This is a self-contained story, so you don't need to have read chapter 1 ... but if you like this one, why not go back and take a look!
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Two weeks had passed since I had commenced blackmailing Tamar and had decorated her gorgeous young face with cum. During those two weeks I had made no effort to contact her, and had only seen her in class.
Why the delay? Obviously what I really wanted to do was drag the bitch off to my cave every evening and fuck her within an inch of her life. But waiting made sense. First, it gave me time to think and plan. One mistake, one momentary lapse, could turn the tables and find me, at her mercy, with my career - and maybe a jail term - on the line. So I'd carefully backed up Tamar's photo shoot, keeping copies for myself and also parking copies on a server overseas. I thought carefully about how to communicate with Tamar without giving the game away - leaving behind no trail of emails, text messages or phone records.
The delay was also useful for throwing Tamar off balance. She was a beautiful young woman. Incredibly sexy, and completely in my thrall, so she too expected to be used regularly, if not daily. Strangely, I think she may have even been affronted that, having caught her, I wasn't taking every chance I could to use her.
She turned up to the first lecture after her blackmail began, dressed far more demurely than previously. Jeans, sneakers, a slightly baggy t-shirt, little make-up. Enough to say "I'm not teasing you any more, Anderson." I actually rather liked the defiance - and besides, I had recent memories and recent photographs of that gorgeous body naked, and those succulent lips wrapped around my cock. She's looked at me expectantly all lecture, waiting for a reaction. I ignored her, and surreptitiously observed her growing confusion.
At the end of the lecture she waited a minute or so, letting the crowds clear, giving me a chance to pull her up. She seemed to expect it somehow. I ignored her, pretending to be busy with my papers, and she left, smiling hopefully. I could almost read the little whore's mind. "I'm free," she was thinking. "Anderson has lost his nerve, I've gotten away with cheating on my paper, and all it cost me was a blowjob."
Today, she walked into my lecture positively glowing with victory. Another week had passed without contact. She was back in a skirt, tight little top, cute shoes. Far from her sluttiest effort, but confident enough to show off a little. Silly bitch. I got on with the lecture, working through my material on voting systems, giving Tamar about a third of my eye contact, looking at her directly, staring into her eyes.
The first time our eyes met, there was a satisfying flicker of uncertainty on her face. "He's not ignoring me now. Why not?" The second time, she bravely tried to hold my gaze and stare me down, but averted her eyes after just a few seconds. The third time, uncertainty had been replaced by fear. She spent much of the lecture looking straight down at her notebook, occasionally lifting her eyes but fearfully dropping them again whenever my gaze took her. I suspect she didn't learn too much about voting systems.
At the end of the lecture, I had another surprise for her. I wound up my summary, then asked "Is Tamar Wilson here today?" Students looked around and began packing their bags as she raised her hand. She was biting her lip nervously - she knew something was up. "Tamar, I have the papers you requested, if you'd like to come by my office and pick them up, say, at one o'clock?" She nodded, looking pale faced and trying not to cry. Without another look, I left the theatre.
One o'clock rolled around, and a soft knock at my door announced Tamar. I opened the door, smiling pleasantly enough to fool any passers-by. Tamar stood there with two friends. My own private porno star thought she could put me off by bringing reinforcements, did she?
"Can I have those papers please, Doctor?" Her impish, triumphant grin was both gorgeous ... and misplaced.
"Of course you can, Tamar. Please come in for a moment." I lifted my gaze to her friends. "I'm sure these young ladies won't mind waiting."
It was that easy. She took a deep breath and walked into my office, sitting in one of my chairs. I closed and locked the door then crossed the office, unceremoniously lifting her top to get access to her breasts. She suppressed a squeal as I did so, and suppressed another when I gripped her nipples firmly through her bra. My voice was low, soft and menacing. "Nice try, little slut. Did you really think your friends would stop me? Shall I go let them in to watch?"
She stiffened and shook her head silently. I twisted her nipples for emphasis, feeling her squirm under my grip. "Don't ever play games with me, slut. You present yourself where, when, and how I say ... Or plenty of people get copies of my screen saver." Tamar looked over to my computer screen, to see herself, naked in her heels, standing on the desk. A few seconds later there she was, smiling through a layer of cum.
She was beaten. "I understand, sir," she whispered.
"For your sake, Tamar, I sincerely hope you do. You can prove it by turning up at my place tonight. Be there at eight, and be dressed like a street hooker. You're certainly going to be used like one." She stood and left, battling tears.
By eight o'clock I was pacing the floor of my apartment so much you'd have thought it was me being blackmailed. I'd stripped my bed back to the (new) sheets, tied ropes to each leg of the bed, and tucked a box of toys and tricks out of sight but easily accessible. The lights were dim, and a scented candle burned on a table to one side. OK, OK, I recognise that little romantic touches were out of place given that I was about to use Tamar like so much slutmeat, but I did it anyway.
She knocked quietly on the door, and I flicked on my security camera. Excellent - she was alone. I slipped a note under the door, close to her feet, and watched the monitor as she bent to pick it up. "Take off your top, and wait," she read.
Truth be told, her top wasn't hiding much anyway. It was a black, satin-like fabric, halter neck, plunging down her front to a knot above her navel. Her cleavage was fully exposed, and only luck was keeping her nipples hidden. There was, however, a world of difference between strutting about in a scandalous top, and standing topless in the hallway of my apartment block. Tamar stood, wrestling with her own thoughts for fully thirty seconds before she took a deep breath and unknotted her top, slipping it from her shoulders and into her handbag. In the end, as she seemed to realise, she didn't have a lot of choice.
I only left her standing there for a minute or so, but to her it no doubt felt like hours. She crossed her arms over her breasts and scanned the hallway constantly, her ears straining either for the sounds of movement in my apartment or the soft tone which announced the elevator. When the moment was right, I opened the door and let her in.
She virtually raced into my apartment, pushing past me, her breasts brushing against my arm. I laughed. "Good evening, Tamar. Thank you for coming."
She didn't answer for a moment. Eventually, softly, she said "I didn't really have a choice, did I?"
"No, Tamar, you didn't. And the stunt you pulled by bringing your friends along to my office just pissed me off. Not a good move. Follow me."
I led her into the living room and had her stand, hands on her hips, in the middle of the room. Looking at her, I whistled softly. She was nothing short of stunning. I stood behind her, close against her, and reached around to cup her breasts, my fingers finding their way to her nipples more gently than earlier, caressing them, kneadiing them softly, stroking the curve of her breast. I moved my hips forward, my hardening cock pressing into her ass.
Hate me she might, but Tamar was responding to the caress of my fingers on her nipples. I moved around and dropped to one knee, taking her left nipple in my mouth, sucking softly. She tried to be cold, just enduring me, but her body gave her away. She moved against my mouth just so, and soon a soft cooing sound, too soft to be a proper moan escaped her. I smiled to myself and pulled away. The evening was still young.
