He nods. “Yeah, like that.. More please.”
I comply, giving him about ten more smacks in a row. He sounds like he’s about to come by the time my hand hurts enough that I don’t want to keep hitting him, so I grab the lube again, reapply, and press my middle finger into his hole. He takes it like he’s been practicing, which I guess he has since I agreed to stretch him out every day. He groans when I brush his prostate with my finger tip, but that stimulation isn’t really my first priority. I’m going to give it to him, but he needs me to stretch him out first. That’s the whole point of daily O’s with my finger in his ass.
I shudder at the thought of having him on Friday. Sinking into his ass, connecting to him that intimately. It’s going to be amazing.
The audacity. I can’t wait to see what your intestines look like when they’re spilling out of you.
Chapter 37
Magnus
My ass remindsme that Trent spent several hours playing with it as I sit at the desk in the office I share with all the adjuncts of the Chinese Studies department, reading essays turned in today by my sociology class. It’s a nice reminder. It also gives me something to look forward to when I finish this grading, because it’s Thursday and that means I only have one more day of Trent stretching me out (and getting me off) before we’re finally going to jump to anal penetration.
A giddy laugh escapes me as I think about it. My colleague glances up from their work, reminding me that I’m supposed to be reading, so I refocus on the paper in front of me.
I try to keep up with homework as much as possible, because it’s too easy to backburner it until it becomes a mountainous backlog, and that’s too overwhelming for my brain to function with. I would rather suck up to Dr. Filmore than ever have that happen again.
As I work, my office phone rings, so I answer it with a brief, “This is Magnus Lancaster.”
“Mr. Lancaster, this is Abby Schalk, the detective in charge of your stalking case. I have a few questions for you.”
I sigh inwardly. My case has been handed off to a new detective. I’m going to have to go over my statement again, answer the same questions again, and basically do everything I’ve already doneagain. I think Trent would probably employ a sarcastic “yay” right about now.
“Go ahead,” I tell her, and I spend the next hour recapping everything I’ve already submitted for the case file. I understand that she’s just doing her job, and I maintain a polite tone, but it’s annoying, and I’m not the only one annoyed, because my colleague indicates that she needs quiet and leaves me to go find it. I don’t blame her; I’d have done the same thing if I wasn’t the person being interviewed.
When the detective finishes going over everything with me, she finally says something new and interesting. “I think we’re dealing with more than one stalker. The person who disrupted your class with the faked AI image doesn’t sound like the person sending threats of violence during your live streams. I’m going to sort the evidence you’ve submitted into two categories. One for a stranger stalker evidence and one for a personally connected stalker. There may be more than one stranger stalker—people who work in the sex industry often have multiple online stalkers. We’re going to focus on the one who seems to know you personally.”
As smart as I am, I hadn’t considered the possibility that there were more than one stalker. “Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your hard work.”
“Please continue forwarding anything threatening you or Trent receive. If I have any questions, I’ll contact you.”
I thank her again, then hang up, staring at the wall for a few minutes as I process the new possibilities. It does make some sense that not all of the contact is from the same person. Someone local is good enough to gain access to campus technology and has no problem causing me trouble for shits andgiggles, but then there’s someone else who is really obsessed with keeping Trent from putting his hands on me. That’s two different behavioral types.
Jealous co-worker for the first maybe? There are more than a few of those, but I’m not sure if many of them are smart enough to buy a burner phone and do things that would keep me from data mining it. I’m not sure if there’s anyone in the technology colleges that hates me enough to want to bother me, but I’m also not the person most likely to realize I’ve offended someone unless I do it purposefully.
My phone rings again, and I answer it the same way I did before. “This is Magnus Lancaster.”
“Mr. Lancaster, this is Jordan, Dr. Filmore's assistant. There’s a student here to see you. Do you want me to send them to you, or do you want to come escort them to a meeting room?”
I stack my students’ essays into a neat pile and push them to the side. “Please send them back; I’m the only one in the office at the moment.”
“Sure thing,” Jordan replies and hangs up.
I organize my desk, minimize my work on my laptop, and then the door opens and someone from one of the classes I’m taking walks through the open door of my shared office space. I recognize his face, but I don’t recall his name.
“Hello, what can I do for you?” I ask, curious what I’ve missed that has brought him to my office.
He sighs, pulling a gift wrapped package from his pocket. It’s small, but it’s in the shape of a phone box. He sets it on the desk, holding up a finger for silence as he digs in his pocket for a note card, which he reads from. “I’m being paid enough money to cover the fees for next semester to deliver this present to you. The person sending it wants to remain anonymous, and while I know this is sketchy as fuck, it’s an entire semester I don’t have to borrow money for. I know you’re having troublewith a stalker, but again, it’s enough money to cover an entire semester. I’m not sorry, and I’ve been told there is nothing toxic or dangerous in the box.”
I eye both him and the box. “You realize that you have to stick around and answer a bunch of questions from the police and that you’ll have to make a statement, right?”
He sticks the note card into his pocket again and drops into the guest seat across from me. “Yeah.”
I want to know what’s in the box, but I can’t open it without calling the detective back, and I bet anything they’re going to take it into evidence and wait to open it until a bomb sniffing dog can have a go at it first. So, I brace for a long afternoon with the police again, and call the detective back.
Deploying Trent’s sarcastic “yay” in 3… 2…
