The Goods

Sometimes things just fall into your lap. It's not because you've worked for them or because you've tried something different. It's a case of Karma. When this happens you can do one of two things. Ignore it or grab the prize and run with it.

I grabbed the prize and ran. What happened was that I'd had to go over to the sports complex at the University for some reason. I'm stuffed if I can remember why. Practices had finished for the evening and the place seemed deserted except for me, and I wasn't going to there long.

It turned out that the place wasn't quite deserted. I was just passing the office of the Head Coach when I heard an odd noise. I turned and looked towards the sound, as you do. The office door was slightly ajar, which was dead careless of Coach, especially seeing what he was doing.

He was standing in the middle of his office with a cheerleader in full uniform giving him an enthusiastic blow job. Definitely should have closed the door properly.

I think at this point I should give you a little background information. I'm in my twenties. I'd only transferred to the University this year from another State. I was doing a post-graduate course in Quantum Physics, intending to get my doctorate.

Now I'm a reasonably easy-going guy. I don't go out of my way to annoy people or put their backs up. I general get on tolerably well with most people. If I do run into someone who rubs me the wrong way (or vice versa – I'm not perfect) I tend to avoid that person. I mean, who needs the hassle of being at cross-purposes with someone for no particular reason?

Cheryl, that's who. Cheryl is quite lovely and a cheerleader. She's intelligent and I understand doing very well in her courses. She will be graduating this year and has already been told that if she wants to try for post grad causes she'll have no problems. I'm not positive about her age but she's not much younger than me. I'd say probably twenty but she may have been a little older. All in all, an attractive young thing but, where I'm concerned, the personality of a barracuda.

I don't know why. Before I transferred in I'd never even met her, but she had the knives out for me from day one. She's spread rumours about me to other girls on the campus, which made it hard for me to get a date for a while. Fortunately, once people get to know me they can see that I'm not the monster that Cheryl casts me as.

Cheryl not liking me is one thing. I'm OK with that. I don't have a rule saying people have to like me. But if you don't like me, why not just leave me alone and go your own way. It's not as though I seek out her company, but she seems to take this weird delight in shafting me.

So when I suddenly find myself looking at Coach being given a blow job by Cheryl and I have my phone in my hand do you blame me for activating the camera and filming the action? I know I don't blame me.

I just let the camera run in movie mode for a few moments, capturing the scene. Then I coughed, loudly, to let the decadent duo know someone was there. Cheryl's head jerked up as she turned towards the door, eyes wide with shock and the camera probably had a good view of her looking directly at it, with the Coach's dong bouncing gently next to her ear.

Then I practiced sprinting. By the time the coach got his trousers back on and came charging out after me I was mingling on the campus with a bunch of other students. And he didn't know who had been there. Neither, I was pretty sure, did Cheryl. She didn't really have time to see more than a figure outside the door. I was in no hurry to enlighten her. I just faded from the scene. Tomorrow was another day.

Even then I might have let the whole thing go, but Cheryl had another go at me the next day. I was just sitting in the canteen eating some lunch and going over my notes from the mornings lecture when she came past and managed to knock my drink onto my notes.

"Oh, sorry," she said, smirking her head off.

I just gave her a look letting her know I wasn't fooled. Then I smiled.

"Not a problem," I assured her, "but if you feel like apologising come on over to my place tonight. You can apologise nicely while I play around with my new hobby, photography."

Cheryl suddenly had a very odd look on her face.

"Ph-photography?" she stuttered.

"Yes. A fascinating hobby. You really must come past and see some cheerleader photos I took yesterday. I do believe you're one of the cheerleaders, aren't you. You might even be on my camera. Why don't you come around eight? Do you have my address?"

Cheryl shook her head, so I kindly wrote it out.

"Eight," I reminded her. "Don't worry if you're late. I can fill in some time putting some choice shots up on Facebook."

I grabbed my things and walked away smiling, fuming inside. Little bitch. I was going to have to redo half my notes now. And I had to decide what to do when she came around. I had no doubt whatsoever that she'd be there right on eight. She wasn't going to risk not coming and photos going up on Facebook.

I was spot on. At one minute to eight she was knocking on my door and when I opened it to let her in she started on me.

How dare I threaten her? How dare I snoop around taking photos? What the hell did I think I was playing at?

I just handed her the one photo that I had printed. It was a shot of Cheryl looking at the camera with the coach's erection waving next to her.

She took one look at it, went white, and ripped it in half. But she did also shut up.

"Did you know the coach is married?" I asked.

"Like that matters. As if I had a choice. It was either blow the coach or lose my position on the squad."

That was a surprise to me. I made a note to find a way to shaft the coach.

"Maybe so," I said, "but the basic issue for me is you and your attitude. You've had your knife into me from the time I arrived and I'm sick of it. If you don't like me, fine. You're entitled to your opinion. However you seem to go out of your way to do me dirt. I just don't think you should be doing that and I want it stopped."

"And if I don't you'll publish those photos. Right?"

"You would have to assume that that is a possibility," I admitted.

She glared at me.

"You're a rotten swine," she breathed.

"Self-defence," I pointed out. "You're the one who's attacking me."

"Well it fucking serves you right. You're a complete and utter bastard." She suddenly shrieked at me.

I was stunned. What the hell?

"What the hell is your problem?" I demanded. "We didn't even know each other before I moved here."

"It's not about me," she yelled. "It's my cousin, Marie!"

I was lost. Totally.

"Ah, who, precisely, is Marie?"

"Marie Handerly. Your girlfriend at CalTech. The one you just walked out on, without a moments warning, to come here."

"A slight problem there. I've never been to CalTech. I transferred in from the University of Texas. The Dallas campus. Why would I want to go to CalTech among all the pretty people?"

She looked slightly stunned.

"You're James Wilson," she said.

I nodded. "Generally known as Jim, but yes."

"You transferred here to a doctorate in Quantum Physics."

I nodded again.

"From CalTech," she insisted.

I sadly shook my head.

"University of Texas. Dallas campus. Look." I pointed to where I had my degree framed and hanging on the wall. (Not my idea. It's there because my mother insisted I hang it up and I live to please her. It's safer.)

"If you care to dig about on Facebook you'll find my picture and some details about my sojourn at uni," I said affably. "If you keep digging you can probably also find a James Wilson who went to CalTech. Neither James nor Wilson are what you would call uncommon names. You just jumped to conclusions and started hounding me."

Cheryl was looking horrified. Me, I was feeling quite pleased. At least now I knew why she disliked me.

"Ah, I don't know what to say," she mumbled.

"Feel free to check out my story," I said. "In fact I insist on it. If you're going to loathe me I'd much rather it was for the beating I'm going to lay on your bottom rather than for some fancied slight to your cousin."

"What?"

"You don't really think that I'm going to just wave my hand and forget everything you've been doing to me because you're a vindictive bitch who's made a mistake, do you? You've caused me quite a few problems and I'm finally in a position to not only stop that but dish out a little bit of a penalty. I'd be mad not to take advantage of it."

"I'm sorry. I might have made a mistake."

At my cynical snigger she changed that.

"OK. I suppose I have made a mistake. I said I'm sorry."

"Everyone is when they get caught," I said, a touch of cynicism showing through. "Especially when they realise that they're facing a penalty."

"I'm not going to let you punish me."

"While I've got the goods on you you'll do exactly what I say," I said calmly. "Have you forgotten the photos already?"

From the flush on her face, she had.

"What are you going to do?" she asked nervously.

"What I just said. To be blunt, I'm going to spank you. You're going to find yourself over my knee, bare bottom shining in the light, while I spank it."

Cheryl glared at me.

"If you think I'm going to take off my panties to allow you to spank me, you're crazy."

"I never expected you to. No, I thought I'd have you lift up your skirt and I'd pull the panties down myself. More interesting that way."

"You've got to be kidding. No way I'll allow it."

I wandered over to the couch and sat down.

"You've caused me some real strife, and I'm still furious about you. Right now you have a choice of coming over here and lifting your skirt so that I can pull down your panties, or you may find a copy of that photo you tore up on your mother's Facebook."

Cheryl went pale and then flushed. Step by step she moved over to me, finally stopping in front of her.

"Skirt," I murmured, and she lifted it, flushing.

Taking my time I took hold of her panties and drew them down. All the way down to a point where she could step out of them. She didn't look down while I did it, staring above my head.

"Very good," I said. "Now shall we bend over?"

She did. She looked as though she wanted to jump up and down and start screaming, but she bent over.

"Very nice," I murmured, rubbing my hand lightly over her bottom. "It's almost a pity to do this."

"Then don't," she snapped. "And don't pat me."

Ah, well, if she insisted. I lifted my hand and brought it smartly down on her bottom. From the horrified squeal, I assumed that she hadn't really expected me to do it. She tried to rear up and off my knee, but my other hand was on her back holding her in position.

I proceeded to give her a good spanking, taking each cheek in turn, bouncing my hand off her bottom while it slowly turned red. Cheryl squealed and yelled, wriggled and swore, and I kept up a steady paddling. She wasn't quite in tears when I finally finished, but that was only because she was trying hard not to. She wasn't going to let me see her cry.

Unfortunately, once I swung her back to her feet she couldn't stop herself from jumping up and down, hands trying to fan her bottom. It made for a very interesting view with her skirt flapping up and down. Pussy, no pussy, pussy, no pussy.

"Ah, Cheryl," I said. "I think you had better put your panties back on. The way you're flashing me right now I'm getting very excited, and I'm sure you don't want me getting any ideas."

"Actually," I said, as she hastily reclaimed her panties, "I've already got the ideas, but let's not act on them right now."

"Now why don't you toddle off home and do some homework, like checking up on James Wilson at Caltech and James Wilson at the University of Texas and seeing that they're two different people, only one of which is me. Or ask your cousin to email you a photo of her James Wilson. That should do it.

And remember, I still have the photo of you and the coach, so be on your best behaviour when you see me around."

Cheryl gave me a dark look and stormed out of the house.

With Cheryl gone I went to the PC and checked for a James Wilson at CalTech. He proved easy enough to find, and I decided I'd gone too easy on Cheryl. Apart from the fact that we were both male and had the same name there was no other point of resemblance. Or if there was, the fact that he was obviously of African descent disguised it.

Having time on my hands and remembering what Cheryl had said about being forced to give the coach a blow job I decided to do something about it. Sexual predators are the worst and I really hate people who abuse their authority like that. I sat down at my PC and brought up Photoshop and a few choice photos. Then I went searching the web for the right images. In my own way, I'm an artist with Photoshop.

The next day I headed for the library and hopped on to one of the general purpose PC's there. Crossing to a general purpose mail site I created a new email address. Then I created a simple little message, attached a couple of photos of the coach and sent the email off. The photos were a couple of choice shots of the coach and his blowjob, with one subtle difference. Cheryl had been replaced by a husky young man. Good luck, Coach, in explaining that to the Dean and your wife.

Cheryl came around to see me again that evening. I'd been expecting the visit. I'd figured she would have checked the internet and feel compelled to come around and apologise, even if I had spanked her. When she came and banged on the door I was sitting on the couch, nice and relaxed.

"Come on in," I yelled. "It's open."

She came barging in. I was almost sorry for her. I could see she was in a snit about something, but at the same time she knew she'd been the one in error and on top of that, I had those pictures.

Being a woman, the grievance came out before the apology.

"You send some photos to the coach," she said, and I was impressed that she managed to refrain from screaming.

"That news got out fast," I said, "but you needn't worry. You weren't in them. How'd you find out so fast?"

"A couple of the team were there when he opened the email and saw the photos. They must be the ones you took. The team have been sniggering about the photos all afternoon and the coach is furious."

"He's probably not too pleased because he's going to find it hard to deny that's him in the photos. Even if he explains away the young boy with him, why was he waving his dong around in his office?"

"Boy?" Cheryl sounded slightly stunned.

"Mmm. So I've heard. Obviously not the pictures I took," I said, trying to look innocent.

She was no fool. "You Shopped them," she accused.

"Really, Cheryl? How could you possibly accuse me of playing such a dirty trick on the coach? Shame on you." I shook my head in sorrow.

She didn't look very ashamed. She was actually smirking. Time to stir things up a bit more.

"I take it you went looking for James Wilson at CalTech?"

Now she looked embarrassed. She nodded, biting her lip.

"Not even the same colour as me," I rubbed it in. "All that trouble you've given me because you were too lazy to check that you had the right person. I'm still somewhat irked about the whole business."

I patted my lap, giving her a meaningful look. Oh, she hated that. She wanted to tell me to take a running jump but the memories of the photos stayed her tongue. She moved reluctantly over towards me.

"Instead of lifting your skirt, why don't you just take it off?"

She was mad as a hatter, but her skirt hit the ground. I kindly assisted her with her panties, while her face burned brightly.

"I think that I'd like you to take your top off as well," I murmured.

She didn't want to, but I kept my gaze steady, and top and bra went by the wayside. A very nice figure, well worth seeing.

Cheryl didn't resist as I eased her over my knee, but I could have sworn that I could hear the grinding of her teeth.

I started rubbing her bottom, smoothing it out and getting a feel for it.

"I love your skin," I murmured. "It's like warm silk."

My hand was now travelling a bit further afield, getting even better acquainted. She went to bring her legs closer together but I reached quickly for her knee, making sure she knew they had to stay parted. Then the massage continued.

I could hear her breathing getting harsher. I was getting to her, the gentle massage quite erotic in its quiet way. My free hand slipped around to her front, covering one breast, and the massage now continued on two fronts, slowly working her up.

"Enough," she gasped out. "Are you going to start the spanking or not?"

"Um, what spanking?" I asked her.

"You said you were going to spank me."

"I said no such thing. When did I say that? I gave you your spanking yesterday. Why would I need to give you another?"

"Then what are you doing?" That came out in a half scream.

"I'm admiring your body and warming it up so that you'll be properly appreciative when I make love to you," I explained.

I spun Cheryl around and lifted her so that she was sitting on one knee. One hand was on her back, supporting her, while the other stayed between her legs doing naughty things.

"You know, you feel so good that I almost wish I'd kept the photos so that I could coerce you into doing this," I said softly.

"What do you call this if it's not coercion?" she asked, then my words caught up with her mind.

"Wait a minute," she howled wrathfully, while I eased her onto her back. She was so incensed with me she didn't really notice the change of position.

"What do you mean, you wish you'd kept the photos?"

I was now between her thighs, hands busy with her breasts and pussy, teasing and stirring them to life.

"Well I couldn't keep the silly things," I pointed out. "It would be far too embarrassing if someone caught me with those photos. Naturally I scrubbed them."

I eased my tracksuit pants down while I explained. Silly me. I'd forgotten my underwear and now I was naked. Still, seeing Cheryl was completely naked, I didn't see that she'd have grounds to complain.

She was wet and her lips were parted, just waiting for me. I eased forward slightly, cock brushing against her lips.

"If you got rid of those photos then you've got nothing to use against me if I don't do what you want," she gasped. Then she gasped a lot louder as she felt me starting to press home. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It seemed pretty obvious to me, but I guess girls like to be told.

"I'm making love to you," I murmured. "That is just my erection pressing against you. Just relax a little."

"But you can't do that," Cheryl protested. "I didn't say you could do that. I don't have to let you do it. Oh, god, you're really doing it."

Full marks for observation. My cock was sliding smoothly down her hot, wet, slippery passage, and it felt great.

"You're raping me," Cheryl shrieked. "How can you?"

"I am not raping you," I protested, indignant. "I'm just making love to you. You haven't told me not to nor have you asked me to stop."

To emphasise my point I started gently moving back and forth.

"I did tell you not to," argued Cheryl, her body starting to move with mine.

I shook my head. "No. Really, you didn't. You may have wanted to and thought about telling me not to, but you didn't actually say it. That means it's not rape unless you tell me to stop and I don't. But I would, of course."

We were moving together quite briskly now, with me driving in hard and Cheryl rising to meet me. She seemed a trifle confused about the situation.

After a couple more hard thrusts I ventured to ask the important question.

"Are you telling me to stop?"

"You've gone this far I suppose it's only polite to let you finish," Cheryl gasped, her bottom lifting completely off the couch as she rose to meet me. "I can put up with this once, I guess."