By Alan W
|(MF, coll, oral)|
I take my profession as an educator seriously. I feel that I owe my students more than the mere contents of a History course. I feel I owe it to some of them to impart some knowledge of life, as it really is outside of the classroom. Because of this avocation, I have feasted on the firm, taut, nubile flesh of freshman coeds for years. At 45, still fit, with salt and pepper hair, I've been a college professor for nearly 20 years, and in that time, I have sampled the hungry mouths, the milky breasts and arousal-hardened nipples, the firm, ivory thighs, the slick, slippery cunts, and even sometimes, the tight, resisting asses of more young coeds than I can count - and I've loved every minute of it. I have perfected my search and selection techniques into a science, and I can predict, almost infallibly on the first day of class, which sweet, innocent young girl will be mine before the end of the semester.
The search begins late in the summer. I am seeking a special girl and willingly invest the time to find her. Eighteen, and probably away from home for the first time in her life, the freshman coed can make the most wonderful little lover a man can ask for. As Dean of the Department, I always choose to teach two of the first- year survey courses that are mandatory for incoming freshmen. My colleagues revere me for being so democratic and taking two of the least wanted courses, but I have my reasons. I carefully examine the student folders for the girls enrolled in those two courses. Because the courses are survey in nature, the enrolment is high and I have numerous candidates. I eliminate the commuters - I want a girl living on campus, away from nosey parents. I also reject those with an erratic academic record in high school - I want the young scholar who has never failed a course. Being on Financial Aid or a scholarship is a plus in my selection, because of the added pressure to perform well in college. I often eliminate the obviously wealthy student, because she has grown up learning that a short phone call to Daddy can usually resolve a problem in her favour, and I don't want my little selectee to feel she has any easy solutions. I prefer an oldest child, or even better - an only child, so that their older siblings haven't "shown them the ropes" about college. By the first day of class, I have a pool of six to ten "possible" girls in each of the two classes, and I am ready for the first face-to- face meeting. I carefully and slowly call roll, associating faces with the names. This process is tricky, for I am searching for an intangible, a feeling. I want the girl to be attractive, of course, but in a quiet, natural way. I shy away from the flashy and the "slutty" looks. I tend to concentrate on the "sweet and innocent" look. The girl who has dated one boy seriously in high school, and now finds herself away from him, and is feeling insecure about how they can stay a couple. She's aware of her sexuality, but not experienced. She's known the "romantic" love of a high school sweetheart, and the passion of that love, but is yet to discover lust.
Last year began as typical, but didn't stay that way, for long. It was also the year of my "Irish Lasses." At the end of the first day of class, I returned to my office enthusiastic with the number of "candidates" I had selected. There were four lovely girls in "Ancient History" and three in "American History." Now, after close inspection of their student folders, and meeting them in person, it was time to enter "Phase Three." My reputation on campus is impeccable. Dean of the Department, published, and a favourite of the students, my elective courses are always filled quickly. Of course, the freshmen donít know this, but word of mouth spreads fast, and they soon feel lucky to have me for a required course. I'm known as fair (and fairly easy when it comes to grades), and an interesting lecturer. My assignments are reasonable, my classroom is relaxed and my office door is always open. I'm almost another "Mr. Chips!" The only thing my freshman students have to complain about is the weekly written assignment - an essay on the major points of the week's lectures and reading material. I have a very good reason for assigning this essay - it is "Phase Three." By the end of the third week, five of the seven "candidates" asked for appointments to see me to discuss their failing grades. I had failed all seven, all three weeks. Grading at the University is "blind." That is, the students place only their last five digits of their student ID number on all written assignments and tests. All grading is done by number, without a student's name ever becoming associated with the product, unless the student permits it. However, as department head, I had already copied down the ID numbers of all my "possibles" during my initial selection process. Now, I was about to meet them "up close and personal." Debbie was the first and I immediately scratched her off the list. She was irate and aggressive about her "F's" and demanded I review each point and discuss the deficiencies. After teaching the material for so many years, it's easy to refute any freshman's arguments, but it still pissed me off to have to do it with Debbie. I assured her that her grades would undoubtedly improve as the semester went on. Colleen was second, and was a definite possibility. Blonde, blue- eyed, she was pretty and fresh and had a dazzling smile. She was timid and nervous about her grades, hanging on every word of advice I gave her. I was charming and she was appreciative, and I could see the possible beginnings of that special something some students feel for some professors. She was thrilled with the time and attention I was giving her. +++++ was next and I took her off the list, too. Maybe she just didn't compare well with Colleen, but I felt no electricity, no excitement with her. The fourth appointment was with Heather, and she made me wonder if I made too quick a choice with Colleen. The classic Irish lass, Heather had beautiful, heavy, glossy reddish-auburn hair framing her milk-and-honey complexion from which her luminous green-green eyes virtually shone. She was breathtaking and I wanted her. I wanted to part her red pussy hairs with my cock.
The last girl only made my life more difficult. Bridget was not as beautiful as Heather, but it was her full, lush body that I craved. I wanted to fill my mouth and hands with her full breasts, to crawl between her perfect legs to taste her sweet pussy. Colleen, Bridget and Heather - my choice had never been so difficult! Over the years, I had had two girls going during the same semester, but it was always a possibility that one would discover the other, and the results would be disastrous, so I didn't risk it very often. Now, here were three girls I wanted - all young, beautiful, shapely, and possessing the "right" personalities to make taking them a real possibility, and they were only freshmen for a year! Not knowing which to concentrate on, I continued to fail Heather and Bridget, and tutor Colleen twice a week, in the hopes that they would help me sort it all out. By the end of mid-term exams (all essay questions; of course), all three of the girls had a failing grade, without a prayer of receiving any higher than a "D" for the course.
Bridget cracked first. She appeared in my office just as I was about to leave for the evening. She was dressed in a sweater and short denim skirt, white socks and sneakers, and I could taste my mouth watering as I ravaged her body with my eyes. "Professor, can you please spare me a few minutes?" "Of course. Come in, er...now let me guess...Bonnie...no...Bridget, isn't it?" She beamed at my recognising her. "Yes, Professor. I came to see you, before, but I'm in even bigger trouble, this time." By the time she had finished telling me about her 3.75 GPA (if she didn't count my course) and how she just didn't understand how she could be doing so poorly, she was in tears. I wanted to put my arms around her and pull her warm body close, but I fought the temptation. My years of experience at this game would carry me through. I asked her permission to examine her grades, and took several moments (and several "Hmm..."'s) studying the book. "Bridget, I can understand your concern. I don't know what steps you can take to achieve a respectable grade. To assign extra-credit work, I would have to be fair about it, and give the entire class the option, and this wouldn't help you, at all." She nodded and looked at me, wide-eyed and sincere, "I'd do anything for a respectable grade, Professor." "Bridget, I think you should be careful how you phrase offers like that. You don't mean `anything.'" "Yes, I do, Professor." I gave a small chuckle, "With an offer like that, you better watch out. I'll have you raking my leaves and cleaning my windows. Please don't make offers like that, Dear. After all, I'm only human." She locked her eyes on mine, "Professor, you must understand. I am prepared and willing to do ANYthing." "Do you know where I live, Bridget?"
Bridget arrived on time, wearing sweater and jeans. I had an aromatic fire warming the room, Anita Baker on the stereo, and a very nice, white wine chilled. She was truly beautiful in the firelight. Her skin was radiant, her eyes clear, her lips full and moist. We sat together on the sofa, tasted the wine, and began talking. After I refilled her glass, I placed my arm on her shoulders and she leaned into me. She was still tense, but seemed determined to be co-operative. We talked about her small home town, and the one boyfriend she had gone steady with in high school - he went to a large private college on the opposite coast, joined a Frat, and wasn't calling very often. I was gentle, and a good listener. Soon, she was lying on the sofa, with her head on my lap, and I was gently stroking her cheek and hair. I could feel her relax little by little, sipping wine (we were now sharing one glass), and talking. I put the wine down and placed my hand at her waist. I moved it up, under her bulky sweater, until I felt her warm, smooth skin above the waist of her jeans. She tensed as my hand rose along her bare tummy, and halted at her bra. "I'm a little scared and a lot nervous, Professor." "I am, too, Bridget. But I won't deny that I'm enjoying this very much." She smiled a weak smile, "Me, too. More than I hoped." I lifted the sweater up and she helped me remove it over her head and arms. Her bra had a front clasp and I opened it and lifted the soft cups off her burning flesh. Her breasts were magnificent. Even lying on her back, they thrust up, firm and proud. Her skin was wonderful - smooth, warm and white. Her nipples and areola were small and round and centred, with just a hint of hardening. She was blushing under my inspection. She let a tiny moan escape her lips as I brushed my fingers lightly over her nipples. They hardened and looked like two pencil erasers. I caressed all of her breasts with my hands, pressing, gently squeezing. Her breathing became rapid as I slowly lowered my face down to her nipple, and she moaned loudly as I sucked it into my mouth, between my teeth. She tasted clean and dry. I shifted out from under her and knelt beside the sofa. She closed her eyes and turned her head into the pillow as I opened her jeans and slid them and her panties down and off her hips and legs. Naked, Bridget's body was even more spectacular than I had imagined - it was flawless. I knew I was truly going to enjoy the rest of the school year! I returned my attentions to her breasts, licking and sucking on one nipple, while caressing the other breast with my hand. My other hand slowly traced its way over her flat tummy, her navel, until, finally, it entered her curly pubic hairs. She groaned as I softly pushed a finger into her already-wet slit. Her legs relaxed and she allowed my hand to part her thighs. I found her clit and her hips immediately began a subtle humping against my touch. A second finger joined the first, gently squeezing her hard, slippery clit between them. She tensed - and then in one strong release, she came. Her toes curled, her thighs locked tight on my hand, she tried to pull her breasts away from my caresses as she cried out into the pillows. Slowly, so slowly, the wave receded and her body settled loosely into the sofa cushions. I was hard and excited and I wanted her. I stripped off my shirt and dropped my pants and underwear. I stood beside the sofa and brought Bridget's hand to my cock. She jerked it away, as though burned, and pushed her face deeper into the pillows. I understood. Her legs offered no resistance as I crawled between them and licked my tongue into her still-wet pussy. I heard her gasp as I found her clit and buried my tongue deep inside of her. Her legs spread wider, until I felt them settle on my shoulders, and her hips pumped onto my mouth. When I could tell she was again nearing orgasm, I lifted myself over her body and paused. "Should I wear protection, Bridget?" Her head made a tiny nod and I opened the condom and quickly slipped it on. I resumed my position, with my cockhead resting at her cuntlips. Almost immediately, her hips thrust up off the sofa to take my cock into her, and I co-operated by thrusting my hips down into hers. As I buried my cock to the hilt up her hot, tight pussy, her head snapped out of the pillows, and her eyes opened and looked at me. And then, she wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and we fucked. Later, when the wine was gone and the fire was just a red glow, we dressed. With her clothes back on, Bridget was again the shy freshman, no longer the lusty little wench that had just fucked me dry - twice. "What should I do now, Professor? Do I keep coming back? I'm new at this." I held her hand, "I'm new at this, too, Bridget. I don't know what happens, now. I'm really quite embarrassed that this happened at all. But, I want you to know, Dear, that I am NOT sorry that it happened. These last several hours were the most exciting of my life. I really don't want to think, right now, that what we just enjoyed was based on some tawdry barter for a grade. I just don't want to think about tonight like that. It was too special for me." Bridget smiled and nuzzled her face into my neck. "Me, too! I was so scared and nervous about tonight that I can't believe I'm feeling so wonderful, right now. If it would be all right with you, I think I would like to visit you, again." "I was hoping you would say that, Bridget. It's against every rule I've made for myself, as an educator, but I want to see you, again, too. But, you have to promise me that you'll still study and read the material." Bridget nodded, giggled a little girl giggle and left. Ah! Success, again!
I didn't realise how successful, until the following Saturday. I had been tutoring Colleen since our first meeting about grades. She was the classic high school over-achiever, doing extremely well there, but not able to keep pace in college. Her grades were the opposite of Bridget's and she was desperate to improve her standing in as many courses as possible. The tutoring was boring and Colleen lacked the analytical skills to draw conclusions, but she was still a beauty to look at, and was obviously developing a crush on her brilliant, patient, caring Professor - me! But now, after the success with Bridget, I saw no need to carry Colleen any longer. I would discontinue the tutoring sessions, award her extra credit for her effort, and fairly grade the remainder of her assignments. After class on Friday, I told her my decision and encouraged her to try studying on her own, and I assured her that I had great confidence in her abilities. She seemed surprised, but nodded and hurried down the hall. At eight o'clock, Saturday morning, my doorbell rang, interrupting my breakfast. In my robe, I answered the door to see Colleen standing there with a tear-streaked face.
"Colleen? What's wrong?" "Oh, Professor! Please! I'm so sorry!" "Come in. Now, sorry for what?" I asked, as I closed the door. "Sorry for whatever I did, that you don't want to tutor me anymore!" "Colleen, Dear, you didn't do anything. I just think you're capable of doing good work on your own." "Don't you like me, anymore?" Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she looked at me. Her sky-blue eyes were flooded with them. Without thinking what I was doing, I reached out to her face and caught a tear on my thumb. "Of course I like you, Colleen. Please don't cry." To my utter and complete surprise, Colleen rushed to me, hugging me in her arms and pressing her cheek to my chest. My involuntary physical reaction to her closeness was all too obvious, but instead of pulling away, Colleen pressed her hips against my raging erection. "Oh, no," I thought, "the timing on this is terrible!" I didn't have much time to think because Colleen's warm hand snuck under my robe and wrapped around my naked cock. I lifted her chin up and pressed my lips to hers. "Oh, Professor! Please! Please make me happy!" I didn't care what she called it, but I knew it was going to make me happy, too. She slid to her knees and didn't hesitate as she opened her lips and filled her mouth with my hardness. She was very good - maybe among the best I had ever had - licking and sucking and nibbling. Finally, she could tell when it was time, and proceeded to fuck my cock with her hot, wet mouth. It didn't take long. I began to come and started filling her mouth with my cum. She continued until I stopped coming and then very delicately emptied her mouth into her hand. She stood and wiped her hand with a tissue and then stood close to me, seeking a kiss. "Colleen, how did this happen? We can't do this - as wonderful as that was for me - it's just not ethical. You're a student and I'm your teacher." "I don't care, Professor. Isn't it obvious to you? Can't you feel how close we are? I've felt it since our first meeting, Professor. I really think I've fallen in love with you!" The red light started flashing and the alarms were ringing in my head. "Colleen, it's just not possible." The tears started flowing, again. "But, I DO love you! You're so kind and caring. You're the only one on campus that treats me like I'm special." "Well, you are special to me, Dear." I looked at her beautiful face, and thought about that wonderful, talented, sexy mouth of hers. I felt my dick stirring, again, and thought that maybe later I could explain to her about student crushes on teachers. At that moment, there was something else on my mind. I opened my arms and she pressed into me. I walked her down the hall, to the bedroom. Her eyes searched my face as I opened her jacket and removed her blouse and jeans. She was smiling when I opened her bra, revealing her small, round breasts, with tiny, almost red nipples, and she giggled as I lowered her panties to the floor and buried my nose in her soft, sparse, blonde pussy. She sat on the bed and watched me as I opened my robe. "Oh, Professor! You are going to make me SO happy, aren't you?" And I tried. For the next two days, I tried my very best to make her happy. I had never had an easier assignment. She was a hungry partner in bed - lusty and uninhibited. Not shy about anything. We fucked and sucked and fingered each other until we were exhausted. Between fucking, she paraded around my house naked, washing up, fixing our lunches, doing my dishes. What a find she was! And, what a dilemma I was in! Colleen and Bridget were not in the same class, and none of the girls had the same major or dorm (part of my selection process), but maintaining a relationship with both of them - something I very much wanted to do - would be tricky and difficult (and exhausting!).
>Colleen spent the night, and Bridget visited me again on Monday evening, and that made my decision easy - I would try to keep both of them. I would miss the exuberance and lust (and, oh! that mouth) of Colleen and Bridget's perfect (and her yet to be truly explored) body too much to say goodbye to either of them. I resolved myself (poor me!) to the fact that I had both of them in my life for the time being.
I had an appointment with Heather scheduled for late Tuesday afternoon. She was stressed-out and there was no reason to prolong her agony over her grades, and I was going to let her off the hook. Even knowing that my coed selection had already been made for the year and she was no longer a possibility, Heather still made me silently gasp as she walked through the door, and I could see the truly radiant beauty that she was. Even with her eyes downcast and a frown on her face, she was gorgeous. After she was seated, I explained that I had been watching her progress in class and on the essays and was very pleased with her effort. I told her that it was unusual, but that I was going to disregard her current grade, start from scratch, and give her a final grade based on her work for the remainder of the semester, and the final. To my surprise, she didn't smile or look relieved. "I came in here expecting you to tell me that it was hopeless, and I might as well stop coming to class. Why are you doing this, Professor?" "I just explained my position, Heather. I'm pleased with your progress and I respect your effort. Please don't look a gift horse in the mouth." There was something I thought was fire in her eyes when she looked at me. "And I guess I'll have to repay you for your kindness?" "Don't be ridiculous, Heather. I think this meeting is over." Her voice was trembling, but she stood and leaned forward on my desk. "I know what you want. You men! You want me to give myself to you, don't you? You want me to surrender to you, so you can make me do disgusting and humiliating things for you." To say I was shocked would be an understatement! Then, in a flash, I realised what was going on. In nearly 20 years of teaching, I had met only one truly submissive girl and my school year with her had been a little heaven on earth for me. If I was right, I was finding my second. I didn't want to loose this opportunity. Colleen and Bridget were forgotten for the moment. "Have other men made you do disgusting and humiliating things, Heather?" She nodded a tight nod. "Yes. A teacher in my senior year and my boss at my summer job. It was just the same as it is now. The teacher threatened to flunk me and my boss threatened to fire me. I had to co-operate. I had to submit, or face the consequences." "But, Heather, I haven't threatened you about your grades. Just the opposite." She cried out in dismay, "But, it IS the same!" Quieter, she continued, "Don't you understand? I know what you expect me to do to repay you for your `kindness.'" "Heather, have you dated anyone on campus?" She shook her head. "Boys. They're all boys. They only want one thing and then they're gone." I knew I had a beautiful young lady standing before me, and that she might have some head problems, but hey, I'm no psychiatrist. I preferred to think of it as her sexual preference and decided to "go for the gold." "Of course you're right, Heather. I do expect a lot from you. I think it's time your `extra-credit' work begins, don't you?" Meekly, she nodded. "Lock my door and come bend over my desk." When she did, I stood behind her and slowly raised her plaid wool skirt over her hips, exposing her white, cotton panties. My cock felt like it was about to burst out of my trousers, and I hurried to open them and let them fall to the floor. Heather looked back at me, "Aren't you going to force me to kiss and lick your `thing,' and force me to suck it into my mouth?" As tempting as the thought was, I wanted to fuck her. My cock was poised at her cunt, and I could feel her heat. "Should I wear a condom, Heather?" "Why are you asking me? Just take me the way you want me. Please!" I wasn't gentle. I shoved my cock into her and pounded her hips into the edge of the desk. I was hot and so was she, groaning with every stroke. She soon began to come and I was surprised with its intensity. "Use me! Fuck me! I'm a worthless slut, so fuck me hard!" Maybe if I hadn't been building up to my own orgasm, I would have thought more about the severe hang-ups this girl had for being so young, but, instead, I enjoyed feeling my cock plow into her tight pussy, finally shooting its warm cum into her. When I was done, I pulled myself away and sat in my chair. "Now, Heather. I want you to suck my sticky cock clean in that pretty little mouth of yours, right now." She almost collapsed to her knees and positioned herself between my spread legs. She looked up at me, her eyes seeking mercy.
"Suck my cock, slut." And she did. Then, and later, back at my house. That night I shot my cum in her mouth, her pussy and her ass. She called herself a slut and repeatedly earned her reputation. Between the sex, she told me about her bizarre adventures at the hands of her teacher and boss.
On the night after her eighteenth birthday, her high school English teacher ordered her to come to his office. He berated her for her falling grades and threatened her with an "F" that would ruin her chance at a scholarship. He suggested that she become his "special pupil." Heather said it was obvious what he was interested in, but, for the first time in her life, felt herself becoming sexually aroused. It was the teacher's forceful personality that was exciting her. She willingly submitted to him, and what followed were several months of bondage, domination, spankings and humiliating sex. Instead of reporting the teacher, Heather found herself hooked on him, impatient between rendezvous, welcoming his abuse. Their relationship ended soon after graduation, when the teacher moved out of state. That Summer, she was working in a fast-food restaurant. Badly needing the money, she was working well over 40 hours a week. One night, after midnight, exhausted and helping the manager close up for the night, Heather dropped a large container of cooking oil, spilling it all over the floor. She said the manager "freaked out," yelling and screaming at her, calling her worthless, and firing her. He must have seen the spark he was igniting in her, because he grabbed another container of oil and poured it over her head. She stood there, dripping the pungent grease, humiliated. "Take that uniform off. You don't deserve to wear it," he shouted at her. She unbuttoned it and let it fall to the oil-covered floor. Her bra and panties were soaked through and darkly transparent. "And those," he pointed. Her bra and panties fell to the floor. "Now clean this mess up!" Heather got a bucket and a de-greasing cleaner and began to scrub the floor on her hands and knees. She said she was totally degraded - naked, her tits swaying and bouncing with her exertion, the oil dripping from her hard nipples, her ass in the air. Soon, her boss was behind her. She felt him slip his prick into her cunt as he poured more oil over her bare back. Heather's orgasm was immediate and so intense, she collapsed. Her boss rolled her over on to her back and re-entered her, this time pouring the warm oil on her tits as he fucked her. Heather said she was resigned to her "perverted sexuality" from that night on. Her boss assigned her the "shit" jobs at the restaurant and berated her, constantly. Whenever he felt like it, he would call her into his tiny office, and have her suck him off or bend over as he fucked her cunt or ass. He was always rough and callous with her, and she loved it. One night, her boss took her out back and watched the two big, black deliverymen fuck her in the cab of their truck, and several times, ordered her over to his apartment and she was used and abused by him and his four poker buddies for hours. She left the restaurant the day she left for college and had an abortion the week after school started.
Now, she was naked in my bed and was telling me she was glad she found me, that she needed me. My sane, rational mind was saying that I should put as much distance between myself and this lovely, but very screwed up, girl. That she was carrying more baggage than I wanted to get involved with. However, at that moment, she again lowered her hot, wet mouth over my hardening cock, and I forgot all my good resolutions.
What a year! My schedule began to look like an old "bedroom farce" movie, but I managed. Of course, all three girls received "A's" for both semesters, but I hope they got more than just a good grade from their experience. Bridget flowered into a dynamic lover, relaxing and enjoying all the pleasures I could show her. She became quite adept at the skills of love, giving slow, sexy handjobs, and actually savouring my cock with her mouth. I knew I was going to miss her and her luscious body, and I have. Colleen finally admitted to herself that she was feeling infatuation and not love. We enjoyed each other's company for most of the year - until Spring Break, when she returned from the islands "in love" with a junior. Our final fuck was sweet and tender. She thanked me for making her feel special and helping her enjoy her freshman year. I thanked her for her discretion, fond feelings, and helping me to enjoy her freshman year, too. Finally, there was Heather - probably the most beautiful girl ever to grace one of my classrooms. I soon learned that I didn't have what it took to satisfy her needs for debasement and humiliation. I played at bondage for her, but I wasn't cruel enough. I couldn't bring myself to spank her, and I certainly wasn't going to invite the marching band to join us in bed. She drifted away from me, and I let her - hell, I welcomed it. But, I did follow her adventures through my student and graduate assistant contacts. She soon became a campus legend - entertaining entire Frats in one evening, taking on the whole basketball team at a party, fucking the swim team in the locker room. Unwilling to see her doing that to herself, I talked her into seeking therapy. Through a friend, I arranged for an off-campus shrink to see her and bill me. I think the therapy may have helped. When she was going home in the Spring, she stopped by to thank me for my concern. She said that her therapist had recommended someone in her home town, and that she was not going back to her old job. I told her I was glad to hear she was on an oil-free diet, and we both laughed.
The Summer is finally over and classes are about to begin. I can't wait!