Class Presentation

* * * * *

I opened the door, perking my eyes, smiling to let him know I was glad to see him, tossing my head just slightly.

He held his face impassive, to show me that he wasn't affected by my charms. He took a sheet of paper from his clipboard and handed it to me. "Here's your bill," he said, monotone.

I glanced to his left and right, a bit furtively, and then looked down to scrutinize the page. (It was a printout of the grading rubric for today's assignment.) I smiled and glanced up at him, slightly skeptical. "It's a lot of money, Joe. You wouldn't have padded it?"

He stood his ground, gesturing toward the paper with his finger. "You owe every damn cent of that."

I smirked, looking him in the eye and lowering my voice a little. "Maybe I could get the dough from your wife you suppose? Maybe your kids'd crack their piggy banks?"

He wasn't fazed by my not-so-veiled threat. "You take one step towards my family and I'll—"

I pretended I'd been kidding him, voice bubbly again. "Ooh, don't wet your pants for Christ's sake!" I slapped him intimately on the chest with the 'bill' and beamed. Then, inviting him inside with a coy jerk of my head, I turned and sauntered around to the other side of the screen partition.

There, out of his sight, I pulled a small roll of bills from my overcoat pocket, racked them straight, and plopped them down onto the table. I pulled my phone from my coat, placed it next to the money, and tapped the screen. The soft lilt of classical guitar music filled the auditorium. Finally, I stepped up on the cot, kicked my coat to the floor, smoothed the rumpled blanket, and stepped down on the back side, facing away from the audience.

I still didn't feel nervous, at least at a conscious level. Maybe just a little detached. My body, though, told a somewhat different story. My hands were trembling, just slightly; my stomach felt hollow and my chest constricted. I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs. This was it—now or never. I shrugged the camisole off my shoulders and flung it aside.

I couldn't see the reaction of the spectators (and of course 'Joe' couldn't see me through the partition), but there was an audible gasp when I unclasped my bra in back and dropped it on the floor. Then I slipped my panties over my hips, giving everyone except Shafer a nice look at my taut, round ass.

I sat and eased myself back on the pillow, gracefully lifting my long, smooth legs onto the cot as I did so. I made sure I was propped up enough that my tits had a little dangle to them. Shifting, I angled slightly toward the audience, one thigh crossed slightly over the other, so that they had a nice look at my breasts, and a peek-a-boo glimpse of my landing strip. My nipples were hard in the chill air of the theater.

I had to suppress a chuckle when I scanned their faces. Most of the girls in the room looked like they wanted to murder me. And pretty much every boy was nursing a wicked boner and hating himself for not volunteering to help me out with the scene. Well, at least I'd gotten a rise out of someone!

"Come in Joe...," I called in a low singsong.

Shafer shuffled slowly around the screen. His eyes widened as he took in my state of undress. He knew the movie, and had heard the reaction of the onlookers, so he should have known exactly what to expect. Yet, clearly, he still hadn't quite believed that I would go through with it. The man just kept underestimating me!

Looking him in the face, I flashed my teeth in a broad grin. I sucked in a big breath, causing my tits to rise and my shoulders to give a little twitch of anticipation. Then I exhaled it in a long, wistful sigh.

"Th-" His voice caught and he coughed to cover it. He composed himself and affected a stern front, but his words still grated. "The money."

I pointed to the table with a graceful gesture. "There it is," I said lightly.

He stood there staring at me. It was hard to tell, but I thought I could catch the faint stirrings of fear in his eyes. It hadn't taken me long at university to grasp the academic type. These people were used to feeling in control with their students. Maybe it was the only time they did feel in control. Right about now, however, he was starting to realize that he had no idea what I would do next.

And, when I did... well, whatever it was that I was going to do... he didn't know what he would do either.

To be honest, I didn't feel in control myself. I certainly didn't know how this was all going to play out. But by this point I thought Shafer was in deep enough that I had him. The thing had turned into a game of chicken, just as I'd planned. I was sure I could out-brazen this guy. At some point he'd swerve—and after that, I felt confident that I could extract what I needed from him.

I put a hint of seduction in my voice. "The automatic clutch, Joe."

I saw his throat move as he swallowed. He recognized the challenge. He was clearly trying to reassert his sense of dominance—to recover the air of dismissive superiority that he'd had earlier that week in his office. But it was eluding him now.

I ran my hand lightly along the silky skin of my flank, like a trade-convention model showing off the merchandise. "It comes with the deluxe upholstery..."

Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the corners of his mouth were turned down slightly in an expression of hopeless resistance. I thought maybe I had him—one more push and he'd probably flee the stage. I'd love to see him try to flunk me after that!

I moistened the tip of my middle finger between my lips, and then thrust my hand slowly between my thighs—keeping my smile warm, and my eyes locked on his. As my fingers hit paydirt, I cocked an eyebrow. "...and, the high-speed wiry zone, Joe."

I was surprised at how open my labia were to my touch. The caress of my fingers over the slick, yielding flesh of my clit felt better than anything I'd felt in a while; and suddenly, my whole crotch was electric. The fragrance of sex was in the air.

Now, to be fair, I had been fingering myself under my coat in the back row, while waiting for my turn to perform. As I said, I had no clear idea of what would happen up on stage, and it seemed best to prepare myself for anything. But I was even wetter now. Trust me, I'm not an exhibitionist—I've never felt any particular desire to strip off in public. In that moment, however, the recklessness, the transgressiveness, of getting naked in such an inappropriate forum... in front of my classmates, in front of the teacher... well, it had just revved me up somehow. I don't know how else to explain it.

* * * * *

Through a rising mist of eros, I sensed that I might have misjudged the situation. Or possibly pushed the wrong buttons. Shafer hadn't fled. Instead, the war between arousal and resistance inside him had reached a new level of intensity. (And there was no doubt that he was aroused—hell, everyone in the theater could see that, just from the awkward tent in his slacks!)

"Lisa, I-I, er... Myra." From the hungry look in his eyes, I knew that, mentally speaking, he had just crossed every red line he had ever drawn for himself. In his mind, at that moment, he was slowly plunging his dick into my cunt, right there, in front of the entire class. The more he rolled the thought of it around in his head—visualized it, savored it—the more exquisite it seemed to him, and the more he longed to make it real.

"Please..." His voice broke; and his confidence faltered. Don't be stupid, he was telling himself, the whole idea was just wishful thinking. A school-boy fantasy. The notion that he might get to take me, here, in front of everyone? It was absurd—I would simply never let him do that, right? He couldn't possibly have that much power over me. No, he was saying to himself, I was just a manipulative little flirt, trying to buy him off with a premium-cable nude scene. He'd be a chump to fall for it.

"I've let you..." Yet, now that the seed had been planted, he found he couldn't let go of the idea. It was like an itch in his brain. His face was red, and his chest heaved, and his unblinking eyes burned. God, to even think of getting to fuck one of his hot female students in front of the entire class...? It was intoxicating.

(Now, like I said, faculty are simple folk, who almost always get off on the power they have over their students. And for a male prof of a certain age, no scenario could possibly convey more raw, atavistic potency than the idea of dicking a cute coed while all the rest had to watch. So... how could he live with himself afterwards if he didn't at least take a shot at such an opportunity? He'd always wonder if I might have let him.)

"I-I've been very good to you..." Visibly trying to get ahold of himself, he made a valiant effort to fight the rising tide of desire and lust that threatened to overwhelm him. Why? Because of his 'principles?' No, I thought, it was because giving in to these feelings would mean ceding control over the situation to me.

"I-I've let you s-stay here... Myra..." In fact, I could actually detect a note of pleading in his voice. It was a little pathetic, really. I knew exactly what he wanted: he wanted me to cut the scene. To absolve him of responsibility. To enforce his 'personal ethics' for him, so that he could go back to pretending he was in control again.

Well, he was out of luck—no way I was going to let him off the hook. By this point I probably wasn't thinking all that straight, but I was bound and determined to make him be the one to back down. To chicken out. To put it bluntly, I wanted everyone there to know that of the two of us, I was the one with the balls.

So, I gave him a frank, wide-eyed look, and pitched my voice bubbly but firm. "Can't be done, Joe. All passengers must pay as they enter. No free passes or rebates. That's a strict rule of the intercourse commerce commission."

"Oh, God!" His brain was pulled in so many ways at once that I almost felt sorry for him. His cock was straining hard against the lightweight fabric that restrained it. He wanted me. And even more than that, he wanted to have had me, here, in this way. But he worried. He worried I was setting him up for a crushing bait-and-switch. That I was in control. That this was insane and would screw up his life if he gave in to it. And yet... how could he not give in to it?

I kept the pressure on. I'd always planned to keep escalating until he broke, so that's what I did. My voice came out low and sultry. "Only one choice to a customer, Joe: the lady, or the loot." And as I spoke, still fixing him with my eyes, still smiling shamelessly, I began unfolding my legs, deliberately and gracefully, until at last I was spread open before him.

A quiet buzz rippled through the crowd. I felt hotter than ever. As I look back on it, I struggle to fully understand what was happening in my brain. All I know is that in that moment, it was exhilarating, electric, to wind this guy up so tight, and to shock my classmates so profoundly. Even I didn't know how far I would go. It was thrilling!

As my thighs stretched wide, my pussy lips sprang apart easily, clitoris poking out impertinently. I was very wet, and I knew my vagina was open to him, beckoning.

Shafer couldn't tear his eyes from my crotch. He seemed mesmerized. (From the corner of my eye, I could tell the audience was craning to get a look between my legs too—was she really just laying herself out for the prof?!) The man took a halting step forward, then stopped. In his addled state, he clearly didn't know what to think. This was an invitation, right? Or..., was it a trap?

"What's it gonna be, Joe?" I purred.

After a moment's more indecision, he tried to split the difference. Awkwardly—pretending he was still just playing out the scene and waiting for me to yell 'cut'—he knelt down and embraced me. I felt his clean-shaved jaw brush against my cheek, and then, half-automatically, he moved to caress my neck with his lips, sending a delicious chill down my spine. Inadvertently (I think), one of his trouser-clad legs rubbed tantalizingly against my clit, before coming to rest with a lovely, warm solidity on my mons. Instinctively craving more sensation, I pressed my pelvis up against him.

Really, though, this wouldn't do. It was my game, and my rules—he had to match me, provocation for provocation, or else cry uncle. No half measures.

So, pressing on his chest with my hand, I pushed him away. He knelt on the cot between my thighs, confused. For a moment he thought I had rejected him, or called an end to the scene. Bitter disappointment and a distinct sense of relief mixed together on his face in a haphazard mosaic of emotion. It was almost adorable.

I didn't let the moment linger, though. Instead, with deft, slender fingers, I began unbuttoning his shirt. He remained perched there on the edge of the cot, indecisive, wary, while I stripped him down. After his dress shirt had been tossed aside, I decided to let him keep his T. Shafer was no body-builder, of course, but it was gratifying to see that he had a trim, firm torso—clearly he made time for the faculty gym. And I liked the way the sheer, lightweight fabric clung to his pecs and abs, so it stayed on.

He flinched a little when I reached for his fly, and I thought maybe he'd finally had enough. But he steadied himself and looked down, watching fixedly as I unbelted and unbuttoned and unzipped with slow, deliberate motions. The audible reaction from the crowd definitely skewed female when I released his cock from his boxers. It seemed to spill out like a snake emerging from the charmer's basket—even longer and thicker than my earlier grope had prepared me for. I don't pay attention much when boys brag about their equipment, but this was a big chunk of meat—bigger than any I'd ever seen before, and I'd seen a few. Honestly, it was the only thing about Shafer that I found the least bit intimidating.

He was cut down there, as I'd expected. That was ok, I like them both ways. Freed from captivity, his shaft stuck straight out, like a thick iron rod, without a hint of curve to it. Underneath his ball-sac dangled, massive and pendulous. The whole organ was infused with a rosy-crimson glow, and I could see it throbbing, slightly, in time to the man's racing heartbeat.

(Oh, and I should also note for posterity that Shafer was trimmed bare down there. I bet it made him feel young.)

I tugged his pants and shorts over his ass and down his thighs in one motion. He stood up for a second, ditching his shoes and awkwardly working his feet free (nearly falling over on me in the process). Then he knelt hurriedly to resume his spot between my legs, as if afraid I might close up again.

The chatter in the seats had amped up several notches. When I stripped off, the reaction had been a muted, taboo kind of incredulity. Now, however, with the professor all-but-naked too, his 'three-standard-deviations' phallus presiding majestically over the whole affair, it was more of a general 'what the fuck?!' sort of atmosphere.

Some part of him knew that he was on display; knew that he was courting disgrace, shame, ridicule. Hell, he'd probably have some of these students again in future years—it's gotta change something when you're giving a lecture to folks for whom you've paraded your prick, don't you think? I figured the deepening blush in his face must signify embarrassment nearly as much as desire.

But even so, he couldn't stop himself. The thing of it was that at that moment, more than anything else in the world, what he wanted was to be the guy who had fucked me before a roomful of onlookers. Everything else was an afterthought.

So here was the kicker—even at this stage of the proceedings (I had to suppress a giggle), he obviously still wasn't sure how to read the situation. Had I really given him license to, you know, do me? Or was this all part of the scene too, and I was only consenting to Hollywood-style simulated crap? Maybe I was just waiting to call rape on him. It was a conundrum...

Made clumsy by uncertainty, he drew in close again, grasping my naked shoulders, and kissing my neck once more. My nipples were rock hard, and I loved how they rubbed against the soft fabric of his T. His bare penis crushed up against my mound, and he began grinding against me to stimulate it. God, his dick was like stone. The man was verging on a state of frenzy, and I took perverse pleasure in thinking how blue his balls would be if he didn't get off.

Feeling like a bully, I decided to give him another little push. Timing it just right with his movements, I shifted my body so that his cock slipped down between my legs. I felt the spongy tip nuzzle eagerly up against the silky, wet, welcoming flesh of my inner labia. He felt it too, of course. He tried to quiet the insistent, involuntary thrusting of his pelvis. I sensed a shiver of excitement and frustration run through his whole body. Raising up he looked me in the eye—trying to figure out what I was thinking. What I wanted. What I would allow him.

I smiled back enigmatically, suppressing an eyeroll. This was it, chump. Man up or bail out, I'd done all I could. I was not willing to stick it in myself.

You see, by this point, I felt pretty torn about what I wanted to happen. Going in, I hadn't really believed he would actually penetrate me. I thought I would mess with him, at some point he would chicken out, and be so wigged by the whole thing that he'd cave on my grade. That was the basic plan, more or less.

On the other hand, if I'm honest with myself, I had known it was possible he'd get up the nerve to ram it home. After all, why else would I have spent twenty minutes before the performance with a hand down my panties, getting warmed up? No, I'd been willing to take his cock the other day, at least as a last resort, and I was willing to take it now. Value for value, and you drive a hard bargain, sir.

So, here I was, hot and ready. Moreover, his tool had turned out to be more intriguing than I'd expected. Its size was a little daunting, true, but the nerve-endings in my pussy were urging me to go ahead and give it a test drive anyway. And hell, all this would make a great story for me to tell my... well, maybe not...

Yet, with all that being said, it wasn't as if I needed his dick. If he walked away now, I'd have won. He'd always know that he'd had his cock poised between my legs, and been too gutless to stick it in. Between the extent to which he was already compromised, and the natural superiority I'd have gained over him, he'd cough up my A. And then, I'd saunter home, crack out my vibrator, and have the most explosive series of orgasms of my life.

So as I saw it, it was a win-win situation—but I was awfully curious to see which way it would go!

He scrutinized my face, trying to read all these thoughts as they flitted through my mind. Every greedy, impatient, reflexive twitch of his groin nudged the head of his penis against my clit, my folds, my vaginal opening—keeping us both boiling at a fever pitch.

Then, abruptly, something changed in his expression. It was so subtle that I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew he had made a decision. Eyeball to eyeball, cautiously, probingly, he pushed himself inside me, only a centimeter or two. There he halted, eyes questioning. I stared back, betraying no response, that same, small, coquettish smile pasted on my face.

The room went quiet. Somehow, something about our posture—don't ask me what—had given them all a sense of what was happening onstage, between my legs. OMG is he actually fucking her?!?!

After a moment, still cautious, Shafer thrust himself another couple of centimeters into me. Again I gave him no reaction. But by this point he must have been able to tell that my crotch was drenched and receptive.