No Students!

I was at home in my studio apartment late one Friday afternoon, putting some music on the stereo and getting a cool drink. I had a very busy schedule. I was a Ph. D. student, taking 3 classes, I was a teaching assistant teaching three classes, and I worked a part time job in order to support myself—the teaching assistant's salary wasn't enough. But I loved it—I was doing what I wanted to do and things were only going to get better. The semester was over and now I could find another part time job for the summer. Like I said, I was busy.

I was just pouring a Coke when someone knocked on my door. I wasn't crazy about seeing anyone, but it was probably one of friends from class, stopping by to see if I wanted to do something. I rarely had other visitors. I walked over and opened the door and was surprised to find one of my students standing there. It was a girl in my 9 o'clock class, a smart, slightly overweight student named Stephanie Glass—who incidentally was failing my class.

"Hi professor," she said, "Can I talk to you for just a minute?"

"Hi Stephanie," I said. "You know I have office hours. Can't this wait?" I know that wasn't very polite, but I was tired of people and wanted to be left alone.

"Umm, not really, because I'm going home for the weekend and I need to see you before Monday."

"OK then, come on in . Would you like a soft drink or some water? I don't have anything stronger right now. "

"No, that's OK. I'm not gong to take up much of your time."

"Well good. It's nothing personal, but I'm tired and really just want to have a quiet evening." In fact I planned to go out later with a couple of friends, but I wanted to rest up a bit first. "Have a seat."

She sat on the couch and I sat down at the table. I noticed that she had on a short, plaid, schoolgirl skirt. I say I noticed because when she sat on the couch it slid way up and she tugged it back down. She was wearing a rather modest white blouse with it, but even though it was generously cut, it couldn't hide the fact that she had enormous knockers. Thinking about it, I couldn't figure out why she was wearing such an inappropriate outfit unless she was on her way to a costume party—especially with black patent high-heeled sandals.

"Uh, Professor Daniels, I uh…"

"It's just 'Mr.' I'm not a professor yet."

"Uh, Mr. Daniels, I—I'm failing your class."

"I know that Stephanie."

"Yeah, I , uh, wonder if there's anything I can do to get a passing grade. I mean, I'm not stupid, and my parents will be devastated if I fail English because I won the English prize high school and I worked on the school paper, and if there's anything I can do to make up the points…" Everything came out in a rush as she babbled on.

"Whoa, whoa, Stephanie. Believe me, I'm not belittling you, but I've heard this all before. There's always some good reason why a good student who isn't passing absolutely has to pass. I know you're not stupid—in fact you're one of the best writers I've seen in freshman English. But you haven't come to class enough and you haven't handed in all the assignments. If you had come to me a couple of weeks ago, I might have been able to give you make-up work, but this is Friday and my final grades are due in the office on Tuesday. Even if you could do all the work before then, it's a lot of work for me. I'm sorry, it's too late."

Her face showed disappointment. Just then the phone rang in the kitchen.

"Excuse me," I said. I went to the kitchen and answered the phone, which I quickly hung up as soon as someone began to try to sell me a booklet of restaurant tickets.

I came back in to the other room and stopped. Stephanie had slid her skirt up so I could see the crotch of her light blue panties and unbuttoned her blouse to show mer her matching and very full bra. She had one foot up on the couch showing me the tight material of her see-through panties stretched across the dark triangle of her bush. "I'll do anything," she said in a sexy voice, and she licked her lips suggestively.

Now I am not immune to nubile young temptresses showing me their panties and offering to do anything, but I had made a rule when I started teaching: NO STUDENTS. No matter how fuckable and willing they were, they had to be strictly off limits. I didn't want to jeopardize my career before it even got started. Nonetheless, I had the beginnings of a hard-on.

"Stephanie," I said in a tightly controlled voice, "you'd better put yourself back together and go home." And I walked back into the kitchen.

A minute later she said, "It's OK now, I'm decent—and I'm sorry."

I walked back into the living area to find that she had lied. She had taken off her bra and panties, thrusting her pussy forward where she sat and cupping her ripe tits. 'I'm sorry you won't fuck me."

I tried to look away, but I couldn't. I went back to my default position: "Believe me, I 'd love to, but I have a rule—no sleeping with students. It's a career decision—nothing to do with you. I can't," I said, regretfully. But I didn't stop watching her.

Her other hand went down to her snatch and rubbed it teasingly. "But classes are over—I'm not your student anymore."

I watched hungrily as her finger grazed her pink slit. I wanted to be doing that. "But I still have your grades—you're my student until I turn them in—I can't start trading sex for grades—if I do, I'll never make it in this business."

"I could be your slut instead of your student. Suppose I had just come here as someone you knew—someone who wasn't your student? Would you fuck me then? What if I said this has nothing to do with grades? Suppose I just wanted you to put your cock in my wet pussy? Leave the 'F' in your grade book, but please make love to me. Puhleeeeeze…"

She said this last word in a little girl voice, and even though I knew I was walking into situation that it would be hard to get out of, I approached her slowly, my eyes locked onto hers. I reached a point about a foot in front of her, where I dropped to my knees. I leaned forward and put my face against her slightly hairy pussy . I put my tongue out. I leaned forward a little more, pushing my eager tongue between her moistened cunt lips. I licked, and she responded by saying, "Oh God, yesssss," and putting her hands on the back of my head, pushing my tongue deeper into her heated snatch.

She wanted to be eaten. How do I know? She told me so. There is very little that is sexier than a woman—and she was a woman, even if she was only 19,-- saying she wants your tongue deep inside her cunt and she wants you to tease her clit with your tongue. About the only thing sexier than that is when she says, "Fuck me!," which she did soon enough, but I stopped licking her snatch, looked up into her lust-filled eyes, and said, "No Stephanie—I want to lick your gorgeous boobs first."

She helped me by lifting one of them towards me , and then she almost made me shoot my wad, because she lifted the other massive tit towards her own mouth, and after giving me a seductive smile, she licked her own nipple. As I say, I almost came, and that convinced me that I had to get out of my jeans and into her snatch. I stripped off in record time, grabbed her ass and pulled her forward to the edge of the couch, knelt down again, and put the head of my cock against her slightly opened slit, and pushed in. I slid all the way in quite easily – she was wet and willing, and I then leaned forward and went back to my original proposition and began sucking one enormous nipple.

She began to moan and and whisper as I sucked the hardening bullet of desire that was her nipple while I slid slowly in and out of her wet love canal: "Oh God, yes, push it into me, oh yes, deeper, ahhhh, suck me harder, oh, fuck me, fuck me deep, God, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm giving you everything, I'm giving myself to you, oh, God, I'm cumming!...." As she gasped out her last whispered words she began to shake and gave a long mighty moan. Her ecstasy went on for several minutes while she continued to let out muted deep moans of pleasure.

I had been holding back, but seeing the look of naked lust and pleasure on her face made it too hard. I pulled my cock out of her cunt and laid on her hairy bush just as I started twitching and shooting wads of cum. She watched my cock as it spilled it's load on her snatch and I watched her face as the lust and pleasure intensified. It obviously made her feel special that she could make me cum like that.

"Oh, God," she said in at lust-twisted voice, "But you were supposed to fill the Glass!"

"I'll fill the Glass before you leave," I promised, going along with what I considered to be a very juvenile pun.

I collapsed forward on to her plump belly and licked her tits in a desultory way until she began to get aroused again. She took one massive tit in her hand and began to lick her own nipple again, and soon, I felt a stirring in my own crotch as I watched this cute 19-year-old arouse herself. A few minutes later, she got on her knees and put her arms on the arm of the couch. "Teacher, teacher, I need to be fucked, can you fuck me, huh? Can you?" she said in that little girl voice again.

She might have sounded like a little girl, she might have looked like a Catholic high school girl, but she fucked like a real woman, sticking her ass in the air, and spreading her own cunt lips with her fingers so I could slide my by now hard cock into her gaping cunt. The orgasm we achieved wasn't as explosive as before, but it was just as satisfying. We spent most of the night stroking and licking and caressing and when I could get hard enough, fucking.

Before she left at about 5 a.m., before it got light, I said, "Stephanie, you know this doesn't affect your grade?"

"That was understood before we started this little—uh, affair, and I'm not expecting anything." I didn't change her grade and she duly failed freshman English. She took it again, over the summer session, from another teacher, and as she was a talented and intelligent writer, she passed with no problem. I saw her occasionally, but we never mentioned our night together, and over the next couple of years I saw her around campus, sometimes with a boy, and I always wondered if she was doing to him what she had done to me. I have to say I felt a little jealous, but it wasn't a big deal. I was interested in other girls, and so 4 years went by.

I saw her again at graduation. I had my Ph. D. and she had her B.A. We met outside the auditorium , surrounded by our friends, and she came up to me , gave me a big hug , and said, "Thanks for what you taught me during my first semester here."

"Surprised, I asked her, "What did I teach you?"

"You know—not to depend upon trying to um, fuck my way into good grades."

"Oh," I said. And the she looked me in the eye and whispered " …and how good it felt to fuck you." And she pressed a piece of paper into my hand. Our groups drifted off and I slipped the paper into my pocket without looking at it, as I congratulated other people.

That little piece of paper was burning a hole in my pocket, but I was determined not to look at it-- until I got home that evening and was changing into some jeans and a T-shirt. I took the slightly soggy , wadded up scrap and unrolled it. There was nothing written on it but a phone number. I called the number immediately.

Stephanie answered and I could tell she was glad to talk to me. She said she didn't have a job yet, and had been planning to stay there in the town until she could send out some more applications and find a stable situation, but her parents, who had come down from Illinois for her graduation, were going away for the summer and wanted her to stay in the family house to take care of the two dogs and save them the trouble of closing everything up and worrying about the security of the place. She had agreed, and she was leaving in two days to go live in a Chicago suburb for a couple of months.

"I'll be sorry to see you go," I told her. "We had a great fling a couple of years ago which I've often remembered. I'm glad for your success here and I know you'll find a job soon."

"I was hoping to see you one more time before I left," she said. "Can I meet you tomorrow afternoon for a few minutes?"

I was curious as to why she wanted to see me-- in fact I asked her if we couldn't talk on the phone. "No," she replied, " I want to have a serious talk and I think it's best to do that face-to-face." Now I was really curious and I asked her what it was about, "I'll tell you tomorrow-- that is , if you'll meet me."

"Of course I will-- when and where?"

We agreed to meet at Smitty's a local bar at 4 p.m. The place would be quiet-- most of the students would be gone and it wouldn't get busy until later in the evening anyway.

I got to the place early and sat at a table with a beer. I knew that something was going on-- a girl you slept with 4 years ago doesn't ask to meet you face-to-face just to say "gee, I had a good time," even if that were true. And I was sure it didn't have anything to do with the fact that she had been my student at the time. Well, I was about to find out what she wanted.

She walked in and looked around, then came towards me. She was still top-heavy-- really top-heavy with well defined tits under her polo shirt. I know it was the bra, but her boobs didn't look like amorphous saggy blobs like a lot of well-endowed girls had. Her ass was still nicely rounded in her jeans, but I noticed she had dropped a lot of the plumpness-- the "freshman fat"-- that she had had 4 years ago. Her body had matured in that time, and the high heels she was wearing gave her that little lift that makes a woman so attractive. But I wasn't there to look at her body-- and apparently she wasn't there to show it to me.

She sat down and signaled for a beer.

"So, satisfy my curiosity. What's this all about?"

She told me about her plans for the summer, house-sitting for her parents, and she also told me that she had applied for an internship at the Chicago Herald Tribune. She had gotten a letter which indicated that she was a finalist for the position and had asked for recommendations and some writing samples. Even though I didn't know her well, she wanted me to write a letter of recommendation for her.

"So, sex is never free, is it?" I said.

She looked puzzled for a minute, and the she understood. She said, "No, no, it's not like that, That was something we did and enjoyed, but that was then. I didn't ask you to change my grade-- and I failed your course, although I went on to do well-- as you have."

I looked surprised as she continued, "I did a little research to see who I wanted to write my recommendations for me-- I think you're going to do well in your career."

"Yes, but I don't have a career yet."

"Will you write one for me?"

"Of course," I said. I was a little flattered that she thought so much of me, but I also genuinely liked her, despite her previous slutty behavior with me. Or maybe because of that too. So I wrote the letter a few days later, praising only her writing skills, and not mentioning that she was a fantastic fuck, and I mailed it to her address in a suburb of Chicago.

Two weeks later, I got a letter from Stephanie brimming with exclamation points and superlatives, as only a letter from a newly-minted college grad can be. She had gotten the internship! She was sure it was because of the letter I had written! (Ha!) She was eternally grateful! Would I stop and visit her if I was anywhere near her parents' house!? She wanted to thank me in person.

It was because of the memory of her huge tits bouncing in my face as she fucked my brains out that I decided to drive north and let her thank me "personally." A few days later, from a gas station off the interstate, I called her at the number she had included in the letter.

"Oh my God!" she squealed when she heard my voice. She gave me directions,; and about half an hour later, I was knocking on the door of a suburban home, She opened the door and pulled me inside quickly. And as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw why: She was wearing black nylons and high-heels and nothing else. She pulled me to her rubbing her voluptuous body against me while her lips were devouring my face. She pulled me into the living room and down onto the couch,

"Whoa," I said, "You didn't even ask me if I had a girlfriend or if maybe I had turned gay or..."

"You would have told me before-- but you drove 600 miles to see me, so I know you were remembering our first little episode, just like I was. You wanna fuck me."

"You're right," I said, as a slid down and fastened my mouth on one of her gorgeous nipples, making her moan. I couldn't talk anymore because my mouth was too busy enjoying various parts of her body, including her already wet and open slit,

Later, lying together in each other's arms, contented and sated, she looked at me and said, "David, I've always been confident-- sometimes too confident ,and my years at university just made me more so, I'm not afraid to speak directly, so I'm going to tell you exactly what I think: I want to marry you."

If I had had a drink in my hand, I would have done that old television comedian's trick of spewing a mouthful of spray across the room.

She sensed my shock, and she hurried on with her speech. "I know that we don't really know each other, I'm aware that it might not work, but I believe in love at first sight, and that's what's happened to me. I'm not afraid to try it. I know we could make each other happy. She talked on for a while, trying to convince me, and damn if she didn't. We made love all that week, and within a couple of days we had begun making wedding plans.

So, we got married, making her parents very happy. Her father had been afraid that she would shack up with somebody who would leave her, and her mother had been afraid that nobody would want her because she wasn't pencil thin. They were happy to have a n educated, and stable son-in-law who would have a decent salary starting in a few months at a Southern university

End of story-- almost,

Now, 20 years later, Stephanie and I are still married and still in love. It does happen that way sometimes, and I give a lot of credit to her. She's an attractive, confident, woman and journalist, and we are well suited to each other. She has always kept me sexually satisfied. and that's a real accomplishment, since every semester I have a couple hundred students, more than half of them women, some of whom are-- shall we say, "available" to their favorite professor. She does that by being willing to try anything at least once and by coming up with ideas of her own.

We've joined the "mile-high club", she's done a turn at a seedy strip club (a couple of hours from where we live) that has an "open mike" night once a month. She hired a stripper for my 40^th birthday who ended up in bed with us that night(planned and paid or by her)-- our sex life has been varied and satisfying.

We've also got a code word for when we're out in public and want to get it on. She'll ask me, "Would you fill my Glass, please?" and I know she wants me to make her cum. Or, I'll say to her, "Can I fill your Glass?" and she knows I want to shoot a load in her. We've had a quickie in almost every faculty house we've been invited to.

But there's one thing she does that makes me ready to cum immediately. Sometimes when I come home in the afternoon she's there wearing a plaid mini-skirt, a white blouse, and high heels, She bends over the dining room table, hikes her skirt up, and says in a little girl voice," Teacher, teacher, I need to be fucked. Can you fuck,me, huh, can you teacher...?"