Schadenfreude

I'm not sure what I expected. He just stared.

"It just seemed like the thing to do." I kept going; why not? "Maybe it wasn't, but I did it. And you're the idiot who got himself entangled with adolescent girls. Shit, you had to know how much drama that would involve." His stare was growing more remote now, but he stayed quiet. "I figured it was karma."

That got a bitter, snorting laugh. "It wasn't karma. It was you."

Well, he had me there. I felt my mouth twisting ruefully. "Yeah, I guess." I had a sudden itch at the top of my thigh, and debated whether I should scratch it. He might get the wrong idea. I realized, with a shock, that I'd been staring absently at his groin.

More silence. I suddenly had a strange urge to offer him something, as if he was my guest. As if he hadn't just shoved past me in my front hall and stormed into my bedroom. "You, uh, you want some water or something?"

He hung his head and sighed. "Uh, Beth, I also wanted to ask you something." He looked out the window, and then shook his head. "What, like, are you going to do with that video? When you filmed me without my clothes on?"

I'm going to watch it, of course. I'd already shown it to Heidi, who had provided predictable commentary. And I'd masturbated to it twice: not really to the sight of Mr Dole naked, nor to the shorter video clip of him nailing Lucy against the wall, but rather to the memory of my own power. It had been exciting, just like being high, and I'd been ashamed when the memory turned me on. I felt my throat getting thick even now, as he looked at me with vague dread in his eyes. I smiled tightly. "Why? Are you worried, Mr Dole?"

He blew out another breath and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Fuck! Yeah, I'm worried. You've got me nude in a bathroom on video. For all I know, you've got me having sex with Lucy, too... do you?" I nodded, still with my grim smile. He rolled his eyes. "I'm totally fucked as long as that footage exists. You know that, right?"

Oh hell yes. I knew it. I sat smoothly up, holding his gaze, wondering what this might turn into; boredom is dangerous. "To tell you the truth," I said slowly, "I hadn't decided what I should do with that video."

"Have you, like, shown it to anyone else?"

"No," I lied immediately, and I could understand his concern: for all he knew, it was all over the internet by now, or being swapped back and forth via the impenetrable text-messaging tangle the graduating class had developed over the years. "Why? Should I?"

His eyes narrowed. "Fuck you."

Ooh. Passion. I was definitely feeling an itch now, and it was no longer at the top of my thigh. It was further in. Nor was it really an itch, except metaphorically. I had to clear my throat before I spoke. "You sure you don't want a glass of water, Mr Dole? You seem a little bothered." He cocked his head, trying to unravel my meaning; hell, so was I. This was confusing to me, too, but I was in too far to back out now. "It's just weird is all, you being here. Like, alone with me. In my bedroom."

He was standing very still now, and was openly looking at those bare legs of mine.

"Because," I plowed on, my voice growing surer and surer with every word, "I'm not sure you understand how bored I've been since school let out. I'm always looking to kill time, you know?" His eyes were drifting wider; was this working? Hell, what was the worst that would happen? He'd leave in disgust, and I'd text Justin again. "I mean, you're here, I'm here... it's a nice, breezy summer's day..." I pulled the hem of my dress up an inch, working the seam between my fingers. His eyes latched right onto that, and his mouth worked like a fish.

"I... I'm not sure I understand what you're saying here, Beth." He was definitely breathing raggedly, and I let my eyes fall very deliberately to his crotch, looking for any kind of tent in those loose shorts. I found one right away, a solid lump like a sand dune curving off to his right. That fucking liar. He understood exactly what I was saying. But I couldn't blame him; who knew what that whore Lucy had said to get him into that bathroom? He'd want to be sure he knew what I was looking for.

And it wasn't until around then that I knew it myself. I needed relief. He was there, so... I nodded briskly at him, at myself. "Right. I'm saying there are things we can do, since you're here. Things that would make me more kindly disposed toward you." This wasn't blackmail, not really; I had no intention of erasing the recording from the bathroom. But he'd be hoping, and that might come in handy. I raised my eyebrows.

"Ah." He nodded uncertainly; he was starting to get it, but was too nervous to do anything about it. I bent forward, resting my bony elbows on my bony knees. I was starting to get pretty excited.

"I just meant, you know, that we could do stuff. Like, right here. Pleasurable stuff..." I smiled, open-mouthed, and he shrank back against my wall.

"Um, Beth, I... well, I'm in enough trouble as it is." His adam's apple bobbed; I noticed he'd cut himself there, shaving. "I can't have sex with you."

I felt my eyes go wide. "Wait. What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The spell was broken; he really was dense. "You can't have sex with me? You're damn right about that, Mr Dole. Holy shit." I shook my head, aghast that he'd misunderstood me so badly. "No. We agree there, in spades: you can't fuck me. I know where that dick's been," I pointed out, nodding sideways to my shelf. For there, nestled between my chess trophy and the pink stuffed unicorn I'd grown up with, sat a framed photo. A screen grab, high quality.

It showed Mr Dole plowing Lucy Marsh in the bathroom stall, and he quailed as he caught sight of it. I giggled nastily.

"I don't need any of your disease-infested dick." Though, in fairness, it had seemed pretty capable in the bathroom, while he was riding Lucy... "No, that's not what I'm talking about. I meant..." I leaned forward again, feeling my pleasure at his helplessness as I grew swiftly and messily excited in my underwear, "that there are other things the two of us can do." I licked both my lips and made sure he saw me do it, then gave him a slow and lingering air-kiss. He stared in disbelief, then I saw him set his own mouth, deliberately, in firm determination.

I thought he got it at last, which was why I was so surprised when he straightened up heavily and began pulling his belt apart. I sat up at once, feeling my face reflect my shock; he had his zipper down and his pants unsnapped before I recovered. "What are you doing, Mr Dole?" I blurted.

He froze. "I... I mean, I thought you meant..." His pants began to droop, his face a comic-book panel of confusion.

"Jesus, dude! Pull your pants back up!" The man was dense; how had he gone to college, when I couldn't even get into one? "Shit, Mr Dole. Get it together. You think I want to blow you?"

He flushed brightly; yes. Yes, that's exactly what he'd thought. I shook my head slowly. Did he really not understand the concept of him owing me? Like it would make be happy to suck his dick? I stared at his humiliated face, and realization dawned: yup. That's precisely what he'd thought.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I enjoy giving head, especially when it's a guy I like. But this time? "I'll say it again, Mr Dole," I snapped viciously as he reassembled himself. "I know where that dick's been, and no matter how many times you've soaped it, I'm not wrapping my tongue around anything that's been inside Lucy Marsh's cunt." I hated saying the word, but somehow I felt the situation called for it. He needed to wake up, and the c-word seemed like good shock treatment.

He rocked back as if I'd snap-kicked his head, and then I sighed as I leaned slowly back onto my bed and let my legs flop apart. "I didn't really mean, Mr Dole, that we'd both have fun here. No, I'm going to have fun. You're going to give me a little bit of... we'll call it 'oral consideration.' Get it?" I pulled my dress up, my practical blue panties staring him in the face.

"Um." He flickered his gaze from my pussy to my face, then back. I could tell he was starting to feel like a prostitute, but I didn't care. "Really?"

"Shit." Did he not understand the position he was in? How was he such a dumbass? "You're an idiot, Mr Dole, and I don't say that lightly." Something occurred to me then, and I smiled wickedly. "Know what? I'm starting to think you had the right idea. Go ahead and get your clothes off. I get messy when I cum, and I wouldn't want to ruin your shirt collar."

"Wait. Now you want me to strip again?" He really did hate me now; I could tell. Fine. Men always gave better head when they felt emotional, and hatred is definitely an emotion. I kept on leaking; when I spoke, I could tell I sounded urgent.

"Why not? It's nothing I haven't seen already; go ahead and get comfortable." I certainly did, pulling my underwear nonchalantly off before kicking it across the room. Not at his face, though; I didn't want to be that ironic. I could feel the room air when it hit my wet, swollen inner lips; I needed him to do something down there. He was staring right at me now, gaping at my vagina, but I didn't care. "Hurry up. I need some relief here."

Why, I asked myself, was I having him strip? My ability to get off had nothing to do with his clothing, and I'd already seen him naked; his body was nothing all that special. I suspected I just wanted to humiliate him; was I that nasty, that vindictive?

I gave up thinking about it right about then, because the die was cast; he'd gotten his shirt off and returned again to his belt, staring hard at me. So I did a mental shrug, figured my reasons didn't matter anyway, and nestled my head back onto my Teen Titans pillowcase as I let myself relax and melt into the mattress.

Waiting.

I stared at my own cracked ceiling, splayed comfortably out with one foot on the mattress and the other dragging lightly against my old blue area rug. This was surreal. I wasn't a virgin by any means, and I was already aware by then that I enjoyed getting eaten out. But I'd never been so cold-bloodedly whorish about it before, and with a teacher no less! I couldn't explain my sense of careless satisfaction as I lay there, listening to the harsh and bitter rustling as Mr Dole took his clothes off. He threw them recklessly to the floor, obviously having learned nothing from the fiasco in the bathroom, glaring sullenly at my vagina the entire time.

I had to restrain myself from pushing a lazy hand down against my labia. Dole was getting ready to go down there; let him handle it. Might as well see what he could do. Certainly Lucy Marsh hadn't complained, though of course she was probably faking. Still, I'd watched the footage, and from what I could tell Mr Dole knew well enough what he was doing down around a pussy.

Well, I was about to find out, anyway; he was crouching, his gaze troubled as it flicked from my pussy to my face, then back. It had been awhile since I'd trimmed, but he'd have no excuses there; I'm not super hairy. I looked pensively down at his face; past my bunched clothes I saw my own pale belly and my ashy blonde pubes, then nothing as I shut my eyes to the sight of Mr Dole's fingers tentatively resting atop my thighs while his nose collided with my groin, and then it was starting; with a long, steady exhale I relaxed against his mouth and gathered my sheets in my fists.

Right away I could tell I'd been right to allow him down there. The bastard had some training, obviously. Most guys, at least the few I'd had down there before, were all flash and no substance: enthusiastic perhaps, but not particularly knowledgeable about how a vag behaved. But Mr Dole was different. I was expecting force and slurping and loud smacking noises, but for the first few seconds it was as if nothing was happening. He made me wait still, his warm breath tickling me, and just as I started to poke my head up in annoyance, he went in.

His tongue had to be long and thick to get into me that far, curling upward the way my fingers usually did, then sweeping dramatically back out toward my clit like a wet sponge waking up all my nerve endings; without meaning to, I arched my back high and hissed out a descending moan. His hands held me tight, forcing my butt back down onto the mattress, with me grappling for my self-control; it would never do for him to think he was doing well.

But he was: he serviced me thoroughly and smoothly, mainly with his tongue but, a little later, bringing his teeth into the act, nipping playfully at my loose inner lips. By then I was already on fire, knowing I was red and swollen and gushing against his face, feeling the gasps come out of my mouth like the breathless yips of an exhausted sled dog. My feet twisted crazily across the bed, my hands clawing the bottom sheet right up off the mattress.

I felt my foot come into hard contact against his shoulder, felt an immediate urge to stop and apologize, and then lost myself in his tongue again; fuck it. I threw my other leg up over his far shoulder, clenched my straining thighs against his ears and pivoted my hips desperately upward, sending him powerful signals: do it, Dole. Bite that clit. Bite it.

He got my body's message.

By the time he stopped flicking his tongue over the top of my slit, settling down into a series of long wet sucking kisses against my crotch, I was completely gone, my entire body tensing and releasing as he made me cum. I felt my feet kicking staccato across his back, his fingers leaving bruises across the tops of my thighs as he kept me in position; we were by that time locked together as firmly as if someone had super-glued us into place; my whole body was hot and prickly, the extreme-intensity orgasm washing out of me and puddling underneath my ass on the mattress.

And then I lay there, gulping air in great, eager gasps as he pried my legs apart and backed out. I could hear him panting too, but probably with cardio effort more than passion; I was sure I'd left him airless for awhile. He got up slowly, his legs clearly cramped. God, had he been squatting this whole time? Once again I felt strangely like a bad hostess, but a wiser man would have simply gone to his knees. As he uncoiled to his full, middling height, I saw my juices glistening all over his meager chest hair, running off his chin like drool. It thrilled me, and as I came slowly down, still with sparks tingling at the corners of my eyes, I took in his harsh breathing, his swollen nipples, his grossly huge dick.

Holy shit. It really was a huge dick. When I'd seen it before, as he was slinking ashamed from his bathroom stall, it had still been red and thick, but I hadn't been able to tell how big it could get. Boy, I knew now. It had a blotchy brown birthmark on the right side. He saw me looking and his hand started over to cover himself, but he thought better of it and just stood, staring at me evenly. He was pulling one of my pubes from his teeth, glaring down with a look of wild challenge.

I shook my head clear. I had plans. He'd made me cum so, so easily; I needed to regain the upper hand here. I remembered.

"Remember that assignment you gave us, the one where you had us stand up in front of the class and do a dramatic reading from a book?" It had been horrific assignment, my natural shyness adding to the mortification of having to read aloud, in a dress, before nine horny boys and Lucy Marsh. "You told us we could pick the book, but then you told me mine wasn't appropriate." It had, of course, been Lady Chatterley's Lover.

He furrowed his forehead, shaking his head slightly. "You're still pissed about that?"

"You have no idea." He'd made me read from something by Faulkner, which had been a chore. "You gave me a C+," I went on softly. I frowned. "You ever do an assignment like that?"

He was still wagging that stupid head of his, totally confused. "Beth, what are you talking about?"

I shrugged and ran a hand through my mousy hair. "I just think you should experience the joys that you put your students through, is all. So I'll tell you what." Again, I had no idea where this was coming from, which poisonous corner of my brain I was letting out of its cage, but I didn't care. I was still exhilarated; I'd never been powerful before, and now this broken dumbass was standing totally vulnerable in front of me and I was feeling it. In a big way.

It was fun.

"Over on the desk over there, you'll find a book. Read it to me." He licked at lips still completely glazed from his adventure between my thighs, and narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Dole looked down at himself, then back at me. Ah. "What, you want to get dressed or something? No, Mr Dole, I want you naked when you read to me." I felt totally reckless; it frightened me. He swallowed, that awkward adam's apple bobbing again, and just stared at me with his cock ridiculously large and epically hard, his sweaty balls jiggling slightly. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing outright, though he obviously knew I was amused. He was almost as embarrassed as he could possibly get. "Or is it your penis? If you want to take care of it, be my guest..." I tittered.

He looked over at the book and saw, of course, The Lord of the Rings. "Goddamn, Beth," he growled. "Let it go."

"Let what go?" My expression was innocence itself.

He glared at me, suddenly fierce and virile, stinking of pussy and with his whole body flushed. "If I'd have known you held this kind of grudge, I'd have just rubber-stamped an A and moved on with my life." He shook his head. "What's the matter with you?"

"Huh." The book lay untouched. I sprawled across the soiled comforter, stretching my back, still with my pussy open to the world. "Nothing's the matter with me. Hell, I'm feeling great. I've now got you naked, on film, saying you'd have given me an A based on nothing academic." I smiled lazily at him. "That's what you did for Lucy too, of course. I love that she fucked you after you gave her an A, rather than before. You fucking idiot. She played you like a goddamn cello."

His mouth opened and closed spasmodically, like a fish. He was getting really pissed now, I could tell. He glanced around the room. "On film?"

I arched an eyebrow, unexpectedly getting horny again. I think it was his utter powerlessness that was getting me off; maybe I really was, at the end of the day, that much of a bitch. Whatever; I reached down calmly and began to coax my clit back out, which was never all that difficult. "I filmed you once, and you knew about it," I pointed out. "If you didn't realize I was going to do it again, then you're the fucking dumbass here. Not me." I shivered as my fingertips grazed my slit. He was still searching. "It's the webcam, over on the desk," I pointed out helpfully. A lie, obviously; I had no intention of appearing on camera with Mr Dole. Besides, who needed it? What I had from the prom bathroom was quite enough.

He turned, in profile now, and I couldn't help but gasp at the sheer length of him. I mean, he was long. Fat, too; I blinked, trying to clear my head even as I clouded it up with more of my own finger action. "Well," I allowed, a little unsteadily, "I guess I can see what little fucking Lucy saw in you..."

He glared back at that, spiteful and hateful and altogether furious, and all of a sudden I knew I'd pushed him too far.

But my pussy was throbbing again, still recovering from my orgasm and now hunting for another one. I knew my room stank with that furry chlorine smell, the odor of the whorehouse, and suddenly when my mind started racing it didn't get any farther than the cock standing ready before me. Deliberately I stared at it, then raised my eyes with lewd and slippery slowness up his body to fix hot and eager on his cruel dark eyes. I held him there, the two of us slack-jawed and vacant, and then I very carefully took the hem of my dress in my white-knuckled hands and pulled it up my stomach, over my insignificant breasts with their unnecessary bra, in front of my face.