By now, half the campus probably knew about it. There was no need to be coy—and besides, she’d discovered she was at least as good at stripping as she’d been at teaching. “I strip. Down at Scuttlebutt’s.”
“You…! No way!”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised, Schmidt.”
“Swanson. And I’m not—I mean, you’re a really sexy woman, Dr. Restrepo.”
“Missy.”
“Sorry, I mean Dr. Missy. I’m just pissed I missed out.”
“Well, swing by the club tonight, you’ll get a good look.”
“Maybe I don’t want to wait.” Without asking, the young man started unbuttoning her jeans. She let him—of course—and a moment later, there she was in just her panties. Since he’d had her start a new dress code before she’d been fired, like all of her panties, they were made to please the male eye. These were a tight pink boy-cut. Her shirt followed a moment later, and he was obviously pleased to find her bra-less.
“Show me. Show me what you do at the club.”
Oh, what the hell. She lead him over to the swivel chair she used at her desk; it was armless and would serve nicely for their purpose. She used to grade papers in it; only logical that it now served to help her perform her new job. She picked out a suitable track from her collection, one she used for practice time to time, and got to work.
DJ was a tough customer—even having just taken her clothes off himself, he wasn’t hard, and it took some work to get him there. She had to use some of her sluttiest moves on him—the motor-boat, dragging her ass across his chest up to his chin, a little noise she made in her throat when she rubbed herself on his thigh—and finally she was rewarded with an eager erection.
Then the song ended.
“Why didn’t you ever come back to class?” she asked softly. She was straddling him; his hands rested comfortably on her ass.
“I got busy with other things.”
“Did you think of me, after that?”
“Hell yeah. You were one of my favorites. Did you think of me after?”
She smiled. “Just shut up and fuck me. I’ll beg for you again if you want but just get that fucking cock in me already.”
He didn’t disappoint, nor did she have to beg. (She still did a little anyway, but that was just for fun.) DJ bent her over a stack of student essays she’d never gotten around to discarding and plowed her pussy like the young buck he was. He had stamina like she’d never seen, like he had sex ten times a day or something.
The next day, he went with her to her department head and officially accepted her reinstatement. The man blushed bright red when he looked at DJ, for some reason, and she wondered what exactly his method had been to secure her job. Maybe now Dr. Nichols understood why it was better to just be polite to him.
When the paperwork was signed—and some documents regarding her termination shredded—she laid out her plan. She would return—as a tenure-track professor, not an adjunct—and the university would guarantee support and funding for her new research project. She was researching the field of sex and sexuality between individuals and disparate power dynamics in academic settings, she explained. Her tryst with this young man had been part of the research, as was her time working at Scuttlebutt’s—and she would continue that research at her discretion, and with their blessing, from here on out.
(And make double her salary, for that matter.)
Today, administering the final exam, was her first day back. She remembered seeing a handful of these students at Scuttlebutt’s, knew that when they saw her now they were remembering her pasties twirling on stage, the glitter twinkling on her cheeks, the dental floss bikini bottoms barely noticeable between her jiggling ass cheeks.
All of them, of course, had seen her cum like a slut at her podium as one of their classmates gave her the dicking of a lifetime.
DJ was there, smiling at her, radiating confidence. Of course, as he hadn’t been to class in weeks, he stood a slim chance of passing. Though… she probably couldn’t bring herself to give him a bad grade. In fact, just because she felt like it, she was even still following his dress code. It was liberating, in a way, to stride into class in stiletto heels, a miniskirt and a corset. It was backless even, and she didn’t flinch as they took in her ink.
Let them stare. She was Dr. Missy Restrepo, and she was the cool prof.
It had been a crazy semester for young Brittney Jenner, and she still wasn’t sure she had a grasp on everything that had happened and how she ought to feel about it all. Plus, where DJ was concerned, what she ought to feel had little bearing on what she actually felt, and she’d long since resolved not to try to think about those hypothetical feelings and focus on the real ones. That nagging voice that told her to be jealous, and afraid, and angry… it was a whisper now, when she could hear it at all. She wondered if not being able to silence that voice was what had driven Emily so crazy. She could understand that.
After things calmed down following Emily’s death, he came to her in tears and told her everything. All the things he and Ashley had done—or at least, all the ones he could remember. All the people he’d used, humiliated, exploited, hurt… It had been quite a list. Brittney knew some of it—you couldn’t spend time with him, keep your eye on him, live down the hall from him without knowing some of it. Much, though, she had not.
“That’s all over, DJ. And hopefully now Ashley will get what she has coming to her.” She cradled his head in her lap, stroking his hair softly.
“That’s the point though—maybe in this one case, she was entirely at fault. Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“But,” he continued, “in all the others, I’m totally complicit. Only there’s no punishment for me. It’s a stupid thing to wish for, but it just seems so… unfair. That I get away with everything.”
“Well look here. You know I’m not mad at you. You know I couldn’t be mad at you if I wanted to. That’s just how things are. You have to live your life, hon, and that means accepting yourself the way you are now.”
“But how? I can’t keep going out and pushing people around and making them do what I want any more. That’s over.”
“DJ… I’m not saying none of the things that happened did harm.” Wow, those words had been hard to get out. She’d had to remind herself she was trying to help. “But that doesn’t mean all the things you did were harmful. The damage was all second-hand, you see?”
He said he didn’t, so she took him by the hand and lead him out of the room, down the hall to where Mercedes was getting ready for a night out. “Heya guys,” she said over her shoulder as she compared tops.
“I’m trying to demonstrate something to DJ… could you come over here?”
Mercedes arched a neatly sculpted eyebrow but did so, standing before the couple curiously. Brittney took DJ’s hands and put them on Mercedes breasts. He eyed Brittney like she was nuts, but didn’t resist. (He’d certainly be the first guy to turn down a chance at feeling those puppies up.)
“What’s this supposed to show me?” he asked.
“Mercedes, does this bother you?”
“No. Why, did somebody say it did? I’ll fuck a bitch up if I gotta.” She planted her hands on her hips, ignoring the on-going grope.
“Now, DJ, ask me if this bothers me.”
He pried his eyes away from his bounty and over to her. “Does it?”
“Not at all. If you want to feel a girl’s tits, you should.”
“C’mon, there’s a big difference in a quick grope and something actually serious.”
“All right then… Mercedes, is it cool if he fucks you?”