Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

August 22, 1962

Chicago, IL

The day was pretty uneventful, but maybe that's because I was distracted, thinking about what I'd planned to do to Scott tonight. A voice inside me made me question why I was so focused on it, and made me even more concerned that I was so excited by it. I got home at 6pm, took a shower, and hung out in my towel, waiting for Scott. At exactly 7pm, the doorbell rang, and there he was. He looked sullen, but his pants were already tenting.

“Follow me,” I said, guiding him back to the guest bedroom. “You know the routine,” I said, and I went to get a drink of water. I came back ten minutes later and he was lying on the bed, naked. He'd handcuffed himself to the headboard just like I had done yesterday, and his dick was already hard. “Good boy,” I said as I ran my fingers over his cock. “Looks like you're pretty excited Scott. I'll bet you were thinking about this all day weren't you?”

I paused, looking at him. “Yes,” he muttered.

“You act like you don't want to be here, but you do, don't you?” I wanted him to admit it, admit that he liked being with another guy.

“No,” he said.

“No? I think you're lying Scott. I think you want to be here. Look how hard your dick is. You want to feel me fuck your ass again don't you?”

He looked away from me, shaking his head to say “no.”

“Now Scott, lying will get you punished. Roll over.” He balked at that, but I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. He rolled over.

I took the razor out. “No, please don't shave me. Please don't shave me!” he pleaded.

“Too late Scott. You're going to have to behave better.” I started shaving his ass cheeks, getting them nice and smooth, and then I pried his ass open and shaved his crack. By the time I was done, he had no hair on his ass at all. I ran my hands over it, enjoying the smooth feel. I lubed my finger up and stuck it in his hole. He blanched at first, recoiling from the sudden penetration, but then he moved back into my finger, making sure that I hit his prostate.

“You like that Scott. Admit it.” He said nothing. I removed my finger and pulled out a paddle that I'd bought, ostensibly for canoeing. SMACK! The sound of the paddle slapping into his ass reverberated around the room. I hit his ass again, as hard as I could. SMACK! I noticed that both strikes left a big red mark on his ass. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! By now his ass was getting really red, and he still said nothing. “Answer me now Scott. You like my finger up your ass don't you?”

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“You want me to fuck you again don't you?”

He paused, and then said “Yes” very softly.

I rubbed my hand gently over his sore red ass, and began working his ass with my finger, making him squirm, watching him hump the bed to grind his throbbing dick against something, anything.

“On your side,” I ordered, and he obediently rolled over so his back was to me. I slowly pushed my cock into him, feeling him tense, and then relax, as I pierced his ring. I slowly moved in and out. “Feel good?” I murmured into his ear.

“Yeah, feels good,” he mumbled, but this time with more feeling.

“Want me to stop?” I asked.

“No, please. Please fuck me.”

“Good boy Scott. Good boy. And now you get a reward.” I reached around and grabbed his cock, stroking it in time with my thrusts.

“Oh yeah. Feels good. Feels so good.” He was really getting into it.

“You wanna cum Scott? You wanna shoot?” I knew I was close, so I figured I'd get him going too.

“Yeah. Wanna cum. Gonna cum. Gonna cum.” And with that, he started shooting across the bed, damn near across the room, ramming his ass back into my dick, then fucking his cock into my hand. I let him expend himself, fully drain his balls, then, when he was just about done, I blew.

I finished and rolled him over onto his back. He looked at me with hatred in his eyes, although I didn't know if the hatred was directed externally at me, or internally at himself. “We done?” he mumbled.

“No way Scottie,” I said, and I left the room, leaving him all alone. I went out and cleaned up a few things, and took care of some other chores around the condo. I killed about 45 minutes, then I went back into the room, and he was just lying there. His body tensed when I walked in, but his dick was still limp.

I walked up to him and lay next to him, rubbing my hands over his chest, squeezing his nipples hard. He cringed at that, but I noticed his dick getting plumper. I grabbed his face and moved it toward me, kissing him. With only a moment's hesitation, he kissed me back, kissed me like he meant it. Damn he was a good kisser. I made out with him for quite a while, enjoying his mouth, even if I didn't like the guy behind it.

I looked down and he was hard again. I moved my cock up to his mouth. “Suck me Scott.” I hadn't cleaned off my cock after fucking him, so he kind of grimaced, but he took it in his mouth just like he did yesterday. He was such a good cocksucker it was hard to believe that he hadn't done it before. I turned around and put my balls over his mouth, my perineum around his nose, making sure he had to inhale my scent. I expected him to bitch, but he didn't. I felt strong exhales from his mouth on my balls, so I could tell he was absorbing my odor with his nose. His cock was leaking pre-cum. I moved down.

“Lick my ass Scott.” I felt nothing, so I reached down and grabbed his balls firmly, threatening him. “Do it!” I yelled. I felt his tongue flit against my hole, and then it became stronger. Soon he was rimming me like a pro, fucking my ass with his tongue. “Good boy. And now for your reward.”

I lubed up his pole and moved over it. His eyes widened. I lowered myself on him effortlessly, since his dick was so narrow. I straddled him and began fucking him, moving up and down on his dick just like I'd done to André, and like Stefan had done to me. “You like that?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said. I leaned forward and kissed him, maintaining my rhythm, and he responded enthusiastically. He was really getting into it. Then I leaned back and stroked my cock, aiming it at him while I continued to fuck him. His cock was thin, it made fucking him easy, and gave me lots of room to move around and enjoy it. I aligned my spot so he was hitting me, then I zoned him out. Suddenly it was as if I was in the room all by myself. I worked my ass on his cock, oblivious to his moans, oblivious to his hardening member and oblivious to the fact that he was about to cum. I felt him thrust his hips into me with his first spurt, driving me to the edge. Once more he finished first, but I still worked his pole, even though it was probably incredibly sensitive. Then I shot my load all over him. My first blast hit his nose, then his neck, then his chest and stomach. After I came I collapsed next to him. He actually had a smile on his face, but that faded as soon as he realized I was looking at him.

I scooped up some of my cum from his chest and rubbed it on his lips. “Eat it!” I commanded. He looked disgusted, but caved in, slurping it off my fingers. I wiped up as much as I could and made him eat it, licking off my fingers after each dose. After that I unlocked him.

“Tomorrow, same time?” he asked as he was leaving.

“No, I'll see you Saturday, 5pm. Plan to stay over.” He looked shocked and disappointed.

“I had plans on Saturday,” he said.

“Had. Cancel them. Be here at 5pm. And don't ever question me again.” And with that I shut the door in his face.

August 24, 1962

The week had passed by quietly, almost too quietly, which ironically enough made me more nervous with each passing day. Jensen was too big of an asshole to just leave me alone, so that meant he had to be planning something. Jensen used to be a good but not brilliant scholar, so with his brainpower combined with his evil soul, I knew he had ability to launch something particularly awful at me. I waited impatiently for 3pm, hoping that the guy I paid could give me something I could use to take him out before he got rid of me first.

I left campus and stopped by the same diner I’d been to with André and used the same payphone to call the guy back. I waited until my watch said it was exactly 3pm, then dialed the number.

“Hello,” the familiar gravelly voice said.

“Hello,” I responded.

“I have what you want. Should have charged you more. It's good.” Not only was his voice the same, but his manner was just as abrupt as before.

“Good,” I said simply.

“Meet me at the same place at 7pm. The Wrigley Building, 7^th floor men’s room,” he reiterated, to make sure I didn’t get confused. “Bring the rest of my money.”

“Fine. See you then.” I barely got the last word out when he hung up.

I went back to my condo and tried to find things to do to distract myself, but it was a largely unsuccessful effort. As it drew closer to 7pm, I headed downtown, hoping to find the key to ridding myself of Jensen and his distractions. I took the El, because I was a little wound up to be driving. I carried with me two envelopes, one with $600, and another with an extra $200. I figured if the info was as good as he said, I should bonus the guy.

I went in the side door of the Wrigley Building, took the elevator up to the seventh floor, and went into the same bathroom I’d gone in last time. It was 6:58pm according to my watch, and I could see the starred shoes underneath the first stall. I went into the other one.

An envelope was passed under the stall. “Don't open it unless you're wearing gloves. No prints,” he cautioned. I grabbed the envelope and handed him the envelope with $600 in it.

I heard him tear it open, and heard him flipping through the notes. “Thanks,” he said and got up to leave.

“Wait,” I said. “So what did you get? Is it really that good?”

I could feel his smile. “I'd call it the jackpot,” he said, “but I ain't gonna talk about it. I ain't stupid.”

“Here,” I said, passing the other envelope under the stall.

“What's this?” He asked.

“A bonus for good work.”

He paused, and I heard him open the envelope and flip through the additional cash. “Hey, on second thought, don't burn that number. You call me if you need anything.” And with that he was gone.

I clutched the envelope as if it was gold; impatiently winding my way through the northern parts of Chicago on the El, back up to my condo. I got back, put on a pair of gloves and finally opened up the package.

Inside of it were two other manila envelopes. A quick glance told me that they contained the same thing. I took the contents out. There were three series of photos. The first was taken from an adjacent building in the university, one that gave the photographer a perfect view into Jensen's office. I thought about that for a moment and decided that the only angle that would make that work would have been if the photographer were on the roof. The first showed Sarah, naked on Jensen's couch, with a man on top of her. The second showed a better shot of the man, but I’d already figured out who it was: It was Mallory. That really wasn’t too salacious, seeing Mallory fucking his girlfriend, even though it was in Jensen’s office. The third picture changed that entirely. It showed Jensen masturbating while he watched them fuck. The next one was a shot of Jensen, his nose stuck between their legs. He was sniffing Sarah's cunt, Mallory's balls, or both, while they continued to fuck and he continued to jack himself off. The last photo of the series showed him ejaculating on top of the still-fucking couple. I was stunned, and stared at them with my mouth wide open in shock, until I moved on to the other pictures.

The second series showed a nervous Jensen walking into what appeared to be a private house. The house had one of those kitschy wooden signs proclaiming the home’s address, and the photographer had expertly snapped the picture of Jensen to include it. The next photo was evidently taken of the back of the house, where everything was dark except for the bright lights illuminating the basement. It made for an exceptionally good photograph. Jensen was in the midst of a group of men wearing strange clothing, but I couldn’t make out what made it so unusual. I flipped to the next photo, and now the picture of the clothing was clear, and so was the symbol on Jensen's arm. It was a swastika.

The final series was another scene in his office. This one showed Scott fucking Sarah again; only this time he was doing her doggy style. The next photo showed Jensen approaching them from behind. The final shot showed Jensen plunging his dick into Mallory's ass, while Mallory continued to fuck Sarah. I paused to contrast the shots from this series with the first series, and concluded that they had to have been taken on different days. The guy that I hired had certainly been thorough. Any one of these series of photos would be enough to ruin Jensen.

I just sat there, looking at the photos on the table, wondering what do to. This was worse than I'd imagined, or perhaps better, considering that I had resolved to take Jensen down. I had thought the information I’d get would be much more benign, and in that case, I had planned to either publish it, or just give it to Peterson. I had planned to expose him; I just hadn't decided exactly how to do it. These photos had elevated things beyond anything I’d imagined, and effectively changed the whole game. I began to strategize while, at the same time, I repackaged the envelopes and put them in my safe.

August 25, 1962

After seeing the photos, I really didn't want to see Mallory this weekend. I had a lot to think about, and playing with his fragile psyche had already started to bore me. Unfortunately, I didn't have a way to contact him and cancel. One option was to wait for him to show up then just tell him to leave, while the other option was to mess around with him again. Mallory was a complete asshole, but he did have a nice body, and I was horny. Those thoughts ultimately swayed my decision.

The doorbell rang at 5pm on the dot. I opened it to find Mallory looking less sullen than last time. “Follow me,” I said, and led him to my bedroom instead. He looked surprised. “Strip,” I ordered, and then I went into the bathroom to take off my own clothes.

I returned to the room to find him standing there, naked and hard, looking confused. “No cuffs?” He asked, with obvious disappointment.

“Nope.” I approached him and gently ran my hands up his leg, across his cock, and up his chest to his face. I pulled him down into a kiss. He responded enthusiastically. I led him toward the bed and pushed him down, falling on top of him.

I ground my cock into his, and he ground back. I flipped over on my back and let him take charge. He moved his mouth down, licked and sucked on my nipples, then moved lower and took my cock in his mouth. Only for a minute though, then he moved to my balls, and lifted my legs to expose my ass. He dove in with his tongue, reaming me, driving me nuts. I grabbed the lube on my nightstand and handed it to him. He gently probed my ass with his finger, teasing me, and then, as if he couldn't stand any more, he lubed his cock and thrust it with one motion into me. He'd probably expected that to shock me, or hurt me, but he was so thin he went in painlessly. Then he began to pound me, really fuck me hard. I loved it. I twitched my ass around, making sure he hit my spot with every slam. Then, with a loud growl, he shot his load in me, shooting and shooting. After he came he kept his cock in my ass while he jacked me off urgently, making me blast my load all over myself. When I was finished he collapsed next to me. I was probably as stunned by that fuck as he was. He’d come in here and he’d fucked me, but he’d done it in a very skilled way, and shown himself to be a considerate lover.

“Come on Scott, let's get cleaned up,” I said, and led him into my bathroom. We showered together, not in an intimate way, more like guys would if they were in a locker room. I told him to get dressed, which surprised him, and then I led him out to the local pizza place for dinner.

I got two large pizzas and he started devouring his as soon as it arrived. “Hungry?” I asked. He just nodded, then continued to eat. He ate his pizza, the whole thing, which amazed me, then scammed a couple of pieces of mine. His appetite reminded me of Jeff’s, and that made me feel guilty until I pushed him out of my mind.

“Don't you ever eat?” I asked.

“Didn't eat anything today,” he said as he shook his head.

“Why not?”

He looked at me. “I didn't want to be all plugged up tonight.” That made me smile. He looked offended.

“That was nice of you. Come on, let's go home.” He followed me quietly. We got back and he automatically headed to my bedroom and stripped off his clothes. I did the same, but instead of jumping his bones I snuggled up next to him and lay on his chest. “Tell me what you're thinking,” I said, looking up at him. It came out more like an order than I planned.

“I'm thinking that I hate you for making me be here, and I hate myself even more for wanting to be here.” Was that a tear in his eye?

I brushed my hand over his eyes, wiping away the tears, and gently kissed him on the lips. “Part of me likes seeing you like this, suffering, because of all the shit you've given other people. But a bigger part of me feels guilty for hurting you. For you to act like such an asshole, you must be one fucked up puppy.”

He just lay there quietly. “I guess you're right. I guess I've picked on people all my life. 'Course, I learned it from my mom. She used to pick on me and my sister all the time. Just seemed like that's how you dealt with people.”

“So now you're here, on campus, surrounded by really bright people. Why keep on doing it? Why bully people?” For the first time, Scott actually intrigued me.

“Dunno. Guess it's just what I knew. Haven't felt like picking on people lately though.”

“Because I made you come here and do shit you didn't want to do?”

He looked at me. “Guess that's part of it. The other part is that it wasn't shit I didn't want to do. I'd thought about, you know, doin' stuff with a guy before. I just never did anything about it. I didn't want to be a queer. Guess I am now.”

“So you like fucking around with guys. You like girls too?”

He actually smiled. “Guess I like anyone that gets me off.” We laughed. “I like girls too,” he said.

“When you jack off, what do you think about?” I was really pushing into his private zone. I'd be going apeshit if it were me being pushed.

“Usually girls. Lately, you.” He looked down at me. I reached up and kissed him. He kissed me back. Within minutes we were at it again, only this time it was my dick in his ass. It was kind of funny how after we both came, we were back in the same position, with me lying on his chest.

“You like girls too?”

He nodded.

“They call that being bisexual. That means you like men and women, not just one or the other. You should be happy. It increases your options.” He looked at me, sort of quizzically.

“Bisexual? Never heard of that. So I'm not a queer?”

“No,” I joked, “you're only half queer.” We both laughed.

“Guess that’s better,” he muttered.

“Scott, I've had a lot of fun with you tonight. I'm actually starting to like you a little bit. So here's the deal. You're off the hook. Don't pick on people, don't be an asshole, and you're not stuck being my sex slave for the rest of the semester.”

“So I can leave whenever I want?” he asked me.

“Yep,” I said.

He seemed to think about that. Then he smiled at me, and it almost blew me away. When he smiled, it seemed to light up his whole face, and made him very attractive. “I think I'll stick around for a while longer.” And with that his tongue was down my throat again, soon followed by his cock.

The next morning I made breakfast for us, such as it was, since I couldn’t cook worth a shit. Scott got ready to leave, paused, and looked at me. “You think it would be OK if I stopped by from time to time?” He blushed when he said it.

“I'd like that. Here's my phone number. Call me first, to make sure I'm here.” I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out exactly what happened, and whether I had helped or hurt Scott. One thing was for sure. I wouldn't be doing that again anytime soon.

August 27, 1962

I got to campus early, and with a handkerchief to shield my fingerprints, I pulled one of the manila envelopes out of my briefcase and put it into Bob Jensen's departmental mail slot. Then, to avoid suspicion, I took some of my research and headed over to the Student Center to grab a light breakfast. From there, I went to the library to work and kill time. I knew that Jensen usually got in around 10am, so I waited until then to head back to the department.

In one of the stranger ironies, I walked into the department at the same time Jensen did. He courteously held the door for me and gave me a crocodile smile. “Thank you,” I said, pretending to be polite in return.

“My pleasure,” he said, almost gleefully. He was clearly up to something. I wandered off to my office, expecting it to be empty, only to find Scott there waiting for me.

“Morning,” I said cheerfully.

“Morning,” he said, less enthusiastically. He handed me a stack of stapled papers. “I want you to have this. It's the only copy. Maybe you can burn it for me, OK?” He turned and left.

I sat down to read through it. It was his formal statement about my conversation with Coach Davis. It pretty much echoed what Jensen had said to Peterson last week. This was why Jensen had been smiling. He had a signed statement from Mallory outlining the charges he wanted to bring. This would have been tough to handle, but not impossible. I probably would have been able to survive, but my reputation would have taken a huge hit. Getting tenure after a scandal like this would have required a miracle.

I wondered why Mallory gave it to me. He must have gotten here early, snuck into Jensen's office, and found it. Maybe he simply didn't want to be embroiled in our feud. Or maybe he was giving me this as my reward for letting him off the hook. I was trying hard not to like Mallory, but it was getting tougher.

Just then my office door, which had been partly closed, flew open and Dr. Jensen burst in, his eyes wild and darting from side to side in a maniacal way. He was holding the envelope in his hands, the same one I’d put in his mail box this morning, practically waving it in the air. “Can I help you Dr. Jensen?” I asked calmly.

“You, you...” he sputtered, “You did this! This is all your doing.” He was beside himself.

“I don't know what you're talking about. What is it? Show me this latest thing I've done wrong.” I looked him in the eyes, with me calm and composed, and him completely unhinged. He seemed to realize that he couldn't show me the pictures because if I weren’t the one who gave them to him, I'd use them to ruin him. His expression now changed to a person who was trapped.

I watched him wrap his mind around his dilemma. He didn't know who sent the pictures so he didn't know what they wanted, and that meant he had no way to handle it. If the pictures were published, he'd be ruined. If the pictures ended up in Peterson’s hands, he'd be ruined. He'd be fired for cause and probably even deprived of his pension. His family wouldn’t just be shamed, they’d be completely humiliated, and they'd hate him for it. I watched his eyes and I saw him processing this and coming to the same conclusions I’d reached. I’d pushed him to the abyss and shoved him over the edge, and I was intrigued to find that I felt no guilt for doing it. He was such a complete asshole, I felt no compassion or pity for him. The storm ebbed, his hands fell to his side, and he turned and left.

Now I was the one with a dilemma. I needed to get Mallory’s deposition out of my office and destroy it, but I also needed to be here to deal with any fallout Jensen might cause. I decided to make a quick trip home, where I was like the Tasmanian devil of cartoon fame. I drove home like a maniac, rushed into the condo, locked the statement in my safe, and then rushed back to campus. My return to the department was anticlimactic, since Jensen had apparently left before I had, and there was no sign of him when I got back.

To avoid fretting about him and whatever he might or might not do, I immersed myself once again into my shitty paper. I must have really been absorbed because it took a very loud knock on my door to distract me.

“Come on in,” I shouted, pulling up from my research like a diver emerging from the water.

It was Adams. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?” I asked curiously.

“Jensen shot himself. He's dead,” he said. “They're calling it a suicide.” It was a sad commentary on Jensen that neither one of us gave a shit.