Sorority Rush Week: Mean Dean

Emily Willis sat in the locker room looking ready to bolt, repeating the same line under her breath. 'Last hurdle, then you’re in. Just swipe her clothes while she showers.' She was talking herself into it when the door opened. 'Shit.' She scrambled behind a locker bank, knees jammed to her chest. Serene Siren walked through like the place belonged to her, shoulders back, gym clothes clinging to skin that still held a day’s heat. She peeled everything off without hurry, the cotton dropping piece by piece. Emily could hear the slide of fabric and risked one quick look. Pale, tight muscle; a heavy sway of breasts she caught for half a heartbeat before tucking her head again. Serene knew. Emily sensed the woman’s glance land square on her terrible hiding spot. Then Serene grabbed her towel and moved off toward the showers, stride unchanged. Emily waited until the hiss of the water settled in, then lunged out. She tugged open lockers until she found one still warm from the dean’s skin and bundled the clothes into her arms. Heart thudding high in her throat, she turned. Serene was right there—still bone-dry. Emily yelped. The dean’s voice cut sharp. 'Spare me the act. I know what you’re after and I know who sent you.' Her stance gave nothing back. Emily tried a dodge about mistaken lockers; it died when Serene held up a hand. She laid out the game—every spring the same sorority hit her closet, and now the endgame she wanted was in reach. Emily went still. Real fear pulled at her voice as she begged, knees hitting tile. 'Anything, please.' Serene let the word stretch between them, then crooked a finger. 'Fine. Down. Use your mouth. I’ll consider not ending that little sisterhood of yours.' The dean stepped forward, spread her stance; the scent of sweat-warmed skin hit Emily hard. A tremor ran through her thighs, but she leaned in anyway, licking slow at first, tasting the slick heat Serene offered. Hands settled in her hair, directing, praising, urging deeper pressure until Serene’s hips started rolling against her tongue. Serene pulled her up and spun her, pressing Emily’s back to cool metal. Two quick thrusts of fingers found her tight, wet enough to accept them deep on the first pass. The dean ate her next, tongue flat and insistent, until Emily’s knees buckled and her cries echoed off the lockers. Then Serene stretched over her, bare bodies meeting, legs scissoring until the wet glide of clits took over, pace urgent, friction building, until each woman’s orgasm came hard enough to rattle the hinges behind them. They were both still shaking, skin sticking where bodies overlapped, when Serene broke the silence. Whether the reprieve was bought or merely deferred hung between them like an unanswered bet.