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Debauchery on Campus (Chynya x lilbreadstick16)

Taylor managed to get enough sleep on the ride that by the time they got to the hotel room, she was ready for a game. She stretched as they all climbed off the bus, then made her way to her hotel room to drop off her things. She followed the team through the pre-game routine, helping carry gear while the girls got ready. As they started their warmup stretches, Taylor milled between members of the team, making sure that each girl was warming up properly. She'd correct an extension of the arm, remind Sheri to keep her feet shoulder width apart more than a few times, and answer any questions that came up as they prepped. She took note that Carlie wasn't here. All that panic and bullshit for nothing.

Taylor dismissed the thought for now. The game was about to start. She spent the first half or so standing in the dugout, against the fence as she aptly watched the plays. The exhaustion started to settled in again, so she sat on the bench and allowed herself to relax for a while. It didn't last long.

She tensed as he sat down next to her, and as he spoke, she had half a mind to spit on him, or at least at his fucking feet. Instead, she kept her eyes straight ahead, carefully following the ball. "So..." Her hands clenched in her lap. "If I don't fuck you, you'll make sure I flunk. Is that it?" Her stomach flipped as she spoke, and she commended herself for being able to get the words out at all, let alone without a stutter. Her eyes held fast to the ball.
 
He smiled at her question. "Oh there are far worse things you should worry about besides flunking. You think these girls would treat you kindly if they suspected you of sleeping with me? Half of them drool thinking of being in my bed, Sheri being the worst of them. The other half hate me because they have friends who have fucked me. Then there is the rumors with other staff members. Think they will treat you the same once word gets around that you bent over like a leaf in the wind to my advances? This can stay between you and me, or everyone on campus will know how desperate you were to suck my cock, you couldn't even wait to get back home. Your choice."

He got up and moved to the other end of the bench, shouting encouragements to the team who was in the field this half of the inning. Stephen acted like nothing had happened, not even taking a second glance back at Taylor the rest of the game. When one of the girls rolled her ankles, he helped her to the bench and then went back to coaching, no eye contact, no nasty whispers. It was like his little conversation had never happened, except he knew that his words were remembered. Either Taylor would knock on his door later that night, or he would start spreading the rumors after they got back.

When the game finished, them winning in extra innings, they all packed up the bus and celebrated together. They would be the number one seed in the tournament and would have home field advantage, what every team dreamed of come playoffs. Stephen sat in his usual seat and when they returned to the hotel, he showered and then dressed in his favorite jeans and a dark blue collared shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for a knock that may or may not ever come.
 
Taylor's heart wrenched with each of his words. What they thought, and what they did, meant nothing. But her professors... Most of the science department at SCU was full of pricks anyways, but if they heard rumors that she was fucking the assistant coach, grad school would get a lot harder. She'd learned over the years that half of landing a good job is just networking, something that Torbel obviously caught onto early, and got good at. Her face began to flush red, angry bubbling up. He had her perfectly cornered. She could try going to the police, but she's already stacking up debt as it is. If she hired a lawyer, she'd be dead before debt free, especially in an extensive case like that. Half the school board is either in his pockets or just as fucked up-

Her mind raced for a solution for the rest of the game, dazedly wrapping a wound or two, following the girls back to the bus with an absent smile, before she finally got back to her hotel room. Taylor glanced at the bed, considering going to sleep just to forget about this until the morning. She was too wired to lie down. She went back and forth between pacing the room, googling lawyers on her laptop, and rationalizing both choices to herself. At one point during her pacing, she stepped into the bathroom. It was nice, with a few towels and soaps out on the granite counter, and a deep tub. She considered taking a bath and found that she was disgusted by the idea of just laying, exposed in the tub like that. Instead, she turned on the water and began stripping.

Taylor waited until the steaming water was sure to make her skin glow pink. She stood in the water for what felt like anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours. She washed her hair, scrubbed every inch of her body, and carefully washed her face. When she was cleaned, Taylor took a deep breath, taking the steam into her lungs. On the exhale, she decided to visit him.

She threw on her pajamas, a pair of shorts and a flimsy tank top, and opened her door. The hallway was empty. Nearly two hours after they had gotten back, the girls were likely asleep by now. Taylor was grateful for her indecision as she made her way to the elevator. It played no music on the ascent. Sally had gone over the room numbers that she and Torbel were staying in with the team in case of emergency. She checked her phone's notes and found the room number just as the elevator doors slid open. Taylor padded down the hall barefoot, stopped at his door, and gently knocked. She knew if she hesitated she might chicken out. Now, she took a deep breath and held it.
 
The clock in the room ticked ominously as the minutes passed by, annoying him more than anything. Sadly it was a custom digital clock and he couldn't shut the ticking off. He had watched a couple episodes of some crime show and started a movie, but soon shut if off. He had ordered a bottle of wine from room service and it was halfway gone when he heard the soft knock at the door. If smiles could be an emotion, that would have been Stephen at that moment. Getting up, he slowly walked to the door and undid the chain, knowing that the sounds would go through the door to whoever was waiting.

When he opened the door, Taylor in her little shorts and tank top, he couldn't help but laugh. "My my, so eager to get this over with you didn't even bother to dress in real clothes? Come in, make yourself comfortable in the chair against the wall. Have a glass of wine if you'd like, might make your nerves calm a bit." He poked his head out into the hall and found it empty, waiting a few seconds to make sure nobody was hiding around the corner. Closing the door, he made sure to replace the chain lock, not like that would do much if anyone tried to actually try to get in or out.

Turning around, he went to the bottle that was in a bucket of ice and poured a couple glasses, setting one next to the chair he had instructed Taylor to sit on. Keeping his own glass, he sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard which was built into the wall, sure to keep those who came here for a little romp from banging against the walls. "You're rather pretty, Taylor, I've thought so since I first met you. You give off this air of - what's the right word - entitlement? No, that's not it, you don't have the personality of someone who grew up with a rich family. Self-righteousness maybe? That is closer to it, but you also don't seem like a prude. Eh, whatever the correct word is, I don't really care at the moment," he said, taking a sip of his clear alcoholic beverage. "Take off your shorts and turn around for me."
 
Taylor let go of her breath slowly as the chain lock slid undone. No turning back now. She kept her eyes down, cheeks and ears flushed bright red. As soon as he said the words, she slipped inside, careful not to touch him as she passed. She was terrified of being caught outside his room like this. She sat in the chair as instructed, and finally raised her eyes once the door was closed. Taylor didn't meet his gaze, but she watched his hands pour the wine. She waited until he sat to pick up her own glass, take a small drink little more than a sip, Tay, then set it down. She then clasped her hands in her lap, her knees pressed tightly together.

Her gaze held fast to the corner of the bed, so she could see what he was doing, not where he was looking. Her brows furrowed slightly as she listened to him, dissecting her like that. She knew she was stubborn, but his confidence in stating exactly what's on his mind threw her off. She glanced up at him, and immediately regretted it as the next words fell from his lips. Her eyes widened, the dazed look finally gone and replaced with panic. She wrung her hands so tightly that her fingertips turned red to match her blush. She opened her mouth to object, every part of her shouting to tell him no, then closed it. But Taylor did not move from the chair.
 
Stephen took another sip as his words still rang in his own ears, Taylors eyes darting from the bed to him and back. He could tell she was still hesitant, unsure about all this and that is exactly how he liked it. When she didn't do as she was told, he took another sip of his wine, two full glasses already doing their work on his mind, that very soft fuzzy feeling coursing through his veins.

"Did you know, that there are two rooms between us and the closes occupied room? This particular hotel has great sound proofing, your screams maybe going a door or two down before they just sound like the pleasures of sex, something I have no doubt anyone who may pass by has heard a thousand times." He took a breath, followed by another sip, not moving anything but his arm as he set the glass down on the nightstand and then intertwined his fingers across his lap.

"This is your one and only warning, I will not repeat myself again. Take. Off. Your. Shorts," he said, punctuating each word with a very low growl. "Now!" he barked before the sound of the last word had died on their ears.
 
His even voice soothed Taylor slightly, and she brought her eyes back to his. She tried to steady her breathing, but the words he was saying didn't match that tone. Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed her hands together, watching his own take the wine to his almost serene, even lips. Not the twitch of a frown. Then he spoke again.

Those doe eyes came back, and Taylor flinched violently when he shouted. Tears jumped to her eyes and she nodded desperately. One tear slipped down her cheek before she had turned around, hooking her thumb into her shorts to try to tug them down while the other hand held fast against the back of the chair to steady her. When the shorts wiggled down only a few inches, Taylor let out a panicked sob. She used both hands now to shove her shorts down, then gripped the back of the chair and let her head drop between her shoulders, staring at the floor.
 
The sight of her trembling as she did as he commanded sent shivers down his spine. It had been awhile since he had someone who was as unwilling as Taylor. Usually he had fucked them two or three times before the resorted to crying. "Very good. See how much better it is when you just do as you're told?" he almost cooed to her, standing up and downing the rest of the wine in his glass. It was two big steps before he was by the TV stand that separated him from the chair she was clinging to and he grabbed the neck of the wine bottle to pour himself another glass.

Returning to his seated position on the bed, he took another sip before placing the long necked glass back on the night stand. "This world was built upon the backs of strong men. Sure, there were women like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, and such that came along every couple hundred years. But line up all the achievements of humankind and ninety-five percent of them were brought about because of men. Now, I am not mysogynistic, as some would have you believe. Rather, I believe in thousands of years of evolution is being taken away from us all and we are becoming a society of castrated individuals, tied to this notion that the weak have just as much say and power as the strong. Don't you agree? Oh, and be a dear and take your tank top off next."
 
His voice only pronounced the shivers across her body. Taylor stooped her head still lower as he stepped closer to her to pour his wine. She waited, hearing her own shakey breath over the clinking of glass against ice cubes. She held as still as she could while he crossed back to the bed, then she turned to watch him sit, and waited for him to speak again. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

She kept her eyes to his now as he spoke. Hers remained level as she listened to him, but she pursed her lips. At his command, she closed her eyes and nodded, crossing her arms around her belly to tug her tank top over her head. She tried not to do it slowly, but she was shaking and her muscles felt heavy and weak. She tossed it next to her shorts and let her eyes rest again on that corner of the bed. She fought hard against the urge to cross her arms over her chest, and instead began wringing her hands again, right in front of her trimmed bush. Taylor could do little more in this moment than simply keep herself from at least attempting to cover up, to look at him, or to let her tears start slipping again. She let out her breath. Took in another. And out. And in.
 
The heartbeats and breaths marked the minutes that passed as he just watched her, his eyes locked on hers with the occasional glance down her curves, making no sign of pleasure or distaste. Finally, he grabbed his glass and stood up, going over to his bag that was sitting against the wall next to his bed. Digging around, under the clothes, he pulled out his electric trimmer, pushing the button and listening to it vibrate rapidly as he turned around and turned it off.

Nodding his head towards the bathroom, he walked to the entry way, the three foot by three foot square that separated the bedroom portion from the bathroom and leaned against the wall. "All if it, gone," he said, placing the little device on the counter top and flipping the light switch on, the fan roaring to life to suck any humid air out of the room. "And quick. Then I want you to draw a hot bath for me."

Still leaning against the door, he took a sip of the wine and crossed his arms as best he could while holding the glass. Gulping, he locked his eyes back on Taylor, waiting for her to move.
 
She watched him cautiously, until she heard the buzz of a razor. Even controlling my fucking hair. Her eyes followed him to the entry, and she nodded at his instruction. When he didn't move, though, Taylor hesitated. Was he going to- don't make him wait- she padded quickly across the room and slipped past him into the bathroom. She glanced up at him a moment, then picked up the razor and shut the door behind her. She made sure not to lock it, for fear of pissing him off further.

Before anything, Taylor leaned down to start the water. She poked around with the faucet for a moment, her tremble fading now that she wasn't under his gaze, then finally got the hot water started. She waited until it seemed hot enough, then plugged the drain to let it fill and pulled back the shower curtain. She prayed for a moment to whatever god there was that this would be all he really wanted- a little servant for the night. Then she turned and picked up the razor again to begin carefully smoothing herself out. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
 
Preventing her from closing the door would have been bliss, her little body flinching and blushing in embarrassment, but he had a delicate line he needed to walk tonight. If he went too far too fast, it could turn into another fiasco like Brittany last year. Instead, he just watched as she closed the door, closing his eyes when he heard the water start shortly followed by the buzz of the razor. He had expected more of a fight out of Taylor, the grad students usually did, but he was pleasantly surprised by her obedience, hoping it would continue.

When the vibrating blades finally stopped, he pushed himself off the door with his arms and opened the door slowly, not wanting to alarm her too much. The small pile of hair on the floor could be dealt with later but his mouth twisted up and to the side as he scanned her body. "I said all of it," flicking his eyes up to the top of her head. "Hurry up, we don't have all night."

He stepped all the way into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, the hot steam quickly clouding up the mirror and feeling like a sauna despite the efforts of the ceiling fan. Taking off his shirt and pants, he remained in his boxer briefs, black to contrast against his lightly tanned skin. Walking over to the water, he dipped his fingers in and groaned a little feeling the heat ever so lightly burn his skin. "Just how I like it. Did one of the girls tell you? No, I'm guessing they view you as competition, still being a student and all. Tell me, Taylor, what is the worst rumor you've heard of me?" he asked, stepping up behind her, inches from her back.
 
Taylor had just set the razor on the counter when the door cracked open. She froze, hands slipping to her sides and scratching at her thighs to keep from covering herself. She watched his eyes find her, then his mouth, speaking, all?

She blinked at him a moment, then watched in silence as he stripped to his boxers in front of her. She tried to ignore the fact that her heart rate felt like it doubled. She pressed her knees together, squeezed her thighs, without really being aware of it. She opened her mouth to speak then, to object to fucking shaving her- but then he spoke again.

Images flashed through her mind. He fucked a freshman. Got handsy with a few of the girls that had tried out for the team. Some people said that's how Sheri made the team. But then- she had heard rumors that he hit a girl. Gave her a busted lip, or a black eye, or right in the gut, depending on who you asked. Taylor tried not to listen to tall tale rumors that spread like a virus around the school. Now she wished she had. With his hot skin so close to hers, she was becoming more and more aware of the danger she was in. She kept her eyes low to the ground as she mumbled, "I heard... that you hit a girl.." She bit her lip, unsure how he would take this information. With pride, surely- it was obvious enough that he enjoyed this. But would he reward her for her honesty? Let her relax a little, or at least put her shorts on, something. Or would he use her for his demonstration? She shivered at the though and clenched her hands tightly again, this time holding them rigid against her thighs.
 
He placed a hand on her shoulder when she answered, his face not betraying his emotions. "There was one time, yes. But you wouldn't do anything that would warrant that, would you?" he said, saying it in a concerned tone. Releasing his hand from her, he stepped to the door and leaned against it, making it clear that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "Now, hurry up and shave, then get into the tub. You have," he paused, looking at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "five minutes."

Folding his arms across his chest, he kept his eyes locked onto her eyes in the mirror, using his peripheral vision to scan her exposed flesh. "Tick. Tock."
 
She flinched when he touched her. His words did nothing to ease her trembling, goosebumps racing along her skin in the cool air of the bathroom. Something stirred her to shake her head, and her eyes glazed over again, even as he stepped back. Taylor nodded again, twisting to pick up the razor. She bit her lip, caught his eye in the mirror, then immediately dropped her eyes again.

She held one hand against the wall, carefully clipping her lips bare. She paused frequently to take deep breaths and steady the shake in her hand. A washcloth on the tub helped for cleaning up, and avoiding too many cuts, but she clipped a small spot. She winced and pressed her free hand against the wound for a moment, glancing up at Torbel, then back down. She was more careful for the rest, and when she had finished, she set the razor back down on the counter. Taylor cleaned herself up with the washcloth, rinsed it in the sink, then stood next to the tub again with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes on the floor.
 
"I'll let this one slide, Taylor. You seem to be having a hard enough time as it is, this being so new to you. I can see your timidness. Don't worry, we'll get through this together," he said, still leaning up against door. He had lied about only hitting a girl once, almost every girl he had been with he had roughed up quite a bit. Busted lips, bruises, and even a couple sprained joints were not uncommon among those he slept with. The more they resisted, the more he had tried to get them under control.

"Step into the bath and get a wash cloth all lathered up. I want to know what you desire in life. Kids? Husband with a white picket fence? Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

Building a repour with the girls was always key, he had to build the trust to push boundaries and get away with more and more stuff. He could be a brute, scaring them every second they spent together. Instead, he had to toe that line of keeping them off balance yet showing a caring and kind side. Taylor was at her tipping point, or at least that is how he took her nervous clenching and body language, so he needed to pull back a little and show a softer, gentler side.
 
Taylor let out a shaky breath and nodded. She raised her eyes up to his, then to the tub. His voice was much softer now, clashing with the fear that he had instilled in her. But she didn't want to fuck up this kindness, so she stirred and slipped a foot into the bath, crossing her arms over her chest. The heat bit her skin but she sank deeper in, bringing her other foot in now as well.

She whimpered quietly, but said nothing as she picked up a washcloth and the little bar of soap. She kept her eyes carefully fixed on her hands as she performed the task of soaping up the washcloth and let her mind begin to wander, exploring his question. She had always fantasized about finding a nice husband, a genuinely decent guy.. but it felt harder and harder. She furrowed her brows and decided to simply speak, than make him wait. "I.. um, yeah, I kind of want a nice husband. I don't know about kids- I want to start with a dog. But first I want to graduate, want to find a position as a physical trainer, I want to buy a fucking house, and decorate it myself and get a dog and start taking a yoga class and-" She broke off, glancing up for some sign of feedback as she realized she was rambling.

"I just want to afford and make myself a good home."
 
Sitting on the edge of the tub, Stephen reached and pulled the soapy cloth from her grip and placed it against her back, rubbing up and down with a little force, but just enough to do the job. "Yes, the American dream. Let me guess, rows of flowers and a few big green bushes along the porch?" he said, rubbing the cloth higher, getting the tops of her shoulders and her neck. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, its what most people think if, thanks to movies and TV. Sure, there are some who get that, but most of us, it's apartment buildings or stuck in too-closely-built houses and shit neighbors who make you never want to go outside."

He placed the washcloth in the corner for later, then swiveled his legs around and placed his feet into the hot water, a slight grunt escaping his lips, before he wiggled them to the bottom. Facing her back now, he placed both his hands on her back and began to give her a massage. Surely she had them plenty in her chosen field of study and desire to be a physical trainer, but he had some training in that area as well, though not professionally, and was considered quite good with his hands.

"You see, schools and parents don't teach us what we need to know as we grow up. They are there to try to protect us while filling our heads with how some person back in the early 1900s thought we should teach people. Some need advanced algebra and trig, but most of us need life lessons. How not to get yourself in massive debt. How credit cards and credit score can affect you. How painful life can be. How lonely it gets, even if you have someone to go home to every night."

He pressed slightly harder, moving his finger tips up and over her shoulders so he could massage the upper trapezius muscles. "I'm here to teach you about pain, Taylor. The world thrives on it, needs it. Without pain, there is no joy in success, nothing to push us past boundaries we never even knew existed. Pain," he said, squeezing his right hand until he was pinching her muscles between his fingers and thumb. "...is the only thing that really lets us know that we are alive."
 
Taylor let out a soft gasp as the cloth touched her. The heat relieved the bundled, tense muscles, but knowing that it was him touching her did little to ease those nerves. She sat in the steaming water quietly, turned away from him. She shrugged slightly. His pessimistic perception of what her future might hold felt insignificant- what future might she end up with after this anyways?

She waited silently as he readjusted, anticipating another change in mood, some sort of aggression or threat. But this time, his hands began to sooth her if only slightly. To take advantage of this break, Taylor relaxed her shoulders and her back, leaning against the edge of the tub beside him. She let her eyes wander from the wall to the water, then down to where his toes wiggled as he spoke. She nodded along when it seemed appropriate. As the exhaustion set in, it became harder and harder to listen. She let her eyes fall shut, the word pain bouncing around her mind alongside his voice.

Her eyes squeezed tighter as he pinched her, and Taylor wondered now when this.. pain would start. She kept her eyes shut tight and her muscles as eased as she could.

Was this a game to him? Or did he genuinely think he was helping her? To justify this with a Johnny-Cash-esq life lesson.. Taylor supposed he had to talk himself into this somehow, but she realized that if his behaviors needed so much justification, this kindness must just be.. preparation for something much worse. Her breath quickened as she let her mind wander to whatever he might do to her.
 
Feeling her body tense underneath his touch was bliss. While he really was trying to soothe her tired body, knowing he was getting that reaction out of her was much better, feeling like he had made a point. Not getting a verbal response, he continued his monologue.

"If you think this is my first rodeo, I assure you it is not. Some came to enjoy what I did to them at which point they no longer interested me. Some fought back, thinking it was a cruel joke or a dream. I promise you it will be neither."

Returning to massaging her shoulders, he moved up to her neck and skull, using his fingers to dive below the hair and each the sensitive skalp. Pulsing his fingertips in circles, he took a deep breath and sighed.

"Lawsuits, threats to go to the authorities, they make no difference. Texts and emails come out showing those that do so we're willing participants. Sure I may be in some heat with the dean, but as long as nothing can be proven in court, I am untouchable. You, however..." He paused letting the heat of the water seep into his core. "...you have been seen sparring with me. You have been marked as someone who has already fucked me, even though you haven't. I could let you go on your way and your reputation will already be ruined.

"That is not my goal though. I will break your mind and body, free from the limitations you have put on them. Perhaps you'll start to bore me in time, but I sense you're a fighter. And those, my dear Taylor, are the best kind of women."

He let his hands drop to his lap, letting her have a reprieve from his touch. Looking at her slightly reddened back, he admired the purity of her skin, unblemished and perfect, like a fresh canvas. "Finish washing yourself, then I want you to stand up and face me. Tell me your deepest, darkest desire."
 
Taylor leaned back, relaxing the muscles tensing across her brow. As his fingers pulled and stretched the knots in her shoulders, up her neck, she started to settle further. Her head rolled as a sigh slipped through her lips. Her breathing started to slow, chest rising and falling in the steaming water.

At least I know.. what he wants with me, she thought. Her mind seemed to be fogging up like the steam in the bathroom. His voice cut through the fog without hesitation, deep and almost rough in contrast to her own thoughts. It was impossible not to hold to every word, and as he stated that he would.. break her, she shivered. She couldn't help but let her mind wander to what that might entail- thoughts of cuffs, ropes, maybe even chains jarred her out of her sleepy fog. Her eyes snapped open, refusing to let herself panic about what's to come yet. She glanced up at him, began twisting her hands together, then pulled herself up into a sitting position. Taylor reached out for the washcloth and started slowly washing herself, drawing little circles across her skin with bubbles. After she finished, she plugged her nose and dipped beneath the water's surface. Her hair floated up around her for a moment before she broke surface, glanced at him, then reached for the little bottle of shampoo along the edge of the tub.

Taylor lathered her hair, holding her eyes shut tight again. After a few minutes she dipped into the water again and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling free the tangles and knots that formed throughout the day. She held herself beneath the surface for a moment, eyes shut and cheeks puffed out to hold her breath. Thirty seconds, then forty passed by. Then fifty. Her lungs started to burn, bubbles slipped past her lips, but she held her hands against the sides of the tub and kept herself hidden in the water. Her knuckles turned white while Taylor listened to the muted sounds of the water around her, a small splash as her body fought for oxygen again. When she felt she couldn't hold it any longer, Taylor watched bubbles burst above her and raised to the surface again. She kept her eyes down as she stretched out for a towel, dried her face, squeezed the water out of her hair, then rose from the water and began scrubbing her skin dry.

Finally, Taylor stepped from the tub and stood on the tile before him. She wrapped the towel around her chest, tucking it in place just along the tops of her breasts. She bit her lip and stared at the tile as she thought about his request. Her deepest desire? She had her fantasies, but it took Taylor a few moments to focus on what she genuinely wanted. She twisted the bottom of the towel in her hands. "I... I've always wanted to fuck a professor. I want to know what it feels like, to seduce a man like that. To feel so desirable that a man would risk his job f-for a chance to fuck me." Her face flushed bright red, to the tips of her ears, as she spoke, and she kept her eyes fixed on a corner of tile and grout. "But I've never needed it, and.. fuck it's terrifying..."
 
He just watched as she went through the motions, admiring her beauty as she laid in the water, the curves distorted through the lens of refraction. Slightly surprised that she didn't try to cover up while washing her hair. Small details like this are what drove him on, the little peculiarities people showed that they probably didn't even notice themselves.

When she stood up and grabbed a towel, he flinched to protest, but instead stayed put, letting her have this little victory. His little games were like tug of war; to heavy one way or the other and the whole thing came crashing down. Taylor would "win" others but as long as it didn't ruin his plans, he would let them slide. She needed to feel like she had some semblance of control over something.

Listening to her talk, he wasn't at all shocked about her secret. It was one of the more common desires among college age women. Still, he nodded his head along and waited for her voice to trail off. Standing up slowly as to not alarm her, he swung his feet out and walked towards the door and unlocked it, a small token for her sanity.

"Show me. Show me how you would seduce this professor you want to fuck so badly. Be genuine or you'll receive your first punishment." Standing tall with his arms folded in front of him, he drilled a hole into the side of her head with his stare, watching. Waiting.
 
Her eyes flicked up to his and her blush deepened to a shade of red wine across her cheeks. "I- I- I.." she stammered for a moment, until her lips simply fell apart and Taylor gaped at the floor. She pursed her lips as the cogs in her mind turned. Plenty of nights she had put herself to sleep with little fantasies like that, but following through with them set her heart racing.

After a moment, Taylor took a short breath and decided that if she were to act upon it, she would have to just act. Thinking would only drive her to freeze up more, and she was terrified of what he might do if she made him wait too long. She dragged her gaze back to his, licked her lips, and tried to smile. Her lips trembled and jerked at the corners, and her eyes revealed her fear, but she took a deep breath and stepped forward until her nose nearly touched his. She forced her eyes to connect with his, batted her lashes, and whispered with shaking breath "I've been.. waiting for this opportunity for months." As she spoke, her lips brushed against his. Then, Taylor steeled her courage and tugged at the knot in her towel and let it drop between their feet.

She held her eyes steadfast to his, no matter where his wandered. She knew that if she let her own gaze drop, she wouldn't be able to bring it back up. She let one hand carefully rest on his waist, and the other danced fingertips up his chest. She bit her lip, hard.
 
Stephen could practically feel the air buzzing with her fear and nervousness, but her own body was betraying itself to him. Every quiver of her lips, every halting breath she took gave away the effect he was having on her. The light, playful way her lips brushed his sent a slight shiver down his spine, it always did at the beginning.

He didn't break eye contact with her while she dropped the towel. When she bit her lip, he saw the muscles tense in her jaw, but she was good at this, probably could have had any professor she wanted in the palm of her hand if she tried.

Placing a hand gently against her side, he brought her closer to him as he bent his head ever so slightly down and placed a soft, tender kiss on her lips. He had to steel himself against his urges as it would do no good to be rough right now, even if that is what she liked.

When he pulled back, his fingers traced a short distance across her damp skin and he took a step back. "Very good. Are you sure you haven't fucked a professor yet? Maybe the Dean? No matter. Go lay on the bed, stomach down and wait for me. Don't try to cover up, I've already seen everything."
 
Taylor tensed as he kissed her, but successfully fought the urge to reel backward. Instead, her fingers stopped at his collarbone and traced up to his shoulder. She watched him pull away and sighed. Her shoulders dropped, tense muscles easing back again. She shook her head immediately to his question, brows furrowing. "N-no I.." Taylor frowned, tilted her head for a moment, then did as he commanded.

The blanket was big, white, and fluffy, the perfect typical hotel comforter. She couldn't help but wonder what sorts of stains and messes these sheets may have seen... what they will see. She slid onto the billowing surface until she rested, knees slightly bent, lying on her stomach. Taylor bent her elbows to tuck her arms beneath her chin, propping her face up and keeping her eyes to the dark oak bedframe. Her toes wiggled nervously. Patience was a virtue that she had always struggled with, and it became even harder when she couldn't see her... companion. It seemed an easier word for her to face than "rapist". She dropped her face into the sheets, biting down as a new, hot wave of anger rushed over her. She balled her hands into fists, resisting the urge to wrap these sheets between her fingers, wring them like she so desired to wring his neck now. Tears started to prick at her eyes again, but Taylor took a shuddering breath and soothed herself. She forced her shoulders down again, unclasped her hands, and found comfort in the darkness of her tightly shut eyes while she waited for his first real move.
 
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