I'm back with the first in another multi-part series for you all. My take on some spooky-themed smut as we get close to Halloween! Hope you enjoy it - feedback always welcome :)

Disclaimer: Please note that this is set in Scotland, where the legal drinking age is 18.

Part 1

“Mr Harrison, can’t you just come and help me?... Please?” She whines down the phone.

I’m not impressed. Being woken from deep sleep is unpleasant enough. But to be woken by this spoiled brat makes it ten times worse…

Sighing, I answer. “Fine, Petra. Whatever... give me 5 minutes.”

I hang up while she’s still complaining at the other end of the line, moaning about how she’s cold or something. The strip light in the shared bathroom of the faculty sleeping quarters hurts my eyes as it stutters into life, and I squint blearily at my reflection in the bathroom mirror while I pee. ‘Go to the UK’, they’d said… ‘Make some easy money over the summer – see the sights...’

None of it was really working out.

Seeing ‘the sights’ should have involved at least some opportunity for me to tour the stunning scenery of the Scottish Highlands. Sample some of the glorious, mountainous majesty surrounding the imposing stone castle at the heart of the McLintock estate… So far though, all I’d seen of the great outdoors had been the mist covered slopes of the hillside the castle had been built into centuries ago - that and the rutted track up from the main road. North facing and perpetually shaded, the land around the estate seemed to be nothing but spongy moss, sheep shit and midges.

Ah yes, the midges… I shake and tuck myself away before I notice a new bite on my neck in the mirror, resisting the urge to scratch at the reddened bump pulsing behind my ear. My grey jogging bottoms feel damp even though they were freshly laundered and dried this afternoon – everything in this drafty wing of the old servants quarters where the faculty are housed seems to be permanently coated in moisture. A film of chill mist that seems to stick to every surface… Zipping a thin jacket over my vest, I wedge my feet in some sneakers and jog out into the night air.

Petra wasn’t kidding – it’s freezing out here!

I suppress a shudder at the sudden drop in temperature, scarcely able to believe the Scots are allowed to call this ‘Summer’. Sure, it can get a bit chilly in Northern Cali, but I’d be reaching for my winter coat if it was like this back home.

Trudging across the gravel between the old stone outbuildings where the faculty are housed and the main castle building, I’m struck by the difference in living standards between each group of guests at the estate.  Where the faculty quarters are spartan, cold and damp, the student accommodation is sumptuous – nothing but the very best for the entitled spawn of Europe’s elite, I guess…

Most of the students at this girl’s summer school are housed in the Keep, each dorm room done up like a high-end hotel suite. Petra, however – thanks to daddy’s pharma-tech billions, she’s got the Gatehouse… A separate, self-contained building just inside the moat. Seamus the groundsman told me how much it cost to book to out the Gatehouse for the full 2 months of summer school – more than 2 years my current rent payments back home…

Petra’s hopping from foot to foot, when I reach the bridge across the moat. Her hands wedged under her armpits in an attempt to fight the cold, pushing her huge tits together in a way that hard to ignore. However enjoyable the sight though, I find it hard to believe that one of the richest 19 year-old heiresses on the planet can be so clueless, especially when they’re attending what’s basically a head-start course for the most prestigious universities in the world. She’s only a few years younger than me – and I’m left wondering how someone who’s been accepted to Harvard in the fall doesn’t realize they’ll freeze if they wear nothing but a tiny boob tube and skintight pants after sundown on the 57^th parallel of the northern hemisphere…

“Finally.” She exaggerates her frustration in that annoying mid-Atlantic accent so many of them have here. It’s like they all learn their English from 90210 reruns…

“I thought I’d freeze to death out here – what took you so long?!” Her German accent’s more noticeable with some words – she struggles with her ‘W’s, sounding more like soft ‘V’s.

“You didn’t think a jacket might have been a good idea, Petra? And where’s your key?” My reply leaves her looking non-plussed.

She gives an apathetic shrug, shouldering past me through the door as soon as I use my spare key to get it open. I inhale as her dark hair swishes past my face, waves of musky and expensive smelling perfume rising from the nape of her neck. Spoiled brat she maybe, but she has excellent taste... Whilst she trots to the huge fireplace across from the door in strappy heels, I start turning on some lights to look around – it’s the first time I’ve seen inside the Gatehouse.

It's a huge space, basically one floor with a separate mezzanine for sleeping. There’s a chic kitchen off to the side behind the spiral stairs, and what must be a bathroom door the other side, but most of the ground floor is taken up by a vast L-shaped couch in front of an antique coffee table and massive fireplace. Everything is modernized, with just a scattering of the old fixtures and fittings to lend some authenticity. It’s everything my living quarters isn't – soft, and luxurious; tastefully and elegantly decorated.

Petra’s bent over by the fireplace, anxiously striking matches and holding them to a pair of logs in the grate, swearing in German each time the match-head fizzles out against the dense wood.

Her low-waisted capri pants have slipped down at the back where’s she’s bent over, exposing a light-grey thong – ‘Calvin Klein’ emblazoned proudly in black and white across the thick waistband. I’ve noticed a few of the students with statement branded underwear, clearly a fashion over here. As much as I shouldn’t look, I stare for a good few seconds at Petra’s slim back and smooth, wide ass. This pleasant sight providing some sort of compensation for this nocturnal inconvenience at least… I need to be careful though – leaving the States for another continent was supposed to help me kerb my appetites, not feed them…

“Well, don’t just stand there!” She whines, and I realize my hesitation is making her think I’m going to help with her cack-handed efforts at getting the fire going.

For a moment, I think about leaving her to it – just walking out and getting back to bed… But I have an irrational desire to teach this trust fund princess some sort of life lesson tonight. Plus, it’s fucking cold, and I could do with warming up before making the long walk back to my frigid little bunk.

“OK, OK, fine… Just put the matches down for a second, will you?” She pouts and huffs at me, thick bottom lip fat and glossy. That pretty mouth holding my attention while I kneel down next to her - all too aware of my dick starting to react to the curvy beauty just inches to my right, bulge swelling against my sweatpants. “Hand me some of that kindling.” I tell the stunning girl kneeling at my side.

“The what?”

Her clueless reply and vacant expression is maddening.

“The little sticks in that bucket.” I answer tensely, trying to keep my cool.

.Jesus. She can’t really be this dense, can she?

“Why didn’t you just say that then…” Petra mutters under her breath while reaching for the bucket to her side. I can smell alcohol on her – must have been a good night out in town…

After a moment, I’ve built a small pile of kindling around the larger logs.

“Alright, now light it – hold it just there, under that one.” I instruct, standing and stepping back to watch. Petra rolls her eyes, but complies, holding the lit match in place long enough for the flame to chase up the pale strip. Within a few seconds, each of the sticks of kindling is burning brightly, and the log catches soon after.

“I did it!” She shrieks with glee, lifting her arms in triumph, giving me an eyeful of those huge, gorgeous tits in her little white bandeau top – nipples tight peaks under the straining fabric.

Petra catches me looking…

There’s a moment... Weighing her reaction, eyes moving over my face, across my chest and hips. She’s assessing me – working out whether she thinks I’m worthy to look at her, to enjoy the sight of her body… It makes my blood boil.

Who does she think she is to decide my worth? Just ‘cause she’s fucking gorgeous and set for life doesn’t mean I need her interest to validate me, right? After all, I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Got the grades and the rowing scholarship I needed to pay my way through Berkeley. I’ll start my MBA in October, just as soon as I get the paycheck from this overseas tuition gig to help with the funding. I’m self-made – Petra’s been fed everything on a silver spoon…

She can fuck off, however hot she is.

“Good night, Petra.” I mutter while she stares at my crotch, biting her lip. It would appear I passed whatever arousal test she was applying to our moment...

I pause and wonder for a heartbeat just how many of daddy’s minions she’s fucked. Personal trainers, chefs, drivers – an ever-spinning carousel of available dick, ready and willing whenever she’s in the mood…

“Hey, Mr Harrison, why don’t you… umm… Why don’t you stay a while." She smiles at me, big brown eyes searching my face before fixing on my dick print once more. "Let me pour you a drink… You know, to say thank you.”

This is my first real test since I’ve been out here. Come on John – you’re stronger than this.

“No thanks - I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I manage, breathing deeply to try and tame the swelling pressure in my boxers.

It’s no lie though, I am tired. Petra’s one of seven students I’m prepping for their first semester at business school, and it’s proving to be more work than I’d thought. I glance at the grandfather clock stood against the wall near the kitchen.

“Class starts in 6 hours…" I remind her. "You should get some rest too. I won't be cutting you any slack - it's not fair on the others. And don’t be yawning all through our tutor session, either.”

She’s pouting again, and I struggle to stop myself thinking how those soft, plump lips would feel kissing the head of my cock…

Petra gets to her feet, stood close in front of me now, her fragrance washing over me in intoxicating waves. Swaying gently, playing with a gold pendant hanging beneath her slender throat, pulling it back and forth across her ample cleavage. Her nipples are still hard, despite the heat that’s building in the room. The look in those eyes is dangerous now, warm brown pools picking up little dancing points of light from the flames – hot and dark, focused on my gradually stiffening shaft.

I turn to leave.

I can’t let this rich piece of ass get me in trouble. I need the paycheck from this summer. Cumming in this gorgeous slut’s little mouth isn’t worth wrecking my future for… however much my body is fighting with my mind on that point right now.

This girl’s playing with fire – she has no idea what’ll happen if she sees this through…

“OK, well – goodnight, Mr Harrison. Sweet dreams…”

I open the door and stride out before she can see my reaction to her low, husky purr.

The cold air helps to calm what's going on under my waistband, and by the time I unlock my dorm room I’m definitely more angry than horny. I strip off and get back into bed, making a mental note to really test Petra during our one-to-one tuition tomorrow – leave her in no doubt as to who truly holds the power in this dynamic.

I can take out my sexual frustrations on her in other ways… I don’t give a shit what she learns about business admin over the next couple of months, but she’s sure as hell going to learn that you can’t just screw your way through life.

Not without consequences, anyway…