 My
Sexy 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 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. 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 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 and then he started to comlain about the way I dressed! I decided to act. 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. Well 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 ..." 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?"
"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. "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?" "Now Dr. Sanders," I continued, calmly but forcefully. "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." "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. "Did you ever fantasize about having my 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.
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