Halloween Masquerade 1

Cathy pulled on a robe and rushed to answer her front door before the broken chime could make its god-awful clanking, grinding noise again. It sounded like a cowbell whose clapper scraped and rubbed after striking—worse than fingernails on a chalk board. God she hated that sound. Doug had promised to fix it weeks ago—something else he'd neglected lately. She made a mental note to take care of the fucking thing herself.

She figured her driver, one of the university's athletes, had arrived a little early. Probably some six foot bull dyke volleyball player wearing a cheap witch's costume or worse, a knuckle dragging animal from the football team dressed as Frankenstein. Whomever or whatever, they'd just have to wait for her to finish dressing and she, in turn, would have to tolerate another few minutes of being ogled by a fucking mouth breathing, leering jock.

It was good to have a chauffeur for the faculty's annual Halloween Party and, in several respects, it was good of the Monogram Club to volunteer their services, but she knew that it was nothing more than a public relations move by the Athletic Department, those resource robbing bastards. She hated the whole athletic fraternity—athletes, coaches, administrators, cheerleaders, all—every last one of them. Universities should be about academics and the stars should be professors, not a bunch of spoiled kids playing fucking games. Still, she accepted the ride—it was her night to howl—so fuck it.

She opened the door to find a big pirate standing there staring solemnly back at her. His heeled boots and huge hat made him appear gigantic. His size was a little intimidating, frightening even, but he was no knuckle dragger, she could tell. There was an intelligent twinkle in his uncovered eye and his costume was no off-the-shelf rental. Cathy knew authentic pirate when she saw it. She had fantasized about pirates since childhood.

"Oh, my! Are you my driver or am I about to be shanghaied?" she said.

"Arrr, I'm driving you tonight, wench," the muscular young pirate growled, then laughed and said, "Happy Halloween, Dr. Blake."

She felt her face and chest flush and her pulse quicken. She unconsciously gathered her robe at the neck with one hand, pulling it more tightly closed.

"Oh, my, but you truly do look like a real pirate—you're perfect. I mean your costume is perfect. I mean you look like something straight out of a movie." Irritated for losing her composure, and worse, letting him see it, she took on a more formal air to compensate. Pulling the door wide, she stepped to the side. "Please, come in. I'm afraid I'm not quite ready. You'll have to wait."

"No problem, Dr. Blake. Take your time."

She ushered him past the breakfast nook into the den and motioned for him to have a seat. "I'm afraid you have the advantage on me, I don't recognize you. Do I know you?"

He casually sat on the sofa and replied, "I'm Tommy Dunn, Dr. Blake."

"Why, Tommy. Uh, I wasn't expecting you. I mean, I didn't recognize you, not in the costume and all. I don't quite know what to say. Is this the Athletic Department's idea of a joke?"

"They didn't assign me, ma'am, I asked for you."

"You asked for me? Why in hell would you do that? I thought you hated me."

He looked straight into her eyes. "No, I don't hate you Professor, I never did. That's why I asked for you, I was hoping to get the chance to explain everything to you, let you know how I feel."

"Well, you could've done that a couple of months ago. You sure as hell took your own sweet time."

"My lawyers told me not to, Professor, although I wanted to, I really did. They told me not to talk to anybody until we reached settlement."

"What? They settled on fucking Halloween and you just had to rush right over? Is that it, Tommy?"

"No, Professor. I'm dropping the suit, but it's not public yet. I was afraid you wouldn't talk to me and so I put it off. When they asked me to chauffer for the Halloween Party, I decided it would be a good opportunity, so here I am. I was mad at the administration, not you, Professor, and that's the truth. I'd like for us to be friends, I really would."

With an affected smile, she said, "Oh, isn't that just so terribly generous of you."

"It got kinda ugly, I know, Professor, but I really would like to explain some things to you. I never tried to hurt you, I really didn't. I think there are things you don't know and I really would like to explain. Can't we talk for just a minute? Bury the hatchet, so to speak, or maybe I should say the cutlass." He grimaced at his feeble joke.

"Oh what the hell, let's talk, but I need a drink first. How about you, or is it allowed?"

"No it isn't allowed, but what can they do, ground me? I'll have whatever you're having."

"Sit tight. I'll be right back," she said and went to the kitchen.

She returned a couple of minutes later with drinks. "It's rum and Diet Coke," she said, sitting beside him on the sofa.

"Rum for the pirate, huh? Thanks."

"So talk," she said.

"Okay, Professor. Look, I know you don't like athletes I can understand why you don't. I don't like a lot of 'em myself. They think they're owed something just because they can play a friggin' game and expect the world to kiss their ass. For what it's worth, I never did think that, Professor, not ever."

"Oh really?" Her voice dripped sarcasm.

"That's right, Professor, believe it or not." He leaned towards her slightly, took a sip of his drink, looked her straight in the eyes and said in his most sincere tone, "Look, I come from a working class family—good people, great people, but poor. After high school, I played professional baseball for four years to get some immediate money to help my family and I hoped to make it big, but it didn't work out. So, I went to my backup plan—football and college. I accepted the football scholarship I had been offered in high school. Football was now going to be the ticket to a better life for me and my family. Football was more than a game to me, Professor, but I never thought it made me anything special."

"Okay, okay, I get it, Tommy, and to be honest, I figured you were just another spoiled brat the Athletic Department was coddling, so score one for you, but honestly, what has it got to do with me?"

"Bear with me a minute. I like music, Professor, although I have a tin ear, and I appreciate it more after taking your class, I really do. I appreciate how good you are at teaching it, too, and I'm not just saying that—I really mean it. I enjoyed your class, Professor, I really did. I looked forward to it every day. You made the technical stuff interesting and I learned things about music that I'll never forget. I listen to the classics now and I understand more about popular music. I'm sorry that I didn't do better in your class, I hate it, I really do, but that's water over the dam—nothing I can do about it now."

"Do you really mean that, Tommy, the thing about appreciating music more, now."

"Yes, I mean it, Professor. I sure do mean it. I get a lot more enjoyment out of music now and I listen to better music than I used to. I like Mozart now, Professor, really like him."

"I'm glad to hear that, Tommy. At least some good came from all this."

"Look, Professor, this year was my fifth and final year of eligibility, I was held out my freshman year, redshirted, to give me another year to develop, get back into football condition. This was to have been my year in the sun. We were gonna be really good this year and the pros were gonna be watching. I would have been in the spotlight. I would probably have signed for a lot of money. The Athletic Department was going to promote me to the press as

Tommy Gun Dunn

. No telling what that could have led to down the road—maybe toy sales and stuff."

"I didn't realize they thought that far ahead—marketing and all."

"Oh, they do, Professor. It's big business for everybody. Look, when I flunked and became ineligible, I was devastated. All my dreams went flying out the window. Overnight, the pros suddenly lost interest. I was unproven and even my intelligence was suspect. My value dropped to almost nothing. I wasn't gonna be able to set my mom and dad up and I wanted to help them so bad—make their final years comfortable. It just all crashed at once and I was devastated."

"I'm sorry about that, Tommy, about your parents, I truly am, but I couldn't just hand out unearned grades, I just couldn't. I have to live with myself and, besides, I have a reputation to maintain. I have a good reputation. I really do. I'm becoming respected throughout the whole academic community. I've even received some national attention."

"I know that, Professor, and I'm wishing the best for you. Look, I wouldn't want you to give me a grade I didn't deserve. That's why, I never blamed you. I even asked my lawyers to take it easy on you at the deposition."

"Apparently they didn't get the memo, Tommy."

"I'm sorry about that, Professor, I really am." He took another sip of his drink. "Look, here's the deal. All I needed to remain eligible was an arts credit, and the team's academic advisors suggested I take

Music 010

, pass-fail, in summer school. It was scheduled to be taught by some student instructor and they thought it would be a crip course for me. Hell, they thought she'd pass me regardless of how well I did. Then she got sick or something and you became the instructor and you insisted I pass the course fair and square. Like I said, I've got no problem with that."

"Then what was the problem, Tommy?"

"The administration, Professor. The administration could have given me a special dispensation on that arts credit. They could have given me another semester to fulfill that credit. They could have even exempted me from the requirement altogether. But, they were afraid they might get a little bad press, some unfriendly sports writer might get hold of it and paint it in a bad light or, god forbid, they might get questioned by the NCAA. They didn't care what it did to me or my career. They were gutless."

"In that case, I can see why you would be upset, Tommy, but it was my understanding that they would have violated NCAA guidelines had they changed the rule. Is that not correct?"

"No, that's not correct, Professor. It isn't widely known, but I could have been excepted, it's done every now and then. Students have extenuating circumstances all the time and the administration can rule in special cases. Maybe a music or drama student gets a chance to study abroad or something and needs extra time to meet a curriculum requirement or an athlete needs more time to meet a curriculum requirement due to practice and traveling and stuff. Exceptions are sometimes granted and not just for athletes."

"I see. I can see why you were upset."

"Honestly, I was just mad at the administration, not you, Professor and I just wanted you to know. I like you and I liked your class."

"That's sweet of you Tommy. I wish I had known all this."

"I was hoping you'd understand. Again, I wanted to talk to you before now, but my lawyer convinced me not to talk to anyone. I'd really like us to be friends, Professor, I really would."

"Sure, we'll be friends," she said and leaned over to touch his large bicep. She got that familiar tingly feeling deep in her abdomen and quickly stood up.

"That's great. I always liked you, Professor. I really did." It was partly true.

"Oh hell, I'd better hurry or I'm gonna be late. Be ready in two shakes," she said and headed off through the kitchen into a small study that lead to her bedroom.

Watching her ass roll and sway beneath the robe as she walked away, hands in pockets, pulling the fabric tight reminded him of how his dick used to get hard in class seeing her skirt stretch tight across that pretty ass and ride up, almost to her panties, exposing the backs of her upper thighs as she stood on tiptoes and reached high to write on the blackboard. He always figured she did it on purpose. He smiled—her provocative walk was on purpose. Yeah, she liked pirates all right.

The cheerleader uniform fit fairly well although the skirt was shorter than most squads or good taste would have allowed. Her briefs peeked out from beneath the skirt when she bent over even a tiny bit, but she didn't care. Where she was going good taste wasn't exactly the order of the day. She looked sexy and she liked it. If it frosted a few of the other women, well, fuck 'em.

She liked the way cheerleaders looked in uniform, always had, although she despised cheerleaders themselves—conceited, stuck-up bitches, every one. She had been a skinny, gawky, ugly duckling in high school with very few friends. Her freshman year, she had tried out for the J.V. squad, but it had been a disaster. She had been cut the first day and worse, some of the girls had snickered during her routine. Cathy had cried. To this day, she cringed every time she thought about it, the hateful bitches. She had felt shunned by the popular crowd ever since—the jocks, prom queens and especially the cheerleaders.

Well fuck 'em. She blossomed in college, thank God. Her figure filled out nicely, her acne cleared up, braces eliminated her buck teeth and she developed a fashion sense that was both tasteful and stylish.

And now she was a professor. Doctor Drake. A thirty-one year old full-fucking-tenured professor—one of the youngest in the whole state. A rising star. Someone lots of people wanted to get to know. People, important people, sometimes kissed her ass. She liked having her ass kissed and now all those fucking jocks and cheerleaders, every last one of them, could kiss her ass too.

It irritated her that Doug had gone out of town to that fucking golf outing. She was uneasy spending nights alone in the house, plus she would probably be getting fucked right that minute if he were home. Her costume would have set him off. He loved playing dress-up—it was the only thing that got him interested anymore. She wished he had as much interest in sex as she. Well, she would spring the outfit on him tomorrow before she took it back. The tingly feeling in her abdomen became an ache.

She slid her hand down inside her panties, then realized that the pirate out in her den might be able to hear if a moan or two slipped out, which was a near certainty. That big fucking pirate. That big fucking pirate with the broad blade cutlass, the kind she fantasized about getting spanked with. That big Long John Silver kind of pirate. Fuck.

Long John Silver—LJ. Her pirate. Her big cyber pirate. Her online lover who excited her like no one else. The man who knew her only as Cherry Spice—called her his Spice-girl. The man she had confided in, revealed all her secrets to, all her fantasies, all her kinks. She hated that he lived on the other side of the country although it was probably a good thing. If they met in real life, she would likely jeopardize her career. Just thinking of him made her wet.

Grabbing the remote, she turned the TV up and hurried into the bathroom. God, she wanted to fuck. She needed to be around that hot, big assed pirate son-of-a-bitch driver of hers like she needed lockjaw. She closed the bathroom door, sat on the side of the Jacuzzi, turned the water on and began to circle her clit with two fingers, thinking about LJ in his tight, knit boxer shorts. His tight, knit boxer shorts that hugged his big muscular thighs and outlined his ass. She squeezed one breast and pinched its nipple then gave her clit a stinging smack before rubbing it rapidly. The image of that big pirate in her den replaced LJ in her mind's eye—jock or not, he was hot as hell. Damn. She imagined him smacking her ass with his wide bladed cutlass while pulling her hair and ramming his big thick cock into her hard and fast, grunting and groaning loudly, telling her how much he needed her, telling her how good she felt, squeezing her breasts, biting her nipples, asking her if she liked his cock, filling her with his big pirate cock. "Oh, God," she said and came, tossing her head, unable to completely stifle her cries as her legs jerked uncontrollably.

She took a couple of minutes to regain her composure, checked her hair and makeup, then returned to the den. "Okay. I've worked on this old body about all I can. Guess I'm ready."

"Old body, nothing, Professor, I don't think you could improve a whole lot on that. You look just like one of the squad. Do a cheer for me."

Flattered, she laughed and shook her head, "No, no, no. I don't even know a cheer and I wouldn't do one even if I did."

"Ah, come on, let me hear you yell. I'll bet you're good at it. Come on," he prodded, "Two bits, four bits, six bits..."

Laughing, she said, "I don't think I've had enough to drink for that."

"Well maybe after you've had a couple, you'll yell for me," he laughed along with her. "I'll bet you're good at it. I bet you're real good." She didn't know whether he meant the double entendre or not but it caused her to blush again. She started to turn away, then realized it was too late—he had noticed. He seemed to be flirting with her, she thought—boldly too. She liked it.

"Nice car," she said as they got into the SUV. "Smells new."

"Cadillac Escalade."

"Athletic Department must be in the money," she cracked.

"I suppose. I want me one of these. You want one too?"

"Does it come with a driver like you?"

"Dressed like that, you could probably get yourself one."

She laughed. "You know, Tommy, the Monogram Club really does perform a valuable service by doing this. Aside from the alcohol, it's dangerous for a lot of us to drive wearing the outfits we come up with. The masks and makeup and bulky costumes some of us wear limit our sight and motion."

"You sure wouldn't have any trouble tonight, now would you? In that costume, I mean," Tommy laughed and gave her legs a quick, humorously lecherous look.

"I'd be alright going, but I might need some help coming," she joked back, "you know, after I'd been drinking." The boldness of her own flagrant double entendre made her blush yet again.. She was beginning to act like a horny little coed, but she didn't care, she hadn't flirted or been flirted with in a good while.

"Well, it's my job to get your drunken little butt home in one piece and you're in good hands if I must say so myself," he joked, then said, "Where is Mr. Blake tonight?"

"He has a golf game with a customer down at Myrtle Beach tomorrow morning. I tried to get him to cancel but he said he couldn't," she said in an even tone, then continued in a mocking, sing-song voice, rolling her head from side to side, "And he felt that driving four hours tomorrow morning would be too tiring and unsafe so he went on tonight with plans to turn in early and get a good nights sleep to be ready for the game tomorrow and he's going to call and leave me a message that he arrived safely and he asked me not to call and wake him up when I get home because he wants his rest and he'll be just fine, yada, yada, yada."

Tommy laughed at her sarcasm. "Well, you go on and have fun, Professor. Enjoy yourself. Drink all you want, I'll get you home safe and sound. Oh, and don't worry about me, I'll be fine down in the lounge, drinking Cokes and watching TV in my little pirate suit."

She laughed. "Just don't have so much fun you forget to come pick me up."

"Oh, I couldn't forget you, Professor. Not in that outfit."

"Flatterer."

He started to mention where flattery is supposed to get you, but thought better of it. "Nope, just the facts, ma'am, just the facts."

"Thank you, Tommy. I still think it's bullshit, but it's nice to hear. You're really just a big softie, you know that? You're sweet. "

"Me? No way. I'm a big mean-assed pirate, wench, and don't you forget it. I'll swat your pretty little butt with my cutlass."