Ashley's Corruption

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Sometimes having big breasts can get you into big trouble.
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I guess I'll begin with a little introduction. So my name is Ashley. I'm 19 years old, 5' 6" tall, a natural blonde and someone whom you'd call a busty petite. See, for my size—I'm really skinny—I have rather large breasts. And although I love them, they also cause me a lot of trouble from constant back pains to constant stares. Big tits are great when it comes to your love life, but they are a pain in the ass when it comes to pretty much everything else.

They are heavy, they take up space, men won't look you in the eyes, random people on packed trains will "accidentally" brush up against them and so on. And those are just the everyday annoyances, too. Every once in a while, though, your breasts can get you in much bigger trouble. My story will be about one of those times.

***

The story I'm about to tell you happened in college during my freshman year. I enrolled at one of the country's best universities (at least I thought so), with big dreams of becoming an investigative journalist, so I could expose bad people and make the world a better place. I know. I was pretty naïve.

So I joined the college newspaper with high hopes. I knew I had a ladder to climb, but I was determined. So when I was tasked with reporting on community activities (you know, like balls, charity events, yard sales, that sort of stuff), I was fine with it. Even though I despised the genre, I considered it a good practice and I was pretty sure I would get noticed by my supervisors if I did a good job.

One time I was doing a report on a student ball held by the faculty of law. While doing interviews with the people in attendance, I met Craig. He was a 21-year-old law student who caught my eyes right away. He was really handsome and he was glad to talk to the school paper. So we started chatting and I instantly fell in love. He was not only good-looking, but smart and even more idealistic about changing the world than me. I ended up staying longer than I planned as we talked all night and at the end of the day, we changed numbers.

Craig was the perfect guy for me. He wanted to become a lawyer and bring corrupt politicians to justice. I wanted to become a journalist who would inspire people like him to pursue cases against such people by exposing their criminal activities to the public. I guess Craig, too, had realized we were meant for each other, because by next week, he asked me out on a date, and at the end of the date, he kissed me and asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend.

We were madly in love, and when Craig told me his plan to run for student president, I encouraged him and told him I'll support his campaign as much as I can. See, the current president was Max, a 28-year-old guy, who's been the head of the student government for the last 6 years, and been part of it since he was a freshman, which was 9 years ago. He was one of those types who never graduated.

But Max was far from the Peter Pan type who didn't want to enter adulthood so they just stayed in school forever. Max stayed in school because our student government had one of the largest budgets in the country. And guess what. It was also one of the most corrupt student governments. Max was as rotten as anyone can be. He basically lived from stealing university money, while using his power to manipulate others, organize drug-fueled parties, and have sex with girls left and right.

A notorious womanizer, Max would accept sex as bribes from sororities that needed more funding. He'd organize sex parties and live in wealth, but nobody did anything because everyone was in on it, from top to bottom. The whole system was corrupt including the teachers and the principal. It was a well-oiled machine: even though everyone knew how things worked, nobody talked about it. And if anyone tried, they would be either paid off, blackmailed or just flat-out silenced.

So Craig decided to do something about it. He was gonna dethrone Max and end corruption in our student government once and for all. It wasn't easy, because most people benefitted from the system in one way or another. Max also had dirt on almost anyone important. Not on my Craig though. There couldn't have been a better candidate than him to try and beat Max. And he had my full support.

Relentless, I kept doing my reports in the college paper, and my editor-in-chief, Tasha, soon noticed my talent. I got bigger assignments, and after a while, I started bringing in my own stories. I realized if we wanted to beat Max in the election, we needed to expose him, so I wrote this big exposé about his corruption, how he stole money from the school, how he used his power to manipulate others and how he was a misogynistic womanizer who accepted sex as payment from female students.

Tasha loved the article and not only wanted to publish it, but decided to put in on the front page. However, next morning, when I went to get the paper, the story was nowhere to be found. Dumbfounded, I went into our office only to find out that Tasha has mysteriously resigned, and there was a new editor-in-chief, Steve, who revoked my story the last second before it went into print. I knew Max did this. I was pretty sure someone ratted us out and Max blackmailed Tasha so she would silently resign.

You could tell Steve was his guy. He was a pig who immediately demoted me to the horoscope section. They knew this would be a better punishment for me than simply getting rid of me. Instead of firing me, they moved me from real news to made-up bullshit. They kept me around also to keep an eye on me. I was furious, but I needed the credit that I received for the extracurricular activity for my studies, so I stayed with the paper.

***

In the next few weeks, I was fuming with anger. Not only I had to write stupid horoscopes for the paper and endure Steve's sexist remarks on a day-to-day basis, I frequently got to see Max's arrogant face as well, because we had a class together. I hated his smug smile. He was a jerk and he rubbed it in every time I saw him.

"Hey horoscope girl," he winked at me one time before class. "What's gonna happen to me tomorrow?"

God, I wanted to punch him.

Then, towards the end of the class, our teacher gave us a group assignment. We were to write a paper in pairs about the effects of alcohol on decision-making. I was already running names in my head who should I pick when my teacher announced that the pairs will be chosen by him. And guess who I got paired up with. Fucking Max. I thought I was gonna lose it.

I approached Professor Westbrook after class and told him to pair me with someone else, 'cause I just couldn't work with that asshole.

"I paired you up on purpose," he said.

"I don't understand," I replied.

"Part of the aim of this class is to prepare you for the real world in which you can't always choose the people you have to work with."

"Yes, but--"

"No buts," he said. "You need to learn how to put personal differences aside when working in a group, because in all likeliness, you will eventually experience an unpleasant work environment in real life. It's better to learn how to deal with those types of situations while still in school, don't you agree?"

I sort of did, but that didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable. I hated the idea of having to work with the guy I despised the most. I was pretty sure he would not only tease me for my article the whole time, but that he'd be no help to get a good grade on the paper either. I was pretty mad, but somehow I managed to suck it up.

So I arranged a date with Max. He suggested we should meet at his place. I was reluctant at first, but Craig managed to convince me. See, Max's place was like a fortress. He lived in a fraternity where he was surrounded by his closest allies. Nobody knew the place from the inside. They actually had a second building for parties and open events. Craig suspected that the secrecy meant they had something to hide. He even bought me a spy pen so I could secretly take photos if I found anything incriminating.

I was more concerned about the essay, though, since I knew I would end up doing all the work anyway. So I hit the library to collect every book and study ever published on the effects of alcohol. I didn't care about Max, I was gonna get A+ no matter what. And if I happened to bump into something I could use as evidence to bring him down in the process, I would have my pen with me.

So with a huge stack of books in my hand, I rang the bell at his fraternity on a Saturday morning. It was a particularly warm spring day, so I wore a light summer dress that was breezy enough to keep me from passing out, but moderate enough that Max wouldn't stare at my body the whole time I was there. After a few seconds of waiting at the entrance, a geeky-looking kid opened the door.

The guy—freshman from his looks—scanned me with his eyes from top to bottom, before finally making an eye contact. He had barely any muscles on him and his face was covered in pimples. He didn't look like a member of the most influential fraternity on campus. He looked like someone's little brother. Except he was really creepy.

"You Ashley?" he asked.

"Umm, yeah," I answered.

"Max is waiting for you upstairs," he said as he let me in.

As I followed his directions to Max's room, I was pretty sure he was checking my ass out while I was heading up the stairs. That place was already giving me the creeps. From outside, it looked just like a regular building. From the inside, it looked like the Playboy Mansion, except there was no one around, save for the creepy kid who let me in.

I finally arrived to Max's door and I knocked. A few seconds later, he opened the door. He was in his boxers with a Hugh Hefner-like bathrobe on top, except it was open so his bare chest was completely visible. I couldn't believe it. I came here to study and this freaking guy was in his pajamas. And of course, he greeted me with his typical smug smile. I was already mad at him.

"What's with all the books, buttercup?" he asked.

"Unlike you, I'm here to study."

That was the wittiest answer I could come up with on the spot. I let myself in and put the books down on his desk.

"Did you? Or you came here to bust my balls?" he winked.

"From what I heard, you don't have balls."

I found Max's nude upper body terribly distracting. He wasn't overly muscular, but he had fairly nice abs with the faint outlines of a six pack. Like someone who was too lazy to hit the gym, but sporty enough to maintain a fit body. He had the slightest layer of hair coating his chest, just enough to make him look less boyish. But the fact that he looked sort of good just made him more repulsive in my eyes.

"Anyway," he smiled. "It's not like I haven't prepared."

He went to a shelf, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and winked at me. I knew he wasn't gonna be much help writing the essay, but this was even more revolting. Since we needed to write about the effects of alcohol on decision-making, this idiot thought we should just start drinking. He was getting on my nerves pretty quickly.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke?" I raised my voice in frustration.

"What? It's an expensive whiskey."

"I'm not gonna drink with you. We're supposed to write a scientific essay, not a booze report."

I know. Shitty pun. But I was still proud of that one.

"Oh yeah. Those books you brought," he looked at the pile. "Well, what do you think they base their claims on? I'll give you a hint: actual experiments."

He went to a cupboard, collected two whiskey glasses and placed them on his desk next to the books.

"For you, everything's about partying, right?" I asked.

"You know, I read your article about me," he said, still with a smug smile as he started pouring whiskey into the glasses.

"Oh did you?" I asked as sarcastically as I could sound while also rolling my eyes. "And I thought Tasha just happened to fire herself without a reason. Silly me I guess."

He didn't lose his temper, no matter how insulting I tried to sound. Instead he grabbed one of the glasses and started sipping his whiskey.

"Well, I'm just saying," he said. "Don't be so surprised you were demoted to the fairy tale section. Your little exposé piece was just as fictitious as daily horoscopes."

I wanted so badly to slap that arrogant smile off his face. I hated everything about this guy. I hated his stupid auburn hair, his deep blue eyes that glowed from smugness, but mainly those lips with that constant cynical smirk that you just couldn't wipe off no matter what you said to him.

"So you're gonna start screaming 'fake news' now?" I replied. "That's original."

I was actually proud of that insult, but he just chuckled and kept calmly sipping his whiskey.

"That's what you do though," he smiled. "Instead of actually trying to gather evidence to support your claims, you use untrustworthy secondary sources to fabricate lies about whatever you believe in. Just like you want to write a paper on the effects of alcohol without taking a single sip to actually see if any of what you write makes sense. I'm sorry to break it to you, but rehashing other people's work is not science."

I started to lose my cool. Now he was criticizing my journalistic abilities. I couldn't take that silently.

"You just wanted to silence me, 'cause you're a corrupt prick!" I screamed.

"Tell me," he said. "How come you never once came to ask me directly about the things you accuse me of?"

Keeping the glass in his left hand, Max put his right hand on his hips, opening up his bathrobe even further. This was when I noticed a bulge sticking out from the right side of his boxers. Nothing too big to suggest an erection, but big enough to suggest a penis, and the unwanted thought of this asshole's cock made me want to puke.

"Why would I waste my time on you if you'd deny everything anyway?"

"Because that's what journalism is about, sweetheart," he replied. "But you wrote a one-sided slam piece instead. That's not journalism. That's YouTube's comment section."

I was fuming with anger at this point. I wanted to hit him and claw his eyes out. Then I spotted the glass of whiskey he poured me. I had no intention to drink it before, but now I needed something to keep me from exploding, so I grabbed the glass and downed it in one gulp. I drank it so fast that I didn't feel the alcohol, only the aftertaste. He didn't lie. It did taste like an expensive whiskey. But he probably paid for it with the money he stole from the school.

"That's not what Tasha thought of the article," I replied after finally managing to calm myself down.

"Yeah, I know," he smiled. "We used to date. Ever since we broke up, she wanted to ruin me. It's nothing more than personal vendetta, because she couldn't accept the fact that I dumped her."

"You're lying."

With an even bigger smirk on his face, he poured another round of booze for the both of us.

"What, you thought she actually cared for the truth?" he laughed. "She was just glad to read nasty things about me. By the way. Your boyfriend has his own agenda, too. You know that, right?"

This is where I lost it. I was fine when he was badmouthing me. But now he brought Craig into this. The most honorable guy I knew. I never felt so mad my entire life. I downed the second glass of whiskey to cool down.

"No, he doesn't."

"Oh, sure he does. He wants a new fraternity building. Didn't he tell you?"

Craig shared everything with me. He never talked about a fraternity building.

"What the fuck are you even talking about?!"

Max took a sip of whiskey as he prepared for a speech.

"He asked for a new building for his law student buddies. The student government voted on it and it passed, but I vetoed it, because it was economically unwise to invest in a new building when the old one was renovated in 2009. So he got pissed and decided to run against me, but since he stands no chance, he came up with this smear campaign that you were so glad to promote."

I was sure Max was just spewing bullshit at this point, because you have to be a pretty good liar to get reelected for 6 consecutive terms despite being a piece of shit. Still, my judgement was quickly getting clouded, and I didn't know how to respond.

"That's just not true."

"Never mind," he smiled. "You'll grow up eventually and notice that everyone has an agenda."

I was at my breaking point. Max's arrogance was so degrading I felt completely humiliated. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey, poured a third glass to myself and downed it in an instant.

"You're even a bigger piece of shit than I thought, you know," I said as I smiled faintly with an expression of anguish.

"I often get that from girls," he winked, showing still no signs of frustration despite the insults I threw his way.

This was the point when I started to feel dizzy. The alcohol was getting into my head and so was Max. I started pondering about the stuff he said. What if it was true? I knew Max wasn't innocent, but what if Craig lied to me about his goal to end corruption and he just wanted a piece of the pie as well? I knew Craig. I knew he would never do that. But still. That "what if" bothered me beyond belief.

I sat down on the edge of Max's bed, because my lightheadedness was beginning to make standing hard.

"Another one?" Max asked as he grabbed the bottle.

I began feeling really tipsy. I should have just stopped at that point, but the whiskey was making me way too overconfident in my ability to handle alcohol and I thought one more couldn't hurt. At least it would keep my mind off of the stuff Max said about Craig, I reasoned.

So I nodded and collected my empty glass, while Max approached me with the bottle. You could tell the liquor was getting to him, too, because he couldn't walk a straight line as he came over from the desk. Then, when he started pouring me whiskey, he couldn't hold the bottle straight and managed to spill half the liquid on me instead.

"Fuck!" I shouted as I jumped up.

I looked down to see the whole front side of my summer dress covered in booze. This did it. This fucking asshole not only ruined my mood, but now he managed to ruin my clothes as well.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he said as he put the bottle down. "Let me get a towel."

"It's all over my dress!" I whined. "How am I gonna get home this way?!"

I was stomping in anger trying to wipe my dress with my hands, but it was completely soaked. Max then returned with a towel in his hand.

"Relax. I'm gonna mop it up. It'll dry in no time," he said.

Before I could object, he started aggressively wiping my chest unwittingly rubbing my tits with the piece of cloth in the midst of clean up. After a few seconds of unwanted contact I angrily pushed him away, took the towel from him and began wiping myself instead.

"I'm gonna smell like a fucking alcoholic because of you," I complained.

"I'll fix it," he replied as he took the towel from me and threw it away. "Just give me your clothes."

"What?"

"I'm gonna wash it. It's gonna be nice and clean before we finish the essay, I promise."

I only had bra and panties underneath the dress, so I didn't want to take it off, but his proposition got me so off-guard that I didn't know how to respond.

"It's fine," I tried to object. "I don't—"

Before I could finish my sentence, he approached me from behind, unzipped my dress and started pulling it down. Somehow—which I like to contribute to the level of my intoxication—instead of making an effort to stop him I just covered the front with my hands as he slipped me out of my wet clothes.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said and left to the bathroom with my dress without taking a peek at me.

I couldn't believe what just happened. In a matter of a few seconds I was stripped from my clothes and now I was standing in the middle of Max's room in my lingerie. I felt naked and vulnerable. I crossed my arms to cover my chest and closed my legs as tight as I could while I looked around the room to see if I spot a long shirt that I can borrow or something. But I didn't see any clothes lying around.