Extra Credit

Usually, it was to complain the score was too low and start arguing over the essay, which unlike the formal questions, didn't have absolute rights or wrongs and were more subjective.

On occasions if the student could push their points and explain how they came to them, Miranda and other professors would boost the final score a few points. In most cases that few points would help their GPA and Miranda was happy to do it, if they put up a good thought provoking counterpoint to her initial opinion.

Other times it was, as she was currently involved in, asking for a letter of recommendation for those continuing their education in professions that required additional years.

But for some, the reason for their visit, and the results of the conversation, had far more important implications. Miranda had a feeling Tristan's was going to be one of those.

It would be far from her first, nor would it be her last, as University of Florida would be a new school, but the same job. Sometimes Miranda could help and work something out, even writing an appeal to scholarship foundations on behalf of the student asking for some leniency.

Other times the gap was too far, and the conversation ended with an upset student, and Miranda feeling as if she'd failed in her job. But this one would be far more difficult because there was more to it, than a simple yes or no on whether she could help. This time in the back of her mind there was another option.

"What are you willing to do for me?"

Just those words caused a wave of self-loathing to flow through her. What was the matter with her? She was a professor, a professional with a responsibility to her students to be the best teacher, and as fair and ethical as she could be.

Let alone the fact he was less than half her age, and the combination of the two issues made her feel like she was a reject from a porn remake of the old movie The Graduate.

Goddamn Susan sitting there in her office going on about sleeping with a student if you could get away with it. Worse, she mentioned Tristan specifically. Miranda had downplayed it, and Susan had caught on, pressing her for details.

She'd tossed her a bone, admitting she had thought about Tristan a few times, which was more than she'd ever thought of any student prior to this semester. After her longtime friend and co-worker kept pressing on the topic she'd held to the right response, that she never would.

Susan's admission that under the ideal fantasy conditions, as in a guarantee of no repercussions, she would do it, should have made Miranda feel a bit better about her feelings.

That is if it were as simple as what she confessed to Susan, an occasional thought and the one time she'd shamelessly given him a view down her blouse. Truth was where Tristan was concerned fantasy had given way to infatuation, and at this point the word obsession wouldn't be out of place.

Miranda blamed her situation. When the spring semester started, she'd been separated for two months, and although still heartbroken, her libido was making a comeback.

Due to her lack of sex before she threw Nick out, Miranda had herself convinced it was just sex. There was more to marriage, and to life, than sex. She was 45 years old; Nick was three years older, they weren't kids, and maybe it was time she accepted that.

She'd shut herself down sexually. Tried not to think about it, didn't watch porn, put her toys away so she wouldn't be tempted to masturbate. It wasn't easy at first, but after a while her goal had been achieved and she barely thought about sex.

With Nick gone, she was surprised to find her urges not only returning, but with a vengeance. Miranda's nights were full of wet dreams and during the day she found herself looking at men like a starving woman would stare at a steak.

She began having waking fantasies of those men. The good looking guy who pumped her gas, bending her over the car and filling her up instead of the tank. The UPS guy fulfilling every big package joke right down to giving her a delivery in the rear.

When school first started Miranda looked at her male students the way she always did. Yes, some were cute, but they were kids to her, kids she was there to educate, not see as objects of desire.

Except for Tristan.

As Susan had noted, he was frustratingly sexy. Everything about him from his stunning eyes to a face that one could easily see staring at you from a magazine cover, and a body that was as close to perfection as she'd ever seen.

That perfection included an ass to die for, and as Susan had called out, he either had a sock stuffed in those tight jeans or was hung like a bull. He didn't sit in front of the class so Miranda didn't have a ring side seat every day, but just the glimpse she caught of him coming and going from class had her hot and bothered.

After a few weeks Tristan had not only begun starring in her increasingly vivid dreams but had quickly taken them over. Disturbed by an infatuation that was wrong in every way, Miranda struggled to keep her mind off him.

She watched porn, forced herself to think about the men she'd fantasized about before, and other attractive guys she saw during her everyday activities. Yet despite her efforts, once she began touching herself and her guard was down, her previous imaginary lover became Tristan.

Even jilling off watching porn, the male actor would become her student, and she, the lucky recipient of the good hard fucking on the screen. Miranda was self-aware enough to understand what was happening.

Tristan had become a focal point for her sexual frustration. At least two years of a minimal sex life, then nothing for the months after her separation. It was more than just her body craving a release, but there was also anger involved as well.

Susan's 'get even' mentality had run rampant through her mind. Not that Nick would care, her friend was wrong about that, and she didn't even need him to know. The 'revenge' would just be for her.

Getting laid, having great, no holds barred, panties off, skirt over the hips, fucked against the wall sex, would be good for her. Validation she was still a sexy desirable woman, satisfaction in knowing she was one hell of a lover that any man would appreciate being with.

Most importantly, her getting the sex she deserved. No hang ups, feeling wanted rather than the chore Nick had made her feel like sex was, and cutting loose and going wild. Pleasing and being pleased by someone who desired and lusted after her as a woman.

The fixation on Tristan was more than his looks, it was the fact he was forbidden fruit. The other men Miranda had thought of prior to him, and still interacted with now. could be had with no repercussions.

But Tristan was the double whammy of being off limits due to her profession, and the taboo of his age. As much of a man as he was physically, he was still a kid to her. She'd played it off with Susan, but Miranda was aware of the popularity of cougars and milfs.

She also knew that their conversation about how every longtime teacher, male or female, who taught at Highschool, and college level had the thought of a student pass through their mind, even if fleetingly.

That went double for students. Many students had fantasies of an attractive teacher, some to the same level of infatuation she was experiencing. Over the years Miranda had wondered how many students had thought of her?

Fantasizing of her going down on them, going down on her, fucking her. But there was a difference. They were young and at an age where hormones, lust, and plain old fashioned horniness overwhelmed rational thought and what was right or wrong.

Miranda was the other side of things. She was an older experienced woman, who should be well beyond her sex drive controlling her. Most importantly she knew right and wrong and there was nothing right about her having a sexual crush on one of her pupils.

But the last three months logic and ethics, took a backseat to unbridled lust and rampant fantasies. Miranda struggled to call on him in class, because even though there was no need to, Tristan always stood when he replied to her or the class, and she struggled to keep her eyes from his crotch.

It was a sad day for her as a professional when she'd caved to temptation and fed her fantasies by wearing a too tight sweater with a plunging neckline that bordered on improper, and a skirt a few inches above her knees and much snugger than her usual attire.

She had seen him using his phone under his desk and used it as an opportunity to get close and give him a view. To her carnal delight, his eyes had immediately gone where she'd hoped they would, and she remained leaning over while telling him he should know better than to be using his phone.

He'd apologized and said it wouldn't happen again, but even as he spoke his eyes lingered on her breasts which were encased in a red Victoria Secret bra which pushed them up even higher.

When she felt she'd been there long enough without looking obvious, Miranda had turned away, then added to her shame when she then leaned over the shoulder of another student who she'd noticed had briefly had Facebook open on her laptop.

She bent over further than needed, now giving Tristan a look at her ass, and although she didn't glance back, she could feel his gaze on her. Others may have been looking too, but she only cared about him.

Miranda would love to say that was rock bottom, but her brief Mrs. Robinson tease was nothing compared to her dreams which had become much more frequent and far more vivid.

Yesterday, the day after Susan had brought her coffee, Miranda had spent the day, then a good part of the evening, at home grading the finals. As soon as she finished with Tristan's, thoughts that made her prior ones look virtuous began to nag at her.

The absolute worse thoughts a teacher, or anyone in a position of authority over impressionable young people could have. Thoughts of putting her lust before her job. Of taking advantage of her position and of someone who no matter what he looked like was still a damn kid.

Or was he? No boy with Tristan's looks was a virgin. Hell, a hot kid who played sports, he was probably going through coeds like a knife through butter. She wouldn't be asking him to do anything he'd never done before.

Just to do it with a woman his mother's age who happened to be his professor.

Miranda struggled to stem the flow of those thoughts. There were things one shouldn't entertain even in fantasy. Worried it would dominate her nightly me time session, she went back to her pre divorce mentality and forced herself to go to bed without relieving herself of her just about permanent state of arousal these days.

The result was to wake from a dream so potent that as she lay there with her heart racing, and nipples and clit aching, she could still see it as clearly as she had dreamt it. Even now the details were etched into her mind. Her over her desk, her blouse open, tits popped out of her bra and her skirt up over her hips. One knee up on the desk and her thong pulled to the side while being fucked from behind.

The streaks of mascara down her cheeks, and her red lipstick smeared around her mouth spoke of having her face fucked before she'd assumed the position to get the good hard fucking she desperately needed.

A bright red outline of a hand decorated the cheek of her ass, and her head being pulled back by the fist wrapped tightly in her hair. Their other hand gripping her ankle just above the strap of her black stiletto, the one pair of fuck me shoes she owned.

Miranda could hear flesh pounding flesh, her grunting and yipping from the impact and deep penetration. Her hands gripped the edge of the desks, her fingers white knuckled from squeezing it. Her large breasts bouncing from the force of her lover's thrusts.

"Yes, baby, yes!" she cried out. Her voice was hoarse, and Miranda knew it was from her throat being used as roughly as her grateful cunt currently was.

"Harder!" she continued. "Fuck me harder!"

"Yes, ma'am!" A breathy voice said from behind her, and in that moment the angle of the view widened, allowing her to see who was fucking her.

Of course, it was Tristan.

Shirtless, his jeans down around his knees, muscles flexing in his chest and arms as he took her like she was some drunk coed he'd scored at a frat party. Taking her with a cock her imagination had made to match that damned bulge.

Long, thick, glistening from his teachers wet needy cunt, and blessed with the energy and stamina only a boy half her age could exhibit. Youth, enthusiasm, and lust, combined to have his teacher shamelessly begging for more.

Tristan moaned her name, gave her several more thrusts, then pulled his cock from inside her. Miranda's dream self turned and dropped to her knees, her mouth wide open and her hands under her tits, offering them to him.

His first squirt went into her mouth, the second splattered her right cheek. He kept stroking, hitting her chin, then aiming lower and catching each of her heaving breasts with a pearly white stripe of cum.

Miranda pushed his cum out of her mouth with her tongue, sending it flowing down her chin like a porn star wannabe. When Tristan pushed the oozing head of his cock against her sticky lips, she obediently parted them and slurped him into her mouth.

She bobbed her head, her eyes rolling back as she sucked while his cum dripped down her face and slid over her tits to land on her stomach and thighs.

"That's it, suck it," Tristan moaned, grabbing her hair and shoving his cock balls deep down her throat. "You really needed this didn't you, Professor?"

"Hmm!" she agreed as she noisily slurped on his still hard dick.

"Needy, desperate, and pathetic," he whispered pulling his cock from between her lips. "Look at you, middle aged woman on her knees with cum on her face. Taking advantage of a student and trading a grade for a fuck, having me pretend I really want your used up cunt, and not just doing what I have too."

Even at the end of a hot dream her misgivings had risen to bite her in the ass. Dream Tristan's derision was her subconscious self-loathing making itself known in the midst of her forbidden passion.

Yet the imagery of the dream up until those last few seconds had her so wet her panties peeled from her sticky flesh when she'd rolled over. Miranda had crossed her legs and ground her thighs together, squirming on the bed and whimpering like a teenage girl who hadn't learned how to masturbate yet.

She tried to resist, but her body was in overdrive, and with an air of surrender she bent her legs, lifted her ass, and pulled her panties off. Miranda didn't stop there. Sitting up she stripped off the plain black T-shirt she wore to bed and tossed it away.

She lay back completely naked and opened her legs so wide, she could hook her ankles along the edge of the mattress on either side of her. Her need was so urgent she didn't take the time to grab her vibe or bullet.

Miranda shoved both hands between her flushed sweaty thighs and buried two fingers in her soaking slit while rubbing her clit with so hard and fast it bordered on violent.

She came like an animal, throwing her head back and crying out so loudly she felt that Mary and her husband, whose bedroom was above hers, had to hear her. She continued to pleasure herself as she writhed on the bed, moaning as her mind filled with the image of her being fucked over the desk.

When she finished, she lay there for a few minutes, trying to calm herself down and when it didn't happen, she masturbated a second time. This time more slowly, entertaining herself with images of Tristan going down on her, making her come in his face while she thrashed on her desk.

The desk she'd cleaned off in between appointments today so the only items left on it were the phone, and the laptop. Miranda had to clean it anyway with tomorrow being her last day, but she knew damn well she was playing a dangerous game with herself.

A game that led to the way she was dressed. Miranda had been seeing students all day. Everything from haggling their grades to letters to a few who popped in to say goodbye and wished her luck at her next job.

A few fellow professors and other school staff had dropped in to say the same. Sitting behind her desk, Miranda looked quite professional. A brick red blazer over a sheer white long sleeve blouse buttoned up to the collar.

The buttoned blazer covered the fact the inappropriate blouse showed off the black bra beneath it. The Victoria secret bra which featured half cups leaving the inner portion of her breasts bare and were as sheer as her blouse. A strategically placed small pink bow covered each of her rosy nipples, but everything else was on display.

From the waist down, Miranda's ensemble was harder to hide and why she'd remained seated all day, calling for people to come in, and only rising a couple times to give a co-worker a hug goodbye.

She stayed behind the desk even for that, only easing around enough to embrace them and not stepping out in the open. If she had they'd see her black skirt was short enough to identify as a mini.

Thigh length and snug fitting, it showed off the curve of her hips and ass, and showed an improper-for a 45 year old teacher anyway-amount of leg. Her legs were accentuated by the pair of heels she'd dug out of the closet after seeing them in her dream.

Black stilettos she could barely walk in and had brought into the school in the box she'd brought to pack up her personal belongings. Once settled in, she'd slid off the sensible pumps she'd arrived in, and slipped on the heels, which featured a strap along the length of the top of her foot, one that buckled around her ankle.

The fuck me shoes she hadn't worn since their cruise to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary at a time she could not only walk, but dance in them, then left them on for the real celebration back when they had a good sex life.

But even back then he'd been fooling around with her best friend.

"None of that," she told herself as she looked down at her bright red painted toes peeking out from the open front of the shoe.

No more living in the past, today closed a chapter for her, and a new one would soon be opening. New state, new job, new life, and hopefully some new fun. But for her last day part of her was determined to take Susan's advice when she'd told her to go out with a bang.

The other part knew she was just toying with herself. There was no way she was going to go through with it. In fact, "it" might not even exist. It would all depend on what she was going to insist on being a professional conversation.

Maybe Tristan didn't even want to discuss his grade. She didn't know his exact situation so maybe he only wanted a recommendation or to say goodbye. Miranda told herself that although he'd be saying goodbye to her with her hair down and brushed out and her lips in the same slut red as her fingers and toes, it meant nothing.

Just how she decided to dress for her last day. After all, what said departing teacher better than trashy make up, party heels and a pair of pink trimmed lace black Cheekini panties.

Miranda had bought them a year ago and just opened the package this morning. She owned a few thongs but liked the way these covered more of her ass, showing it off through the lace, but not allowing for as much bare flesh.

A compromise between a coed and an old lady when it came to underwear, she thought wryly. On the surface Miranda was dressed like a porn star ready to do a teacher themed shoot, but inside she told herself she was just indulging a fantasy, and maybe getting a few appraising looks from Tristan and nothing more.

Because there would be nothing more, dammit. She wasn't that horny or desperate.