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Dear Pet...

By: FogBard



Dearest Pet, 

You are my prized possession. Making your flesh burn with lust and your body tingle with anticipation is the least I can do for you. You asked if I would ever place you on display and share you. Here is how I would do it....

You have adorned your self in the required garb- no, this time not in black- this time white high heels and even lighter white silk stockings, the ones with the lace tops and the seam running up the back, which accentuates the length and beauty of your legs, matching garters attached to a corset and silk elbow length gloves. A virginal look. The color is the perfect contrast for your dark wild tufts. As requested, your bush is trimmed to a triangle and the lower lips are shaved, your hair is up, exposing the nape of your neck, breasts free of the corset and you wear no panties. You are available to be serviced at will....

You would be led into a large, room with only one light in the ceiling shining down, creating an eight foot circle around a solitary chair.

You are seated in the chair and blindfolded. Yes Pet, tonight is one of mystery and patience, sensory depravation and anonymous persona. I would leave the room, closing the door behind me. 

Later the door would open. Footsteps would make their way to your side and as they arrived, you would stand at attention, as trained, feet parted at shoulder width, your arms at your side and your head held high. Who is there? You know not to ask. 

A hand reaches down and touches your lips. They are slightly parted- a conditioned response. The finger grazes their edges and feels the moisture rising from within. Pressed in, your lips willingly part for fingers which you have craved since being told earlier in the day of your evening activity. Anticipation excites you Pet. It is both your friend and weakness. 

The finger pushes in, searching for your bud. Who touches you? Man or woman? You may never know. It is a tender touch. It finds its mark and slides up and down across your tender spot, drawing your breath and attention. Master has never shared you with anyone. 

Another finger teasingly runs around your areola, erecting your nipple. The other finger continues to touch your lips. You feel breath close to your face. You smell a beautiful perfume. You are guided behind the chair and within the center of the circle. You feel the heat of the light above as it shines down on you. 

You are leaned forward, your hands placed on the back of the chair for support. Your ass guided back and out as you are bent at the hips. You feel the warmth of breath on your ear and she whispers, "You are such a beautiful Pet. Tonight you are given to me. I am graced. I promise, I will be gentle." 

She showers your body with tender light kisses and caresses like rose petals raining down from the heavens... Your ego swells and your heart flutters. 

"You are my gift Pet, from my Master. He has arranged this as my reward. He knows I have wanted to experience a woman. Have you ever? Have you ever wanted one you could not have?" she asks. 

Who is she? Does she know you Pet? Do you know her voice? Has Master ever introduced you? Is there still someone else here beside her?

She walks around you, surveying her prize. She runs a finger along the garter, tracing along the curve of your hip and ass where it hugs you. She slowly lifts the garter and playfully lets it snap against your fine skin. She stands behind you, reaches down and touches you again, sensuously teasing you with a sole long fingernail.

Next, a cold steel ball is brought to your warm wet lips. The contrast makes you flinch. The orb is inserted. Little do you know it is tethered by an eight inch chain to another steel ball, the other one weighted. You are not ready for it. Unaware of the weight on the other end, it slips out and bounces on the ground. A hand spanks the curve of your ass. The message is sent and the expectation set. The ball is inserted again. You clutch it tight. Yes Pet, we both know all too well- you prefer pleasure to pain. You will do anything to avoid painful punishment... 

She crouches beneath you. A hand reaches up and plays with your nipple and the other caresses the full flesh of your breast. She kisses your hood, seeking to coax out your bud, asking you to loosen while you clutch the ball. She twists you from within. Your body tightens as you try to control yourself by regulating your breathing. It is not working, you are letting go, closing in on release... submitting....

Suddenly she stops and steps behind you. She brings an open palm of warm scented oil and anoints your sex. Some is drizzled on your forbidden area. As the oil warms, she walks out of the room. You stand in silence.

The ball dangles between your spread legs, insisting you let it slip out. The oil warms even more. You resist with all your might... moments combine into minutes, minutes seem like eternity and the more you concentrate on the orb, the wetter you get. You know someone must come to retrieve it; who and when are the only questions you contemplate in stark silence...

The door opens. One set of footsteps, you believe they are hers. Has she returned for you, to release you? More oil is applied. This time to your nipples too. Someone has a keen skill.

Fingers touch you and remove the orb. The chain is removed from the balls and they are placed in your mouth. "Do not drop or swallow them," you are told. They roll across your tongue and you taste yourself. She is wicked to the core.

Unexpectedly, huge hands are placed on your hips. She crouches below you and you think you hear the lapping of a man's sex in her mouth as it dangles between your legs. She primes and rims it, takes it in her hand and glides it to your lips, tapping and teasing them with the head.

She tells you, "I have never seen Master with another woman. Tonight I will have the pleasure of watching him take you." He leans forward and parts you, slowly gliding it in. He is big, bigger than you have ever had. He pushes in but you are to small to receive it all. He realizes the limitation and does not force. He slowly pleasures you, artfully playing and teasing your sex despite his length. He is more length than girth and gifted in his use. 

She hovers below you, kissing you all over, worshiping your body through the corset while listening to your slow growing poorly muffled primordial moans and the sounds of his sex being rubbed with your moistness. You are open to her and she tastes you, savoring you like a fine elixir. Close again, this time the feeling is more powerful, and you pray for release.

"Master, stop," she says, "... lean back. Allow me to finish you. You have been too good to me to permit this opportunity to reciprocate pass by. Tonight is my night, it is what I want. Here, sit down and lean back, allow me," she tells him.

Her hands are placed on the curve of your ass for balance. Her nails dig in and her face comes to your precious lips. She is voracious for you, a vixen transfixed. Her fingers spread your lips and her tongue flutters within you, teasing and tormenting. You can imagine what is happening- maybe it is what you want to occur. You envision her squatting over him, guiding his sex into hers, penetrating and impaling herself. She takes him whole, sliding down to his pelvic bone. She rises up and holds only his head within herself and begins to ride him, down a bit then up, a bit further down and up, she impales herself a little more each time... her pace quickens as she escorts him towards climax.

A thumb teases your forbidden place, the one that tantalizes you when properly rimmed- back and forth it glides through the oil. The sensation is rapturous. You are twisting from within. 'Please push it in just a little bit,' you think begging in your thoughts.

"Yes Pet, you please me so, oh yes", he gasps as he unleashes his seed within her. You imagine his hands on her hips, pulling her down atop of him, impaling her and filling her to the hilt. Do you want to be there next?

Her Master pleasured, she turns all her attention to you. Her fingers caress your wet open sex, fluttering and swimming in your wetness, tickling it within, groping for that spot that sets you off. Has Master told her of it? She is so persistent... Her tongue laps at your lips, tasting you. She cannot get enough... you are hers and are submitting to her aggression. As your thighs quiver and you whimper, she stops and says, "Not yet my dear. The evening is too young for your release..." 'Please touch me more' you want to beg, 'please do not do this to me, again.'

The orbs are removed from your mouth and attached to their chain. He inserts the lighter one and the other is inserted in your forbidden place. He steps up on the chair, his sex dangling before your face.

"Taste it, taste me on him", she instructs, bringing the swollen head to your red lips. Their juices are mixed- his sex is like a candy stick to you. You take the head and rim him. They think he is too big for you to take more. They do not force you. You cannot use your hands to insist otherwise. You know you want more, to please him, feel him slide deep within you and have him release down your willing throat....

Next he glides you to the floor. "Hands and knees," he tells you. She is below you, legs spread, you can smell her sex... it is so close. Her hand takes you by the back of the head and guides you down between her thighs. Pet, this is where you can do your best work. Your tongue flicks out to taste her seeded lust. She oozes it and you taunt her. You run your hands along her legs- long and lean- across her small hips and tight midriff- she is young, tall and thin.

Pet, you know that this is not the way to be taken by another woman, at least for the first time. She should allow you to lead. You would climb atop of her, your thighs intertwined... you would bring your mouth to hers, run your tongue across her lips and then inside seeking her tongue, gently melding two in a lovers embrace... you would caress her body, run your hands across her, searching for places which excite and tantalize... gently press your thigh into her sex and slowly roll across it- back and forth.... Eventually you would reach down and touch her sex, play with it, rub it, tease her... as she comes you would embrace her as she shudders and moans, her warm breath blowing across your shoulder as you cradle her head... that is how it should be for the first time, yes?

Instead she sadly chooses a minimal controlled approach. You taste her... your fingers strum through her folds and your mouth delicately teases her... her hips begin to buck and your hand presses down on her pelvic bone, heightening the onrushing climactic sensation... your finger runs circles around her swollen bud and you reach within her... slick fingers run across her inner ridges as you hear her begging for release and crying out for more. 

Your duty fulfilled you are stood and placed leaning against the chair. She tells you, "for the next suitor, you may speak when it is over..." They leave and you are alone again, waiting. 

A few minutes pass and the orb is suddenly pulled from your sex. You wonder, "Who is this stranger? Another suitor Master has sent? Is there anyone else present? Is she here? From where did the person come? The door did not open, there were no footsteps...."

A finger runs across your wet lips, teasing you... you push back, begging it to enter... it obliges and pleasures your inner ridges.... another finger reaches for your swollen fleshy bud and teases it. This time you are serviced with a mission, quickly moved towards climax. A man brings his sex to you and penetrates, savaging your sex hard and fast with a determined mission- hands on your hips pulling you close, immobilizing you as he thrusts. Your thighs quiver and your breath quickens.

He takes you like an animal in heat... you want to wail with pleasure but must hold your words as commanded... your belly burns and tightens... he thrusts forward, his body seizes and he pulls your hips close and tight as he releases, forcing your ass against him as he spills his seed... his heat sets you off into glorious orgasm, you push back against him, arching your back and feeling him deep within, coaxing his release... you want to please this stranger who has been so kind to give you sweet release...

"Master, is that you?" you ask. There is a long eeerie silence and you are left to ponder... Then, the blindfold is removed.Your eyes adjust in the dim light as you look behind and find yorself safe in my arms...

Dear Professor...



Professor Blair,

I suspect your curious as to why I turned this letter in with my last assignment, why when everyone else just put the test into your in box I lingered. As I write this I can only imagine giving it to you in your office. I know that I'll stay back, because you're there, sitting behind your desk, where I always seem to find you. You've always asked me why a straight-A student would come to more of your office hours than anyone else, only to ask questions that he knows the answers to. Well, I'm finally going to tell you. I can imagine, or at least hope, that you have that mischievous smile on your face, the one you had when you told me about what you did that weekend you went to New York right after your divorce. I know, I know, you didn't want me to mention that, that it was a mistake for you to tell me at all. That It was inappropriate to share with a student but you had to tell someone...

Well, it's my turn to tell you something. Something secret, something no one but me knows but I'm sure you suspect: I want you. I know you've seen me in class, my eyes never leaving you but to write down your every word. I know you've caught me staring at your ass while you write on the board; I know you've seen me stare at your breasts through your button down shirt. I've seen you blush as you noticed my cock growing hard in my pants. So now I'm going to tell you exactly what I want to do to you. What I think about in class everyday as I watch you, hanging on every word of your lecture, my cock stiffening as you drop the eraser and bend over to get it.

I imagine that you ask me to stay back when everyone's leaving. You say you need help with something, that it will only take a minute. I'm glad to comply. You ask me how my other classes are going, pretending to ignore the clearly erect shaft you can see through my jeans. We get to your office and you close the door.

"I need help getting some things down from the top shelves," You say, "I've got a step ladder but I still can't reach." 

"Of course I'll help," I say with a smile, "I'd do anything for you." You grin nervously and show me what I need to get down. Standing next to me, still pretending not to notice the bulge straining against my pants as I hand the boxes down to you. As I get the last box and go back down the ladder your hand brushes against me, it seems to linger, but is gone before I'm sure.

"Well," you say, "I guess this is it. You graduate next week and move on to bigger and better things."

"Hopefully," I laugh and you laugh too. As I start towards the door I see your arms extended. "Can a teacher hug a student?" I ask.

"I think I can make an exception this once," you say. As I walk towards you I see the smile. The smile you wore when you told me about New York, about how you wore a little black dress I'd never see in class, how you walked into a hotel bar and felt every eye on you, how you left with one very lucky man. Your arms wrap around me and pull me close, grinding my cock into your pussy, less than an inch of fabric separating them. I groan, but you pretend not to notice and gyrate your hips, causing me to groan so loudly you can't even pretend to ignore it.

"Is something wrong?" You ask, that taunting smile still on your mouth, "Does something hurt?"

"No," I say, and you let go of me, that smile leaving your face. The smile I see when I masturbate, thinking of you and me. At this point, I forget that you're my professor; that I'm 21 and your 43; that never in a million years could this happen and I kiss your neck softly. I wait a moment to see what you'll do before I trail my mouth to your ear, my warm breath making you tingle as I softly nibble and kiss feeling your breathing deepen as my lips return to caress your neck.

I move from your neck to your mouth kissing you, softly at first, teasing you until you pull me into you, your tongue entwined with mine as our bodies come into contact and you feel my already hard cock pressing against your dampening pussy through our clothes. As we explore each other's mouths I reach around you and lift, your legs wrapping around me involuntarily, causing you to cling to me and kiss even harder, only releasing the kiss to draw breath. I put you down on your desk, your legs still wrapped around me. As I take your shirt off, my mouth returns to your neck and slowly trails downward, kissing your neck as I remove your bra and then take your left nipple in my mouth sucking and licking before I softly bite down and hear a moan. I make my way back to your mouth; kissing every inch of your soft skin I can reach on the way before allowing your waiting mouth to engulf mine in a ferocious kiss. I begin to unbutton you pants, slowly trailing my mouth to you right breast as I go, feeling your nipple stiffen in my mouth as I begin unzip your fly. My mouth kissing its way down your stomach as I slide your pants and panties down your legs. As I pull them off your feet, taking your shoes with them my mouth finally reaches your pussy. I gently lick along the length of your lips, where they meet a taste sweeter than I could have ever imagined.

I lift my head and gaze into your eyes as I slide my fingers along the lips of your pussy, lubricating them for what's to come. I slowly slide one finger in and as I watch your eyes close with pleasure I lower my mouth to your clit and just as I begin to lick and suck I slide a second finger in and feel you press yourself against me tasting your freely flowing juices. I feel your legs on my shoulders, softly squeezing my neck as my tongue enters your cunt. I caress your ass with both hands, lifting you in the air and pressing you harder into my mouth, feeling you writhe as I bring you closer, my tongue darting in and out of you. I hear you try to stifle a moan as you cum into my mouth, your juices dripping down my chin as I suck hard on your clit; strengthening your orgasm and making you writhe in my arms. When your breathing slows I lower your body to the desk, and kiss you as softly and sweetly as you've ever been kissed before.

As I lift my head, still tasting your juices I see the smile back on your face. "You got an A" you say to me, as your hand grabs my cock and rubs it against your soaking wet pussy, "but I think you can get an A+" I put your legs back on my shoulders and slowly slide into you, your tight cunt enveloping every inch of my rock hard cock, your smile leaving, replaced by moans that grow louder as the final inches of my shaft slide into you. I feel your legs tighten around my neck as I begin to methodically pump in and out of you, before shrugging your legs off my shoulders and thrusting my full length into you, cutting off your lustful gasp by kissing you, feeling each thrust make you moan into my mouth, feeding the frenzy within. I thrust hard into you grabbing your ass to hold you there, I stand, feeling you bob slightly on my cock before slamming you into the office door, each thrust penetrating farther than before. I kiss your neck as I piston into you again and again causing the door to shake on its hinges. 

I thrust harder and faster as I feel you tighten around me, your ass making 

slapping sounds as the force behind each thrust increases until I can't take it anymore. I thrust into you and as I pull halfway out I turn back to your desk, my rock hard cock impaling you as I plunge back into you as hard as I can, causing the desk to shudder as I shoot my cum into you, as your second orgasm makes you tremble, as your cunt milks my cock for every drop.

How do you feel professor? Flushed? Horny? Wet? How do you feel knowing that every lecture you gave, every lab you oversaw that scene was playing in my head? Are you imagining it too? I hope so. I hope it turns you on as much as me. I hope that I see you at graduation...

Yours always,

College_boy87



Dear Professor



Dear Professor,

I'm posting this letter on Literotica, because I know I'll never have the guts to send it to you directly. I doubt you'll ever read it on here, but at least, I'll feel much better knowing you might eventually come across this letter, one day, when I'm gone far far away.

For the past three years, the three years I've spent at the University, I have attended your weekly classes. At first, I took your subject because I had no better option. But from the first lecture, you had me. Your passionate teaching, your great presence in class - most of us, girls as well as boys, were hooked to your lectures, even though you have this hard image of a demanding and uncompromising lecturer.

But to me, this intellectual attraction soon turned into something more passionate and physical. At first, I just felt compelled to do my best in your classes. Fighting against my shyness, I tried to participate in class, give the best presentations when asked to, for the sole sake of receiving a satisfied smile from you. Do you know you smile with your eyes too? Every smile from you was the best reward for my hard work.

From lecture to lecture, I slowly moved from the last to the first row in class, to be closer, to have a better view on you. Your voice was hypnotising, your blue eyes, your full lips, your strong hands and more generally your very expressive body language, all that became my weekly two hours drug. I addictively needed your lectures. Rapidly, attending your lectures became exquisite moments of sexual arousal in my dull life.

This first time I got my panties wet in your class, I could not believe what was happening to me. I felt my cheeks turn red and I hid in my books. And as soon as the lecture finished, I rushed home and locked myself in my room. I felt so embarrassed I did not know whether to cry or not. And wondering about that, I had again images of you in my mind and I started getting wet again. At first I fought against it, but then I let my imagination take over. 

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could still smell your spicy perfume when you had stopped by my seat to talk to the class. I was admiring you, as always. I love that proximity. And during the exercice, when you came to help me, your hands on my keyboard had me all feverish and tipsy with a sensation I could not explain. I was stretched on my bed, remembering your large tanned hands. Oh, I wished I could touch them, guide them, feel them all over my burning body. I had my right hand under my sweater. My fingers are much thiner than yours, their touch much different from what I imagine yours is. But I was caressing and pinching my hard nipples the way I wanted you to. Meanwhile, my left hand found its way inside my panties, teasing my clitoris. I was dripping wet. No ther fantasy had ever made me that wet. Inevitably, my body soon exploded with a shattering orgasm.

This soon became a habit. After every single lecture with you, I would rush home and caress myself to a shattering orgasm. I often wondered if you could sense my arousal when passing by my desk or stopping to help me on a particularly difficult exercise. I often thought of making indecent proposals, but I am the shy girl that I am. I would simply store in my mind every detail of your physiognomy, every move you made, to remember them once I was at home.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, I have found all sorts of ways to pleasure myself thinking of you. A few months ago, I did what I had never done before. I went to a sexshop downtown. Well, the thing is, since I've started lusting for you, there was no way I could keep my boyfriend Sam. Every time he was fucking me, because that's the only thing he could do, he never made love to me, he could only fuck me and I did not enjoy him much. So I went to a sex shop and bought a beautiful violet jelly dildo. I bought it for the sole purpose of being filled deep inside when I fantasize about you. And little prof fulfils its duties every day. Oh I wish it was you and not some jelly dildo that makes me cum every night.

I even took some photos and videos - at some point I may have had the idea to send them to you, anonymously of course. But I never dared. But taking those photos and videos had the wildest effect on my libido. As if your blue eyes had been staring at me while I was making passionate love to you in my mind, while little prof (that's the name I gave to my dildo) was slowly thrusting in my dripping pussy. Oh I wish you could see me, I wish you could hear me moan for you.

On several occasions, I could not wait for the end of the class. I often rushed to hide in the toilets during the class break, and muffling myself with my own hand, I fingered myself wildly till I made myself come intensely and quickly. Then I returned to my seat in the front row. I'm sure there was a scent of arousal all around me but that did not seem to awaken your senses. 

Now, I'm about to leave college definitely, and I won't have the pleasure to see you anymore. I am sure that I will see you in my fantasies every night for a long time. But I will miss not having made love to you. I wish I could tie you right now to the reclining chair in the corner of my room. I wish I could rip your clothes and lick your cock till you beg me to make you come, as my body has been begging every week for the past three years. I wish I could feel your cock deep inside me. I wish I could feel your hot cum deep burst in my pussy. I wish I could hear you moan with pleasure. I wish I could abuse of your body, just for one night, just to have no regrets in my future life. 

Writing these words has made me all wet, once again. I'll have to abandon the keyboard and give in to this urge to have yet another shattering orgasm thinking of you.

Yours truly, my dearest professor,

Cassandra.



Dear Professor, I Love You!



Hey guys its Ariel again! I have some good news…. I think I’m finally ready to settle down. I’ve been with Ben for a year and a half and he proposed to me the other night; I accepted! I am so excited. I have heard several love stories like mine but none that began with good intentions or ended happily. Mine does both so I thought I’d share it with you. 

Let me start at the beginning. Seven years ago I was a sophomore in college. The chemistry teacher had quit at the end of my freshman year. His replacement, Mr. Pierce, was to start this year. My best friend Shannon was in love with the biology teacher, Mr. Licent. Mr. Licent was in charge of the science club, so naturally Shannon and I joined. She became president and I was vice president. Every year our college takes 15 or so of the science club students on an overnight field trip to a convention dedicated to cleaning up the rivers in our area. Each school creates a presentation for the convention. 

Mr. Licent, Mr. Pierce and about 15 students, including Shannon and I, headed to the conference on a Wednesday afternoon. They threw a big banquet dinner for all the college students and teachers that night. Mr. Pierce, Shannon, Mr. Licent, and I all sat at the same table. That night at dinner Mr. Pierce revealed another side of himself I’d never seen before. He was a man; I’d never particularly thought of him that way before just as a teacher, an educator, nothing more, yet there he was in front of me as just a man. He was beautiful, intelligent, articulate, funny, sweet, everything anyone could want. I couldn’t believe that no one had snatched him up yet and I thought for sure that God had made him just for me. The butterflies fluttered in my stomach whenever he would talk to me at dinner. Later that night there was a dance for the students and staff of the convention. Shannon and I decided to skip it and just go back up to our hotel room. The elevator doors swung open and there was Licent and Pierce. “Where are you young ladies going?”

“We are headed back to our room! We’re skipping the dance.”

“Why would you girls do a thing like that? I bet you two can really shake your stuff on the dance floor.” Mr. Licent said eyeing Shannon up and down. I caught Mr. Pierce’s eye and gave him a nervous smile. He asked if we’d like to hang out with them in the community room. (Our university reserved an extra room that was to be used as a community room that everyone could meet in.)

“Of course!” Shannon quickly agreed. “Let us just get out of these dressy clothes and we’ll be down.” Shannon and I went back to the room she changed into her blue pajama pants that had a little princess bending over kissing a frog pattern all over it and tank top with the same picture on the front. 

I couldn’t wait to get to the community room to be with Mr. Pierce but at the same time I couldn’t be more nervous. Mr. Pierce and I always had plenty in common and conversation was never in short demand with the two of us, but now, it wasn’t just Mr. Pierce; it was a man. A man that, I was sure, would see right through the thinly veiled feelings I had for him. Then what would I say to him? How would I act? After all he’s a man, yes, but still a teacher and having feelings for a teacher is wrong. What’s even more wrong would be him having feelings for me. I was sure that my feelings would be unrequited, so I might as well put on a happy face and go down there. “I’m sure these tight little pants will make Mr. Lic… Everything OK?” Shannon asked. 

“No.” I was lost in thought. “Shannon,” I spoke in bits. “I don’t know if… you saw… what I saw… tonight… at the banquet, but it just seemed like Mr. Pierce turned into a… an… actual human right before my eyes. I mean he’s not just a teacher anymore he’s…” My voice trailed off. 

Shannon wrapped her arms around me and gently said, “Oh honey, I feel like I should welcome you to the club or something. He is a spectacular man isn’t he?” I nodded in agreement. “Let’s get you undressed so we can get down there and be with our men Ariel!” Shannon took my hair down and it hung in kinky curls about half way down my back because of how it was put up. I changed into my pajamas; the short black shorts with hot pink stripes down the side and black tank top with hot pink piping. Shannon looked me up and down, “He’ll totally swoon!” We both giggled and headed out of the room. 

We got down to the community room and it was just the four of us. From the looks of it the guys were just as anxious to get out of their penguin suits, as we were to get out of our dresses. Mr. Pierce was wearing flannel pants and a tight-fitting white undershirt, and Mr. Licent was wearing flannel boxers and a white undershirt. At first, I couldn’t even look Mr. Pierce in the face. I felt like he’d just know; see through whatever façade I was putting on. As the evening wore on and a few students drifted in and out I became more comfortable and started to loosen up. We chatted well into the night. 

Shannon and I finally got back to our room at around 12:30 in the morning. We both fell onto one of the beds next to each other and let out a sigh. We dissected every bit of conversation, every hand gesture, and every eye movement of the evening. We fell asleep in the same bed as we were talking. 

I woke up that morning and looked around to find Mr. Licent buttoning and adjusting his shirt and the shower starting in the bathroom. That was that first time I thought that Shannon and Mr. Licent’s relationship extended beyond friendship. After all he was married with a child. I asked Shannon about it later and she said that nothing happened, and that last night in the community room when Mr. Pierce and I went to the soda machine to grab some cokes she gave Mr. Licent a key to our room so he could make sure we were awake. The rest of the convention was relatively uneventful. 

When Shannon and I were juniors we talked almost every night fantasizing about what could happen when we were out of college. I could finally be with Mr. Pierce, just the thought gave me butterflies in my stomach, and Shannon could be with Mr. Licent. We resumed our positions as President and Vice President of the Science Club, with Mr. Licent and Mr. Pierce as the staff advisors. We worked on our presentation for the annual science trip to the convention, but we also went on several mini trips all over Illinois and Missouri that were open to anyone in the Science Club. Most of the trips we took were scheduled on weekends to weed out the genuinely interested from the kids just trying to get out of classes. That tactic, as you might have guessed, made students scarce at the time of the trips. Often times it was just a couple of boys and the four of us. They would do their own thing and the four of us would more or less stick together. We became good friends, but on those trips only. None of us wanted to fuel the fires at school. 

Sometime around the beginning of that year rumors arose about inappropriate relationships between Mr. Licent and Shannon and Mr. Pierce and I. (For the record, they were completely FALSE!) No matter, the four of us kept our friendship covert. We worked after hours together on science club and convention material. I spent many mornings before my classes in Mr. Pierce’s office getting some extra help in his class that I desperately needed. That only added to the rumor that there was something going on between us but I didn’t care because the door was always open and other students would come and ask for help. Besides, NOTHING was going on. 

Mr. Licent didn’t come back for our senior year. Him, his wife, his daughter, and his newborn moved out of town. As you can guess that stirred the fire at the rumor mill even more. Speculators believed that he had quit his job at the university to be with Shannon. That, of course, was completely untrue, however, Shannon did keep in contact with him and eventually in January of that year they ended up getting together. (That was three and a half years ago and they still hook up whenever he’s in town without his wife.) Mr. Pierce resigned as staff advisor for the convention, but Shannon and I remained president and vice president of science club. I still went into Mr. Pierce’s room most mornings but only sometimes would he help with my work other times we’d just talk. 

One morning towards the end of the first semester I went in to talk to Mr. Pierce and he said he wanted to talk to me, but after his last class. I wandered what he could possibly want to talk to me about. What would make him to freaked to tell me now? Why did he want to wait until the building was mostly clear of students and staff? It killed me not to know what he was thinking. I had butterflies in my stomach the whole day and his just words burned in my mind. I was sitting outside his lecture room when his last class dismissed. I went in and he went in his office without a word. I stood there not really knowing what was going on. A million different thoughts ran through my head. Maybe I was failing his class and it was time for the you-can-do-better lecture, maybe he found out I liked him and wanted to lecture me on the many reasons it was wrong, maybe he felt the same and wanted to tell me, of course I was just hoping he’d start kissing me. 

I stood in his room confused, thinking. Then, he called me into his office; when I walked in, he walked out. I was totally confused then I realized he shut the classroom door, walked back into the office and shut that door. My heart jumped into my throat and started pounding. This was it; he wanted me as badly as I wanted him and he was about to make that perfectly clear. I didn’t, however, anticipate another option. When I looked at his face I realized he was totally furious. He must’ve seen that I sensed this because explained that it wasn’t me he was irate with it was the administration. Apparently, they had bought into all the rumors flying around about the two of us and Shannon and Mr. Licent because the dean, Mrs. Nefarious, set a meeting with Mr. Pierce in her office after his classes yesterday and asked if he’d like to say something at the SAP meeting on Thursday. Obviously, my face gave away what I was thinking; because he went on to explain that they formed a Student Assistance Program to decide how to “deal with” the growing rumor mill problem. 

He questioned whether they were doing it to eliminate the rumor mill or pretend to eliminate it but in actuality would be allowing it to thrive by giving it yet another avenue. Mrs. Nefarious assured him that the staff assembled for the task only had the best of intentions and would, indeed, like to see the rumors going around the university silenced. She continued, dryly stating that she only extended him this courtesy because even his colleagues were starting to lose faith that a “professor in their institution” could never carry on a relationship with a student. 

Just seeing his face when he said that, I could tell how enraged and saddened he was by what she told him. He thought that I should know and he couldn’t really talk about it with anyone else. His circle of friends outside work didn’t know anything about it and, from what Mrs. Nefarious said, he didn’t have any friends at work either. All thoughts of getting down and dirty with him flew out the window. I couldn’t speak, I could only stand there and look; my heart just went out to him. 

Being with Mr. Pierce so often, I was used to him surprising me with parts of his personality that I wouldn’t get to see in class. This time I saw something I never expected him to show to anyone, ever. He opened up; he was vulnerable. I looked into his eyes and saw the emotion, the hurt, the betrayal, the lack of respect he worked so hard to earn, and how it was affecting his job. His eyes that once burned blue were now sad and tired. I knew exactly how he felt. I felt the same things. I couldn’t walk through the halls without whispers and giggling behind my back. I wasn’t allowed to go to the convention this year and was asked to resign from science club. I could feel my eyes welling up with tears. I didn’t want to cry in front of him but I couldn’t help it. The tears started flowing down my cheeks, my eyes burned, and I quickly turned away from Mr. Pierce. 

I heard him take a deep breath and then felt his hand on my shoulder turning me back around. I looked down and buried my face in my hands. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. His hand raised my chin so I was looking him in the eyes. The reason he was taking deep breaths was because he was crying too. “Don’t tell anyone I cry.” A slight smile crept across his face and I managed a little laugh. I felt so safe right then. He took a big risk telling me all that then allowing his feelings about it to come out. I collapsed against his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. After about ten minutes our breathing slowed, our tears stopped, and we were finally able to talk. We let out our frustrations about the whole situation and chatted about everything under the sun. It was getting late and I was getting tired. I was telling Mr. Pierce how tired I was getting and the next thing I knew I woke up. I was sitting on the floor in his office propped up against him and his arm was around my shoulders. 

I freaked out what time was it? How long were we asleep? I still lived at home while attending college and my mom was going to freak out. I looked up at the clock; oh thank God, it was only 8:15. I woke Mr. Pierce and he started to panic too, I calmed him down and told him it was only quarter after eight. I thanked him for letting me get all this off my chest and he, in turn, thanked me. He said, since it was dark, he’d walk me to my car. He opened the door to his office and allowed me to go first. I walked out of his office and into his room staring out the windows. I started laughing, “The clock in your office must’ve stopped; it’s not even dark yet.” We both laughed. 

Just then the door to his lecture room jiggled and there was a loud bang. It took a second for it to sink in, but when it did we both panicked. The clock wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t 8:15 at night; it was 8:15 in the morning! We’d slept through the night. I could hear the students gathering outside the door for his first class at 8:30. PRAISE THE LORD, the door was locked!! He told me to go into the office and stay there. He grabbed the keys to his room and walked through his office into the lab and out into the hall. He unlocked the door and the students filed into the room and sat down. “Guys I have tons of papers to grade, but I can’t let you go without a lesson so, pop quiz, take out a piece of paper and name 15 elements on the periodic table put them on the table as you leave. Open book.” 

He came into his office and told me there was no one in the hall so I should go out his lab. I snuck out and ran to the bathroom. I checked my cell, there were 3 missed calls only two numbers. My mom called, then, Shannon, then, my mom again. I listened to the messages. My mom wandered where I was; Shannon told my mom I was spending the night with her and that I’d better have a damn good story in the morning; my mom was pissed that I still hadn’t called her back. I changed into the extra shirt I kept in my oversized purse, brushed out my hair, wet a paper towel and wiped my teeth, swished some water in my mouth, washed my face, threw on some eyeliner and lip gloss, popped a lifesaver breath mint in my mouth, and ran to class. During choir I told Shannon everything, and she totally flipped out. Fortunately, the meeting went off without a hitch; or at least mention of Tuesday night. 

At graduation I wanted to tell Mr. Pierce that all during college I had admired him from afar. After all he was moving to Texas for a teaching position at another university and I wouldn’t see him again so what did I have to lose? Needless to say I couldn’t do it, I just walked away and I went on to college and he moved to Texas. I had lost him forever. 

A year and a half later, right after turning 24, I was down south at a friend’s college to visit her and I thought this guy coming down the hall looked a lot like Andre Agassi and as he got closer I realized he looked like Mr. Pierce. IT WAS HIM!!! 

“Jayde?!?!” 

“Mr. Pierce!” 

He laughed, “Call me Ben.”

“OK, Ben. Wow, how are you?” 

“I’m great. What are you doing here? Do you go here?”

“I’m just visiting. I thought you went to Texas.”

“I was going to. Man, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah you too.” I started to walk away, again. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass more than once. So I turned back. “Ben!” He turned around. 

“Yeah?”

“I know this may seem like it comes out of nowhere, but trust me it doesn’t. I’ve always been interested in you more than just a professor. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen you and there isn’t a day I get up that I don’t kick myself in the butt for not telling you that when I had the chance. I just figured now that I have the opportunity I’d take it.” 

As I turned to walk away he put his hand on my shoulder and motioned with head, “My office.” I followed him into his office and he closed the door. “I can’t talk about it right now, but we will tonight over dinner. 7 o’clock?” I nodded. “There’s a great little 24-hour diner just down the street, Parker’s.” I smiled and walked out of his office without a word. 

My friend let me borrow a short, brown skirt and a low cut, baby blue shirt that matched my baby blue sandals. I was so nervous that my friend had to do my makeup for me. She dropped me off and I walked into the diner. There before me was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, Mr. Ben Pierce. He was 34 with a sculpted, athletic frame that stood about 6 feet tall with smooth skin lightly tanned from playing soccer all summer. He has dark brown hair barely visible because he shaves his head; clean-shaven, blue eyes so sparkling and so beautiful there are no words that quite do them justice and he wanted to be here with me. I was glowing. We were talking, catching up, revealing and before I knew it, it was 1 am. “I’m not ready to for this night to end yet, are you?” 

“It’s been wonderful so far, Ben, I’d prefer if it didn’t end right now.”

“The only place I know that’s open at this hour is mine.” He said with a smile. Oh, his smile could melt any heart. 

I laughed, “AHH! I’ve heard about that place! I’ve always wanted to go. I hear it’s quite the hang out!” I joked with a wink. He grabbed my hand and we went to his apartment. When we got there he gave me the tour, we picked out a movie, and started watching it. He sat next to me on the couch, my heart was beating through my chest; this is the man I have always wanted, always loved, even before we met. I leaned into him and he put his hand on my leg, I grabbed his other hand. Relaxation swept over my body and all the tension in the room dissolved. I could feel a hot, pulsing pressure on my lips, I opened my eyes and all I could see was Ben’s eyes closed. I kissed him back. 

I’ve never felt lips so soft or tasted them so sweet. His tongue invaded my mouth and a wave of electricity shot throughout my body. I realized at that moment that I would never want to be with another man or could never be with another man without thinking of him. My love for him, true, deep, unwavering love was sealed in that moment. 

I wanted him so badly that my whole body was burning with heat. His hand traced my spine down to the small of my back and back up inside my shirt and unsnapped my bra. I ran both my hands down his sides and pushed his shirt over his head. He removed my shirt, then my bra. He stopped kissing me, looked down, and cupped both my boobs with his hands. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see what was under that shirt? I can’t believe that I am actually here with you.” With that he took my left nipple into his mouth. I thought I was burning before, but to feel him in such a sexual way lit me on fire. I couldn’t think, or speak, or move. I sat there for a few moments then started rubbing his back and kissing his neck. 




Dear Professor, I Love You!



Our lips met again and my hands traveled down to his pants. I undid his belt and pants; we stood up without parting lips. His pants fell around his ankles and he stepped out of them. He started messing with my tie belt; after a few seconds I helped and while I took my skirt off he ran his fingers through my hair and cupped my face in his hands. 

We moved toward the bedroom never coming up for air, stringing our underwear down the hall. He paused right in front of his bed and looked me up and down, moaned, and pushed me down on the bed. He put a knee on each side of me and came toward my face. We kissed again. I rolled him over, got on top of him, and kissed down his neck, down his chest, and concentrated on his nipples. His moaning told me I was on the right track. I moved further down tracing the indentation in the middle of his stomach down to his belly button and past; teasing him for a while. I moved up his body until my pussy was right over his rock hard 7-inch cock. I rubbed his dick against my clit and slid him inside of me. “Are you sure?”

“Ben, I couldn’t be more sure.” I held his hands above his head on either side and pushed myself down until all 7 inches of him were buried inside me. I started to swivel my hips and pulled up until he was nearly out of me. Then, slowly back down and up again and down. Then, I tightened my muscles around his cock several times and started to bounce up and down on his pole faster and faster, harder and harder. I slid my legs further apart and leaned closer to him so my tits were dangling above his mouth. He sucked them and I put his hand between my legs and started flicking my clit with his finger. “Finger my clit. Oh my god! Oh yes, please make me cum Ben! Make me scream your name.” I could feel my orgasm building up. I reached behind me and started playing with Ben’s balls. They immediately tensed up. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum.” Just hearing those words out of his mouth shot a wave of ecstasy through my body. Ben became very vocal. Then, just as an extremely intense orgasm gripped me I felt cum shooting into my body. I screamed his name and moaned and screamed some more. The feeling of his cum only intensified my orgasm. We were both shaking, my pussy muscles milking Ben’s dick for everything he had. I fell on top of him and neither of us could move. I stayed there for about twenty minutes. I pulled him out of me and laid down next to him on the bed. He slid down and pushed my legs apart, pulled my lips open, licked me from my hole to my clit. “Wow! You taste awesome.” He came back up and laid down next to me. We made love four more times that night. We have been inseparable ever since. I love him, he loves me, and there is no doubt that we will be together forever. 



Dear Professor Pervert



Assignment #4: Bring yourself to orgasm without using your fingers, hands, vibrator or other sex toy. Record the experience in your Masturbation Journal, following the usual guidelines. Your last submission showed much improvement—the use of imagery and language was excellent. Keep up the good work. Sincerely, Professor Pervert.

I click "close mail" and smile. The Professor probably thinks this one's going to be a challenge, but I already came up with the answer ten years ago—back when I was in college the first time around. Doing a "no-hands" is actually pretty easy. You bunch up your pillow, straddle it like a lover, and work your hips just so while you play with your nipples. It feels great, plus you get a good core workout.

Of course, I'll be required to confess that I'm bringing prior experience to the assignment, but I figure I can make up the lost points with an extra-steamy journal entry. I was pretty inhibited at the beginning, but the Professor's right. I am improving. 

I stroll over to the linen closet and take out a towel. Today I have about two hours to complete the assignment and write it up. If I don't have my paper in his in-box by 9 pm London time, there will be "penalties." Afterwards I'll have just enough time to shower and get to campus for my real summer school class, "The Twentieth Century British Novel."

I pull off my oversized T-shirt and shimmy out of my panties. "Totally naked, above and below." That's what I'll write under "what were you wearing?" in the journal. 

Next I fold the pillow and wrap it in the towel. I always get very juicy when I'm doing it for the Professor. I stretch out on the bed and push the pillow between my legs, resting on my elbows to allow for good access to my breasts, which "dangle like cones of white wisteria, tinted tender pink at the tips." The Professor will love that. He specializes in the Romantic poets and is partial to natural imagery. 

I note the time on the clock above my bed, then cross my arms and begin to caress my breasts, my right hand cupping the left tit, my left hand stroking the right. My nipples feel soft and satiny and more sensitive than when I'm lying on my back, my usual position for self-pleasuring. I push my hips into the pillow, grimacing at the nubby texture of the towel against my tender slit. Maybe this isn't the answer after all? 

Think, Tina, think. The rest will come. 

It's the Professor's voice, smooth and deep, guiding me ever onward to new achievements.

I close my eyes and think.

A man steps from the melting red shadows behind my eyelids and stands at the bottom of my bed. His gaze is fixed on my naked ass. I can feel it, as bright and hot as a spotlight. I squirm involuntarily and that sweet, achy sensation of longing floods my belly. What is he thinking and feeling as he watches a horny slut masturbate just for him?

I begin to hump the pillow with slow, rhythmic thrusts. I can make out the man's face more clearly now--the lush, curly brown hair, the wire-rim Russian Revolutionary glasses. He is young--only two years older than I am and not even tenured yet--but he has enough of a snotty academic air that I yearn to rub away at that smug composure with every jerk of my hips. I want him so jealous of this pillow that he'll start begging me to let him take its place between my legs.

I pause mid-thrust and sigh. The sensation still isn't intense enough to bring me off. It might work if I could use my fingers to spread my labia and get direct friction on my clit, but of course, the assignment specifically forbids it.

I know you have it in you, Tina. Push a little harder. Show me how naughty you are deep inside.

"Yes, Professor," I whisper, into the air. I do want him to see me, not just my flesh, but my darker, deeper places.

The room shifts; the morning light filtering through the curtains turns to a harsh florescent buzz. Steel prison bars bisect the room, and my bed becomes a cot covered with a rough, gray blanket. I'm still humping a pillow, my bare buttocks aimed straight at the bars, but the audience has expanded ten-fold. A carefully selected squad of prisoners has been brought here to watch an over-sexed girl get herself off without using her hands. It's not clear if this is a reward or a punishment for these hardened criminals. I know the guards are sadists. They've told me that if I don't come this way in twenty minutes, the whole crew of correctional officers will get to fuck me on the sagging sofa in their employee lounge in ascending order of cock size. They warned me with a leer that the biggest one, Harry the Horse, has a dick that would put a baseball bat to shame.

The stakes are definitely higher now. 

I rock my hips faster against the damp towel. The prisoners' eyes bore into my flesh. They're bad guys, lifers. They haven't had a woman in decades, and their soft howls of frustration ricochet off the concrete walls. With a fearful glance over my shoulder, I see their huge, swollen cocks are protruding from their flies. Some pump themselves frantically, heedless of the grinning guard. One pushes himself through the bars, fucking the air, as if he can enter me that way if he tries hard enough. 

"Boys, you've got five minutes to finish your business, then its back to your cells," the guard barks. Then his voice turns to sugar with a touch of poison. "You, too, sweetheart. Five minutes or you know what we've got waiting for you."

"I've seen enough assholes in this joint. Make her flip over and show us her cunt," a hoarse voice grumbles.

I hear the crack of a fist landing on flesh, a bellow of pain. 

"What you see is what you get," the guard growls.

The men moan and grunt like beasts as they hurry to empty their balls. My head is bursting with lewd sounds, the rasp of dick flesh being rubbed in spit-moistened fists, the rhythmic knocking of hips against the bars that keep me cruelly out of their reach.

One man stands back, eyes narrowed, arms crossed, his fly firmly zipped. He is watching me, but he's also watching them watching me. It's the Professor. Even in this place, as far away from twining ivy as you can get, he's still the one in control. 

My nipples are as hard as little pebbles now. When I flick them with my fingers, electric jolts jump straight to my pussy. I'm gyrating like a stripper, sliding my cunt down over the pillow, then jerking back up, like my ass is tethered to a spring. Though I'm usually quiet when I masturbate, I realize I'm making sounds, too: deep grunts and harsh bellows to harmonize with the bang-bang of the headboard against the wall. But I'm going to make it in time. I can feel the orgasm begin to grow, a throbbing knot in my gut. And the prisoners are right there with me. With a collective groan, they shoot their wads through the bars, spraying my ass with a sizzling fountain of spunk. The odor fills my nostrils, hay mixed with something harsh and tinny, the nastiest, naughtiest smell on earth. It's all I need to push me over the edge. I ride the pillow like a bucking bronco, screaming myself hoarse as I climax, each contraction harder and sweeter than ever before.

As the spasms fade to a flutter, I check the clock. Length of session: Twenty minutes from start to finish. I collapse face down on the bed and listen to my pounding heart. So far, so good, but this is just the beginning. It's never really over until the Professor gives me my grade.

***

"Isn't that Professor Perkins over there? And you've got his table, Tina. Lucky bitch." 

Pam and I had a lot in common. We were both education majors with a minor in English lit; we both worked weekends at Chez Jacqueline. Of course, she was twenty-one. I was eight years older and far too worldly-wise to gush over an attractive young assistant professor.

"Those must be his parents," I said, eyeing the other members of his party: a slim, well-dressed older woman and gray-haired guy who looked more or less like the professor with thirty years on him. Chez Jackie's was the best restaurant in town and we often waited on our teachers and their families. I was curious to see how Perkins would act when he was off-duty. In class he was affable but no-nonsense—forget about getting an extension on a paper from him. 

To my surprise he was positively charming in the candlelit glow of the dining room. He remembered my name and introduced me to his folks with a jaunty, "Tina's without question my best student this semester."

"I know Pam gave you a free dessert when you said that to her last week, Professor, but I'm a tougher nut to crack." I grinned at his dad, who winked back.

"Damn. Because this time it's actually true," Professor Perkins joined right in.

Mom smiled, too, and did a little back-and-forth glance between her son and me that made it clear the professor wasn't currently attached, but Mom was hoping he might find a nice girl soon and she might possibly be yours truly. Which almost made me laugh out loud because I was far too busy getting my life back together to waste time lusting after my professor. Okay, so I did occasionally let my mind wander during class. I'd picture the professor naked and try to guess what his cock looked like erect. Long and slender or thick and florid? Ramrod straight or curved to the left as any P.C. professor's should be? Once or twice I even imagined what it would be like to ride him and watch his face as he came. But I did that with every professor, including the old silver-beards and--during really boring lectures--even a few of the women.

But I should've remembered that Mom always knows best. 

I was heading back to the kitchen with a tray of dirty plates when Professor Perkins stepped out of the hallway by the restrooms. 

"Excuse me, I know you're busy," he stammered. "But I wanted to let you know I turned in the final grades for your class yesterday."

My stomach did a somersault. Why would he look so nervous unless he had bad news? Yet I'd gotten an "A" on the midterm and very complimentary comments on the final paper: Your argument is tight and compelling, the writing smooth and flowing—a true pleasure to read. 

The professor smiled as if he read my thoughts. "Don't worry, you did very well. I mentioned it because I'm now ethically allowed to ask if you'd like to get together for coffee or something."

Could it be that while I was fantasizing about Professor Perkins naked, he was returning the favor? Maybe I'd get to see what his cock looked like after all. 

"Thanks, Professor. Actually, a bunch of us usually go over to the tapas place for a drink after work around eleven. You're welcome to join us tonight—if your Mom and Dad give you permission."

He blushed--I was starting to like this shy suitor side of him--but recovered quickly and gave me a grin. "I'm sure I can talk them into relaxing my curfew tonight. After all, there's no school tomorrow. See you later, then, Tina."

I had to admit I felt a little thrill as I watched him stride back to his doting parents. Professor Perkins had me in his power all semester. Now I was turning the tables. 

Or so I thought. 

***

Assignment #5: Go to the woman-friendly adult store south of campus. Ask a saleswoman for advice on anal toys. Confess your level of experience—beginner, dabbler, veteran ready for a challenge? Purchase the item she recommends as well as a bottle of lubricant. When you return home, insert the toy in your anus and masturbate. Record the experience in your Masturbation Journal, following the usual guidelines. Your last assignment earned "A" for the journal entry, which was nicely paced with evocative imagery. However, I gave you a "B-" for practical execution. The point of these exercises is for you to attempt something you haven't tried before. I expect you to obey this rule in the future. If you accumulate enough demerits, it will be necessary to discipline you appropriately. Sincerely, Professor Pervert.

Ah, yes, assignment #5. That's why I'm here in this strange pose: sitting on my bed with my back against the headboard, my legs spread wide. It's the only position that lets me keep the butt plug in place while I diddle myself.

Naturally, I bought the beginner's size, a flesh-colored silicone gadget about the size of my ring finger with a bulge in the middle like a swollen knuckle. The bottom flares out into a rectangular base to keep the device from slipping all the way inside. That's what the butch-looking saleswoman at the sex store explained to me. Fortunately, buying the thing was not as embarrassing as I feared. The woman was so nonchalant, it was like we were discussing lipstick instead of anal sex toys. That is, except at the very end when she handed me the brown paper bag and said, "Enjoy!" with a big grin as if she could see exactly what I'd be doing with my purchase before the afternoon was through. I blushed beet red and rushed out of the store.

To be honest, I probably do make as lewd a picture as anyone could imagine. I'm dressed in the scarlet waist cincher and thigh-hi's I bought for Assignment #3 which only accentuates all the bare, juicy parts of me. The air brushes my exposed pussy like cool fingertips, and my nipples are standing out stiff and red. Yet I can't say I'm all that turned on by the assignment yet. For one thing, I'm not sure I bought the right size plug. It was definitely a challenge pushing it inside me—I was poking the slippery, lubed-up thing around my butt crack for a full minute--but now that it's there, I can hardly feel it. I'm more excited by the idea that I did this naughty thing just for the Professor. 

Not that he's here to see me. Yet.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Suddenly the summer sunlight fades to a single green-shaded lamp glowing in the autumn dusk. I'm sitting on a leather sofa in the same slutty get-up, legs open, asshole impaled on a strange little silicone bowling pin. Across from me sits the Professor in a wingback chair, flanked by tall bookcases jammed with erudite tomes. With his eyes alone he issues the command: Touch yourself, Tina. For me.

My hand dips between my legs. I start to strum. My finger makes a rude clicking sound in the wet folds, and I blush, knowing he hears and sees it all. 

"Are you enjoying this?" he asks, his voice as soft as a silk scarf trailing over naked flesh.

"Yes, Professor," I admit shyly.

"Just 'yes'? That's a vague answer," he snaps. "I want you to be specific about what you find enjoyable. Is it that X-rated toy you shoved up your ass so greedily or the fact I'm watching you masturbate?"

My throat constricts with shame, but I manage to croak out an answer. "Both, Professor."

"Indeed? I must say I'm enjoying myself as well. But I think we're both disappointed you bought the small one. Next time I want you to get one of the long, fat monsters that made you cringe when you saw it on the shelf. While you're at it, get yourself a big dildo--with veins and a suction cup that sticks to a chair so you can ride it. And another one for your mouth, too. You'd like that, wouldn't you, to be all filled up in every empty, aching hole?" 

"Yes, Professor," I whisper. That's the only answer I can ever give him, but in truth I'm not sure I agree. No plastic cock--no matter how huge or swollen--can satisfy me as well as his hot, probing gaze. 

"Shall I send you back to the store right now to tell that dyke you're enjoying your timid little butt plug very much, thank you, but you crave something bigger and nastier?"

My heart leaps in my chest. "No, please. I'll do anything for you here in your office, but please don't make me do that, Professor." 

He laughs softly. "Your cunt muscles contract very nicely when you're frightened. Which gives me an idea for something we can do here to remedy the situation. At my command, I want you to squeeze your muscles around the toy as tightly as you can and hold it until I tell you to release. Will you do that for me?"

"Yes, Professor," I gasp, my buttocks slipping on the leather of the sofa, already slick with my sweat and juices.

"All right then. Squeeze."

I clutch the butt plug, panting softly. I'm starting to ache back there, but the Professor only watches me squirm, silently, for what seems like an eternity. Finally he deigns to utter the words I'm desperate to hear.

"You may release."

I breathe out. An intense tingling sensation radiates from my asshole, up through my torso, down through my shivering thighs. My jaw drops open an involuntary moan of pleasure.

"Spread your legs a little wider," he orders coolly. "It makes your pussy lips push out so I can see your hole. You're so slick and swollen today, Tina. I think anal play agrees with you. Once more now, squeeze...."

I grip the toy again, gritting my teeth.

"... and release."

The Professor is definitely on to something. My asshole's on fire, the flames shooting higher, licking at my throbbing clit. My finger dances over my stiff little girl-cock sticking out shamelessly, all hard and hungry for the Professor to see. I'm going to make it. I'm going to come in front of him with this obscene rubber toy jammed up my ass.

"May I...have...an orgasm, Professor?" I'm too distracted by the sensations to remember if this was part of the assignment.

"Of course, Tina, I always like to see my students bring their work to a satisfying conclusion. I would indeed like you to come—but only at the precise moment I give the order. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor." I obediently slow my clit finger to coasting speed. But will my cunt submit as easily to his command? 

"Come for me, Tina," he tells me. "Now."

With a grunt, I attack my clit with frantic jabs and squeeze the toy with all my might and—oh, god, it's happening—a wave of burning heat fans through my belly, erupting from my throat in a series of barking cries, as my back bangs against the headboard and my anus milks the butt plug in helpless, rhythmic spasms.

When it's over, I slide down onto the bed and pop the toy out, wrapping it in a waiting tissue. Total time for the session: thirty-five minutes. In my journal entry, I'll tell the Professor about his "help" of course, but I'm not sure words will do justice to the quality of my orgasm—a detailed description of which is a strict requirement for each assignment. It was definitely different. It seemed to start deeper inside me, a secret explosion tucked back against my spine. Yet there was something else I couldn't quite name, a hint of exotic spice in a familiar sweet. The only way I can really be sure I'll get a good grade is to try it again and take more careful notes.

I laugh to myself. Strange how my lover is thousands of miles away, but I'm having more and better sex than I've ever had in my life.

***

After our first "date" for drinks, things moved fast with Professor Perkins. After all, I'd already met his parents. Within the week, I saw his cock, too. It was average in length, but thick, and it turned a lovely rosy color when it got hard that made me think of a strawberry Popsicle, my favorite flavor.

Professor Perkins—I was calling him Jonathan by then—was pretty good in bed, too. At first he was slow and careful, as if he were studying my body to get an "A" in "Tina's Sexual Response 101." But soon enough we were rutting like wild animals. After the sex, we had some pretty intense talks, too. Jonathan told me about his romance with a colleague that didn't survive when she left him for a job on the East Coast. I told him why I dropped out of college the first time: to follow my boyfriend, Devon, on his pilgrimage around the world. Our first year together was the most magical year of my life. The next five were the worst. It was all about Devon's drinking until one day I realized I was giving my life to a man who didn't know me, who didn't even see me at all.




Dear Professor Pervert



"I love to look at you," Jonathan said, stroking my hair. "And I want to know everything about you."

He was certainly saying and doing all the right things. In fact, it all seemed too good to be true. It was. A minute later, Jonathan told me he was leaving for London the following Monday and would be gone for six weeks to do research at the British Library. 

Okay, a few dates and a few fucks didn't really give me any claim on him, but I felt deserted by the bastard all the same. 

Still the first week apart wasn't so bad. We emailed every day and Jonathan hinted during a Skype call that he'd love to take me hiking around Wordsworth's Dove Cottage in the Lake Country—next summer perhaps. Could a guy get more sweet and Romantic than that? 

In fact, it was my dirty mind that lead us down a darker, more twisted trail. It all started innocently enough with a naughty dream.

I was lying on the floor of Professor Perkins' office wearing an old-fashioned schoolgirl's kilt and white blouse. The Professor himself was stretched out on top of me, but he didn't really have a body. He was just a hot weight pressing me down, making my flesh feel all tingly and melted. I couldn't see his face either, but I felt his hand stroking my cheek and his voice slipping into my ear. Your final paper was so good it made my cock hard for two weeks straight.

Which, of course, didn't make any sense. I mean, how could a ten-page paper on "Ode on a Grecian Urn" give anyone a boner for one minute not to mention two weeks? However, the dream got me so turned on, I lay in bed playing with myself and thinking about Jonathan until I had a very wet, loud orgasm. Even after that I was still horny and missing him terribly. That's how I got the idea to send him a provocative email.

In retrospect it was mild stuff. I told him about the dream and how I "pleasured myself" when I woke up. Then I said, tongue-in-cheek, that I was looking forward to August when I could feel his "pulsating manhood" in my "turgid sex." 

After I sent it, I was a little worried he'd laugh or be offended, but instead he called and said in that low, syrupy voice guys get when they're shy but turned on at the same time, that he enjoyed my email and was going to send a reply soon.

I couldn't restrain a giggle of triumph. Last spring I never would have imagined I'd inspire Professor Perkins to send me an X-rated email. 

But that wasn't quite what I got. The subject line was simply "Comments on Your Essay." In a formal, professor-ish tone, he told me my paper would be stronger if I gave more context for the self-pleasuring—what I was wearing, how long it took, and specific techniques I used to reach satisfaction. He suggested I draw my reader into the scene through the use of vivid detail and avoid clichés such as "pulsating manhood." He concluded that my work showed promise, but there was much room for improvement.

My face burning with embarrassment and disbelief, I fired back a reply. "Dear Professor Pervert, I didn't realize I was going to be graded on my effort. Maybe you should write out the assignment with a list of guidelines so I can do better next time?"

A few hours later, I found this in my in-box: 

Assignment #1. Spend at least an hour pleasuring yourself without bringing yourself to orgasm. After one hour, you may enjoy a climax. You'll be keeping a "Masturbation Journal" which will be graded on style and content. At the top of each entry record then time of day, length and location of session, what you are (or are not) wearing as the session unfolds. I'm looking for an accurate and thoughtful essay that explores not only physical sensations, but your thoughts, feelings and fantasies while you are masturbating. Fresh images and honesty are key elements of the exercise. The assignment is due within four hours. Late papers will be penalized. Sincerely, Professor Pervert.

"The nerve!" I sputtered at the computer, shaking with anger. For a minute, I was too worked up over his audacity to notice he'd gotten me worked up in other ways: my panties were soaking wet.

***

After I got an "A" for the butt plug scene, I was really looking forward to Assignment #6, but instead I received an email as terse as an old-fashioned telegram: "Coming home early, have to run to catch the flight. Can I see you Saturday afternoon? J."

In spite of my excitement, I spent most of the morning worrying about what I'd say when I greeted him on my doorstep. "Hey, Dr. Perkins, thanks again for reading my kinky fantasies about doing sex shows for convicts and sodomizing myself in your office"? Fortunately, conversation was low on our list of welcome home activities. The instant he arrived we were kissing and ripping off each other's clothes and, within about a minute, fucking like crazy. 

Now we're twined together in the afterglow, and Jonathan is telling me how much he missed me and how I'm even more gorgeous than he remembered. Not that I don't like the adoration, but it's a bit cliche. Secretly I find myself missing another man, with more exacting standards, who has apparently decided to stay back in London. 

As if he's read my thoughts, Jonathan clears his throat. "By the way, I, um, enjoyed your essays very much. I know it would be different in person, but I came up with some new ideas. It's totally cool with me if you'd rather not, but maybe some day we could...?"

My pulse jumps.

"Try Assignment Six?" I whisper. 

He nods, blushing.

"I'd like that very much, Professor. In fact, I'd be up for a lesson right now."

His cock stirs against my thigh, and I feel a change in other parts of his body, too—a squaring of the shoulders, a confident lift to the chin. My heart is pounding now, with the power of it. Because I'm the one who's made this happen, with my words and my desire. 

"Very well, Tina, I want you to get up and stand by the bed." His voice is slow and smooth, just as I imagined. "No, don't put on your robe, I want to look at you just as you are."

I crawl out of bed and stand before him. I can't meet his eyes, but I feel them, warm and glowing on my bare flesh. I've never felt so beautiful, so seen.

"You like to be watched doing naughty things, don't you, Tina? You like to do things no good girl would ever dream of."

"Yes, Professor," I whisper, my voice trembling.

"In fact, you want to masturbate for me right now, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, Professor." I slip an unsteady hand between my legs and start to rub my clit for him. Except this time he really is watching.

"Your reports were excellent, but I must say I'm enjoying the live performance. Now, for our next assignment I'll be asking you to do some new things that circumstances didn't allow before. I will push you, and stretch you, but I know you have it in you to get top grades."

I let out a soft moan. Images swirl through my head: my body bent over his desk in his office on campus, the Professor behind me, probing my ass with the lubed-up knob of his dick. Me on my knees, hands bound behind my back as I suck and suck his strawberry Popsicle prick. I know there will be challenges, even humiliations, but any fear is lost in a sweet, soaring hunger to learn more about all the things our bodies and minds can do together. 

"I'll try my best, Professor. If I may say so, sir, I'm glad you're back."

"All thanks to you, Tina. You are without question my most inspiring student. Now listen carefully to my instructions. As you know, I will take points off for sloppiness." 

The only proper answer is to nod, obediently, but I can't help smiling, too. He is home, my dear Professor Pervert. I can't wait for class to begin.



Dear Prudence



"I'll take care of your coat for you, Prudence," I offered as I helped her remove her fur jacket.

"Thanks, Mike," she smiled. "I'll see you at the bar after you've finished that little chore."

That was when I noticed Steve Watkins and Barry Reynolds standing between me and the coat room. I could barely conceal my distaste as I attempted to walk around them to hang Prudence's fur. "Did I hear you call your wife 'Prudence', Mikey?" laughed Steve. "That's a name you don't hear very often. In fact, she has to be the first Prudence I've ever seen."

"I really don't know what you heard, Steve," I responded. "I don't think you heard me call my wife by name, however."

"You're always playing word games and being so damn precise, Mike! I'll make it a lot simpler," growled Steve. "Is your wife's name Prudence, or not?"

"Well, yes, that's her name but you can't expect me to tell you what you may have heard," I maintained.

I had worked for The Dittmar Corporation for twelve years, but had only been assigned to the company's Utica branch a few weeks prior. In that rather short interval, I had learned to strongly dislike Steve. He was lazy, obnoxious, conceited, and amoral. Barry Reynolds was his sidekick, or so it seemed. He played Robin to Steve's Batman.

Steve and I both believed we were in line to become the branch manager and thus a natural rivalry had spawned. He went out of his way to ridicule me and my work. Because his efforts were so blatant, I never felt the need to respond to his actions directly. I simply kept doing my job as well as I could. I just happened to be far better at it than Steve was, at least in my humble opinion. That little fact only spurred him into more flagrant offenses against my reputation.

"Your wife has a great set of tits, Mike. They look like a c-cup, at the very least," observed Steve. "That dress sure shows a lot of them, too. Is she some sort of slut?"

Steve's efforts to bait me were pathetic. It was obvious he was trying to get my goat. I had played the game long enough to know how to win. Patience and brains always beat a big mouth and rash actions.

"I really don't think I'll discuss my wife's breasts with you, Steve," I answered. "She certainly isn't a slut. She's a lady and will be treated as such at all times."

Steve wouldn't let it go. I realized he must have had a few drinks already. He was like an animal on the prowl. He wanted a piece of me any way he could get it.

"If you're so confident that your wife is a lady, you should be willing to make a little wager," reasoned Steve as he winked at his sidekick, Barry. 

"I don't make bets, Steve. You'll have to excuse me now," I insisted. "I should circulate around the room."

"It's a little early to kiss ass, Mike," chuckled Steve. "Old man Mumford won't be here for a couple hours, at least. He called Tom and told him that he'd be late for the party and that he hoped everyone would still be here when he arrived."

That piece of news annoyed me. I had felt compelled to arrive at the Christmas party early to make a good impression on Dirk Mumford, who had recently been named CEO of Dittmar Corporation. I had met him several times over the years and I knew he insisted that employees live up to his expectations. It was either his way or the highway. Now I would have to hang around a few extra hours to be certain that he was aware of my attendance at the company affair. That meant Steve would have more opportunity to irritate the shit out of me. It was going to be a long evening!

Steve saw how this news had annoyed me even more than his tasteless babble. That seemed to cheer him up and led him to make his wager.

"You act so damn superior, Mike. You think you're a lock for the manager's position. You think your trophy wife is so loyal and devoted. It makes me sick!" he practically spat at me. "I'll bet I can get my hands on your wife's tits before midnight. I wouldn't be surprised if I got even farther, but I'm willing to bet fifty bucks I can get that far!"

"Do you actually think I'd ever be involved in such an asinine wager, Steve?" I asked in disbelief. "You know nothing about my wife. We'll leave her out of this senseless discussion. In fact, this talk is over!"

"You chicken-shit wimp!" snarled Steve. "You keep pretending you're better than me. The truth is that you don't trust that slut out of your sight. You're afraid I'll win the bet, so you pretend to be indignant. You're a real sorry fucking piece of work!" Now I was livid! How could a man allow another man to speak that way about his wife and still keep his pride? I quickly formulated a plan. It was time Steve was eliminated from the field of work force competition.

"Fifty bucks isn't worth my time!" I sneered back. "Let's make it five hundred and have Barry hold the money."

As I spoke I opened my wallet and pulled five bills out and handed them to Barry. To Steve's credit, he hardly blinked as he followed my lead.

"This is going to be a real pleasure!" he gloated. "We need a couple simple rules. You can't warn that bitch about our bet. In fact, you don't even talk to her unless Barry or I are present."

"Fair enough," I agreed. "Barry will hold the thousand. If you don't manage to get your hands on my wife's tits before midnight, he gives me the money. If you do manage it, he gives you the money. That's the entire bet."

"That's fine with me. If I get my hands on your wife's tits before midnight, Barry gives me the money. Otherwise, you get it," agreed Steve. "Barry has to hang pretty close so he can witness the demise of your goddamn uppity attitude."

"I'll agree to have him be the judge as to whether or not you succeeded with my wife enough to collect the wager," I conceded.

"You have a bet, Asshole!" chuckled Steve. "Just don't blame me if your wife loses interest in you after I play with her tits tonight. She'll probably want me to fuck her, too!"

"Steve, if you manage to manhandle my wife's breasts before midnight, you can fuck the shit out of her as far as I'm concerned," I admitted. "If you're that good, I wouldn't be able to stop you anyway."

"Now you're talking, Mike! I like that attitude. I'll give her the best sex of her life just to ruin her for you. She'll never be happy with you again after tonight," crowed Steve.

With that, Steve and Barry turned and walked toward the bar and Prudence. I still had to go find a hanger, so it was a few minutes before I emerged from the coat room. 

I saw Steve dancing with Prudence when I rejoined the party. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. Then I began to casually make the rounds. I had time to kill so I visited with folks seated at tables, or standing around conversing. I was determined to stay away from Prudence the rest of the evening. I really didn't think she would even notice that I was avoiding her.

I didn't want to do anything that would ruin my chances to pick up an easy five hundred dollars as well as get Steve out of my hair for good. It occurred to me that I could be making a MasterCard commercial. It was Christmas time and the extra money would be useful. The open shot at the manager's position was priceless.

I spent some time schmoozing with Tom Barriger, the current branch manager. He had already made it known that he planned on retiring by next fall. He had dreams of spending his winters golfing, rather than shoveling snow.

"I guess you've heard that Dirk Mumford called to say he'd be late?" asked Tom. "His flight was delayed and he was pissed. I'd suggest everyone give him a wide berth when he does arrive."

"You've got that right, Tom," I agreed. "He spent 10 years in the Marines and won't take any shit from anyone, even on a good day."

"Have you met him, Mike? You seem to know something about him," observed Tom.

"He was my boss in Harrisburg for three years. We aren't pals or anything, but we get along," I conceded.

"I wonder if Steve knows about that!" chuckled Tom. "He's determined to beat you out for my job when I retire. As you know, I don't get to pick my replacement, nor would I want to. Steve would have his head so far up my ass; I'd have to see my proctologist just to take a shit! Let him suck up to Mumford when he arrives."

"Mumford will fire Steve's ass on sight, Tom," I stated.

"I think you're letting your hopes and dreams replace your logic," allowed Tom. "Steve can be annoying, but his record is clean and he's paid his dues. He's managed to make a few influential friends in high places. As much as I hate to admit it, he has as good a chance to get my job as you do. Maybe better." 

"You like a good wager, Tom. I'll bet you five hundred dollars Mumford fires him tonight. That would help buy you a new set of clubs like Tiger uses," I goaded.

"Have you been talking to Mumford?" demanded Tom. "Do you have inside information?"

"Only that Mumford is ramrod straight. He'll fire Steve's ass before the end of the evening, unless he doesn't get here at all," I stated confidently.

"I think I'll take that bet, Mike," replied Tom as he offered his hand to shake. "Steve is nothing if not an ass-kissing, brown nosing suck-up. He'll give you a run for my position."

I couldn't suppress my grin as I shook Tom's hand. How many MasterCard moments could one guy have?

I searched the crowd for some sign of Steve. I saw him walking from the bar with a couple drinks in his hands. He was all smiles as he handed one to Prudence. Somehow he must have known that I was watching him. He turned his head in my direction and gave an exaggerated wink. 

I knew the stakes, so I rubbed my eye with my middle finger. He caught my meaning and his shoulders shook in silent mirth. He was really enjoying himself. The thought that he would screw up my marriage seemed to make his night.

He monopolized Prudence the entire evening. They danced. They sipped drinks. They laughed. Steve was working her for all he was worth. I had to grudgingly give him credit. He knew what he was doing and worked hard at it. If he had worked that hard at his job, I'd have no chance at the manager's position.

Steve was careful to not let Prudence chat much with the other guests. It was my guess that he didn't want anyone reminding Prudence that she was a married woman. He also didn't want to risk losing her undivided attention. It was like watching a master at work. He was playing her like a violin.

By ten o'clock, I began to have doubts. Prudence and Steve were dancing every slow dance. She was showing signs of being under the influence of the alcohol she had consumed, as well as Steve's line of bullshit. Mumford was no where to be seen and more than a few of the party-goers were beginning to mutter. It's so hard to kiss an ass that can't be found.

I lost sight of Prudence around 10:30 and really started to worry. It could turn out to be a very expensive night for me. I'd have to give Tom a check to cover the bet with him. 

I envisioned myself explaining to Prudence how I had come to lose a five hundred dollar bet at a company Christmas party. She would never know about the five hundred in cash if I lost that. There are some things that wives don't understand and losing bets is one of them. You can win a dozen in a row, but lose one and you're the dumbest fuck that ever drew a breath!

As I was contemplating the fickleness of women, I heard a change in the crowd sounds. Looking around, I saw Dirk Mumford strolling across the room. He was smiling and shaking hands as he walked. It was just at that time that Barry came over to me and started pulling on my sleeve.

Barry had a huge shit-eaten grin. He was oblivious to Mumford's arrival. He looked like the cat that got the canary.

"Mike, hurry over to the small conference room across from the men's room! Steve has something he wants to show you. Hurry!" insisted Barry before he turned and practically ran toward the room he had just mentioned. He carefully opened the door and slid inside, closing it carefully behind him.

"Hello, Mike!" boomed Mumford as he approached me and extended his hand.

"Hello, Dirk," I responded with much less volume while shaking his hand. "It's good to see you made it to the party."

"It wasn't very easy, Mike. I tipped the cabbie fifty bucks to run a few lights so I'd get here quicker," he laughed. "Where's Prudence? She's here, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is Dirk. The last I saw of her, she went into that room across from the men's room," I answered while pointing to the door Barry had just used.

Mumford's forehead creased in a frown as he strode across the floor and entered the room I had indicated.

It was just past midnight when I dialed my wife's number on my cell phone. She answered on the third ring.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Mike!" she bitched.

"Prudence, listen to me!" I begged. "I have some news that will make you forgive me! Just listen, please?"

"Okay, Mike," responded Prudence. "This had better be good or you'll be in the dog house for Christmas. You must know that."

"It is and I do," I answered. "That ass, Steve Watkins bet me he could get his hands on your tits tonight. It was a five hundred dollar wager. One condition of the bet was that I not speak to you before midnight. That's why I'm calling you now," I revealed.

"Really? Why would be so sure he could manage that, Mike? What did you tell him to persuade him to make the bet?" demanded Prudence.

"It's a long story. Somehow he deducted that my wife's name was Prudence and that you had great tits and were a bit of a slut. He added it all up and decided to make a fifty dollar bet that he could free your tits from their less than adequate confinement. I upped the ante to five hundred and took the bet. The three conditions were that I not talk to you before midnight, his buddy hold the money, and also be the judge as to which of us was the winner," I added.

"Great tits? I like that part! I just might forgive you for not calling at ten, like you promised. I'm afraid I see where you're going with this, Mike. Did this asshole ask to see any ID, by any chance?" she questioned.

"Well, no. He never actually asked for a picture or anything, if that's what you mean," I responded.

"You know exactly what I mean, Mike! I'm almost afraid to ask, but was Dirk there tonight?"

"Yes, he was, although his flight was delayed and he didn't show until close to eleven."

"Mike, was she wearing one of those little dresses that shows most of her enhanced boobs? Did she drink too much?" questioned Prudence. "Did you win that sick goddamn bet?"

"Yes to all of those questions. That's one of the reasons I called you, besides missing you so much. I'm going to hand the phone to Barry Reynolds. He's the former Dittmar employee that's holding the money we bet. Tell him your name and how long we've been married so I can collect. I'm not sure whether Steve is in jail or the hospital. Either way, he lost the bet. 

I'll be catching a flight back to Pittsburgh Friday night. Pick me up at the airport and we'll be spending the holidays celebrating, Darling. Prudence may seem like an unusual name to some, but I know of at least two. There's you, of course, and then there is Prudence Mumford. Steve and Barry met Prudence Mumford tonight. Somehow, I don't think they'll have the opportunity to meet you," I admitted.