Archive-name: School/myprof.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: My Professor





I'm a junior in college.  I just turned 21, and I'm blonde and five

feet six inches tall.  I'm quite pretty, and I have a tight, round

bottom, nicely proportioned legs, and my breasts are firm and ample

for my body -- not oversized.  I am very good at flirting, and

needless to say, I have no trouble attracting men.



Most of these men expect that someone who looks and acts the way I do

must be a "dumb blonde", but they're usually surprised to find out

that I have a straight "A" average and that I'm smarter than they

are.  I find most of them silly and amusing.



I haven't had much trouble getting my good grades, and my instructors

have almost all liked me, so I was distressed last semester with Dr.

Sanders, my English professor, a man of about 35 or so.  For some

reason, he took an intense dislike to me, and although I could tell I

was doing better than anyone in the class, he wouldn't give me

anything higher than a B on my first two papers.



I'm going for a 4.0 average, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let

this one man spoil it for me.  So after my second paper, I decided to

have a talk with him, to see if there was something I could do to

improve my grade.  I went up to him after class and asked him if I

could meet him for a conference.  He stiffly and formally agreed, and

he suggested that we have our meeting at his home.  Our school is

small, and this sort of thing is quite common, so I agreed to meet

him after dinner that night.



I've had invitations like this from some of my other professors, and

most of them seemed to lead to the guy making some sort of pass at

me.  But since this professor seemed to dislike me so much, I kind of

doubted that this was on his agenda.  Nonetheless, I always try to be

prepared for any contingency, and I made sure to dress in a sexy

manner.  I figured it wouldn't hurt my cause, and it probably would

help.  I wore a pair of shorts, a light, cotton sweater, and a pair

of high-heeled shoes.  I knew I'd catch his attention -- the shorts

were the skimpiest pair I owned and I wasn't wearing a bra.



I showed up at the appointed time that evening.  He showed me in

without the slightest hint of kindness.  His house was clean but a

bit dissheveled, and it had the look of a bachelor pad, which wasn't

surprising, since it was well known around campus that he lived

alone.



He led me to a room he called his "study".  It was a converted family

room with a desk, a few comfortable chairs, and shelf upon shelf of

books.



He sat down behind his desk, and he indicated a chair off to the side

of it.  I sat down, crossing my legs in a demure manner, although I

was well aware that with my skimpy shorts, even a demure posture was

quite revealing.



I discussed the papers I had written, and he replied to me in an

annoyed, perfunctory manner that my papers were fine.  I asked him

why, then, did he only give me B's.  His disdainful answer was that a

B is a perfectly good grade, and I shouldn't complain.



I then tried to engage him in a conversation about what he had

lectured about in class that day.  It actually _was_ a fascinating

topic to me, so I didn't have to fake my interest too much.  However,

but he wasn't moved at all by my animated and excited manner.  He

just kept curtly responding, barely concealing his disdain for me.



I guess I'm spoiled, but my instructors tend to like me and to reward

my good schoolwork with good grades.  I'm also spoiled by the

consistently positive responses I get from men.  So I was starting to

get annoyed with this pain-in-the-ass professor, who was

disappointing me on both counts.



So finally, I just confronted him point blank.  "I don't understand,"

I said.  "My papers are quite good by your own admission.  I'm quite

interested in the topics you discuss in your course, and I'm probably

more knowledgeable about them than anyone else in the class.  So what

have I done to get you so down on me?  What do you have against me?"



He was startled by my sudden frankness, but he quickly composed

himself and gave me a long, hard stare.  After an uncomfortable

pause, he sighed and began to speak in a tense, disdainful manner.

"Miss M-----," he began, "I must say that I have a very hard time

believing that you don't know what it is that I'm so 'down on you'

about, as you put it."



"But Dr. Sanders," I replied, more politely than he deserved, "I

really haven't the slightest idea what I could have done to get you

upset at me."  Actually, this wasn't true, because, I was starting to

get a inkling about what was bothering him.



He gave me an icy look and then responded in a forced, clipped

manner.  "Well, Miss M-----, if indeed you are so out of touch with

yourself as to be so totally unaware of your faults, I suppose I have

no choice but to enumerate them to you."



I just stared at him coldly, the bastard.  If he were almost anybody

else, I would have stormed out of there, telling him in no uncertain

terms just where he could stick his enumerations.  But this time I

prudently kept my true feelings to myself -- I wanted my "A".



It must have become apparent to him that I wasn't going to say

anything, and he finally started to speak again.  "So Miss M-----,"

he said condescendingly, "where shall I begin?  Should I start with

your flippant, know-it-all attitude?  Or perhaps your phony,

apple-polishing manner in class would be a better topic to discuss."



I silently laughed to myself.  He knew damn well that I wasn't an

apple-polisher.  There were at least 5 other students in his class

who stood out that way.  And despite my high opinion of myself, I

know better than to flaunt my self esteem by acting the know-it-all.

My general demeanor in class is calm and self-assured, and I usually

speak politely and quietly, and more often than not in his class,

only when I'm called on.



So I could tell that something other than what he saying was the real

cause of his negative feelings towards me, and more and more, I was

starting to see what it was -- and I began to see how to get what I

wanted from him.



"Well, Dr.  Sanders," I replied calmly. "I must say that I'm very

surprised that you could have gotten that impression of me.  I really

don't think I'm as much of a know-it-all or a sycophant as several

other students in your class, and I'm sure you know who they are.  So

I can only imagine that there's something else about me that must

have upset you ..." I gave him a hard look and then continued, "...

and I think it's about time you told me."



I knew my arrogant, no-nonsense attitude would get him angry.

Professors aren't accustomed to students who stand up to them --

especially this guy.  And furthermore, most students couldn't pull it

off like I can.



His mouth fell open in shock and he turned bright red -- and then his

anger boiled up out of control, just as I had expected.  "Oh you do,

Miss M-----, do you?!" he sputtered with rage.  "YOU think I should

tell you?!  Well ... well, I never ... I never met such a ... a ...

disrespectful little ..."  His voice trailed off, and he just cleared

his throat nastily.  I'm sure he wanted to call me a "bitch" or

something, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.



I just smiled at him, cooly and calmly.



"Well, you want to know what I don't like about you? ...  well I'll

tell you, Miss M-----!" he sneered.  "You young women are all the

same -- every last one of you!  You come to class dressed in ... in

revealing clothes, and all you do is sit around and ... and entice

all the men around you.  Don't try to deny it, young lady, I'm on to

you, I'm on to you, all right!"



This confirmed my suspicions about what was bothering him: I turned

him on -- and he hated me for it.



I raised my eyebrows haughtily and started to act like I was going to

protest, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand and went on.  "You

...  you young girls all pretend that you don't know what you're

doing, but you can't fool me.  You know damn well ... yes, damn well,

young lady, how you distract and ... and entice the men around you,

and how you just wrap them around your little finger.  Look at you

... look at that ...  that 'outfit' you're wearing, although I'm

loath to dignify it with that term.  It's more like ... like ...

well, I don't know what to call it.  But you come here in that ...

that _thing_ and expect me not to notice ... not to be affected.

Well, I'm on to you and your games, little lady.  Yes I am, and you

can't entice ME with your mock innocence and your ... your lewd

costumes ..."



I had to laugh to myself.  The fact that the man was expending so

much energy to deny I had any affect on him sexually was only serving

to confirm just the opposite.  Now that I knew what was bothering

him, I also knew how to get him to lighten up on me and give me the

"A" I was looking for.



Now, some women might have tried the "sincerity" approach, attempting

to reason with him and maybe even to apologize, and then to make an

effort to dress and behave more modestly in his class in the future.

I could tell that this wouldn't work with him.  He'd lighten up on

the criticism, but he'd still give me a "B".



His vehemence indicated that he is totally frustrated sexually, and

probably still is a virgin.  At the same time, he apparently harbors

intense sexual desires for his more attractive students.  Most likely

he was brought up in a very strict, Puritannical home.  Plus, I'm

sure his shyness and his lack of social skills have turned off the

women he has tried to pursue, and so he probably feels resentment

towards all attractive women because of his past rejections.



So, I could see two possible ways to deal with him.  One way would be

to come on really strong and tell him that the only reason I dress so

revealingly in his class is that I've been hoping ever since I first

saw him that he'd make a pass at me.  I could go on about how much

his sensitivity excites me, and what a misunderstood genius he is,

and all sorts of crap like that.  Then, I'd say I now realize that I

misjudged him, and that I never meant to hurt him.  I would fall into

his arms, "confessing" all my hidden love and desire for him.



I knew that would work, but then he'd fall madly in love with me, and

I'd have to keep up the charade until after graduation -- more than

two semesters away.  Otherwise, since he's tenured and influential at

the school, he could make things really difficult for me with some of

my other professors.  While I knew I was quite capable of this sort

of subterfuge, the thought of keeping it up with him for more than a

little while was just too distateful for me.



Fortunately, I knew of a better, less trying and much more enjoyable

way to get him to willingly give me my "A".



All this went through my mind in just a few seconds as Dr. Sanders

continued to fume and rave like a frustrated celibate.



I knew that if I wanted my plan to work, I had to put it into action

immediately.  I suddenly stood up and put my hands on my hips.  "Dr.

Sanders," I said, staring him in the eyes.  He looked away, and I

added firmly, "Look at me!  Now!"



My sudden forcefulness took him by surprise and he stopped in

mid-sentence, gaping at me.



"That's better," I continued.  "Much better.  Now Dr. Sanders," I

added more calmly, "I think I know what's bothering you."



Another surge of anger went through him.  "I would hope you know by

now, little lady!" he spat.  "For the last 5 minutes I've been

telling you in no uncertain terms how ..."



"Shhhhh," I urged like a mother quieting her child.  "You're just

getting yourself worked up.  Now Dr. Sanders, I hear what you've been

saying.  You've been talking all about flirty, insincere women and

all the horrible things they do to men."



He shook his head angrily.  "And I suppose you're going to try to

convince me that you would never do such a thing," he said

sarcastically.



"No, not at all," I said calmly.  "I wouldn't think of trying to

convince you of that."



"You ... you wouldn't?" he replied, my answer catching him completely

off guard.  No doubt he expected me to act innocent and to deny his

accusations.



"Most assuredly not," I answered.  Smiling confidently and looking

him right in the eyes, I continued, "I love to flirt and to use my --

let's say 'feminine charms' on men.  I'm not ashamed of that in the

least -- and in fact, I'm quite proud of my abilities."



He was speechless.  After a moment or two of gazing into his nervous,

confused eyes, I added, "The only thing is, Dr. Sanders, I'm not

being insincere.  When I flirt, I don't fool around."



He looked even more confused.  "Listen, Miss M-----, ... I'm not sure

... I don't know what you're driving at here, but if you think ..."



I cut him off before he could get himself worked up again.  "What I'm

driving at, Dr. Sanders ..." I said, pausing for dramatic emphasis as

I slowly turned around and bent over, propping myself up by the arms

of the chair behind me.  Looking over my shoulder at him, I

continued, "... is that I really think you'd like to get a look at my

ass."  As he gaped at me in disbelief, I took one hand and began to

slowly massage my bottom through my shorts,



"Now ... now Miss M----- ... I ... would you please ... I mean ..."



He was totally flabbergasted.



"Come on, Dr. Sanders," I cooed in a sultry voice, "we both know how

much I've been turning you on since the semester started.  Don't

fight it.  Just let yourself feel how aroused you're getting."



"Now listen, Miss M----- ...," he said, struggling to keep the upper

hand -- but failing.



I just acted as if he hadn't said a word.  I reached my hand into my

elastic waitband and began to play with my butt underneath my shorts.

"I know you've been fantasizing about me.  I can tell," I said.

"What part of me do you think about when you masturbate, Dr.

Sanders?"



I saw him look down with embarrassment for a second or two, which

told me that my educated guess about him masturbating to fantasies

about me was right on the mark.



I then knew for sure that I had chosen the correct tactic.  I stood

more upright and grasped the waistband of my shorts with both hands

and pulled them and my panties down to my knees, completely exposing

my perfect, round bottom.



"Do you fantasize about my ass?"  I taunted as I wiggled my nude butt

at him.  "Hmmmm?"



He just stared at me, his mouth opening and closing, but no words

coming out.



I pulled my shorts back up and turned around to face him.  I grasped

the bottom of my sweater and raised it up, exposing my braless

breasts.  "Or do you picture my tits when you jack off?  Huh, Dr.

Sanders?"



With one hand I began to massage my breasts as he stared.  "I have

_really_ hot tits, don't I?"  Then I nodded and added, "Uh-huh," with

a lewd smile.



I pulled my sweater back down over my breasts, and then I lowered

both hands to my crotch.  I began to massage my vagina through my

shorts.  "Or do you dream about my cunt?  Huh, Dr. Sanders?  Do you

wanna see my cunt?"



His demeanor was a combination of dejection, confusion, a little

anger, and an increasing amount of sexual arousal.  "Look, Miss

M-----," he said almost pleadingly, "please ... would you stop that

..."



I gloated to myself at how quickly I had turned this cold, arrogant

asshole into a pleading little boy.  "No, I won't, Dr. Sanders," I

said with calm defiance as I continued to massage my crotch in front

of him.  "I can listen to you quite well while I'm rubbing my pussy.

Tell me how much you like jack off and fantasize about me.  Come on,

Dr.  Sanders," I added with a hint of dominance in my voice as he

hesitated.  "Talk to me -- now!"



I could see him going through what appeared to be a difficult inner

struggle.  No doubt he resented my high-handed attitude, but at the

same time, I could tell he liked the sexual part of what was

happening.



After a few seconds, he spoke in a halting, stammering voice.  "Look

...  Miss M----- ... I admit that ... well, that I sometimes think of

you when ... when ..."  His voice trailed off and he looked really

pained.  Then, he sighed and took a breath and changed the subject.

"And Miss M-----, I admit that I was ... well, harsh with you before

... but ... well, it's just because I ... well, I never liked being

... well, teased by girls.  I could tell that ...  or at least you

seemed as if you were just another good-looking, teasing, insincere

woman, and ... well, and now you're doing ...  you're doing just what

I feared the most.  You're being ... cruel and you're playing on my

... my weakness just like ... just like all those other mean, cruel

girls.  Won't you please stop?  Please!"



He looked like he was almost going to cry, but if I wanted this to

succeed, I knew I had to maintain the pressure.  I continued to

massage myself and I said, slightly more kindly, "Do you think that

I'm just being an insincere prick-teaser right now?"



He nodded dejectedly.  "Well, Dr.  Sanders," I then continued, "we'll

see how you feel about that in a little while.  Why don't you take

out your penis and start masturbating for me?"



He looked as if I had just kicked him in the gut.  "Didn't you ...

didn't you just hear me?" he moaned desperately.  "Here I just ... I

just admitted to you ... something that I can hardly admit to myself

..."  his voice quickly become small and sad and plaintive again,

"... and all you do is act cruel and try to hurt me more."



"Now Dr. Sanders," I replied, calmly taunting him.  "How can you say

I'm being cruel when I'm giving you the chance to masturbate with me

right here instead of in your fantasies?  I'm surprised at you!  Now

I want you to pleasure yourself.  Just like you do when you fantasize

about me.  Come on," I urged, "take out your penis and masturbate for

me, and I'll take off my shorts and show you my cunt.  You know I'll

make you get really hot, Dr.  Sanders."



"Well ..." he said quickly as if he was going to argue with me, but

then he got quiet -- as if he suddenly realized the folly of looking

a gift-horse in the teeth.



"Dr. Sanders, I'm waiting." I said with cold impatience in my voice

after he just sat there for a moment or two, struggling with himself.

"I know you like to fantasize about me when you masturbate.  I know

men very well, and I can read you like a book.  I know you want to

see my cunt _so_ _badly_ -- and you can hardly resist taking out your

big penis and stroking it _real_ _good_!  I'm not going to wait any

more, Dr. Sanders -- get totally nude for me RIGHT NOW!"



He hesitated, swore to himself, and then he obeyed me, nervously

taking off his shoes and socks, and then standing up to pull his

pants down.  Another look of uncertainty covered his face, and he

began to stammer something about feeling really unsure of himself and

wondering if he really should be doing this.



Instead of saying anything to him in reply, I just took both my hands

and slid them into my shorts, and I began to rub myself again, this

time moving even more lewdly and sexily than before.  "Oh God!" I

moaned like a nasty slut.  "My cunt is so fuckin' hot -- so fuckin'

wet!  Get nude and I'll show it to you -- I'll stick it right in your

face when you jack off -- I know you'd love that!"



He only hesitated a second or two longer, and then he seemed to

overcome his inhibitions.  In less than a minute he was standing in

front of me, totally naked, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of

his groin.  He looked at me like a shy young boy searching for

approval from his mother.  I had read him correctly: underneath his

cold, arrogant, condescending exterior was an insecure little kid

just dying to be told what to do.



And that was what my plan was all about.  He was about to get these

inner desires satisfied in a way he probably never dreamed of.



"That's very good," I said after looking him up and down as if to

evaluate him in some unspecified way.  "Now move your hands out from

in front of yourself.  Come on -- raise them above your head so I can

look at your penis and your testicles."



He tentatively did what I told him.



"Uh-huh -- that's right," I said with a hint of approval in my voice.

"Now do you want to see me nude, too?"



"Um ... well, yes ... I ... I do," he said, stammering.  "Um ... you said

that you'd ... you know ... um, take off your shorts if ..."



"I know what I said, goddamn it!" I shouted.  He visibly shrank from

me when he heard that.  I spoke more calmly: "And I keep my promises

-- as long as you ask really nicely.  Go ahead, Dr. Sanders -- ask."



"Uh, Miss M----- ..." he stammered, very unsure of himself.  "Won't

you please get ... get nude for me?"



"Not for YOU I won't -- I only do that for ME," I replied.  "That is,

unless you ask a lot more nicely than that!"



He shot me an angry look of resentment, but then it dissipated and he

looked down at the floor shyly.  Looking back up again and shuffling

his feet, he said softly, "Won't you please, Miss M----- ...

_please_ take off your clothes?  Please!  I beg of you."



"You catch on fast, Dr. Sanders," I replied.  "OK.  I'll let you see

me nude while you jack off like a little boy.  But first you must get

down on the floor here -- on your back.  Come on Dr. Sanders, do it."



He hesitated, but then he obeyed me and soon he was on his back, his

cock sticking up semi-erect.  I stood over him, one foot on either

side of his waist, and I looked down on him with my hands on my hips.

"So tell me, Dr. Sanders," I said with a hint of condescension in my

voice.  "Have you ever done anything like this before?  Hmmm?"



"Uh ... no ... I haven't," he replied, still unsure of himself.

"Never anything like this at all.  In fact ... um ... well, I haven't

ever even been with a woman before at all ... I ... um, I never even

kissed anyone or anything."



So I was right about him being a virgin, too.  He seemed horribly

embarrassed about this, although he obviously had the urge to admit

this to me anyway.  I'm sure it was because he wanted approval, but I

did nothing to reassure him.  Speaking in an even, matter-of-fact

tone of voice, I replied, "Hmmmm -- I figured as much.  How about any

men -- or boys?"



"Huh?!" he replied, "I don't understand what ..."



"Have you ever had sex with any men or boys?  Did you ever masturbate

with a man -- let him suck your dick -- did you ever fuck a guy in

the ass -- or let him do it to you?  You look like you might like

that."



"No!  Never!  Absolutely not!" he replied with pained righteousness.

"I admit that ... well, that I haven't been ... well, very confident

around girls ... uh, around women, but I've _never_ been interested

in men at all.  Never!"



I could tell that he was telling the truth.  He was just a shy,

insecure straight guy for whom women had been totally inaccessible

except as people to watch and fantasize about.



"OK.  I believe you," I said, making him feel by the tone of my voice

that I was letting him off the hook a little.  "So you've never been

with a woman, but I bet you really have some hot fantasies about

them, don't you?"



"Well ..." he said, his voice trailing off.



"Yeah ... sure you do, honey.  We both know you do, so you might as

well stop playing games about it.  So Dr. Sanders," I added before he

could respond, "Did you ever fantasize about having a wet, juicy

pussy in your face while you're jacking off?"



"Um ... well, I guess so ... I mean, sort of like that ..." he

replied in a small voice.



"Uh-huh.  I know, baby, I know," I said, suddenly acting intimate,

soft, and supportive.  "So here, honey.  Take your prick in your hand

and start masturbating -- and watch me as I take off my clothes --

_all_ my clothes."



His face lit up like a kid who just got his Christmas wish.  He

wrapped his hand around his cock and began to stroke himself --

slowly at first, and then more forcefully as he got more into it.



As he jacked off on the floor underneath me, I slowly removed my

clothes, acting like a slutty stripper.  His penis, which had only

been semi-erect up until then, very quickly grew to its full, rigid

proportions in his hand as he watched me with an eager expression on

his face.



I didn't speak at all.  Soon, I had stripped all the way down to only

my panties and high heels.  Then, I really began to taunt him.  I

began to teasingly pull the crotch aside give him glimpses of my

vagina, only to quickly cover it up again.  I pulled my panties

really tight against me and squatted down within inches of his face

and gyrated my hips.  This got him much more aroused, and soon he was

breathing heavy and bucking his hips up and down in rhythm to his

fist sliding around his rigid prick.



Then, I eased myself out of my panties and started to talk really

dirty to him.  "Ooooooh yeah, baby.  Look at my pussy -- my hot, wet

cunt!  See how my finger slides _deep_ inside -- in and out -- yeah!"



I turned around to face towards his feet and placed my legs on either

side of his shoulders.  Then, I squatted down with my crotch only a

short distance above his face.  I leaned forward and supported my

weight by holding onto his thighs.  "That's it, baby," I hissed

lewdly, "pump that big prick -- ooooooh, so good -- yeah, feel it in

your hand!  Now do you want to smell my pussy baby?  Huh?  You want

Mama's hot, wet cunt right down on your face?  Huh?"



"Uh ... yeah ... uh-huh!" he croaked, the words catching in his

throat as he panted.



I could tell he was close to orgasm.  Suddenly, I grabbed his hand

and pulled it away from his cock.  "My grade suddenly has become an

'A', hasn't it?"



He groaned and seemed to be wracked with indecision.



"Here's the deal, Dr. Sanders," I said firmly and in a no-nonsense

tone of voice.  My grade is now an 'A', and I'll rub my cunt all over

your face and let you cum that way.  If you please me for the rest of

the semester in class, and if you help me whenever I need it until I

graduate, I'll come over here now and then and make you do things you

never dreamed of.  If you don't do everything I ask, I'll call the

police and say that you tried to rape me.  I don't think this is

going to be a very difficult choice for you, Dr. Sanders, and I don't

have much time.  What's your decision?"



He swore loudly, but he seemed to grasp the reality of the situation

quickly.  "You've got your 'A', Miss M-----," he sighed, sounding

quite defeated.  "And I'll do whatever you want."  In this sentence

he sounded less dejected and almost excited -- as I knew he would be.



"That's a good boy ..." I cooed, "... for a dirty, nasty little

masturbator."  I released his hand and slowly lowered my open vagina

right down over his face, covering his mouth with it and allowing his

nose to push up the crack of my ass near my anal opening.



I'm sure he'd been dreaming of something like this for years.  "Oh

God!" he mumbled into my crotch, and began to moan with joy and

pleasure as I began to move my pussy all around, smearing my juices

all over his grateful face.



"Come on," I ordered in a low, throaty whisper.  "Pump that big thing

of yours.  Shoot your cum -- make it go all over yourself -- all over

your belly -- come on, aim your dirty little dick at your belly --

that's it -- yeah, baby, my cunt is so wet in your face -- feel your

hot cream rising up the length of your big, throbbing prick!"



I knew that would push him over the edge.  With a deep moan that was

almost a scream, he began to wildly thrust his hips up and down as he

milked gob after creamy gob of his cum out of his shooting penis.  It

got all over his hand, his belly, and his chest.



I kept talking lewdly to him and rubbing my pussy and asshole all

over his face as his spasms and moans gradually slowed down and then

finally stopped.



I sighed happily and smiled to myself, knowing that not only was my

grade point average intact, but that over the next year or so I was

going to have a lot of fun making Dr. Sanders drink my piss, wear my

clothes, and serve me any way I want as my abject sex slave.  I was

really going to enjoy turning him into my little girl-slut.



--