lesson about the importance of care on target selection.
Then, her shirt followed the same fate, and put her flawless back on display. Just by looking at her, I could easily tell that dieting and gym took the lions’ share of her day. I waited for her to turn back to give me a good view of her breasts. After being subjected to her aggressive cleavages that hinted, but never showed those treasures, I couldn’t help but feel curious. But instead, she took a step towards the bathroom, threatening to deprive of that sight. I had no intention of waiting for her to finish with the bathroom. A pampered rich girl like that could easily spend hours in there.
I pressed the send button on my burner phone, and her phone, which was currently sitting on her desk, vibrated violently. She glanced towards the desk, trying to decide which one to prioritize. For a moment, I was bummed, thinking that she was going to pick the shower, which would mean I had to sit in front of the computer for a while, waiting for her to leave. But thankfully, after a moment’s consideration, she chose to check her phone instead, and turned towards the desk.
The desk which also held the webcam that I was using to observe her, treating me a direct view of her breasts, which were just as spectacular as her endless parade of cleavage had suggested. They were firm enough to argue against the existence of gravity, enough that I would have suspected plastic surgery if it wasn’t for the absolute perfection of her skin. They were just large enough to fill my palms, tempting me with the promise of the time where I could sink my fingers in their depths. With each step, they rippled just enough to ensure their naturalness.
Then, she arrived at her destination. There was a lazy, disinterested expression on her face when she first reached her phone, which then turned into a slight frown when she read my message. ‘You made a bad mistake, sister,’ the message read. She looked at the screen for a few seconds, like she expected it to fold just to escape her gaze, but this time, it didn’t work. Instead of writing an answer, however, she put the phone back on the desk. So I sent another message in hurry. ‘You have been careless in the task that was appointed to you,’ read the next one.
This time, she typed a quick reply. ‘Who are you, and what do you mean?’ she typed.
‘I’m just a sister from our sacred alliance, concerned by the way you have failed to contain your sacred role,’ I typed, trying to replicate the nonsense dialect those sorority girls preferred to use. There was a simple reason that I acted like another girl from the sorority, other than not wanting to reveal my full hand. Things would escalate too quick if she knew she had lost those files to someone outside, which would bring too much commotion. As long as she thought it was another sorority girl that had the recordings, she would treat it as a high-stakes hazing, allowing me to escalate slowly.
‘What do you mean?’ she typed, her annoyance growing, but I could also read beginnings of fear as well. I hadn’t answered for a few seconds intentionally, using that time to sending another mail to Camilla, explaining to her that due to a last minute thing, I had to leave the office, but I could always give the device back to her tomorrow.
Or she could swing by my home if it was particularly urgent.
Camilla’s instant reply, assuring me that she was going to be there in a few minutes wasn’t a surprise, but it was a slight disappointment. It was clear that, despite the treatment she received early in the morning, it hadn’t occurred to her what kind of follow-up might await her in my place, away from the risk of being intruded by another student.
With that issue resolved, it was time to send another message to Megan, who was awaiting my mail with a worried expression on her face. ‘You have failed to secure the most important asset of our holy sisterhood,’ I said, followed by a picture of the recordings I had removed from the secret compartment in her nightstand. The expression of total panic would be enough to bring me to the full mast if I hadn’t already been in that condition.
She dashed towards the dressing stand, her tits shaking with each hurried step. She tried to open the secret container, but with her shaky hands, she failed to open it in the first few repeats. Trembling fingers weren’t the best tools for disengaging fragile mechanisms, it seemed.
After a not-so-brief struggle, she managed to open it, only to meet with its emptiness. “Fuck,” she called as she looked the empty box for a few seconds, then she slid it back, uncaring whether she harmed the mechanism, and stumbled back to her bed, like she had just had drunk a chain of shots, prepared by an enthusiastic frat boy. She just sat, trying to process the loss of their precious recordings. I just watched her, enjoying her despair alongside her beautiful and poorly dressed silhouette.
A minute or so later she stood up, and walked back to her desk, where her phone lay forgotten. ‘You made your point,’ she wrote. ‘Now bring them back.’
‘Come on, dear leader,’ I wrote back. ‘You can’t be possibly thinking it will be that easy, right? First, you need to learn the importance of duty.’ And before she could add anything else, another message appeared on her screen. ‘Or, I could just send them to alumni with a cute note explaining who is responsible for their loss, if you prefer so?’
Her expression was answer enough, but I wisely waited until she sent an actual message. No need to alert her that my leverage wasn’t limited to just a few, though admittedly impressive, recordings. It took a minute before her fingers reluctantly danced over her screen. ‘What exactly it’s going to take? Promotion in the ranks, money, something else?’
‘No sister,’ I wrote back. ‘It’s not going to be that easy. First, we’re going to make sure you’re appropriately punished for this grave oversight.’ I waited until I saw a resigned expression on her face, then sent the next message. ‘A stiff spanking might be a good start.’
A wave of impotent anger, mixed with confusion, akin to one that appeared when I stole a kiss off her pouty lips appeared. ‘So, are you going to come to my room,’ she wrote resignedly.
‘Nope,’ I answered. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have time to deal with your silly revenge attempts, which would sure to come if you knew my identity. So, this time, you’re going to handle it yourself. Please spank yourself five times, on the naked skin. And all on the left side, please.’
She looked at the screen with distaste, reluctantly typing a reply. ‘Okay,’ she said, then waited a minute before writing another. ‘I’m finished. Is that it.’
I couldn’t help but snort. It wouldn’t be believable even if I didn’t have a real-time feed of her room. ‘Come on, my dear leader,’ I wrote. ‘Do you really think I would just take your word without evidence. Not that I believe you did it. Now, why don’t you actually do it, but send me a picture of your bottom after finishing it.’ And after a last moment’s fancy, I added. ‘And don’t you dare to keep your slaps weak. I will make you repeat if I don’t like find the contrast enough. I want to see fingerprints there.’
She continued looking at the screen with growing fury. For a moment, I was sure that she was going to throw her phone to the wall, or do something equally pointless, but she managed to suppress her anger. She walked to her bed and bent over, her left hand pressing there for balance, and the right one collided with her bottom three times in rapid succession.’ Then, she waited a minute to redness to grow before taking the photo of her ass.
‘Nice panties,’ I wrote back. ‘However, the redness is not enough. It’s clear that you haven’t pushed yourself enough. I’m willing to bet you didn’t even spank yourself five times like I asked you.’
‘I did!’ she wrote.
‘No you didn’t, and more you try to lie, harder you’re making it for yourself.’ I was about to ask her to repeat the performance, but this time, with a recording to prove it, but then, my doorbell rang. ‘Still, you’re lucky that I have other things to do today. We will be discussing your disobedience tomorrow. Be at your room tomorrow evening, eight, sharp, or I’m not responsible for the consequences.’ With that, I turned my phone off, followed by my computer, the last thing I saw on the screen was a mug, smashing against the wall as Megan lost control.
Comments
Chant_EX
Kirsten. Nancy. Megan. What is her name?
KingConner
👍
