An incident

You head back to your room, ready for a good study session. You bust out the books and put on a good playlist, arranging your laptop and notes in their perfect places so that you can get started on the real thing. Alright. Time to tackle problem one.

But after putting your head down and working for ten minutes, you find yourself unable to focus. Your stomach is growling. It’s a bit early for dinner, but fuck it, what’s the point of a dining hall if not to eat whenever you want to? You keep your things as they are and head out the door, casually flipping the latch so that the door will stay unlocked when you get back.

Dinner is a quick thing. You get whatever warm, conceivably tasty food they’re serving tonight, and then wolf it down. Nobody’s around, so there’s no reason to eat like a gentleman for the ladies. It’s just about shoveling calories in.

You make it back to your room less than half an hour after you first set out. You push open your door and lock it again behind you, sitting back down. Your notes and books are all right where you left them on the desk. Back to the grind.

This time, you’re really starting to get into the groove of things when a knocking comes at the door.

“What’s up?” you call out, feeling ever so slightly frustrated.

“Open up! Room investigation!” Tatiana barks.

You scramble over to the door posthaste, the Russian RA’s stern voice instinctively commanding obedience. Opening the door, you come face to face with her. Tatiana’s dressed in a tight pencil skirt and a tattersail top, the grim look on her face making it clear that she’s not here to mess around. You would stare to ogle her curves, but she brushes past you, scanning the room with a sharp gaze that makes you want to cower instead.

There’s no contraband in your room. Yet, you still find yourself breathing pick up as she pulls open drawers and runs through them, brushing aside your clothing and stored documents, thoroughly searching for anything that might be cause for concern.

“You’re hiding it well,” Tatiana says, glancing over her shoulder as she bends down under your bed.

You swallow a gulp, trying to ignore the shape of her ass clearly outlined against her skirt as she bends over to search the space beneath your bed. Just a distraction. She’s just distracting you, trying to get you to admit something…

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” you say, and you hear her chuckle in disbelief, her shapely ass still sticking up in the air. Damn, it’s such a fine piece of ass.

Tatiana pulls out from under the bed, shaking her head, glaring you down. She takes a gander at the spot behind your desk, sweeps her gaze about your cabinet, and then she pauses, something sparkling in her eye.

“The tip I got was rather specific, but I wanted to check everywhere else. This is your last chance. Confess, or face the consequences.”

“What am I supposed to confess to?” you ask, incredulous. Sure, you’ve had a beer or two and gotten high on occasion, but you’re not so stupid as to keep the paraphernalia in your room.

“You know what the answer is,” she says. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look.” She gives you a glare that sends a shiver down your spine. You’re half tempted to confess to something, just to make this investigation stop. “You really want to test me?”

Her voice is cold as ice. You’d break if you could, but you genuinely have no idea what she’s looking for.

You shake your head, exclaiming: “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

A long sigh escapes from Tatiana’s mouth. She mutters something in Russian under her breath, and then reaches up for the ceiling. There’s a loose tile there, something you’ve noticed but never paid much attention to, but now, to your horror, you see her slender hand reach in. Her hand sweeps around, searching, and then it closes on something. From the space between the tiles, she draws out a bottle.

Tatiana slowly shows it to you, **** writ in her glare. The beautiful amber hue glimmers in your eye and you stare at it in disbelief. A travel sized bottle of Hennessy.

“But… how?” you ask, hardly believing yourself.

“The better question is, what shall I do with a miscreant like you?” your RA asks.