9
I followed his bright blond head into the bathroomand waited two seconds for him to take his place at his chosen urinal before I stood next to him. It was only him and me in there, and once he laid his eyes on me, he suppressed a flinch.
“How’s the drill hole?” I asked James York, who rolled his eyes as he pissed.
“Get to the fucking point,” he snarled. “Or are you here to perve at my cock?”
“Not into cock, bro, prefer pussy,” I told him straight, then glanced down at the phone sticking out of his jeans pocket. “Are the pics on your phone?”
“Huh?” playing dumb while he let his limp cock dribble the last of the piss. “You like looking?”
“You took some pics the other night, while we were in the garden with Adina Boleyn,” I clarified, even though I could tell he knew exactly what I was talking about.
He shrugged as he began to tuck his cock back into his jeans, but I grabbed his cock before he had a chance. “Answer my fucking question.”
“If you enjoy holding my cock, you should start rubbing, bro. I mean…you’re not my type, but while you’re there, you may as well stroke it,” he mocked, then winced as I slowly began to twist his cock in a clockwise motion.
“The pics that you tried to blackmail Maxwell Boleyn with. Where are they?” I pressed as the color drained from his face due to the pain.
He refused to tell me his little secret, probably because of his loyalties to his own family, and as his hand gripped my wrist in an attempt to stop me twisting his cock further, he looked as though he was about to pass out.
“Tell me,” I snarled as I drew a knife from my sleeve that I slipped up there as I followed him. It’s Adina’s knife, a gift from her father, so I knew it would be a nice, lethal blade, and as I held it against his skin, he drew in breath.
“My phone is in my jean pocket,” he said, clenching his jaw.
“Whose idea was it?” I questioned as I grabbed it, then scrolled through his gallery to find several pics and a video. There were several pics of naked chicks in a changing room, unaware that they were being filmed, and I held the phone up. “What are you, a fucking perve? You planted a hidden camera in the woman’s changing room? Aren't you getting enough pussy? Fuck, the campus police need to know about this, man.”
“No,” he grunted.
“No? It’s your fucking shit, man. Your little fetish,” I grilled him. “Now answer my fucking question. Whose idea was it to film us in the gardens?”
He hesitated, and I made a small slit along the side of his cock with the blade, and he let out a high-pitched exhale as if he was terrified that I was going to chop the thing off. It had crossed my mind, but I knew threats of de-cocking would be enough for any man to cave.
“Ours,” he grimaced, because I put him in a difficult position, because if he moved, I’d cut him. If he tried to fight me off, I’d twist his cock, maybe jab his balls with the tip of the knife. There were many options for how to torture him, and it was just a case of which one to choose.
“Your idea?” I didn't believe him, and it seemed he was trying to protect someone. A spot of blood dropped onto the white floor as I squeezed his cock again, and this time he let out a soulful growl of a man who could see his entire life pass before his eyes. “Really? You need money? What the fuck was the point?”
“Yes,” he gulped as he started to sway slightly and grew distant behind his eyes.
“Cmon, man, this doesn’t make sense,” I scoffed because I wasn’t buying it. “Why the Boleyn? Out of all wealthy families that send their brats to Castlehill, why him? Why did you choose the last man in the whole fucking world who would play your game?”
He shook his head, “I didn’t know.”
“Right, you didn’t know him,” I conceded, “because if you did know him, you’d be aware he’d never part with his money for anyone, including his daughter. If it were an attempt to shame his family name, he wouldn’t care.”
He gasped and shook his head, unable to speak. “Or maybe you’re trying to smear the Warwicks? Nah,” I was basicallyhaving a conversation with myself, “that doesn’t make sense. You haven't tried to blackmail the Warwicks, have ya?”
Then something occurred to me. An obvious link. “What about your aunt, Adina’s stepmother. Has she got something to do with it?”
He flinched as the door flew open and a pint-sized freshman walked in and stalled when he found us standing so close together, with my hand at the front of James’ jeans. I didn’t care that he assumed I was giving the blond a handjob, but I did want the kid to leave us be because I had more questions to ask.
“Leave,” I snarled at him, and the kid smartly backed away and fled.
“So, it was her idea, then?” I mumbled as I released his cock and acted normal. “Leslie, whatever her surname, Adina’s stepmother. It was her idea to film us up to no good and then try to blackmail Maxwell?”
James York nodded as his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, probably due to a bone-dry mouth from all that stress and tension I was causing him.
“Fine,” I said, releasing him, still dissatisfied with his answers, but if I tugged his cock much longer, his brain would turn to mush. “You can leave, no, wait, I’ll leave as you need to clean up all that blood draining from your pecker.”
