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Article 71 of 195
Subject: BOSWELL STORY - THE PROFESSOR
From: linetwo@connect.net (The Warthog)
Date: 1996/12/14
Message-Id: <32ba30cb.769834894@news.connect.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-Ascii
Organization: Connection Technologies Internet Services
Mime-Version: 1.0
Reply-To: Jaybos@cris.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
JB-PROF
The Professor
by J. BOSWELL (jaybos@cris.com)
WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults
only. The author has uploaded it only to known
"Adults, only" BBSs, and requests that you exercise the
same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in real
life, please protect your lover and yourself by
practicing safe sex.
.........................
(c) Copyright August, 1989 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except
those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR.
Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only"
BBS) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any
type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book, magazine,
CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission.
===================================
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's face
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 at the end of the year, 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!
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