of course

You film Tara as she gives you the best blow job of your life. You realize that, with the ring's guidance, she is responding to your every desire before you even consciously realize what it is. She lingers at just the right places on your cock, applies just the right amount of pressure and friction. She isn't the most beautiful woman in the world, but damned if she doesn't look like an angel with her lips around your prick. In minutes, you're coming and with a thought from you, so is she, swallowing gratefully.

She giggles as she releases your spent rod.

"I don't know what's gotten into me," she said. "I haven't given head since I was an undergrad."

"That's too bad," you say. "You're very good at it. You could do it professionally."

You will her to be flattered and she is. She smiles for the camera. Still, you're worried. Will this be enough? Or once she realizes that you've done to her what John, apparently, had already done to her, will it motivate her to do something about it. Something like call the cops or the dean and run the risk of the pictures being exposed just to stop it from happening again. You couldn't control two people at once. If someone really started investigating, it could be trouble.

But what if the tapes showed her doing things that would get her in more trouble than she could cause for you? That would definitely motivate her to keep her mouth shut. An idea began to form in your head. But you will need to prepare for it and you can't leave Tara while you do so.

At least not conscious, you realize when you see the tequila bottle. You grin and put a thought into Tara's head.

"I used to do a lot of shit in undergrad," she confesses. "I was a real party girl! I got totally shitfaced every weekend. <giggle> I miss it. Wanna re-live some foggy memories?"

"Sure!" you say, picking up the bottle and handing it to her. "Knock yourself out!"

With the ring's encouragement, she doesn't go for the shot glass or the limes. She just uncaps the bottle and tosses her head back. One, two, three, four, five gulps. When she stops pulling her eyes tear up and unfocus and her face flushes as she gasps. You grab the bottle as she lets it fall toward the floor and grab her around the waist before she does the same with her ass. She grabs at you as well, the only stable thing she can find as her head seems to be spinning.

"YEEEHAAAAAW!" she yells out and lets her head fall back and roll around on her sholders like it's barely attached.

Holding her like this, you realize her urine soaked pants are kind of disgusting. You should at least clean her up before getting her in a state in which you can safely leave her.

"Let's go take a shower, Tara," you say. "You've pissed yourself."

"I ain't even beguna get pissed!" she denies, reaching for the bottle.

You make her notice her pants. She blushes over the **** flush.

"Whoopshie!" she says, then grabs the bottle anyway and takes another slug. You will her to give it back and to come with you to the bath room. You don't want her so drunk that you have to take her nasty pants off.

Once she is nice and naked and in the shower, though, there's no reason she shouldn't have some more. You decide you like the way she looks with her red hair dark and plastered against her pale, pale skin. You decide to take a risk and try an experiment. You let her take one more drink from the bottle, then set it safely in the sink as you run for the camera in the living room.

When you come back, she is staring blankly. When she notices you, she squeeks and puts a hand in front of her pussy and an arm over her tits.

"You, um, shzn...like..." she said.

"Yes I should, Tara," you assure her. "You want me here. You like me to watch you and you trust me more than anything."

"Oh...oh yeah..." she said. "I'm a lil drunk. Don't know why I gaw sho...dunk."

"Because you like to get drunk, Tara," you remind her. "You want to get drunker. You want to get so drunk that you pass out and take a nice, long rest."

"Oh...right...thas wush I wush wanna," she said nodding and leaning heavily against the tile.

"But first, wave for the camera," you say and will.

She waves and the momentum nearly knocks her over. Enough games. It's time to put your plan into action.

You turn off the water and the camera. You help her out onto the wet floor and get her into a fluffy terry cloth robe for warmth rather than modesty. Then you help her take another swig from the bottle before guiding her to her bed. There, she takes one more long pull on the bottle, then collapses into the loving arms of Jose Cuervo.

You will her to wake up. She doesn't move. You conclude that the ring can't overcome basic biology. **** is ****.

You pat your drunken colleague on the head, retrieve her keys, lock her front door and leave in her car. If your plan works, you'll have insurmountable **** material. And you'll have a lot of fun getting it.