Hot Campus Teens Story

Archive-name: School/hot-prof.txt
Archive-author: J. Boswell
Archive-title: Professor, The

I take my profession as an educator seriously. I feel that I owe my
students more than the mere contents of a History course. I feel I owe it
to some of them to impart some knowledge of life, as it really is outside
of the classroom. Because of this avocation, I have feasted on the firm,
taut, nubile flesh of freshman coeds for years.
At 45, still fit, with salt and pepper hair, I’ve been a college
professor for nearly 20 years, and in that time, I have sampled the hungry
mouths, the milky breasts and arousal-hardened nipples, the firm, ivory
thighs, the slick, slippery cunts, and even sometimes, the tight, resisting
asses of more young coeds than I can count – and I’ve loved every minute of
it. I have perfected my search and selection techniques into a science,
and I can predict, almost infallibly on the first day of class, which
sweet, innocent young girl will be mine before the end of the semester.

The search begins late in the summer. I am seeking a special girl and
willingly invest the time to find her. Eighteen, and probably away from
home for the first time in her life, the freshman coed can make the most
wonderful little lover a man can ask for.
=============
while you reading check out hottest capmus teen gallery

Hot Campus Teens Episode 19
A couple questions into our interview and Bianca’s figured out that our documentary is not just on campus life, but the freaky side of it. Bianca is fine with the way this interview is going, even taking off her clothes while we continue. This is one freaky HOT CAMPUS TEEN you don’t want to miss!!
===========

As Dean of the Department, I always choose to teach two of the first-
year survey courses that are mandatory for incoming freshmen. My
colleagues revere me for being so democratic and taking two of the least
wanted courses, but I have my reasons. I carefully examine the student
folders for the girls enrolled in those two courses. Because the courses
are survey in nature, the enrollment is high and I have numerous
candidates.
I eliminate the commuters – I want a girl living on campus, away from
nosey parents. I also reject those with an erratic academic record in high
school – I want the young scholar who has never failed a course. Being on
Financial Aid or a scholarship is a plus in my selection, because of the
added pressure to perform well in college. I often eliminate the obviously
wealthy student, because she has grown up learning that a short phonecall
to Daddy can usually resolve a problem in her favor, and I don’t want my
little selectee to feel she has any easy solutions. I prefer an oldest
child, or even better – an only child, so that their older siblings haven’t
“shown them the ropes” about college.
By the first day of class, I have a pool of six to ten “possible”
girls in each of the two classes, and I am ready for the first face-to-
face meeting.
I carefully and slowly call roll, associating faces with the names.
This process is tricky, for I am searching for an intangible, a feeling. I
want the girl to be attractive, of course, but in a quiet, natural way. I
shy away from the flashy and the “slutty” looks. I tend to concentrate on
the “sweet and innocent” look. The girl who has dated one boy seriously in
high school, and now finds herself away from him, and is feeling insecure
about how they can stay a couple. She’s aware of her sexuality, but not
experienced. She’s known the “romantic” love of a high school sweetheart,
and the passion of that love, but is yet to discover lust.

Last year began as typical, but didn’t stay that way, for long. It
was also the year of my “Irish Lasses.”
At the end of the first day of class, I returned to my office
enthusiastic with the number of “candidates” I had selected. There were
four lovely girls in “Ancient History” and three in “American History.”
Now, after close inspection of their student folders, and meeting them in
person, it was time to enter “Phase Three.”
My reputation on campus is impeccable. Dean of the Department,
published, and a favorite of the students, my elective courses are always
filled quickly. Of course, the freshman don’t know this, but word of mouth
spreads fast, and they soon feel lucky to have me for a required course.
I’m known as fair (and fairly easy when it comes to grades), and an
interesting lecturer. My assignments are reasonable, my classroom is
relaxed and my office door is always open. I’m almost another “Mr. Chips!”
The only thing my freshman students have to complain about is the
weekly written assignment – an essay on the major points of the week’s
lectures and reading material. I have a very good reason for assigning
this essay – it is “Phase Three.” By the end of the third week, five of
the seven “candidates” asked for appointments to see me to discuss their
failing grades. I had failed all seven, all three weeks.
Grading at the University is “blind.” That is, the students place
only their last five digits of their student ID number on all written
assignments and tests. All grading is done by number, without a student’s
name ever becoming associated with the product, unless the student permits
it. However, as department head, I had already copied down the ID numbers
of all my “possibles” during my initial selection process. Now, I was
about to meet them “up close and personal.”
Debbie was the first, and I immediately scratched her off the list.
She was irate and aggressive about her “F’s” and demanded I review each
point and discuss the deficiencies. After teaching the material for so
many years, it’s easy to refute any freshman’s arguments, but it still
pissed me off to have to do it with Debbie. I assured her that her grades
would undoubtedly improve as the semester went on.
Colleen was second, and was a definite possibility. Blonde, blue-
eyed, she was pretty and fresh and had a dazzling smile. She was timid and
nervous about her grades, hanging on every word of advice I gave her. I
was charming and she was appreciative, and I could see the possible
beginnings of that special something some students feel for some
professors. She was thrilled with the time and attention I was giving her.
Susan was next and I took her off the list, too. Maybe she just
didn’t compare well with Colleen, but I felt no electricity, no excitement
with her.
The fourth appointment was with Heather, and she made me wonder if I
made too quick a choice with Colleen. The classic Irish lass, Heather had
beautiful, heavy, glossy reddish-auburn hair framing her milk-and-honey
complexion from which her luminous green-green eyes virtually shone. She
was breathtaking and I wanted her. I wanted to part her red pussy hairs
with my cock.

The last girl only made my life more difficult. Bridget was not as
beautiful as Heather, but it was her full, lush body that I craved. I
wanted to fill my mouth and hands with her full breasts, to crawl between
her perfect legs to taste her sweet pussy.
Colleen, Bridget and Heather – my choice had never been so difficult!
Over the years, I had had two girls going during the same semester, but it
was always a possibility that one would discover the other, and the results
would be disastrous, so I didn’t risk it very often. Now, here were three
girls I wanted – all young, beautiful, shapely, and possessing the “right”
personalties to make taking them a real possibility, and they were only
freshmen for a year!
Not knowing which to concentrate on, I continued to fail Heather and
Bridget, and tutor Colleen twice a week, in the hopes that they would help
me sort it all out. By the end of mid-term exams (all essay questions, of
course), all three of the girls had a failing grade, without a prayer of
receiving any higher than a “D” for the course.

Bridget cracked first.
She appeared in my office just as I was about to leave for the
evening. She was dressed in a sweater and short denim skirt, white socks
and sneakers, and I could taste my mouth watering as I ravaged her body
with my eyes.
“Professor, can you please spare me a few minutes?”
“Of course. Come in, er…now let me guess…Bonnie…no…Bridget,
isn’t it?”
She beamed at my recognizing her. “Yes, Professor. I came to see
you, before, but I’m in even bigger trouble, this time.” By the time she
had finished telling me about her 3.75 GPA (if she didn’t count my course)
and how she just didn’t understand how she could be doing so poorly, she
was in tears.
I wanted to put my arms around her and pull her warm body close, but I
fought the temptation. My years of experience at this game would carry me
through. I asked her permission to examine her grades, and took several
moments (and several “Hmm…”‘s) studying the book.
“Bridget, I can understand your concern. I don’t know what steps you
can take to achieve a respectable grade. To assign extra-credit work, I
would have to be fair about it, and give the entire class the option, and
this wouldn’t help you, at all.”
She nodded and looked at me, wide-eyed and sincere, “I’d do anything
for a respectable grade, Professor.”
“Bridget, I think you should be careful how you phrase offers like
that. You don’t mean `anything.'”
“Yes, I do, Professor.”
I gave a small chuckle, “With an offer like that, you better watch
out. I’ll have you raking my leaves and cleaning my windows. Please don’t
make offers like that, Dear. After all, I’m only human.”
She locked her eyes on mine, “Professor, you must understand. I am
prepared and willing to do ANYthing.”
“Do you know where I live, Bridget?”

Bridget arrived on time, wearing sweater and jeans.
I had an aromatic fire warming the room, Anita Baker on the stereo,
and a very nice, white wine chilled. She was truly beautiful in the
firelight. Her skin was radiant, her eyes clear, her lips full and moist.
We sat together on the sofa, tasted the wine, and began talking.
After I refilled her glass, I placed my arm on her shoulders and she
leaned into me. She was still tense, but seemed determined to be
cooperative. We talked about her small home town, and the one boyfriend
she had gone steady with in high school – he went to a large private
college on the opposite coast, joined a Frat, and wasn’t calling very
often.
I was gentle, and a good listener. Soon, she was lying on the sofa,
with her head on my lap, and I was gently stroking her cheek and hair. I
could feel her relax little by little, sipping wine (we were now sharing
one glass), and talking.
I put the wine down and placed my hand at her waist. I moved it up,
under her bulky sweater, until I felt her warm, smooth skin above the waist
of her jeans. She tensed as my hand rose along her bare tummy, and halted
at her bra.
“I’m a little scared and a lot nervous, Professor.”
“I am, too, Bridget. But I won’t deny that I’m enjoying this very
much.”
She smiled a weak smile, “Me, too. More than I hoped.”
I lifted the sweater up and she helped me remove it over her head and
arms. Her bra had a front clasp and I opened it and lifted the soft cups
off her burning flesh. Her breasts were magnificent. Even lying on her
back, they thrust up, firm and proud. Her skin was wonderful – smooth,
warm and white. Her nipples and areolae were small and round and centered,
with just a hint of hardening. She was blushing under my inspection.
She let a tiny moan escape her lips as I brushed my fingers lightly
over her nipples. They hardened and looked like two pencil erasers. I
caressed all of her breasts with my hands, pressing, gently squeezing. Her
breathing became rapid as I slowly lowered my face down to her nipple, and
she moaned loudly as I sucked it into my mouth, between my teeth. She
tasted clean and dry.
I shifted out from under her and knelt beside the sofa. She closed
her eyes and turned her head into the pillow as I opened her jeans and slid
them and her panties down and off her hips and legs. Naked, Bridget’s body
was even more spectacular than I had imagined – it was flawless. I knew I
was truly going to enjoy the rest of the school year!
I returned my attentions to her breasts, licking and sucking on one
nipple, while caressing the other breast with my hand. My other hand
slowly traced its way over her flat tummy, her navel, until, finally, it
entered her curly pubic hairs. She groaned as I softly pushed a finger
into her already-wet slit. Her legs relaxed and she allowed my hand to
part her thighs. I found her clit and her hips immediately began a subtle
humping against my touch. A second finger joined the first, gently
squeezing her hard, slippery clit between them.
She tensed – and then in one strong release, she came. Her toes
curled, her thighs locked tight on my hand, she tried to pull her breasts
away from my caresses as she cried out into the pillows. Slowly, so
slowly, the wave receded and her body settled loosely into the sofa
cushions.
I was hard and excited and I wanted her. I stripped off my shirt and
dropped my pants and underwear. I stood beside the sofa and brought
Bridget’s hand to my cock. She jerked it away, as though burned, and
pushed her face deeper into the pillows. I understood.
Her legs offered no resistance as I crawled between them and licked my
tongue into her still-wet pussy. I heard her gasp as I found her clit and
buried my tongue deep inside of her. Her legs spread wider, until I felt
them settle on my shoulders, and her hips pumped onto my mouth.
When I could tell she was again nearing orgasm, I lifted myself over
her body and paused. “Should I wear protection, Bridget?”
Her head made a tiny nod and I opened the condom and quickly slipped
it on.
I resumed my position, with my cockhead resting at her cuntlips.
Almost immediately, her hips thrust up off the sofa to take my cock into
her, and I cooperated by thrusting my hips down into hers.
As I buried my cock to the hilt up her hot, tight pussy, her head
snapped out of the pillows, and her eyes opened and looked at me. And
then, she wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and we
fucked.
Later, when the wine was gone and the fire was just a red glow, we
dressed. With her clothes back on, Bridget was again the shy freshman, no
longer the lusty little wench that had just fucked me dry – twice.
“What should I do now, Professor? Do I keep coming back? I’m new at
this.”
I held her hand, “I’m new at this, too, Bridget. I don’t know what
happens, now. I’m really quite embarrassed that this happened at all.
But, I want you to know, Dear, that I am NOT sorry that it happened. These
last several hours were the most exciting of my life. I really don’t want
to think, right now, that what we just enjoyed was based on some tawdry
barter for a grade. I just don’t want to think about tonight like that.
It was too special for me.”
Bridget smiled and nuzzled her face into my neck. “Me, too! I was so
scared and nervous about tonight that I can’t believe I’m feeling so
wonderful, right now. If it would be alright with you, I think I would
like to visit you, again.”
“I was hoping you would say that, Bridget. It’s against every rule
I’ve made for myself, as an educator, but I want to see you, again, too.
But, you have to promise me that you’ll still study and read the material.”
Bridget nodded, giggled a little girl giggle and left.
Ah! Success, again!

I didn’t realize how successful, until the following Saturday.
I had been tutoring Colleen since our first meeting about grades. She
was the classic high school over-achiever, doing extremely well there, but
not able to keep pace in college. Her grades were the opposite of
Bridget’s and she was desperate to improve her standing in as many courses
as possible. The tutoring was boring and Colleen lacked the analytical
skills to draw conclusions, but she was still a beauty to look at, and was
obviously developing a crush on her brilliant, patient, caring Professor –
me!
But now, after the success with Bridget, I saw no need to carry
Colleen any longer. I would discontinue the tutoring sessions, award her
extra credit for her effort, and fairly grade the remainder of her
assignments.
After class on Friday, I told her my decision and encouraged her to
try studying on her own, and I assured her that I had great confidence in
her abilities. She seemed surprised, but nodded and hurried down the hall.
At eight o’clock, Saturday morning, my doorbell rang, interrupting my
breakfast. In my robe, I answered the door to see Colleen standing there
with a tear-streaked face.
“Colleen? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Professor! Please! I’m so sorry!”
“Come in. Now, sorry for what?” I asked, as I closed the door.
“Sorry for whatever I did, that you don’t want to tutor me anymore!”
“Colleen, Dear, you didn’t do anything. I just think you’re capable
of doing good work on your own.”
“Don’t you like me, anymore?” Tears were rolling down her cheeks as
she looked at me. Her sky-blue eyes were flooded with them.
Without thinking what I was doing, I reached out to her face and
caught a tear on my thumb. “Of course I like you, Colleen. Please don’t
cry.”
To my utter and complete surprise, Colleen rushed to me, hugging me in
her arms and pressing her cheek to my chest. My involuntary physical
reaction to her closeness was all too obvious, but instead of pulling away,
Colleen pressed her hips against my raging erection.
“Oh, no,” I thought, “the timing on this is terrible!”
I didn’t have much time to think because Colleen’s warm hand snuck
under my robe and wrapped around my naked cock. I lifted her chin up and
pressed my lips to hers.
“Oh, Professor! Please! Please make me happy!”
I didn’t care what she called it, but I knew it was going to make me
happy, too.
She slid to her knees and didn’t hesitate as she opened her lips and
filled her mouth with my hardness. She was very good – maybe among the
best I had ever had – licking and sucking and nibbling. Finally, she could
tell when it was time, and proceeded to fuck my cock with her hot, wet
mouth.
It didn’t take long. I began to come and started filling her mouth
with my cum. She continued until I stopped coming and then very delicately
emptied her mouth into her hand. She stood and wiped her hand with a
tissue and then stood close to me, seeking a kiss.
“Colleen, how did this happen? We can’t do this – as wonderful as
that was for me – it’s just not ethical. You’re a student and I’m your
teacher.”
“I don’t care, Professor. Isn’t it obvious to you? Can’t you feel
how close we are? I’ve felt it since our first meeting, Professor. I
really think I’ve fallen in love with you!”
The red light started flashing and the alarms were ringing in my head.
“Colleen, it’s just not possible.”
The tears started flowing, again. “But, I DO love you! You’re so
kind and caring. You’re the only one on campus that treats me like I’m
special.”
“Well, you are special to me, Dear.” I looked at her beautiful face,
and thought about that wonderful, talented, sexy mouth of hers. I felt my
dick stirring, again, and thought that maybe later I could explain to her
about student crushes on teachers. At that moment, there was something
else on my mind.
I opened my arms and she pressed into me. I walked her down the hall,
to the bedroom. Her eyes searched my face as I opened her jacket and
removed her blouse and jeans. She was smiling when I opened her bra,
revealing her small, round breasts, with tiny, almost red nipples, and she
giggled as I lowered her panties to the floor and buried my nose in her
soft, sparse, blonde pussy.
She sat on the bed and watched me as I opened my robe. “Oh,
Professor! You are going to make me SO happy, aren’t you?”
And I tried. For the next two days, I tried my very best to make her
happy. I had never had an easier assignment. She was a hungry partner in
bed – lusty and uninhibited. Not shy about anything. We fucked and sucked
and fingered each other until we were exhausted. Between fucking, she
paraded around my house naked, washing up, fixing our lunches, doing my
dishes.
What a find she was! And, what a dilemma I was in! Colleen and
Bridget were not in the same class, and none of the girls had the same
major or dorm (part of my selection process), but maintaining a
relationship with both of them – something I very much wanted to do – would
be tricky and difficult (and exhausting!).

Colleen spent the night, and Bridget visited me again on Monday
evening, and that made my decision easy – I would try to keep both of them.
I would miss the exuberance and lust (and, oh! that mouth) of Colleen and
Bridget’s perfect (and her yet to be truly explored) body too much to say
goodbye to either of them. I resolved myself (poor me!) to the fact that I
had both of them in my life for the time being.

I had an appointment with Heather scheduled for late Tuesday
afternoon. She was stressed-out and there was no reason to prolong her
agony over her grades, and I was going to let her off the hook.
Even knowing that my coed selection had already been made for the year
and she was no longer a possibility, Heather still made me silently gasp as
she walked through the door, and I could see the truly radiant beauty that
she was. Even with her eyes downcast and a frown on her face, she was
gorgeous.
After she was seated, I explained that I had been watching her
progress in class and on the essays and was very pleased with her effort.
I told her that it was unusual, but that I was going to disregard her
current grade, start from scratch, and give her a final grade based on her
work for the remainder of the semester, and the final. To my surprise, she
didn’t smile or look relieved.
“I came in here expecting you to tell me that it was hopeless, and I
might as well stop coming to class. Why are you doing this, Professor?”
“I just explained my position, Heather. I’m pleased with your
progress and I respect your effort. Please don’t look a gift horse in the
mouth.”
There was something I thought was fire in her eyes when she looked at
me. “And I guess I’ll have to repay you for your kindness?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Heather. I think this meeting is over.”
Her voice was trembling, but she stood and leaned forward on my desk.
“I know what you want. You men! You want me to give myself to you, don’t
you? You want me to surrender to you, so you can make me do disgusting and
humiliating things for you.”
To say I was shocked would be an understatement!
Then, in a flash, I realized what was going on. In nearly 20 years of
teaching, I had met only one truly submissive girl and my school year with
her had been a little heaven on earth for me. If I was right, I was
finding my second. I didn’t want to loose this opportunity. Colleen and
Bridget were forgotten for the moment.
“Have other men made you do disgusting and humiliating things,
Heather?”
She nodded a tight nod. “Yes. A teacher in my senior year and my
boss at my summer job. It was just the same as it is now. The teacher
threatened to flunk me and my boss threatened to fire me. I had to
cooperate. I had to submit, or face the consequences.”
“But, Heather, I haven’t threatened you about your grades. Just the
opposite.”
She cried out in dismay, “But, it IS the same!” Quieter, she
continued, “Don’t you understand? I know what you expect me to do to repay
you for your `kindness.'”
“Heather, have you dated anyone on campus?”
She shook her head. “Boys. They’re all boys. They only want one
thing and then they’re gone.”
I knew I had a beautiful young lady standing before me, and that she
might have some head problems, but hey, I’m no psychiatrist. I preferred
to think of it as her sexual preference and decided to “go for the gold.”
“Of course you’re right, Heather. I do expect a lot from you. I
think it’s time your `extra-credit’ work begins, don’t you?”
Meekly, she nodded.
“Lock my door and come bend over my desk.” When she did, I stood
behind her and slowly raised her plaid wool skirt over her hips, exposing
her white, cotton panties. My cock felt like it was about to burst out of
my trousers, and I hurried to open them and let them fall to the floor.
Heather looked back at me, “Aren’t you going to force me to kiss and
lick your `thing,’ and force me to suck it into my mouth?”
As tempting as the thought was, I wanted to fuck her. My cock was
poised at her cunt, and I could feel her heat. “Should I wear a condom,
Heather?”
“Why are you asking me? Just take me the way you want me. Please!”
I wasn’t gentle. I shoved my cock into her and pounded her hips into
the edge of the desk. I was hot and so was she, groaning with every
stroke. She soon began to come and I was surprised with its intensity.
“Use me! Fuck me! I’m a worthless slut, so fuck me hard!”
Maybe if I hadn’t been building up to my own orgasm, I would have
thought more about the severe hang-ups this girl had for being so young,
but, instead, I enjoyed feeling my cock plow into her tight pussy, finally
shooting its warm cum into her. When I was done, I pulled myself away and
sat in my chair.
“Now, Heather. I want you to suck my sticky cock clean in that pretty
little mouth of yours, right now.”
She almost collapsed to her knees and positioned herself between my
spread legs. She looked up at me, her eyes seeking mercy.

“Suck my cock, slut.”
And she did. Then, and later, back at my house. That night I shot my
cum in her mouth, her pussy and her ass. She called herself a slut and
repeatedly earned her reputation. Between the sex, she told me about her
bizarre adventures at the hands of her teacher and boss.

On the night after her eighteenth birthday, her high school
English teacher ordered her to come to his office. He berated
her for her falling grades and threatened her with an “F” that
would ruin her chance at a scholarship. He suggested that she
become his “special pupil.” Heather said it was obvious what he
was interested in, but, for the first time in her life, felt
herself becoming sexually aroused. It was the teacher’s forceful
personality that was exciting her. She willingly submitted to
him, and what followed were several months of bondage,
domination, spankings and humiliating sex. Instead of reporting
the teacher, Heather found herself hooked on him, impatient
between rendezvous, welcoming his abuse. Their relationship
ended soon after graduation, when the teacher moved out of state.
That Summer, she was working in a fast-food restaurant.
Badly needing the money, she was working well over 40 hours a
week. One night, after midnight, exhausted and helping the
manager close up for the night, Heather dropped a large container
of cooking oil, spilling it all over the floor. She said the
manager “freaked out,” yelling and screaming at her, calling her
worthless, and firing her. He must have seen the spark he was
igniting in her, because he grabbed another container of oil and
poured it over her head. She stood there, dripping the pungent
grease, humiliated. “Take that uniform off. You don’t deserve
to wear it,” he shouted at her. She unbuttoned it and let it
fall to the oil-covered floor. Her bra and panties were soaked
through and darkly transparent. “And those,” he pointed. Her
bra and panties fell to the floor. “Now clean this mess up!”
Heather got a bucket and a de-greasing cleaner and began to scrub
the floor on her hands and knees. She said she was totally
degraded – naked, her tits swaying and bouncing with her
exertion, the oil dripping from her hard nipples, her ass in the
air. Soon, her boss was behind her. She felt him slip his prick
into her cunt as he poured more oil over her bare back.
Heather’s orgasm was immediate and so intense, she collapsed.
Her boss rolled her over on to her back and re-entered her, this
time pouring the warm oil on her tits as he fucked her.
Heather said she was resigned to her “perverted sexuality”
from that night on. Her boss assigned her the “shit” jobs at the
restaurant and berated her, constantly. Whenever he felt like
it, he would call her into his tiny office, and have her suck him
off or bend over as he fucked her cunt or ass. He was always
rough and callous with her, and she loved it.
One night, her boss took her out back and watched the two
big, black deliverymen fuck her in the cab of their truck, and
several times, ordered her over to his apartment and she was used
and abused by him and his four poker buddies for hours. She left
the restaurant the day she left for college and had an abortion
the week after school started.

Now, she was naked in my bed and was telling me she was glad she found
me, that she needed me. My sane, rational mind was saying that I should
put as much distance between myself and this lovely, but very screwed up,
girl. That she was carrying more baggage than I wanted to get involved
with. However, at that moment, she again lowered her hot, wet mouth over
my hardening cock, and I forgot all my good resolutions.

What a year! My schedule began to look like an old “bedroom farce”
movie, but I managed. Of course, all three girls received “A’s” for both
semesters, but I hope they got more than just a good grade from their
experience.
Bridget flowered into a dynamic lover, relaxing and enjoying all the
pleasures I could show her. She became quite adept at the skills of love,
giving slow, sexy handjobs, and actually savoring my cock with her mouth.
I knew I was going to miss her and her luscious body, and I have.
Colleen finally admitted to herself that she was feeling infatuation
and not love. We enjoyed each other’s company for most of the year – until
Spring Break, when she returned from the islands “in love” with a junior.
Our final fuck was sweet and tender. She thanked me for making her feel
special and helping her enjoy her freshman year. I thanked her for her
discretion, fond feelings, and helping me to enjoy her freshman year, too.
Finally, there was Heather – probably the most beautiful girl ever to
grace one of my classrooms. I soon learned that I didn’t have what it took
to satisfy her needs for debasement and humiliation. I played at bondage
for her, but I wasn’t cruel enough. I couldn’t bring myself to spank her,
and I certainly wasn’t going to invite the marching band to join us in bed.
She drifted away from me, and I let her – hell, I welcomed it. But, I did
follow her adventures through my student and graduate assistant contacts.
She soon became a campus legend – entertaining entire Frats in one evening,
taking on the whole basketball team at a party, fucking the swim team in
the locker room. Unwilling to see her doing that to herself, I talked her
into seeking therapy. Through a friend, I arranged for an off-campus
shrink to see her and bill me. I think the therapy may have helped. When
she was going home in the Spring, she stopped by to thank me for my
concern. She said that her therapist had recommended someone in her home
town, and that she was not going back to her old job. I told her I was
glad to hear she was on an oil-free diet, and we both laughed.

The Summer is finally over and classes are about to begin. I can’t
wait!

Comments are closed.