Melinda Matson - A seductive student

He very deliberately reached out and took hold of her chin, forcing her to turn her face towards his. He looked straight into her eyes and said, "Look, I want to help, Joselyn. We're more than just roommates, just lovers, I hope. Trust me. Give me a chance."

She jerked her face from his grip. When she spoke again, she spoke to the wall. "I've gotten myself into a real mess, Paul," she said in a monotone. "I think I made a big mistake, career wise."

"With Bertrand?" Paul said, his jaws tightening.

She nodded.

"That slimy bastard! He did try something, didn't he?!" Paul snarled. "I swear to God, I'm going to get that guy. I'm going to bust his fat face in!"

His outburst was typical… pathetic, pointless, ego salving… and Joselyn bristled at it. He was still trying to assert himself, to show that he was the big tough man who could protect and defend her. "Not just Bertrand," she said, her eyes glittering.

"Huh?"

She turned and looked him in the face, staring right into the quagmire of his soul. "It's Velasquez, too," she said.

"But you're working for Bertrand," Paul protested.

Joselyn shook her head. She took a deep breath and then told him the whole sordid story, the plot by one professor to ruin the reputation of the other using her body as the bait. She watched as his jaw dropped and by the time she was finished telling it all, he was the one who was on the verge of tears.

"Why did you ever agree to do it?" Paul asked, miserably. "You didn't have to take your advisor ship with either one of them."

She smiled a small smile. This was the part that hurt the worst, the part that hurt both ways, like a two-edged blade cutting Paul, cutting her as well.

"I think I'm in love with Velasquez," she said.

Paul's face got very pale, then flushed. "Son of a bitch!" he said. "Goddam son of a bitch!"

Joselyn said nothing more for a moment, a bit surprised by the real honest anger he was showing, a bit frightened by it. When Paul seemed to have got hold of himself, she went on, quickly. "I'm not sure that I really understand it myself," she said. "It's like I know that he's no good, that he's just using me, that he's degrading me, but I can't help myself."

"Bitchin'!"

"I wish you wouldn't take it so hard," she said.

"Oh, really?" he snapped. "And how should I take it?"

"Not personally," she told him. "It's nothing you've done, really."

"If you needed to be kicked around a little bit?" he said, bitterly, "all you had to do was ask."

"It's not like that," she said stiffly. "It's something different. Like chemistry. He doesn't ask, he takes. I'm a sucker for it. Intellectually, I know that it's wrong for me to give into him, to allow myself to be used, made into his whore, but I can't help myself."

"So, both of them are fucking you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Only Bertrand, now," she told him. "That's the way Velasquez wants it. He ordered me to do whatever Bertrand wanted. But the man's so sick, Paul! He makes me do awful things. I'm trapped! There's no way out for me."

"You and me both," Paul said, sourly.

Joselyn gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand," she said.

Paul hadn't ever intended telling anyone about the long-standing affair between Dr. Blensch and himself, least of all Joselyn, but now there seemed to be little point in keeping it back. It was confession time.

"I think all of the profs in the Theoretical Chem Department are getting something off their research assistants," he said. "All except old Veblen. He's forgotten what his cock's for."

She blinked at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I've been screwing Dr. Blensch," he said. "I started fucking her as soon as I took the assistantship. It was like part of the deal. I've been fucking her regularly the whole time we've been together."

The blonde didn't know what to think. She was startled, stunned, and hurt, hurt more than she ever expected to be. She refused to let him see it, though. "Both of us?" she said, icy cold.

He nodded, deliberately averting his eyes from hers.

"Why, Paul?" she asked. "What made you agree to a thing like that in the first place?"

He shrugged. "She was and is a good-looking woman," he said. "I guess I thought I was real hot stuff for getting into one of the professors. It was a big ego boost. That coupled with the fact that she made all sorts of promises to me in the beginning. She promised me that I'd get a super-post doc, through her recommendation. You know, big bucks, private research grant, all that crap. All I've gotten so far is a pain in the balls. I haven't done a lick of work on my thesis. She's added my name to a couple of papers she's published, that's all. I don't have any time to work on my project. She makes me screw her four or five times a week."

It was Joselyn's jaw that fell, then. "God!" she groaned. "That could only mean you've been fucking…"

"Yeah," he said wincing. "Too damn many times to count. If I could have, I would've quit, dumped on her, but you know how the routine works. She's got me under her thumb. I'm nowhere on my thesis. I've got nothing to show for all the time I've put in here. If I try to get another assistantship, it'll have to be at another university because no other prof at Mira Pavo would have me. And even at another school, the profs would ask for some kind of report, evaluation on me from her and she'd be sure to bad rap me."

There was a long silence, then Joselyn spoke. "What can we do?" she asked.

Paul was afraid she was going to ask that. A lump the size of a basketball rose in his throat. "We have to keep on keeping on," he said, knowing that it meant he would be as much as giving his consent to Bertrand's sadistic abuse of her, knowing that one more time he was showing his cowardice to her. "We don't have any choice if we want to get our degrees."

Joselyn scowled, but if she was angry at anyone, it was herself… herself for getting her hopes up, for letting herself think that Paul would come up with any other answer than the one he had. She knew what Paul was. He was soft, like putty to be molded, to flow with the direction of a force; he was in no sense a take-charge kind of guy. Though both of them were of different, even opposite psychological makeup, both had fallen into the same trap… he because he was too weak and wanted to be strong; she because she was too strong and wanted to be weak.

As she looked up at him, she felt a kind of kinship with him that she'd never felt with anyone before, save her poor mother. The idea that she could feel that kind of closeness with a man rankled her and attracted her. The inner conflict between the attraction and repulsion was so strong, so threatening to her that she felt she had to do something to put an end to it at once. She did what came naturally.

Joselyn put her hand on Paul's crotch, gently feeling the big bulge of his throbbing cock and balls through his jeans.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, startled by the suddenness of her movement. "Oh, wow!"

"It doesn't hurt too much, does it?" she asked, her fingers sliding over the outline of his penis, the long cylindrical shape down the inside of his pants leg, pressed tight to his thigh.

"No, it's fine. Fine," he said.

It hurt, all right, hurt like holy hell, but Paul grinned and bore it. The pain was worth it. He could sense that a change had come over Joselyn. She was touching him with a new tenderness, a kind of intimacy that had been missing before. He sensed that though they'd been making love for weeks, she was about to really give herself to him for the first time.

"I wouldn't want to strain you," she said, her fingers teasing up and down the thick, pulsing shaft.

"No strain, no strain," he said.

"Good," she said, knowing that he was lying and not caring. She unzipped his jeans, unbuttoning his waistband, slipping from the bed to haul both his pants and underwear down around his ankles.