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She was silhouetted in the open window, brushing her long blonde hair; her bare breasts thrust forward and up as she reached up to pull the brush down the butterscotch waterfall that cascaded down her back.
This was her nightly ritual, and in a few moments she would pull a night-shirt over her head, carefully pull her hair out from underneath the shirt, and run her hands down her sides, smoothing the cotton over her curves. Then she'd turn out the light, and the show would be over for another night.
It was a show she put on just for him, and she knew he was watching from the car parked below, his cock jutting through his fly, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Who would have guessed that her seemingly ordinary bedtime routine was actually a carefully orchestrated exhibition? Who would have guessed that this Homecoming Queen, this sorority vice president, was at the beck and call of a nerd, a loner, whose nameless face faded into the crowd of college students? It was the biggest secret, and yet so openly flaunted he was amazed that no one had discovered it yet.
And in a few moments, she would be slipping into his car, her warm lips would surround his cock, and she would suck him from behind a golden curtain of hair. He would encourage her with phrases like "oh, yeah, suck me" and "that's it, take it deep, wench, just like I taught you." And before long, he would feel his cum begin to rise, his cock swelling and stretching her lips even more as she strained to keep him in her lovely little mouth. And as his balls tightened and the hot jets of semen coated her throat, he would groan and push her head down, forcing his cock past her tonsils as her eyes watered and she forced herself to relax and accept him.
Oh yes, this was quite the little secret they had. No one would look at her, five feet six of Southern charm, and have any idea that she spent her nights on her knees, sucking the cock of student number 443578, sometimes referred to as "that guy." As in, "you know that guy who works in the computer lab?" or "remember that guy in my Shakespeare class who knew, like, everything?"
He was That Guy. He had no close friends, and paid extra to have a single room in the upper class dorm. Privacy was important to him. He kept to himself, attended class regularly, and turned in his papers on time. He worked twenty hours a week in the computer lab, helping students with printing problems and formatting issues, and now he spent his nights off biding his time until campus stilled and the nightly show began.
So how does That Guy meet and enslave the hottest girl on campus? Quite by accident, really. She arrived at the computer lab on a Tuesday evening and chose a seat near the back of the room, away from other students. She turned her monitor sideways, as though to hide what she was working on, and as she typed, a blush rose in her cheeks. He watched her as he loaded paper in the printer. He'd seen her around, had a few classes with her in the past, and he knew she lived on The Hill, what was known on other college campuses as Sorority Row. The sororities generally had their own computer labs, which begged the question, "What was she doing here?"
When the printer began humming and she dashed to retrieve the output, he couldn't help himself. He slipped the first page off the printer and scanned it, his eye catching on phrases like "slave collar" and "tied, spread-eagled" and "cock thrusting hard, biting her lips to keep from crying out." He could tell she was embarrassed as she clutched the rest of her pages, bouncing on the balls of her Ked-clad feet, wanting to take the page away from him but not quite brave enough. He caught her eye and smiled.
"This your homework?"
"Um, no, well, yeah, kinda." Her voice was soft, and she stared at the page in his hands rather than looking him in the eye.
"An assignment of some sort?" The blush in her cheeks deepened.
"No, not exactly. It's a story. That's all."
"I see. And do you write from experience?" He enjoyed watching her squirm, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
"I, uh… No. Could I have that back now, please?"
"You can, on one condition."
"And that would be?"
"That you let me read the rest of it."
"I couldn't do that, I mean…this is kind of personal."
"But you're using school property to write and print what could be considered porn. As an employee of the university, it's my responsibility to report unacceptable use of school property, which includes any viewing, printing, or distribution of pornography. These kinds of reports are taken very, very seriously, and can be grounds for expulsion, you know." He deliberately kept his voice low and firm.
"Are you trying to blackmail me?" she hissed, her eyes finally meeting his. They were pale, watery blue, fringed with pale brown eyelashes.
"Do you want me to report you to the Dean?" he countered.
"Fine. Read it. I don't care." She thrust the rest of the pages at him, spun on her heel, and returned to her seat.
He followed and sat beside her, neatly stacking the pages she had given him. "I'll have to read this after my shift, which ends at 8. You can pick these up tomorrow night at 9. I'm in room 024-E, which is in the basement of Camden Hall."
"You're not going to show it to anyone, are you?" She was horrified at the thought.
"Of course not. But I will read it, critique it, and provide you my feedback tomorrow night. You might want to bring a notebook and a pen. I'm sure you'll want to take notes."
"But it's not for class. I don't need your feedback."
"Oh, but I think you do, and I think you want my feedback. Otherwise, you wouldn't have printed it when I was standing there by the printer."
"But I, I don't even know your name," she stammered.
"That's alright, Brooke. I know yours, and that's enough for now. I'll see you tomorrow night, 9 o'clock sharp. Don't be late." He stood up, papers in hand, and returned to his desk, where he slid the pages inside his backpack. He was dying to read them, but there was no way he'd give her the satisfaction of doing so now. He'd much rather she lay awake tonight in her bed on The Hill, wondering if he was reading, and if so, what he was thinking.
The timid knock came at one minute before 9. At least she was punctual. He opened the door, amused by her reaction to his attire. He was only wearing black silk boxers. His chest was hard and hairless. Underneath his somewhat ordinary clothes was a body finely sculpted by hours on his Bow-Flex. Another well-kept secret.
"Good evening, Brooke."
His eyes traveled her body, assessing the young woman who stood before him in the dimly lit hallway. She was wearing what appeared to be grey yoga pants and a pink tank top, her breasts molded and accentuated by the stretchy material, and her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. From her shoulder dangled a small purple duffle bag monogrammed with her initials. She was the epitome of sorority girl, right down to her flowered flip-flops.
"Hi. I just finished with my Pilates class, and I've got a test tomorrow, so if you don't mind, I'd like my story so I can get home to study." The words tumbled out of her in a rush. She was obviously nervous and wanted to appear in a hurry. He wasn't concerned. Before long, she'd forget about everything else except him.
"Please come in, Brooke. I've been expecting you." He stepped aside to allow her to enter his room, and quietly shut the door behind her as she surveyed his den. It was not what anyone would expect to find in the basement of a college dorm.
He had painted the walls a deep wine red and removed all the standard-issue dorm furniture. In its place, he had a long low futon that doubled as a bed, covered with deep purple satin and a paisley velvet blanket, and topped with velvet and satin pillows. A heavy wood coffee table held several chunky candles and a large armoire was open to reveal a flat screen TV and other media equipment. In a corner, a closed laptop rested on an old library table, and books were stacked underneath. The only chair in the room was a big, overstuffed leather chair, the kind you'd expect to find in the study of an Old World Manor house. An old Oriental rug in shades of navy, wine, and cream covered the tile floor. In a few places, heavy satin draperies stretched from ceiling to floor, where they created rich puddles of shimmering fabric. The room was more than just a place to sleep and study. It was his sanctuary.
And it was also where he had worked with two other "students." There was only one other university student living in the basement, and he was deaf. Directly above this room was a storage room. It was highly unlikely that anyone would hear what happened down here. He had lived here for three semesters so far and had never aroused the slightest suspicion. A fire exit afforded his students privacy coming and going, and because he preferred to entertain in the evenings, there were few, if any, witnesses.
She turned around, her duffle bag still hanging from her shoulder. "Can we please just hurry this up? I've really got to study."
She had to study, alright. She was going to be a student of the ancient arts, and he would be her Tutor.
And that was how he ended up here, sitting in a car outside a three story Georgian-style sorority house, watching her undress and brush her hair through her bedroom window. Over the past three months, she had progressed from a self-assured, slightly snotty, southern sorority princess to a well-mannered, obedient, eager-to-please wench. She had been easier to teach than he thought, which was a pleasant surprise. But then again, the story she had been writing when they first met had been a clear indication of her hidden desires. It had been full of stereotypical Master/slave garbage, but it clearly got her hot and gave him some insight into what it might take to convince her that she could learn to please a man.
That first night in his room, he had approached her from behind, pressed her up against the wall, her hands braced near her head, cheek to the wall. His breath on her neck had caused her to shiver, her goosebumps magnified by his whisper in her ear. "I know what you want. I know what turns you on. And I'm prepared to give you what you want, provided you are willing to give me what I want."
"What do you want?" she had asked, trembling with a combination of fear and desire.
