Danny and Tricia are visited by sexy provocateur Veronica Xavier, Dean of Sanford E. Xavier Institute of Ed.
Danny walked back into the kitchen of his apartment. Dean Veronica was still sitting there, smugly smiling. Picking up her coffee mug and handing it over to him.
‘Another cuppa if you don’t mind, DJ,” the Dean of Sanford E. Xavier Institute asked.
“You can not call me DJ, Veronica. And you cannot; what the hell are you doing here anyway?”
“What am I doing? Huh, if that’s gratitude, well wow!” Veronica met his anger with her wit and sarcasm. “You give a guy a breakfast blow-job and he blows up on you over coffee!”
“You did not come over here to sex sabotage me in my bedroom!”
“Sabotage! Hmm, I thought I was better than that,” she smirked at him. “And I’m sure you’ve heard of quid pro quo? What goes around comes around, something like that.”
Quick thinking wasn’t exactly in Danny’s skill set this early in the morning, then the light went on.
“You can’t possibly be talking about that, oh my god.” This woman was a sexual she-wolf and Danny had to think on his feet. “How about we forget about the broken chair I got called to fix in your office, and your little sex-capade in the bedroom?” he countered.
“Touche! So you can be reasonable. I certainly don’t want anyone to know about my moment of weakness. And you have reasons for Tricia not knowing about this morning’s tete-a-tete,” Dean Veronica agreed. “Although you might remember that I had already offered that as compensation for your fine work.”
Danny strode around the small kitchen thinking anxiously. He walked over to the door to the hall. Tricia was in the bathroom prepping for whatever she’d already agreed to that Veronica had wanted her to do. What didn’t he know about his girlfriend? He had found her living in her car with all her worldly goods stuffed alongside her. Wait.
“What is Tricia talking about? The faculty barbecue tonight, why does she have to be your guest?” Danny demanded. He was trolling along a specific line here and what the dean said next confirmed what he suddenly thought.
“What you don’t know about Patricia Xavier Haynes is that the Xavier means she is the heir to a legacy. Our legacy is the Institute. My dear DJ, Tricia, your roommate, is my niece, and she bears the Xavier name and what it carries, as did my mother and Tricia’s mother and of course, our grandfather.
So that was a thing. Tricia belonged to the Institute in the same way as the classrooms and the libraries, the quad, the arbor and the athletic fields. Her family built it; it was her place.
“She should be living in the residence with me, or at least in the Xavier dorm suite. Certainly not in this hole.”
“This hole is my home, Veronica. Show some respect; after all, I did rescue you once upon a time,” Danny responded thinking now he had rescued another heir of the Institute.
“I believe that’s settled now, DJ. Though I must give credit where credit is due. I retract my ‘hole’ statement about your apartment.”
“Will you please stop calling me DJ? I can’t believe this. So why tonight, why the faculty barbecue? She’s not faculty or anything.”
“Will you please follow the conversation? Sit down; have a cup of coffee with me,” the dean invited him. “You’ll be coming tonight too, I expect.”
“Yes, Tricia expects that too. She said I have to get a suit,” he thought, distractedly voicing it aloud.
“Take this to my friend Edward; he’ll take care of everything.” Veronica dug in her purse and handed Danny a business card: Wallace and Davis, a very bespoke tailor in the city’s trendy downtown.
What the actual hell was happening? Danny thought. A minute ago she was deep throating me in my bedroom and now she’s going to buy me a suit?
“I’m not going to owe you anything, Veronica,” he said.
“Then don’t; don’t owe me, and don’t do it. But I will dial back on the condescension if you come to my party tonight looking like a fucking rock star,” the dean volleyed back. “Call it a gift. Besides, you can’t come to rescue Tricia in a borrowed suit. It’s tacky.”
**********
Relaxing on a Saturday morning with no papers to correct, Jim Curtin, S.E.X.I chemistry professor thought, Ahh.
The only thing he had to concentrate on was the coffee he’d just made, some really great Jamaica Blue Mountain from an adoring student, and a whole day of just watching baseball. And of course, the faculty barbecue tonight.
Typically, his cell phone chimed. He picked it up and looked at the number. It wasn’t anyone he knew. He was ready to let the call go to voice mail when he decided answering it wouldn’t really get in the way of his day. He was wrong.
“James Curtin?” a woman’s voice asked.
“It’s Jim, really, and who is this?”
“Melanie Wilkes. Are you busy? I need a favor from a friend.”
Jim straightened up right away. His afternoon of baseball looked like it was going to be called for rain.
“Dean, how are you?” The Assistant Dean of Admissions knew the old MAD fraternity crisis code? What the fuck? How?
“Please, Jim, it’s Melanie. I’ve got a bit of a dilemma and if you could help I’d be ever so grateful.” She sounded sincere and a bit embarrassed.
“So, you kind of caught me with your choice of words. Did you know someone who was in the MAD fraternity?”
“Oh, I met some of the MADs because my roomie used to drag me to fraternity parties when I went to Sanford E. a long, long time ago,” the dean of admissions related.
“I was a MAD brother a long time ago. It was a crazy house; a lot of those nerds were geniuses.” Jim settled back into his chair and picked up his coffee. “Now more than a few of them are on corporate boards. But they had some pretty wild parties in those days.”
“I know.”
Jim sat upright in the chair. You know that I was in the MADs. Or you know the MAD brothers who are on corporate boards. Whichever, he was now very interested and very concerned.
“I hate to have to ask,” Melanie asked.
“Sure, what’s going on? How can I help?” Jim volunteered.
“Well, I need a date for the barbecue and you’re my plan A.”
“Oh! Okay. Just asking but, what’s your plan B?”
“Uhm, yeah, there’s no plan B, just you,” she answered the professor.
Okay, so out of nowhere Dean Wilkes calls and wants me to take her to the faculty barbecue at Dean Veronica’s, Jim thought. What do you think of that? Huh.
“Melanie.”
“Jim?”
“Uh yeah, I can make that work. Do you have a car or should I pick you up?”
“Has it been a while since you dated, Jim? I’ll be ready at 6:30 if that’s convenient?” she asked.
“Okay, is it black tie? ” Jim asked.
“No. But it’s not Speedos and bikinis either; wear a nice suit,” she counseled him.
They said goodbyes and Jim fell back into his chair. Dean Wilkes is handmaiden to the queen of S.E.X.I. college, Dean Veronica. Why, out of all the days that something weird was going to happen, would it be this?
Jim had a history of weird at S.E.X.I. college. About fourteen months ago in his first year teaching, a hot red-haired student stumbled and fell naked into his lab during a study hall. Of course, he acted quickly to protect and clothe the student and get her to the nurse.
That had been during a crazy spring break escapade on the campus where suddenly girls were pranking other girls to go as bare as they dared. S.E.X.I. had finally started accepting male students and the female student body chose to memorialize the anniversary that semester with naked joy and wild abandon.
Now he had a date with a hot property on campus. Suddenly, baseball wasn’t all that important anymore. With the way this day was going anything could happen. So far, it pretty much already had.
Danny Moresby parked his big green monster outside Jim Curtin’s apartment building and walked the stairs to the second-floor terrace, then reached up and knocked on the chem teacher’s door.
************
“Wait, what?” Jim looked over at Danny. “Dean Veronica is buying you a suit?”
The two men stood watching the TV in Jim’s living room, the Dodgers playing the Padres coming faintly from the speakers.
Danny had left Veronica with Tricia. Actually, he’d been kind of rushed out the door by the two women. His first thought had been to go straight to the tailor but then he had another, because he realized he needed to tell someone a story about a chair.
Danny handed the card that Veronica had given him over to his friend, the chemistry professor.
“’Wallace and Davis, Clothiers for Men’,” Jim read aloud. “Very posh, very expensive.” The name itself was expensive; neither of them could afford a pair of socks in that shop.
“You positively have to do this. She’ll never ask you to pay for it and she’ll never take it back,” he said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. That she’ll never take it back. But believe me; I am going to pay for it, one way or another.”
Danny looked over at Jim; the two men went back a way. Both of them had worked for the same contractor doing small home repairs and light rehab jobs in hot-soccer-mom suburbia.
He had just told Jim the entire story of Dean Veronica showing up at his apartment for coffee with Tricia (leaving out the part about the breakfast blow-job), who Danny had just discovered was Dean Veronica’s niece. Because of course, she was.
“Do you remember sending me to her office to fix her chair?” Danny asked.
The chem teacher picked up his coffee and took a drink.
“So first of all, I just forwarded a message from the Dean to you. She asked for you, Danny,” he replied.
Then Jim thought again, No, it was Melanie Wilkes who told me to send him there. And now Melanie wanted Jim to escort her to the faculty barbeque tonight. What the fuck?
“Well, it wasn’t her chair that needed fixing. When I got there that day no one was at the secretaries’ desk, and the office door was ajar. I walked over and knocked loudly and she immediately told me to come inside.”
******************
“Oh my God, come in; the door is quite obviously unlocked,” a voice called.
I pushed in the large oaken door. It was heavy and thick, definitely soundproof. Whatever went on in that office, no one outside it could possibly eavesdrop.
The room was dark; the blinds on the windows were closed to the morning sunlight, but a small desk lamp threw a bright circle on a torrid scene. A shapely brunette with perfect breasts sat with her arms pinioned behind a wooden chair. She looked like she’d spent herself, yet she somehow still retained an elegant dignity in her black high heeled pumps.
The shoes stuck in my mind. Because shoes were all that the dean was wearing. That gorgeous flawless body was naked for anyone who walked into her office to see. Her shackled arms pulled her shoulders back forcing her chest up and out, her hard nipples jutting into the air. Her face was flushed and spotted with the dried remains of something white and sticky, possibly cum.
“Is there something I can do for you, Dean?” I asked her.
“Introduce yourself; it’s only polite. Then if you want you can finish off what the other one didn’t. In the meantime, how are you with handcuffs?” Her voice was smooth and silky, her manner sultry and laid back.
“You know, it’s not every day I find the Dean of Xavier Institute of Education naked and shackled in her office chair,” I observed. “And I might add, looking well sexed up.”
“Why don’t you take some pictures?” she smirked back at me.
“I think I’ll wait until it’s released on the campus wifi app,” I quipped.
I looked around the room; her clothes were nowhere in sight. The camera on my phone was beckoning to me. The dean is, after all, hot as fuck; every inch of her finely sculpted body screamed look at me. In seconds, the image was etched in my memory. It wasn’t something I was going to forget anytime soon.
How many times had I walked into some horny soccer mom’s living room to find some MILF perched nude on the furniture, much like Dean Veronica now? How many times had I just given in to the temptation and taken what was being offered to me?
“Look, stud, either get me out of these handcuffs or fuck me until I call you ‘my God’, but please do something.” Her veneer was starting to crack.
“Hmm,” I hummed. “So is being naked and nasty just how you roll or am I catching you at a bad moment? Because they said you needed your chair fixed and yet your chair seems unbroken.”
She writhed in the chair shaking her hair at me. It was totally awesome, her body coiling then uncoiling like some flustered and fettered feline.
“So you know whose office this is, yet you’re being a regular comedian when you know I could fire you. Will you please tell me your name so I know which of my employees to terminate tomorrow?”
“I don’t work for you; I’m a student. And you can call me DJ, Dean Veronica,” I replied. “Or the handyman, if that floats your boat.”
“Good, so we know who is who,” Veronica looked me over. “I’m tired of talking, my arms hurt and my wrists are chafed. So you’re the handyman? Come on; get handy with me.” She shook her hair again and growled at me. “I’m trussed up now; you can do bad things to me.”
This was indeed a unique situation. Because how often do you get called in to see the Wholly Holy Dean Veronica, handcuffed with her perfect naked ass right out there to be seen?
She’d already invited me twice to ravage her: I walked around the chair twice thinking about taking her up on that invitation. It’d been a while since I’d gotten nookie of any variety. Tricia hadn’t come into my life yet.
“I figured somebody called me because you wanted some discretion. Jim Curtin delivered the message; we’re friends.”
I bent down and looked at the cuffs on her hands. They were fake, really realistic toys, and with a flip of a tiny lever, they came free. It took a second to take them off her wrists. I took another minute to massage her hands before letting her go.
“These are fake cuffs, Dean Veronica and you want to act out your fantasy of being taken by a rogue. As charming as this invitation is, I’m going to pass because there is a time and a place, and now is not the time.” It was the hardest speech I ever made.
I left her in her chair and walked over to the door, took one long look back and turned to go.
“You take care now,” I told her and walked out.
“I suppose I should thank you, and don’t think I’ll forget about that blow-job, handyman,” she called as I left.
I went back to my apartment and two days later bumped into Tricia in the PE building. I thought it was over. It wasn’t over.
**********
“Are you telling me that you were alone with Dean Veronica naked and handcuffed to a chair, offering you blow jobs and her horny hot pocket, and you just left her there?” Jim asked. “That was it?”
“That was it,” Danny told him. “I’m no fool; when you find a lion with a thorn in its paw, you just pull the thorn and get as far away from it as you can. You damn sure don’t try to fuck with it.”
Dean Veronica had made good on her promise, Danny thought. A little too good considering how she had woken him that morning, but now they were square. He still had questions, but he knew the only way he’d find out anything else was to go to the barbeque tonight. And rescue Tricia from whatever Veronica had planned for her.
***********
The scent of lavender wafted through the dimly lit room. Tricia lay naked but for a sheet strategically situated on her stretched-out form. The masseuse worked the heel of her palm up and down her bottom to her thigh. Then she worked it back the other way. Hmm. Yeah.
Tricia had been whisked away in Aunt Veronica’s car and now lay in a posh ladies’ spa downtown. She’d been soaked and showered, kneaded therapeutically, and now was basking in a warm wonderful place. Hands worked their magic on her upper thighs, slowly moving her legs apart. Was that a little stroke on her, ooh.
Yes, it was. What was that masseuse doing? The pretty redhead, what was her name? Oh, and there she goes again? Mmm. I’ll just see if she does it again and if she does.
Ooh, yep. I’ll just spread my legs a little further apart. Ooh, yes stroke at my, unh oh my pussy, oh. Pet my pussy, ooh. Yeah.
“Your friend said I should give this to you,” the girl whispered in her ear.
“Someone said you should play with my pussy?” Tricia asked.
“No, it just seems like you don’t mind it, and I like doing it, so,” the masseuse informed her. “And no, your friend wanted you to have this box and a dare envelope.”
The red envelope hovered into her view. Wait, what? Tricia thought, “You know about the dares? You go to S.E.X.I.E.?”
“Pretty much everyone does; it’s all over FaceTime and Flutter. But yeah, I’m a student there. We know some of the same people,” the masseuse admitted.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” the girl said and then a finger was sliding between Tricia’s lower lips. “So, do you care if I just play with this?”
“Yes, I mean no, I mean okay. Yea-ah, I’m not stopping you so just keep going, girl,” the heiress to S.E.X.I allowed. Uhm, ooh okay, yes.
The masseuse knew how to use her hands; that was sure. One kept stroking Tricia’s inner thigh, and the other. Oooh, it was working her honey hole trying to make it all hot and sticky. Now another finger stroked in sliding sweetly beside its other. Growing just a bit hotter, just a bit wetter. Yeah.
The sensations rising up from her honey pot rippled and tingled their way through Tricia’s torso rising up to her chest. She hadn’t been with a girl in a long time, not since the summer before college. It felt so good; the masseuse smelled like sex and patchouli. She wanted to roll over and pull the redhead on top her naked body, skin to skin.
“Tricia,” the redhead said.
“Hello, and I don’t remember; what’s your name?” Tricia mumbled.
“It’s Anne; we were in Mr. Curtin’s chem class one semester,” the redhead said.
“No, really? Oh, oh,” Tricia moaned, while warm waves flushed up from her love-glove. What had been the name of the redhead that had pranked Layla? And oh, what was this redhead doing to her pussy right now. Oh, unh.
“Your friend, the Dean wanted me to make sure you got the dare box,” the masseuse reminded the brunette.
“She’s not my friend; she’s my aunt,” Tricia let slip carelessly. Anne’s hands were working magic inside her hoo-hoo, turning her on, building things up, reaching for the ultimate sensual pleasure.
“Oh my God! You’re an heir to the Institute? S.E.X.I.?” Anne the redhead quizzed her suddenly.
“Well, it’s not like it’s a disease.” In the haze of her sexually charged state of being, Tricia remembered who had been in the same Chemistry lab the same year that Layla and Edie pushed the little redhead through the door and into Professor Curtin’s arms.
“I think maybe I should open the box; there may be something fun inside,” Anne offered.
“Now that we know who is who, now that you know me, open the dare box,” Tricia asked the other girl.
The little package opened quickly and the masseuse looked in.
“Hmm, it’s a toy. Uh, a sex toy,” she said.
“A sex toy,” Tricia repeated. “Wow, that’s a bit, uhm, odd.”
“it’s a remote vibrator, but there’s no remote controller,” Anne informed her.
“That’s even odder. So we can’t turn it on?”
“Not without the remote.”
The redhead’s hand was still deeply involved in Tricia’s kitty kat, stroking it and stoking her and she was okay. Oooh, okay, and yeah, that’s just the way, so, okay. Ooh.
“Well, I guess we’ll just go on like this then. You can remove the sheet if you want,” Tricia allowed.
“Yeah, that’s not really in the way. But I like the way you think,” the redhead admitted.
I like the way you play, Anne, I like the way you push that button, oh, ooh, Anne. Yeah, do that like that and just a little more of that and ooh. Yeah, that too. Subtle pathways suddenly erupted in tingling and rushing sensations sweeping and susurrating emanating from the ministrations of the lovely redheaded masseuse. The wave pushed past and up and into her head and she bucked against the girl’s hand buried deep in her coochie.
Yes, she cried silently, then “Yes, Anne, use that lovely hand, yes, make me go, take me home, make me ooh,” Tricia cooed quietly, “Make me cum.” Ooh, yes, oh ok, yeah. Her slippery slit was being jolted with sexual lightning bolts; she pushed back at Anne’s fingers, driving her deeper in. Yes, oh yes, oh, Anne. Oh, oh, oh. Oh. Yes. Oh god. Oh yes, my pussy, oh, my pussy.
Anne felt Tricia’s love glove clench once, then again; the S.E.X.I. heiress pushed back against the redhead’s hand, then she arched her back and she was over the top.
“Oh, Anne, oh, my pussy. Yes, make me cum. Yes, oh yes, I’m oh, I’m cumming!” Tricia cried out. “Oh, my god you are amazing!”
Tricia rolled over and let the sheet fall away so she was naked with the redhead.
“Can I kiss you? That was amazing. I’ve never had the happy ending before,” she told Anne.
“Uhm, I have to tell you something first.”
“Okay.”
“This was a setup. Dean Veronica wanted me to distract you. She took your clothes, your bag and I think your phone and left,” Anne confessed.
“Oh, you’re not serious. Really?”
The redhead shook her head.
“I’m really sorry; she paid three times the normal rate, all for my tip.”
“Oh, so, you were, oh,” Tricia’s face fell; her masseuse had just been doing a job.
“So, can I borrow this sheet?” she asked the redhead. The girl shook her head no.
“Company property. Listen, your appointment is over, and your Uber is out front. But you won’t have to walk through the mall entrance at least.” Anne helped her sit up. “You have your flipflops and the Dean left you a S.E.X.I. t-shirt; it looks like a small.”
Tricia pulled the shirt on; it came to about her navel, leaving her bottomless. Veronica, you are just the most evil person ever, she thought.
“Which way?”
“Out the door to the left, then another left at the fish tank, and out the door at the end of the hall,” the masseuse directed her. “There’s a lobby and then the door onto Sanford Parkway. The Uber’s waiting at the curb; it’s a girl I know. She’s cool.”
The Uber driver is waiting on Sanford Parkway, but she’s cool, Tricia thought distractedly. “There’s a lobby?”
The redhead nodded, half smiling.
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to go out like a rockstar. Ladies and gentlemen, the heir of S.E.X.I. has left the building.”
