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o o
o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o
o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
o o
o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for o
o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o
o o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. o
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Professor, The (MF, teacher-student)
by J. Boswell
**
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 enrollment
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 phonecall to Daddy can
usually resolve a problem in her favor, 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 favorite of the students, my elective courses are
always filled quickly. Of course, the freshman don't 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.
Susan 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"
personalties 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 recognizing 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 cooperative. 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 areolae
were small and round and centered, 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 cooperated 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 alright 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 realize 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 realized 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 cooperate. 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 savoring
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!