He'd been trying to dig up dirt on the bitch ever since that first F she'd scrawled on top of his blue book. The course was core, he needed it to graduate, and she'd had it in for him from day one. Where did she get off assigning papers in a course that was supposed to be a gut? He was convinced that she was being harder on him than the others. And he was also more and more convinced that something else was going on. Look how she dressed. Short skirts. Tight pants. Look at how she sat down and crossed her legs until he couldn't think of anything else. She was small and supple and fit. He could tell she worked out. He had to admit that he'd like to see her undressed, even if she was a bitch. Maybe just because she was one.
And she mocked him. Every time he tried to smart off she got in a one-liner that set the rest of the class off. There was no winning with her. She had it in for him and it was too late to drop. He'd let himself get so far behind that it was impossible to catch up. All the current material depended on what had gone before. Having blown off the early part of the class, he was in no position to understand what was happening now. He needed some dirt.
He'd begun to follow her a couple of weeks ago, on and off, just to see if there was anything at all that he could use. Then paydirt. The bitch smoked pot. Or at least she bought pot in a state where possession could get you years and years and years. One Thursday night he'd followed her to a quiet spot in the park, hiked silently behind her (keeping well to the shrubbery) and seen the goods change hands, all the while snapping pictures with his cell.
He couldn't remember a happier moment. This was too good to be true he gloated, retreating swiftly, so as not to be spotted, leaving the bitch to indulge in a joint with her buddy. This was perfect. As he reflected on just how perfect it was, he felt himself getting hard. Who said vengeance was a dish best served cold?
As he hoped, she headed back to her office after dark. This was a state commuter school. The building was for the most part deserted. Good. He climbed the stairs two at a time. Again just as he'd hoped, all the offices near hers were dark. They were alone.
He leaned on the doorframe. She looked up. A little red-eyed, but hiding it well.
"Sorry, Neil, these aren't my office hours. I'm just leaving."
"I don't think so."
He blocked the exit as she angrily tried to brush past.
"I have some research to show you. Investigative research. On the purchase of marijuana." He flipped open the cell phone, showing her his first photograph. "I hear the penalties are steep."
"Shit."
She took in his resentment and determination at a glance. Well, he'd never thought the bitch was stupid.
"What do you want?"
"Before you give me the A? I want to pull down your pants, lean you over that big desk, and fuck you until you scream for more." He pushed her back into the room and closed and locked the door behind him. The cell was tossed onto a shelf as he yanked her sweater up, tearing some of the buttons loose. His hands were inside her bra, squeezing and exploring before she had a chance to move. She writhed in his grasp, but he noticed she didn't yell. Right. She knew she had to give in.
