**While this story is in the nonconsent/reluctance section if you're looking for a brutal, violent rape then look elsewhere. As for what the story has, I would never justify blackmail in real life, this is purely a fictional piece. I'm also really new to writing and this is honestly the first story I've ever wrote.**
Navid had no idea how he'd lost track of time so completely. He'd even set an alarm on his phone as a reminder that the library was closing down early today, but he'd still managed to get lost in his studies. Sequestered as he was in one of the soundproof study rooms, the librarians and janitor must not have noticed him when they did their respective final rounds.
And he, of course, had reflexively turned the alarm off, completely engrossed in readying himself for the coming exams.
Now he had to make his way back to his dorm without running into trouble. At least, that was his first concern, but he quickly realized that locked doors were going to be a much bigger problem. After trying three separate exits, he had to resort to creeping through the dim back corridors that connected the library to a block of faculty offices.
Muttering a wordless prayer to himself and hoping desperately that he wouldn't be caught, he slipped into a labyrinth of hallways with rich carpets and portraits of old, distinguished teachers staring daggers at him.
He still hadn't gotten used to just how posh everything was over here in England. It was so different from America, and as far as his progress adjusting was concerned, the most he could say was that he'd finally started using posh appropriately.
All the signage he saw directed the way to the various departments, but he wasn't looking for the Psychology wing. All he wanted was an exit, and yet he couldn't find a single hint.
After several more wrong turns, his luck got even worse because he didn't find the way out, but rather became slowly aware of a distant, disturbing noise. It was repeating in a rhythm, a peculiar wetness that instantly gave him goosebumps.
Without even realizing it, he'd taken his phone out.
"Not like I'm about to die and this will be the only evidence of what happened to me," he muttered to himself with a weak chuckle.
That would be ridiculous. But he still hit record and advanced a little deeper down the hallway, perversely fascinated by the sound that was drawing him onward.
He vaguely realized that he was passing by the offices that belonged to teachers from his department, but he wasn't looking at any of the nameplates. His attention was solely on the maddening sound as sweat beaded on his forehead.
It was slick and heavy, and from time to time, it was punctuated by what sounded like a terrible groan. He wasn't about to stumble onto a murder scene, was he?
In the back of his head, he understood though. On a primal level, he knew exactly what he was hearing, but it seemed so impossible that he couldn't even consider the possibility.
And then, as he rounded a corner, the sound grew much louder. There was a single window up ahead, allowing whoever was in the office to look out.
Of course, that also meant that it let anyone outside see in.
He crept closer, his phone out and recording. He didn't even breathe for fear that he would be discovered.
Seconds stretched until it felt like an eternity, and his lungs were nearly to the point of bursting. He was painfully aware of his own heartbeat, yet he couldn't stop.
But then he caught a glimpse through the corner of the window, and all other thoughts vanished. He could think of nothing but the taboo, intoxicating sight in front of him.
Professor Chapman, the young goddess that had every straight boy in her class wrapped around her finger, was perched on the edge of her desk, head thrown back as she took thrust after punishing thrust from a broad-shouldered student that Navid recognized from the soccer team.
Football team, he corrected himself in a daze.
He couldn't look away. He couldn't possibly do anything but stare and drink in a sight that had invaded more than one of his dreams. She was still wearing the same outfit that she'd had on during lecture today, the only difference was that her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a shocking glimpse into cleavage that she made no effort to hide. Her stunningly white legs were wrapped around her lover, her high heels still on, and her skirt was hiked up around her waist.
Nothing truly untoward was revealed, but it felt dirtier than if she had been completely naked.
Professor Chapman was getting fucked, and she was loving it. Navid had never seen a woman make a face like that before, not in real life. He thought it was just a performance that women did for porn, but this professor was in such exquisite pleasure that her face was completely wracked with ecstasy.
Only then did Navid remember the noise, and it took him an embarrassingly long moment to make the connection. The wet sounds of their coupling were practically echoing through the halls.
He looked away, suddenly certain that he shouldn't be seeing this. But even though his eyes were turned away, he was still holding his phone up, recording not just the audio, but the video as well.
He didn't know what he was going to do with the recording later. He certainly wasn't going to need it to remember what had happened here. Nothing was going to dislodge these sights and sounds from his memory.
Why didn't she have curtains? Why didn't she care about being caught? Why was she fucking students?
Navid had heard the rumors about her, of course. Everyone had, but he hadn't thought they were true. And if the whispered stories about her sleeping with athletic students were true, then maybe the other, more sordid tales about her having sugar daddies were also true.
In spite of himself, Navid felt a painful tightness in his pants. Looking away didn't mean much when her moans and whimpers of feminine delight were the most arousing part by far. The pair of them weren't putting on a show, so there wasn't all that much to see, but the look on her face was more than enough for Navid.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Professor Chapman suddenly looked right over the shoulder of her lover and locked eyes with Navid.
For a long, painful moment, nothing at all happened. She was still being fucked, and Navid was still recording.
But then she looked around in a panic, obviously realizing just how dire her situation was. Navid hadn't read up on regulations at the university regarding teacher-student fraternization, but he knew that this had to be heavily frowned upon.
"Stop." Professor Chapman patted her lover on the shoulder. "Stop!"
"Come on, I'm almost there," he groaned back, completely lost in his own world. "Just a little more."
"No, we have to stop," she pressed. "What if someone finds us? What if... what if..."
Navid had never seen a girl orgasm, not in person. Even so, he still knew that was exactly what he was looking at. In spite of herself and her panic, Professor Chapman's eyes were rolling back and her fingers were digging into the bare, toned flesh of her student.
"I'll get fired," she moaned. "And you'll get expelled."
"Come on, just a little--"
"No," she snapped, her voice suddenly clear. Either the orgasm had passed or she had ruthlessly suppressed her own pleasure out of professional terror.
If her words didn't get through to him, then the violent jerk of her hips certainly did. The thrusting stopped, the wet slapping ceased, and their moaning groans gave way to ragged breathing.
"Fine." He freed himself and ran a hand through his hair, beyond frustrated. "Fine."
Navid had been interrupted while jerking off before, and that was bad enough, but he couldn't imagine how much worse it would feel if you were deep inside a woman like Professor Chapman and forced to stop.
The whole situation felt surreal, but Navid's common sense did eventually get through to him.
He needed to get out of here, now, and at the moment, the only person who had seen him was completely distracted by a horny college student that didn't want things to end quite so soon.
Navid stuffed his phone in his pocket and retraced his steps, hurrying as fast as he could without breaking into a run. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn't being followed, but all he heard were the increasingly resigned complaints of Professor Chapman's stud.
However, if Navid thought that his luck was finally turning around, then he was dead wrong. The layout of the offices was just as labyrinthine as it had been ten minutes ago, and he hit just as many dead ends this time around.
Panic rose when he hit his third locked door. Through the window, he could see the stairs leading down, but the handle wouldn't budge.
Behind him, Navid heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. Instinctively, he knew that it was Professor Chapman and not her student.
As he turned around, he was struck speechless by what he saw. If asked after the fact, then he wouldn't have even been able to answer whether his jaw had hung open.
Professor Chapman through the window and across the room was one thing. From his hidden vantage point, it had been mostly stolen glimpses and his mind filling in the details, maybe making her seem even more beautiful than she really was.
Reality often disappoints, but not today. The woman standing before him, with her hair elegantly mussed and cheeks pink with exertion, was far more beautiful than anyone that Navid had ever seen before. He'd thought that Professor Chapman was stunning in class, but seeing her just after she finished having sex was on an entirely different level.
But she hadn't finished, had she? She'd been interrupted in the middle, and a part of him couldn't help but wonder if she was feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. Maybe she would even coyly ask him to take responsibility for his intrusion and finish her off.
And then she smiled at him, and Navid felt his heart lurch.
"Hi there. You're Navid, right? One of my students?" she asked, ever so slightly out of breath. The way her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath was impossible to miss, and it took Navid superhuman effort to maintain eye contact. It would be so easy to look down, especially since he was quite a few inches taller than her at six feet, but he managed to resist. Barely.
"Y-yes, that's right." He swallowed. "Mondays and Wednesdays at noon."
Five five? Five four? Guessing at her height was the only thing he could think of to distract himself.
"Right, of course," she said. "You know, it's kind of cold out here. Won't you come to my office to talk?"
