* * * * *
1) This is a nonconsent story, and may be "harsher" than some readers will likely prefer. Though not intended to be sadistic, it emphasizes themes of dominance, humiliation, and revenge. The story went to some dark places along the way, but ultimately (and somewhat to my surprise) found its way to a positive ending.
2) It is a work of sheer fantasy in all respects, and is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. In real life it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us—not just with regard to sex, but in every aspect of life.
3) All characters are over the age of 18.
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CHAPTER 1
* * * * *
When Suzy Ruiz came to my office, she wasn't in tears. She was mad, and disgusted. "Professor Kravitz," she said, "I want to file a sexual harassment complaint against Dr. Brenner."
Aha, I thought, maybe I've finally caught the bastard!
Suzy was one of my new graduate students, part of that year's incoming cohort—so, it was probably natural that she had come to me with her problem.
And it was plain enough why Brennan had been attracted to her. Although she wasn't what you'd call glamorous, she had a magnetic exuberance about her. She was diminutive and dark, with wide, intelligent eyes (accentuated by black-rimmed glasses and heavy brows), a button nose, and jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Cute, smart, young, and trim—Suzy was every lecherous old professor's dream.
And yet, I sensed instantly that Brenner had miscalculated in targeting her. He usually sought out the weak and vulnerable. But you could see in Suzy's face that she had heart, brains, and self-confidence. She knew her rights, and was going to stand up for them. That made her a person of great interest to me.
"Please, call me Ellen," I said. "... Now, tell me what he did."
"Well, uh, Ellen, you know that I'm taking his seminar in practical methodologies, right? And I know for a fact that I'm doing just as well as anybody else. But he called me into his office the other day, and said my progress isn't satisfactory. Also he reminded me that failing the class would get me expelled from the program. And
then
he said, oh, but if I came to his house for private tutoring, I could still pass, and maybe pull out an 'A.' And, get this:" she snorted, "he put his hand on my thigh, and said all I'd have to do to get the grade is show the right kind of responsiveness to his teaching. It was disgusting—I felt like I needed to shower afterwards!"
"Oh Suzy, that is horrible...," I sympathized. "Such conduct is utterly inappropriate. I'm so sorry you had to experience it... University policy, in a case like this, is that I should report your complaint to Dean Castor, so that her office can investigate and determine the appropriate disciplinary action. I'd be more than happy to do that. But, if I may, let me say a few words before you decide."
I tried to keep my tone as matter-of-fact as possible. "The truth of the matter is that Professor Brennan's, um,... proclivities... are an open secret. He's preyed on women here since before you were born. As recently as two years ago, he got an undergraduate working in his lab pregnant. Twenty-one years old, I think. She filed a complaint, was harassed and intimidated, and eventually dropped out of school. And, as you can see, Brennan's still here. So I'd advise you to plan your next steps very carefully."
"But Prof... I mean, Ellen—how is that possible?!" Suzy's jaw had dropped slightly. "I never even heard about anything like that!"
"Of course not, dear," I sighed. "With his connections, Brennan pulls in tens of millions of dollars a year in government grants. He probably accounts for a hundred well-paying jobs at the university, all by himself. No one else can secure funding like he can. And so, Dean Castor and the administration will stop at nothing to protect him."
"Yeah, but... we can't just let him get away with it!," she erupted indignantly. "What can we do about it?"
"Well, I do have an idea, Suzy. But it's risky, it involves some sacrifice. You may not like it. You may decide it's not worth it. I'm not here to tell you what to do, just provide you with facts and support."
"Boy, you make it sound like martyrdom, professor! What, do you want me to do, go to the media?"
"Even that won't be enough, Suzy. Not by itself. They would just smear you and distort things—say that it's all miscommunication and entrapment and innuendo. No, we would need to gather hard, incontrovertible evidence first, before going to the media. And we would need to make sure the dean was implicated, so she couldn't run interference for him. That's the only way Brennan will ever be taken down."
"Well, I can testify, and probably other women can too. You know, under oath. That's proof, right?"
"I'm afraid not—not in the court of public opinion, or the university bureaucracy. Oh, you'd probably get a ton of 'likes,' tweets of support, a bland statement of concern from the provost. But after a while the gossip-sites would turn on you, lies would start spreading, people would have doubts, and Brennan would keep doing what he's always done. The word of a woman, even a dozen women, will never be enough for them. You need more."
"So, what then?"
"Again, this is just me laying out the facts as I see them. It's up to you what to do. But in my view, the only thing that will bring him down is something like a sting operation."
"You mean, like wear a wire?"
"Ye-es... but not just during his approach. That would still be too ambiguous... Look, I've thought about this a lot, and my view is that someone would need to actually let him, um... follow through on the transaction... recording every minute of it. And then make sure the dean is caught in her complicity as well. If we could bring all
that
to the media, then there would be no way for Brennan to wriggle free... Of course, I wouldn't blame you in the slightest for declining to take that on. Why should you suffer any further from that man's lust and hubris?"
Unlike Brennan, I had gauged my target pretty well. Most graduate students would have been appalled at this idea—of subjecting themselves to abuse in order to snare the abuser; of using sex, one's body, as an instrument to trap the predator. Suzy seemed unruffled, however. She was a free spirit, uninhibited, unattached, and her interest seemed piqued by this twisted approach to upending the grad school hierarchy.
"Well, Brennan's not a bad looker, and I have nothing against older men," she said after a moment. "Under other circumstances, I'd probably have banged him just for the heck of it. It's his entitlement, his ego, the fucked-up power dynamics—that's what makes me angry. So, yeah... I'm in. He'll think he's screwing me, but really, I'll be screwing him!"
* * * * *
A week later we met in my office, phase one complete. With my coaching she'd gone to his house—iPhone set to record audio and wireless nanny-cam secreted in her handbag—and done the deed.
"What do you think, Ellen," she asked breathily, still caught up in the excitement of the subterfuge, "do we need to do a DNA swab? His jizz is still, um, inside... I was going to toss my panties," she made a gagging expression, "but maybe I should keep them. You know, like Monica Lewinsky's dress?"
"I don't think that will be necessary, Suzy," I said dryly, "if we have what we think we have in these recordings, that should be plenty."
We sync'd the audio and video and watched together. After starting her devices, Suzy had recorded a short introduction, describing Brenner's quid-pro-quo ultimatum and the intent of our 'sting.' Then, she'd walked up to Brennan's door and rung the bell. He'd invited her in, and in the living room, just as I'd instructed her, Suzy had put down her bag with a clear view of the sofa, where she planned to stage the action.
"I'm glad you came by, Suzy," he said, sitting down thigh-to-thigh with her on the couch. The rough bass notes and pretentious accent of his voice were clearly audible. The video was not the highest quality, but there could be no doubt it was Brennan. He was smarmy as hell, and yet even on amateur video he had an undeniable charisma—an 'elder statesman' virility. "I was afraid you'd gone away from our last meeting angry."
"Well, Professor Brennan, I still don't understand how my performance could be so poor in the class. I've done everything according to the syllabus, and you haven't really been able to explain what I'm doing wrong. But as you pointed out, I really
do
need to get this grade. So, when it comes down to it, I don't really have any choice. I have to do whatever you tell me to... Just to be clear, though, that's the only reason I'm here—to get the grade. So, I need to know for sure that if I submit to this form of... instruction... then it will be guaranteed." Good girl—confirm the quid-pro-quo!
"Suzy, Suzy, don't be so hostile. Of course I can guarantee the grade. The only thing I want is for you to succeed. The whole problem is that too many students—too many women, I might say—come to the university carrying such tension, such repression, such antagonism. They are always putting up barriers between career and personal life, or between themselves and faculty. If you work with me, intimately, eagerly, then this grade is just the beginning. I can get you fellowships, publications, someday a great job. Think of this as an investment in your future." He licked his lips.
I knew he'd told a hundred women that. And for some it probably had an element of truth—Brennan was certainly in a position to help those he favored. By now it was clearly a fixed routine for him, and like foreplay for many a long-married couple, it had become perfunctory. Even before he finished talking, he began unbuttoning his shirt. "However, before we move on to academic subjects," he said smoothly, "let's loosen up and just get to know each other better, at a physical level." He stood and shrugged off his shirt, then unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers and boxers.
(Back in my office, Suzy giggled. "He's kind of small, isn't he," she mock-whispered behind her hand. Honestly, I was surprised. He loomed so large over our university—and in my mind—that I'd imagined his dick would make an outsized impression as well. "And I didn't realize he'd be grey down there either," she added conspiratorially.)
"Well, Suzy," he said, still standing, "it's time to start lowering your barriers." He gestured up and down to take in her still-clothed body. "Chop chop."
"Yes, Professor," she said in the video, "for the grade." As I'd suggested, she had come wearing a modest top and wholesome mid-calf skirt. Now, we watched as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, took it off and draped it over a chair, then unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Her underwear was plain, and quickly disposed of as well. Suzy was a cute girl, with or without clothes. She was curvy, taut, and athletic—her skin a luminescent umber, her breasts small, her chocolate-colored nipples poking valiantly skyward, a pleasant meatiness to her haunches, and her pubes adorned with a tidy patch of black hair. "What do I need to learn first?"
Brennan laid back complacently on the couch and pointed toward his crotch. "Let's start with the oral exam!"
In the video, Suzy kneeled on the floor next to the sofa and leaned over, cradling his still flaccid member. The video clearly caught the moment when she parted her full lips and took in the head. Suzy's technique was solid, if not spectacular. She gulped several inches of him into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down. Then she massaged her hands up and down his pole, kissing and nuzzling the shaft as it slowly stiffened.
