1 comments/ 14059 views/ 11 favorites Enterprising College Sluts Ch. 01 By: FantasyRed "We're all adults here," my French Films professor pointed out so astutely, "but I feel it courteous to warn you that there are some sexually explicit scenes in this next film." And with those words, he had the immediate attention of every half-asleep student in the room. "Because I believe this is an excellent film and a good representation of French culture, I'm going to show it. But because I value my job and in no way want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, I'm making the essay following this film extra credit. If you don't want to write the paper, don't come to next week's class when I'll be showing the film." And wouldn't you know it, all fourteen students in the tiny, bullshit elective class showed up to watch. He was right, there were some very steamy scenes in the film, the title of which I can't remember. He was also right that it was a decent film, unafraid of its sexuality as are many French films. And the content was no more explicit than some R-rated films I've seen in mainstream cinema, and certainly no worse than late night premium cable channels. As the lights came back up, I looked around the room to see everyone else shifting uncomfortably in their seats, or staring intently at our professor, M. Stewart, proudly displaying their fake comfort level with the content we'd just seen. We knew based on the three films we'd watched so far in the semester, there'd be a post-viewing discussion and an expectation of total class participation. And, of course, there's only so long you can hide in a class of slightly more than a dozen students. "So," M. Stewart began, "Who would like to start off our discussion?" One of the squirrel-eyed fakers shot her hand up, and M. Stewart nodded once in her direction. "I thought the character development was excellent." she spat out, likely feeling that she was off the hook for having contributed her weak support of the film. "How so?" he folded his arms as he encouraged her to say more. "Well," she could no longer maintain eye contact, twiddling her pen against her notebook, "I mean, watching Sandrine go from a shy woman who let people walk all over her to a confident woman was interesting to watch." "Mmm.." M. Stewart nodded, though clearly not satisfied with her stiff answer. A male student from the back of the room spoke up. "I liked how the director didn't spend a lot of time on wardrobe and makeup. His characters are natural and so are their surroundings. Gives a real life feel to his work." "Very observant, thank you." M. Stewart crossed the room and stood very close to my desk. "Anyone else want to comment more on Sandrine's development as a character?" I waved my hand slightly, just to catch his attention. "Jane," he nodded. "I think Sandrine's development as a person and as a woman were tied to her sexual awakening." A slow smile crept across M. Stewart's face, and he relaxed against the dry erase board, folding his arms. "But, so little of the film focuses on Sandrine's sex life. Can you back up your claim that sexual awakening is a central theme?" "Well, in the beginning of the film, she is a pushover in all things - work, her love life, with her friends and family. But when she meets Etienne, for what seems like the first time in her life, she is challenged both mentally and physically. I think this is where she draws her character strength and motivation." This seemed to loosen things up a bit, and the rest of the class found it easier to comment on all things related to the film, without being so focused on saying something that would make them seem like a pervert - or worse, a virgin. Afterward, the room cleared out pretty quickly. I finished packing up my things and headed toward the door, just to the left of M. Stewart's desk. I'd just opened the door to leave when he said my name. "Jane," he looked amused, "I wanted to thank you for your contribution to class today." "Oh, um..." I stammered, caught off guard, "Sure. I enjoyed the movie, thanks for showing it." "I must say I was surprised and a little impressed by your...candor." He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk, peering at me from atop his black rimmed glasses. I pulled the door back closed and stepped fully back into the classroom, now straight in front of his desk. Monsieur Stewart - or, Mike, as I'd happened to hear his colleagues refer to him - was one of my favorite professors. He graded fairly, let us out of class a few minutes early from time to time and seemed to understand that in grand scheme of things, his elective was of less priority to the majority of us who weren't French majors. He was clean-cut, but not dorky. Attractive, but not distractingly so. He was chill, but kept shit moving in his classes. He was relatable but didn't try too hard to be everyone's buddy and insert himself in his students' lives. Which is why I found him singling me out weird and a little frustrating. "Monsieur Stewart," I stuck one hip out, and braced my hand on my heavy tote bag. "Are you trying to say you're surprised that I brought up sex before anyone else did?" He tossed his head back and laughed, seeming to find me a lot funnier than I intended to be. When he returned his gaze to mine, I raised my eyebrows, impatiently reminding him that he had not answered me. He suddenly became more serious again, "Every time I show this film, it is interesting for me to see who the first person will be to broach the subject of the film's sex theme." "You still haven't asked me a question." I continued staring at him, though I set my tote bag on the floor. "Do you want to know why I am so comfortable talking about sex? Do you want to know I felt pleasure watching those scenes?" M. Stewart narrowed his eyes. "I'm not allowed to ask you those questions. They're inappropriate." "I have found that women have the power when it comes to sex. It explains repression, rape, and a lot of the other fucked up things about American sexual culture. We're obsessed with sex, but we're unable to just be who we are. As human beings, we can trace the root of almost everything we do back to sex." He cocked his head to the side inquisitively, as if challenging me to say more. "Although I will say, I find men to be the more predictable of the two sexes." Another small smile, "I don't think many would argue with you about that," he said. Without pause, I raised my sweater, and pulled my bra over my breasts. "For instance, I've just exposed my tits to you. We both know I'm not supposed to do that." He leaned back in his chair, pressing his palms against the back of his head. "How do we know that?" "The college handbook, your wedding ring, the fact that you're old enough to be my dad." "I'm supposed to tell you it's inappropriate, report you to the discipline board and have you expelled permanently from the college. Aren't you worried I'll do that?" "Do I look worried?" I tucked my sweater under my chin and used my free hands to caress the creamy skin of my smallish boobs, tweaking the ginger pink nipples a little. "I could lean over that chair, and feed one of these nipples into your mouth, without you ever asking me to or giving me permission. And you wouldn't stop me." "No," he responded with a dry voice, never taking his eyes from my chest, "I wouldn't." I put my sweater back down and picked up my tote bag. "That's why I'm so comfortable talking about it. You're the one who showed us the film. How could I get in trouble for talking about it when that's what we're expected to do?" "Not many women your age are that aware of their sexuality," he offered, "In fact, I'm not sure many of them ever figure it out." Once again, I placed my hand on the doorknob. Before I left, I turned to M. Stewart, "I'd take care of that long, thick problem of yours," I nodded to his crotch, "Those khakis are pretty unforgiving. Needless to say, I wasn't expecting that to happen on this average Tuesday. But I crossed the idyllic quad feeling satisfied with myself, and dying to get my fingers between my sopping pussy lips. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ After the following week's class, M. Stewart sat on his desk as I made sure I was once again the last to leave. "I made myself cum thinking about you." he offered plainly, as if he were reminding me of next week's assignment. "You're not the only one." I called over my shoulder as I left the room. The following week, he somewhat angrily slapped a quiz on my desk. It had a "D" written on it, and he added, loudly enough for my classmates to hear, "Not your best, Jane. See me after class." I knew what he was up to, and I was fucking pissed. Beyond pissed. I stayed in my desk and waited for the room to clear out. As usual, he leaned against his desk, arms folded, as if he were waiting. I made no motion to move, nor did he. I did not speak. Finally he said, "Do you have anything you'd like to say?" "Is this how you think this works," I took my quiz and angrily threw it at his face, "You want me to ask you if there's 'anything, anything at all I can do to bring my grade up' while I lean over your desk and bat my eyes?" He looked at the floor, slightly embarrassed, and shifted his weight. "Is this some kind of role playing bullshit to you?" I demanded. "There's not a single wrong answer on that quiz." "I know," he relented meekly, as he sat in the chair behind his desk, "And I never would have recorded that grade officially." "You're being cheap," I pointed my finger at him, once again standing before his desk. "Just ask for what you want. I'll either give it to you, or I won't. Either way, you'll go home and stroke your cock imagining I did." "I'm sorry," he offered. "Don't ever embarrass me like that in front of my classmates for something I don't deserve." "I want to see you again," I stood up straight. "Be more specific." "I'd like to see your pussy." "Why?" "Because I've already seen your tits. And I loved them, but I don't know how long you're going to keep this up and I'd like to see if the hair on your pussy matches your red hair before you get bored and give this up." "I'm not bored," I said, "But I can't show you today." He looked at me quizzically, "Are you on your period?" I laughed, "No, but I'm wearing pants. And in order for me to spread my legs and show you my pussy properly, I'd have to take them all the way off. It won't give me enough time to cover up if we hear someone coming down the hall." "Fair enough." he shook his head, laughing, "I guess I should thank you for being smart enough to keep me from getting fired. At least one of us should be." "No one's getting fired or kicked out," I assured him. "That only happens when one person secretly loves the other and has a vendetta when the other person doesn't feel the same way. Or when they both get sloppy." "I love my wife," he looked me straight in the eyes, and I knew he meant it. I also knew no man in his position was strong enough to say no. For some reason, I felt no guilt whatsoever in exploiting that. "I know," I said, throwing my bag over my shoulder. "Pussy. Next week." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* As a gift from the weather gods, the last of the chilly winter weather gave way that following Tuesday to a pleasant, breezy spring day. I chose a black and white striped cotton maxi skirt with a white tank and gray cardigan. I wished it were warm enough for sandals, but settled for green flats instead. Obviously, I wore no underwear. During class, I purposely crossed and uncrossed my legs several times. Once or twice I even hiked the floor-length skirt a little higher than necessary, revealing my smooth calves but nothing else. I pulled my purple polished toes from my shoes and ran them up and down the legs of the desk. I smiled to myself everytime I heard M. Stewart lose his train of thought, or stumble over his words. At 10:25, I made myself a bet that he would end class early. I thought, 'If he ends this class before 10:50, I'm treating myself to Starbucks'. I smiled to myself at 10:43 as I struggled to decide between a caramel macchiato and a vanilla latte. I left with everyone else, in part to torture M. Stewart, but also to throw off anyone who might have started noticing me hanging back. I went to the restroom down the hall to kill time for everyone else to leave. While I waited, I did a hygiene check - breath, pits, crotch. I went back to the classroom and found M. Stewart making no motion to pack up his things. He was sitting in his chair with his legs propped up on the desk, in that cliched, hyper-masculine power pose. "I knew you were coming back," he looked at me over his shoulder. Maybe he needed to say that, needed me to know that I hadn't tricked him. I dropped my bag and tapped on his legs. Obediently he dropped them to the floor. I leaned against his desk, and used my wrists to scoot my butt farther back. I used my feet to turn his chair toward me, and braced one on each side. Without an awkward amateur striptease, I hiked my skirt up to my hips and let my knees fall apart. I chucked to myself as I imagined visiting the gyno, while he was probably experiencing one of the naughtiest moments of his life. Though I acted cavalier, it was truthfully one of the most erotic of mine, too. He sucked a breath in and stared at my cunt. I leaned farther back and used my fingers to spread my lips, allowing him to see my tight opening. Probably my asshole, too. "Hmmm..." he seemed to be considering something. "Hmmm what?" "Your pubic hair is just how I pictured. Dark red and trimmed. I'm surprised." "Surprised? Most redheads have carpet that matches the drapes." He nodded. "I like it, but I thought most girls your age didn't like any hair. I thought most of you were shaved or waxed bald." "Why am I a 'girl' today? The first time we talked like this, I as a 'woman'." "Are you always going to mince my words? Challenge everything I say?" He didn't seem perturbed at all. "I'm not offended, I just wonder why the switch." I explained, "I have to believe there's a reason you think of me as a young girl today, with my pussy spread open in front of you, as opposed to thinking of me as a woman the day I showed you my tits." He didn't answer me. Instead, he inhaled deeply. "I can smell you from here." He stated flatly. "Does that gross you out?" "Not at all. You smell nice. Aroused." "I am aroused. Very aroused." "You're an exhibitionist," he clarified proudly, "You like showing yourself to me." "I don't know about that," I laughed, "But this is pretty hot." "Can I touch you?" I thought for a moment. "No." "Why not?" "I haven't decided yet." I offered honestly. He stitched his eyebrows, confused. "I don't want you to touch me, but I haven't decided why yet." He leaned forward, still not touching me, but bringing his face closer to the action. "Don't you think it would feel good?" "I think it would feel amazing," I panted, "I need to come so bad. I think I would orgasm the second you touched me. But for now, no." He looked me in the eyes, which signaled me to put my skirt and legs down. I saw the disappointment in his face and decided I couldn't wait until I got to the dorm to get myself off. I leaned over his desk and brought my skirt up over my ass. I ran my hands over my cheeks, pulling them apart and letting them slap closed over and over again. It caused the sensations to build stronger in my pussy. I ran a finger over my asshole and spread my pussy lips, offering him a different angle. When I could no longer stand the pressure, grabbed onto the desk with both hands and grinded myself against the wood ledge. It felt rough, but I had the fabric of my skirt to protect my skin and I was in complete control of the speed. Complete control. Just how I liked it. I puffed and grunted with my face against the cool laquered wood surface, and pictured him watching the wetness slip from between my lips as my clit smushed against the hard surface. I came hard but kept quiet. I reached behind me once again and spread my labia, offering him what I felt certain was a creamy, whitish cavern of bright red pussy. When I caught my breath, I stood straight and let my skirt fall. I half expected when I turned around to see M. Stewart masturbating, or at least rubbing his cock from the outside of his pants. Instead, I found him leaned back in his chair, relaxed, with his chin cradled in his fingers as if he were viewing a piece of modern art. Without another word, I grabbed my bag and left. This time, he didn't stop me. I called M. Stewart to make an appointment for extra help with classwork. Obviously, I didn't need the help and he knew it. Most students email their professors to set these things up, but I figured the least amount of evidence between us gave us the greatest chance of plausible deniability. He didn't question me when I made the appointment, and didn't say anything raunchy or weird. At the end, he offered, "We'll meet in my office, in Turpin Hall, instead of the classroom." I could only take that to mean that his office was more private and afforded us more opportunities. I hadn't decided what I'd show M. Stewart this time, or do to him. I thoroughly enjoyed the build up, and I also knew that touching each other would give way to fucking in one way or another, and that would be the beginning of the end of this fun little game. Neither of us was in love, and I doubted either of us was particularly attracted to the other when it came right down to it. Over the weekend, I'd seen M. Stewart with his wife at the coffee shop. She wasn't a supermodel but definitely a polished, petite blonde with a tight, tanned body. The complete opposite of tall, plain me with cellulite and a few stretch marks from puberty. I wasn't fat my any means, and not ugly, but I assumed I wouldn't exactly be his type under any other circumstances. I also knew I had no reason to be self-conscious. I owned this man at this point, and had owned him since I showed him my tits after class almost a month ago. So funny how men work. I came to his office and knocked on the closed door. He opened it and motioned for me to come in. I noticed neatly arranged textbooks in stark contrast to the paperwork and empty coffee cups on his desk. I sat in the chair next to his desk. "No skirt today?" "I want to see your cock." "It's not hard right now." he blinked. "I bet it won't take long." Sure enough, the half-hard shaft he pulled from his trousers stood at a piercing full mast within seconds. "Seems I'm not the only exhibitionist." I chided him. "I guess not. What are we going to do with this?" He gestured to his lap. "Why do we have to do anything with it?" I asked. "I stood with my tits out and bared my pussy to you for minutes on end." "This feels different." "Why?" "I don't know." He admitted. "I guess it just feels like if a guy has his cock out, he should be doing something with it." This made me laugh. "You're uncomfortable." "Yeah, but I don't know why." "Well, while I have you uncomfortable and vulnerable, I want to talk about something." "Ok." "I think I know why I don't want you to touch me." He leaned back, cock still jutting from his pants. "Why am I afraid to hear this?" "I want you to pay me." His face all the sudden became concerned. "Excuse me?" "I want you to pay me if this goes any further." "You know you're upping the stakes from 'fired' to 'incarcerated', right?" "Do you honestly think I would tell anyone? You think you're the only one with career aspirations that this would fuck up?" He relaxed a little. "I'm not wealthy," he offered, "Why do you feel the need to ask me for money for something you know we'll both enjoy?" Enterprising College Sluts Ch. 01 "Because I can." "Because you can?" "Yes." "And that excites you." "Yes." He shook his head, and tucked his penis back into his zipper. Anyone else might have been worried at this point that they'd pressed things too far, that he would call it all off. But I wasn't worried. I knew he would agree eventually, we just had to go through this song and dance. "Are you trying to blackmail me?" He said dryly. "God, no!" I was a little shocked by that one. "How would that benefit me?? You said yourself you aren't wealthy, and it would destroy my reputation right along with yours. You can say no and be done with this any time. I might even show you my tits occasionally when I feel like it. But for this to go further, I want compensation." "How much?" "I don't know. Depends on how we want this to go. Twenty bucks until there's semen involved? Then maybe fifty?" "Twenty bucks per what? Per week? Per visit? If you just show up here with a scheduled appointment, am I supposed to fork over twenty bucks?" "Yes." "You're being outrageous." "I'm really not. I promise I won't take advantage of this. Well, not more than I already am. It's not like I'll come here three times a day for a week so I can buy new shoes." "How do I know that?" "Have I lied to you yet?" He sat back down and considered carefully, staring right through me at the door. "Look, this isn't really about the money. I have my dad's credit card in my purse and I hardly ever use it. This isn't a sugar daddy thing, I just like the idea of gaining from my sexuality. Call it a fantasy or a fetish if that helps. The idea of me being a struggling college student and you being a salaried professor kind of does it for me." He shook his head, not in disagreement but in disbelief. "I want to fuck you." "We have to work up to that." "Hundred bucks." "Stop," I shook my head and waved him off, "You're missing the point." "I'm sure of that," he grumbled. "If we start fucking in any form right away, this whole thing will fall apart. The fantasy ends because its fulfilled. It would go on a few times, and then just... fizzle off. If we starve ourselves, stay hungry... we can stretch it out for who knows how long." "You're amazing," he said, "And kind of terrifying." I laughed. "Don't be scared. I have no reason to want to take you down. This stops being fun, and we're done. Easy as that. I'm not a jealous person by nature and I really have nothing to be jealous of." "So... how do we start this?" He leaned forward, seemingly resigned to the new arrangement. "Not today," I offered. "I'll come up with something exciting for Tuesday." "Financially speaking, should I plan for a twenty kind of day or a fifty kind of day." I thought for a moment, and replied, "Twenty. But it never hurts to have a few extra dollars, just in case." "Jesus Christ." he laughed, shaking his head again in disbelief. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out. Enterprising College Sluts Ch. 02 Coming up with a good activity for my next session with M. Stewart was a challenge. Not because I couldn't think of anything, but because I couldn't decide what I wanted to do next. I'd already flashed him my tits and given him a lengthy showing of my tight, auburn-haired pussy. I'd even climaxed unexpectedly as I rubbed up against his desk, my ass in full view. I'd seen his cock - nothing impressive in size or shape, but exciting none the less - as our last meeting where we'd agreed he should pay me if this were to go any further. I had a few ideas in mind, and I decided to wait until I saw him and heard what he had to say before making up my mind. After class let out early on Tuesday, I walked to the drinking fountain and back. I did this occasionally instead of always hanging back because I didn't want anyone catching on to our private time. When I came back, he had his arms folded, leaned against the desk in his typical stance. He looked defiant somehow, like he couldn't wait to show me how this couldn't possibly work. Or maybe he was just terrified that it would. "I want you to cum on me today." He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. I figured he would be, as I hadn't let him touch me up until this point. I wasn't planning to let him touch me today either, but I didn't know if he knew that yet. "So, since that includes semen, by your stipulations I owe you fifty dollars today instead of twenty?" "I only want twenty." "I don't understand." "I told you it isn't about the money." "I have fifty bucks. I can give you what-" "Are you being all proud now? You need me to know you have money?" He said nothing, but knew I didn't like games. I liked this being about baser urges, without need to justify and romanticize everything and save face. Humans are all run by sex, yet we feel the need to control our natural desires. The point of all of this was to strip those pretenses away. He knew that, but sometimes I felt I had to remind him. "This isn't about the money. Plus, I told you to plan for twenty today. Consider it a bonus. I may do that from time to time." He sat in his chair. "Where would you like me to cum on you?" "You pick," I offered graciously, but with ulterior motives. "But pussy's off the table. So is the face. For today, at least." He blinked a few times. "Why do I feel like this is some sort of trick?" "It's not a trick. You get to tell me where you want to see your cum land. On my ass? Tits? Feet?" "Tits." he answered quickly. "Tits it is," I bounced over to his chair and knelt before him. I had a low-cut, stretchy shirt on that I pulled down, along with my bra. My bra acted as a shelf for my small tits to rest on, perking them up a bit. Without needing to be told, he unzipped his pants and began stroking himself, staring at my chest. I watched as he stroked lazily at first, his wrist doing most of the work. Then he got more serious about it, pumping his whole arm from the elbow. He started panting, kind of snorting through his nose. His eyes kept wanting to close, but he fought it. Probably because he wasn't allowed to touch me and seeing my tits was his only source of stimulation. "Can I scoot closer?" He asked politely. "You can come as close as you want, as long as you don't touch me." He scooted close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of his crotch. He didn't announce anything corny like "Ohhhh, God, I'm close!" or "Ungh, I'm gonna cum..." He just did his business, concentrating on my body as spurts of whitish thick liquid shot from the tip of his shaft. I rotated myself around slowly, helping him spread it all around. When he finished, he reached for a tissue on the desk to clean himself up. I tucked my breasts back into my bra. "Don't you want to clean up?" "Nope," I said stiffly, "I'm leaving it there until the next time I see you." "You're leaving crusty cum on yourself until next week??" I laughed as I carried my bag out of the room, calling out over my shoulder. "Who says it will be next week before I see you again?" I showered two days later, careful not to let my tits get under the stream of water. I didn't want to smell bad or look gross, but I wanted to up the "dirty girl factor" a little. I was testing the water, to see just how far I could push him. The next day, three days after I let him cum on my tits, I showed up unannounced at Monsieur Stewart's office. He was with a student, someone I recognize from our French Films class. He gestured that he saw me, and I waited patiently in the chair outside his office. When the other student (whose name I never bothered to learn) exited the room, I walked in. I leaned over him in his chair, pulling my boobs from my bra and letting them spill out over my shirt. I took his hand and ran it over the crusty, dried semen on my chest. "I've had you right under my nose for three days." I said. "That's so nasty." he stated blankly. I placed my hand on his seriously hard cock, straining against his jeans. "But clearly you like nasty. You don't have to try to explain why. Or even understand it yourself. Just don't judge. Enjoy it." As if to illustrate my point, I rubbed my tits in his face, smiling as I pulled away to see little specs of dried semen caught in his stubble. "How much is this going to cost me?" he asked. God, I hope he gets past this money thing soon. "Nothing," I replied. "Consider it a follow-up visit from the last time." "How can you possibly still smell good?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I showered," I explained, "I was just extra careful not to wash away my souvenir." I stood and replaced my boobs back into my bra. "Tuesday, then?" "Tuesday," I nodded. "Will I ever get to pick what we do?" "Maybe." "When?" "I don't know. Have my choices disappointed you yet?" He laughed. "Touche." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* On Tuesday, I intentionally skipped class. I hardly ever skipped class, but I know he wouldn't dream of dinging my grade for it. I also knew it was important to look like every other student if we were going to avoid getting caught. I checked the department website for his office hours, though, and went to his office just as he was finishing up for the day. "You stood me up today," he seemed perturbed. "No, I didn't. I said Tuesday, and it's still Tuesday." "Don't let your grades suffer because of this. Don't put me in the position to have to give you a grade you don't deserve just because..." "Woah," I raised my hands, "I just skipped class today because that's what normal college kids do from time to time. And I do want to look normal when it comes to you. You know I'll do the work." He nodded. "When you didn't show, I was... beyond disappointed." "I'm sorry, I knew you would be." I offered genuinely. He looked down and back up. "You have a skirt on today." "Yes." "Does that mean I get to see your pussy again today?" "Yes," I leaned back against his desk, pressing my feet against the chair like I'd done the last time. "And my tits." I pulled my shirt off over my head and removed my bra. It's the first time I'd been naked in front of him. "This is risky." "Not really," I argued, "You have the latest office hours of anyone in this department. And they all expect you to be gone for the day." I hiked my skirt up to my waist. "Do I get to touch you today?" "Yes." "Where?" "I'm going to rub my clit and at some point, I'm going to ask you to finger me." "Ok." I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I pictured the look on his face when I first exposed myself to him, surprised, scandalized and utterly turned on. I felt the power I had that day, and still had as I rubbed myself on his desk. I used my free hand to pull on my nipple, turning and twisting it until it almost hurt - hurt so good. "Put your finger inside me." He leaned forward and obliged, inserting his middle finger, palm up, into my pussy. "You're tight." He commented. "You're surprised?" "Yes." "Why?" He didn't answer, most likely because he was a nice guy who didn't want to offend me. "I know why," I looked him straight in the eyes. "You naturally assume that a girl like me would be loose from having had so much casual sex." Again, no response. "Other than some foreplay, there's only been one cock inside this pussy." This was true, although I never really knew if he believed it. "A boyfriend. My first boyfriend. I've never had casual sex." "How do you like it?" he asked. "Slow right now," I answered, "But I'll tell you when to pick it up." He slid his slender finger in and out of my pussy, not exactly hitting The Right Spot, but creating enough friction that I started moving my hips against him. "Curl your finger," I directed. "Fuck me harder." Obediently, he thrust his curled finger hard and deep inside me. "Oh, God, just like that." I moaned. I felt no need to give him breathy moans or insincere encouragement. Those things always distracted me from getting off. He would keep doing what I asked until I told him to do something different. He knew I would tell him and I knew he would comply. I started fucking against his hand pretty hard, but I needed more. "Talk dirty to me." I demanded. Without skipping a beat, he growled at me, "You like this deep in your pussy, you little slut?" "Ohhh..." I moaned. "Yeah, that's it. Ride my hand with your dirty cunt. Pinch your nipple... I know you like it rough." Though not in my nature, I did what I was told and soared off the desk in a blinding orgasm. I grabbed onto his hand to stop him as the sensations became overwhelming. He barely gave me time to catch my breath before saying, "So, let me get this straight. I have to pay you twenty bucks and I didn't even get off??" "That's right." I chuckled. He shook his head, pulling out his wallet. He handed over twenty bucks and said "You're the worst prostitute ever." "Hey, watch it," I spun around and put a joking finger in his face, "Dirty talk time is over, Monsieur!" I waited the whole week before seeing him again. But in the meantime, I decided to push the envelope a little farther... After class on Tuesday, I told M. Stewart to sit in his desk chair. I told him to whip his cock out. I sat in front of him and kicked my sandals off. "I had a little extra money this week, so I decided to get a pedicure." He smiled, looking a little disappointed. "I'm not really into... feet." I snaked my foot up his leg and fondled his exposed balls with the soft flesh of my toes. He narrowed his eyes, as if he were humoring me but not yet sure if he wanted to enjoy it. I pulled my tits out to let him look at. He became hard as a rock. "You know this is the first time you've touched my bare cock." "I know." I said, "I want you to lick and suck my toes." "I told you, I'm not really into that." "Well, your cock says otherwise. Humor me." Obediently but reluctantly he licked the ball of my foot. I flexed my toes in response. It tickled but felt so good. "Stroke yourself." He did as he was told, holding my foot to his mouth with one hand and stroking his shaft with the other. In relatively no time, he stopped stroking, somewhat panicked. "Where do you want me to cum?" "Lean forward, cum on the floor." "Why on the floor?" "Because it's naughty. And we're going to leave it there for housekeeping to clean up." "Do you really think that's a good idea." "No one will assume it's semen. Their first thought, if they find it at all, will be that it's dried food of some sort. But you'll know. And I'll know." He licked between and sucked each of my toes eagerly as he stared as my tits and fucked his hand furiously. He bucked and grunted as he leaned forward. I heard splatters of his cum on the floor and smiled. "Maybe you're a foot guy after all." Still panting, "Maybe it's you. Maybe I'll just do whatever you tell me and learn to like it." I considered for a moment before hopping off the desk. I squished my toes in one of the small cum splatters before replying, "You're probably going to wish you hadn't said that."