Tami signs “the contract” -- II

Henry Ross had quickly sized up the situation as he had walked across the dining hall.  As he got closer he focused on what was under the table: part of the sole of an Army boot.  His initial guess upon entering the hall and spotting Tami had been right; this chick was really being given head.  He knew it had to be against her will because he knew how modest she really was.  The Army boot probably belonged to one of those multiculti radical kids who apparently consider her some kind of hero.  And here is that fruit Jeffrey Dillon, just the kind of pervert who would be party to such a scene.  Henry Ross knew this meeting was going to be delicious, but now he could not believe his luck.  Within two seconds he had figured out exactly how to play it.

        Tami’s eyes were filled with fright.  This couldn’t be happening!  She tried to push Jen’s head away but couldn’t.  She tried to close her legs but her feet were stuck in the chairs on either side.

        Ross approached with diplomatic formality.  “Miss Smithers, sorry for catching you here on a weekend, but I just need to talk with you for a few minutes.”

        Jen immediately stopped her ministrations and pulled back her head, in the process bumping it up against the table top.  She knew that voice.

        She had met Henry Ross once, at her student orientation two years ago.  He had come over to her and her father during a coffee and donuts session and made some small talk.  It was so phony.  He obviously came over because they were the only two black people in the room and he wanted to prove that there wasn’t a racist bone in his body.  Within two minutes he had managed to mention that he had quit a county club because it discriminated and that he was on the board of the local NAACP.  He also found a way to mention Dr. Martin Luther King about five times.  He’d probably heard that her father was a successful civil rights lawyer and wanted to make sure the college wouldn’t get sued for something or other.  Jen and her father endured the small talk and later, coming back home in the car, when she said, “That Ross dude, the college attorney, made me want to throw up,”  her father replied, “Amen.”

        Even now, after two years, Jen recognized that phony voice, and recalled all her feelings of disgust.  She rubbed her head and listened.

        Henry Ross looked at Jeffrey Dillon and offered his hand.  “My name is Henry Ross, I’m with Administration.”

        Jeffrey offered a limp handshake that made Ross squirm.  “Jeffrey Dillon, pleased I’m sure.”

        Ross pulled out the chair next to Jen’s and sat down, pretending to notice for the first time that there was a person under the table.  “Oh goodness . . .”  He looked up and said, “Miss Smithers . . . ah . . . am I correct that you were in the middle of, ah, sexual activity just now?”

        Tami looked down at her plate.  She didn’t want to answer.

        “Miss Smithers?”

        “Y - yes,” she stammered.

        “Well then . . . ah . . . don’t let me stop you.”

        “What?”

        “I know that modesty is against your religion and we respect that, and I don’t want to coerce you into doing anything that would force you to be . . .modest, unless of course it interferes with the operation of the college.”  He looked at her expectantly.

        “Really, it’s O.K.,” Tami said to her plate.

        “No, I insist that you continue with what you were doing.  The college respects your religion and does not want to inhibit or discourage it.”

        “Really, it’s O.K.,” Tami repeated, looking up for a second.   Then she saw Ross raise one eyebrow.  She knew that look.  It was the same look he gave her during the sexual health workshop when it seemed she might balk at spreading her legs.  It was also the same look Dean Jorgon had given her during that last meeting in his office when she impulsively had covered herself with her hands.

        “Miss Smithers, please continue as you were.  I will report to the Dean and want to make sure that, ah, the situation is clear.”  Ross’s real message was immediately understood: So you’re really very modest after all, aren’t you!  I will report to the Dean that this religion is a hoax!

        Tami had done many difficult things during her ordeal of public nudity.  Going out to classes naked for the first time was hard.  Coming out to greet her family naked was hard.  Spreading her legs at the sexual health workshop was hard.  But none of that seemed as hard as what she had to do now.

        Tami looked down at Jen and said softly, “Go ahead.  Keep on.”  The words were painful to say.  She said them as deadpan as possible.

        Jeffrey Dillon’s eyes widened with joyous amazement.  His admiration for Tami’s courage and brazenness had just doubled.  She was going to keep getting head while this stuttering, nervous bureaucrat tried to carry on a conversation.  She was going to come right in his face!  Jeffrey felt like he was in the presence of greatness.  This girl was a real revolutionary!

        Jen, under the table, was thinking similar thoughts.  Tami, I love you!  Jen found her feminist feelings strongly awakened.  Her mind quickly analyzed the situation.  This bureaucratic nonentity was clearly intimidated by a woman receiving sexual pleasure.  Yet he was gutlessly telling Tami to continue as she was so as to protect his establishment’s legal position . . . Jen wanted Henry Ross to feel as uncomfortable as possible.  She was determined to give Tami the biggest, loudest orgasm ever, so that everyone in the hall would turn around and see her dear friend enjoying the full peak of female sexuality while this representative of the patriarchy cowered helplessly.  It was a Womens’ Studies sexual fantasy come true!

        Jen plunged her tongue deep into Tami’s pussy.  “Oh!”  Tami lurched and her eyes bugged out.  Then she rested her eyes about the level of Ross’s belt buckle and listened.  She could not bear to make eye contact with Ross while she was being given head.

        “The college has always been committed to serving not only the students but the surrounding community,” Ross began blandly. “I realize you’re still in your first semester, but have you ever been out to the town, Miss Smithers?”

        Tami tried to keep her breathing even.  She had come back down from the verge of orgasm when Ross arrived but Jen seemed to be making up the lost distance quickly.  “N - no, except . . . ohhh . . . once to visit the D-d-dean at the beginning . . .”  She tried to keep her voice even, and was disappointed to realize that she had let a moan interrupt.  Got to keep control . . .  Hopefully this creep will leave soon . . .

        Henry Ross said, “The town is a place that, we believe, has potential.  . .”  He paused, as if being made very uncomfortable by what was going on under the table.  “We, ah, are especially proud of our art program.  We have therefore invited students from the community college, and members of senior citizen groups, to attend art classes for credit, or just to audit if they prefer.”

        Tami’s gaze remained fixed on Ross’s belt buckle but she could not suppress a jolt from her crotch caused by Jen’s tongue.  The jolt reverberated down her legs and caused the chairs on either side to shift slightly.  To come in front of Henry Ross, this creepy, leering man, would be unthinkable.  It would be the ultimate humiliation.  She devoted all her energies to keeping her level of arousal down to prevent the possibility of orgasm.  She prayed that whatever he had to talk about, he would get it over with soon and leave.

        Henry Ross paused for a moment to notice the shifting chairs.  He made sure that Tami saw that he had noticed them.  Then he cleared his throat and said, “Ah, this . . . proposal has also been extended to the high schools in the area. . .It appears that it will be a success, with one exception, and that is the figure drawing classes, where we seem to have a, ah, problem . . .”

        Another tremor went through Tami’s body.  Jen was really going at it.  Why was she being so aggressive!  Tami tried to push Jen’s head away but Jen was like a stampeding rhino, her nose and tongue goring into Tami’s innards . . .

        “You probably haven’t heard, but all this semester there has been difficulty in getting people to, ah, model for the classes . . . So here we are, opening up our figure drawing classes to the outside, with no figures for these people to draw . . .I think you’d agree that this is a potentially embarrassing situation . . .”  He looked at Tami’s face closely.  Tami’s eyes flitted up briefly, then were cast down again.

        From his vantage point, Jeffrey Dillon was smiling.  Tami was concentrating on her arousal so as to reach orgasm faster.  He himself was in the habit of doing that too.  This Ross guy is probably horrified at the prospect of Tami having an orgasm right in front of him.  This was going to be good!

        Henry Ross cleared his throat again.  “I’ll get right to the point.  Miss Smithers, have you ever considered serving as a model for a figure drawing class?”

        Tami knew that Ross would persist until he got a response, so she tried to give one.  “Huhhh . . .”  She forced herself to look up.  She put her hands up on the table in a brave attempt to pretend that they were having an ordinary conversation, but she could not stop her hands from shaking.  In an attempt to stop the shaking she gripped the edge of the table tightly.  “Y - y - you mean . . . p - posing . . .”  This next word was going to be hard to get out.  “N - n - n - naked?”  She exhaled, glad that she had finished uttering the dreaded word.

        “Well how else would Tami Smithers pose?”  Ross’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

        He had a point there.

        “N - no, I haven’t,” she said.

        “Well, let me offer this proposal, which we have, ah, cleared with the Art Department.  We are authorized to offer you a full three credits if you will serve as a model for the figure drawing classes next semester.  They are three days a week at 8:00 a.m.  I have checked these times against your preregistered spring schedule and there is no conflict.”

        Tami’s mind was quickly getting fogged by the haze of sexual arousal.  To her Ross’s words were mostly a jumble.  Something about art classes three times a week.  She kept holding the edge of the table, her eyes focussed dully on Jen’s abandoned tray in front of Henry Ross, her widespread legs and entire body tight as a drum.  She looked up but only for a second and saw the look in Henry Ross’s eyes.

        He was good at disguising it, and Jeffrey did not notice it from his angle, but Tami could see that Ross’s eyes had a glint of sadistic glee.  For a moment Ross allowed himself the luxury of idly gazing at the delectable sight of this naked, stressed, deeply shamed girl.  Then he continued his spiel.  “In addition, normally models get paid at the rate of twenty dollars an hour for these classes.  There had been proposals in light of the recent shortage to raise the rate to thirty. . . It is only fair that you should also benefit from this.  We wouldn’t force you to choose between getting credit or getting paid.  Therefore, you will get paid at the rate of thirty dollars per hour class, in addition to the three credits.”

        Jeffrey’s eyes widened.  This guy was offering all kinds of things to Tami.  It reminded him of something he saw once on the Howard Stern show.  A nude dancer was being interviewed.  “Men are so stupid,” she said.  “They give me money because I’m naked . . .”

        Meanwhile, Jen heard Ross offer all these goodies to Tami, but was not mollified for a second.  She continued her relentless flicking and chewing of Tami’s clitoris, determined to make this victory for Tami and womanhood all the more crushing and complete.