Admission Submission

A big shout out to my editor, Mandibularfossa. She's as smart as she is sexy!

You could say it was luck, but I doubt Tina was feeling very lucky as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She was cute, a chubby, mousy sort in her early 30s, with big tits and a round booty. Her face, when it wasn't registering shock at her new circumstances, was pretty, with expressive brown eyes and a cute button nose. Her auburn hair, usually pulled into a business-like bun, fell down her shoulders.

"Isn't there some other way?" She looked at me, sucking in a breath as she realized the gravity of her situation. She blinked away tears, hoping I might change my mind.

"I think you know how I feel about it," I said, adjusting in my chair to relieve some of the pressure from my now rock hard dick. "You fucked up, Tina. You fucked up, you tried to make me your fall guy, and you got caught." I looked her straight in the eyes. "And now you're going to make it right."

Almost six months ago I'd started in the admissions department of a very prestigious west coast university. It was THE school for the children of movie stars and celebrities. I wasn't dedicated to education. I was just happy to have a job, having left a government position when we got downsized due to budget cuts. But my investigatory experience came in handy as the admissions department needed to make sure they wouldn't face a bribery scandal like happened on the east coast. My job was to make sure things were squeaky clean.

I met Tina Hawthorn the first day. She gave me the tour, but remained aloof. She didn't really go into details about her job or her clients. It didn't bother me, as I wasn't particularly attracted to her and my contract was only for 9 months. But I noted some discomfort when I asked how she handled the rich, entitled parents.

"They're just like any of us," she said, smiling. "They want the best for their kids." When we returned to her office, I noticed a Chanel bag under her desk, and I made a note to keep an eye on her.

It was almost 5 months later when I finally got around to looking at the records of each admission. Some students were, to say the least, academic underachievers. They had grades that didn't match their test scores, and scores that didn't match their essays. But the admissions were mostly above board, and I cleared each admissions counselor in turn. Tina, though, was the last to get my scrutiny. As I went through the records, I saw a notation in a few of the files that pointed to a university bank account that I didn't recognize. I decided to investigate.

Imagine my surprise when I found the bank account was in my name.

It was a clumsy attempt at hiding the account holder, as only one person had accessed the funds. Tina Hawthorn had withdrawn nearly $200,000 over five months. A little digging showed me three more accounts going back four and a half years, and totaling a staggering 2.1 million dollars. The deposits matched the social security number of several wealthy parents whose children had been pushed to the top of the list, and a few who were simply admitted without even an application.

Framing me was clumsy and dumb, but the actual scheme was surprisingly well hidden. Had it not been for my name, it probably would've remained a secret, and Tina could have kept making secret millions. But she tried to screw me, and I was pissed. I carefully made my case, and over the next few weeks gathered enough evidence to put her, and some very rich parents, in prison.

"Come in, Tina. Have a seat." I ushered her into my office. It wasn't the best place for this type of meeting, but it was private and official enough that Tina would be on edge. She sat in the chair and crossed her arms in front of her ample chest. "Can you state your name and birthdate for the records?"

"Tina Marie Hawthorn, September 3rd, 1990." She huffed, clearly agitated. "Do we really need to do this?"

"We do," I said. "I just need to understand a little more about the university admissions process. Can you help me?"

She took a few minutes to detail how someone gets into the school, the testing, the board. "Would a parent ever pay to get their child higher on the list?"

"No," she scoffed. "We don't work like that." Her eyes narrowed a bit, and her chest turned red. I slid a manila file across the table. "What's this?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me," I said, opening the file. "It shows a series of payments. Payments that correspond with admission of certain wealthy students."

"What does this have to do with me? It looks like your name here." She smirked, and it made me angry.

"Listen, bitch, if it isn't obvious by now, there's enough here to put you in jail. Real jail. For about five years. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, but you need to start talking, and quick." I didn't want to lose my cool, but that smirk. "You tried to frame me. That was dumb. It led directly to your account."

"Maybe someone is trying to frame me..." She fiddled with her ring.

"If that's the case," I said, scooting closer, "why don't you help me figure out who? I'll help protect you and keep you out of prison."

"You'd help me?" She knew she was screwed, and for some reason she looked to me for a lifeline. I could see her trying to cry.

And something snapped. This petty bitch made millions of dollars defrauding the university, tried to frame me for it, and now she thought that I would help her? In that instant, she looked so sweet and innocent. She looked like prey.

"I'll be happy to help you," I said. "And you're going to do some things for me." I'm sure I was grinning. I couldn't help it.

"Like what?"

"For starters, you're going to take off your blouse."

"Like hell I will! Fuck you, asshole!"

I just sat silently for a few moments, then picked up the file. "If that's what you want. You can expect a visit from some detectives in a day or so." I stood up and walked to the door.

"Wait."

I turned around and waited. It was better, I thought, to let her talk.

"Like, what would I have to do?" She fidgeted.

"Take off the blouse," I said, "and then we can talk about the rest."

She stood up slowly, and with shaky hands started to unbutton her shirt. I could see her bra underneath, a classy black number. I wondered if she had matching panties. It took a few seconds, and I waited as she folded it and laid it on the table. "Are you happy?"

"Now the bra." I took a seat and watched her nervously unleash her healthy breasts. "Now the rest."

She glared as she unbuttoned her slacks and let them fall to the floor. No more folding, she just wanted to be done. I watched in silence as her panties (which absolutely did match her bra) slid over her ample hips and down her thighs. She wasn't shaven, but she was trimmed. "Professional," I muttered approvingly.

"Now, I want you to detail exactly who you took money from, how much, where it is. I want to know everything."

She dropped her head to her chest. "You already know it all," she said. "Just do whatever you need to do and let me get out of here."

"Oh, sweetheart," I said quietly, "the statute of limitations is seven years. SEVEN years. I'm going to own your ass until then. So why don't you start," I unbuckled my trousers, "by sucking my cock."

This time, the tears were real, and they fell hard. I felt an urge to pity her, but my cock overruled that feeling. "Please, there has to be something else." I saw her turning it over in her head, trying to think of a way out. Her eyes darted to the door, and then to the Manila folder on the table. She was desperate and for a second I thought she was going to dart out onto the campus. But she didn't try to leave. Instead, her face flashed a look of resignation and she dropped to her knees in front of me.

I looked at the file, thick with evidence. "We can talk about it—after you swallow my cum. Call it my prize."

All of her bravado and pretense were gone. She inched toward me, head bowed, and opened her mouth. I pulled her head onto my stiff cock, and fucked her face for a few seconds. She didn't make eye contact as she began slurping my dick, trying to regain a little control. I reached down and gently stroked her cheek, which brought on a new round of sobs. "It's ok," I said, touching her tenderly while she licked my shaft, "this is going to be a fun seven years."

This brought new heavy sobs, and I just couldn't take it any longer. I stood up and pulled her to her feet. I bent her over the table and, excited and aroused, thrust my cock into her pussy. I found it, surprisingly, very wet. I thrust a couple of times, then leaned over her back and whispered in her ear. "You slut," I said. "Your pussy loves this. Admit it. You love sucking dick."

"I do love sucking dick," she sniffed. "I'm a whore. I know."

"You're my whore," I explained, grabbing her hips and pulling her to me. "Do you want my cum?"

"Please. Cum in me. I need it." She was out of breath, and I was close. I fucked her as hard as I could, and I think I felt her orgasm around my cock—it pushed me over the edge. With one last shove I emptied my balls into her wet, waiting pussy. I pulled out with a plop, and left her leaning over the table, my thick cum rolling slowly down her thigh.

I looked over at the file, fat with evidence. "If you're willing to take my load to stay out of jail, what do you think your co-conspirators will do?" I smiled as she raised herself upright and used her panties to wipe the cum from her chubby thighs. "You're not done," I told her. "Not by a long shot."

"Keep me out of jail," she said, "and I'll do whatever you want." She was cute. She was a mess. She was broken. It was hot.

"It's going to be a fun few years."