Sophomore Slave AuctionbyBaxter72©
In many of the stories I have written for Literotica, I have recounted my fond memories of many sexual adventures I had with students and others while I was a professor of English at a small but expensive New England college. So this is another one that I almost forgot.
But before telling the story, I would like to comment a little bit on the relationship between professors and their students. There is no question that one goes into this field because one wants to teach. But unlike being a high school teacher—which I once was—the financial compensation for being a college professor is very good, and the time off—even during the college year—is also very good.
The best "fringe" benefit however is the ready availability of beautiful young girls. They have all of the qualifications: they have just turned 18, so they are legal; for many of them, they have left home and the guardianship of their parents for the first time and are anxious to experiment with things such as sex.
You've all read stories about teachers and professors who have exploited their position of power over the students, particularly in the area of grades. But it has always been my opinion that only the most reprehensible of teachers and professors offer to exchange "sex for grades." That is a good way to alienate your employer, who frowns on such things, as well as alienate the students and their friends and generally, all of society. It is also a good way eventually to lose your position.
There is a much better way that does not alienate anyone. Sex between professors and their students, for whatever reason, has been so common through the years that while colleges and universities frown on it and forbid it, they also know it is going to happen often, and so they try to turn a blind eye to it. The general rule is: You can't "date" someone over whom you have power in grading. After that time, it's okay, and in fact many professors have married their former students—usually losing a prior marriage in the process.
The mutual attraction is understandable. The professors for the most part are cultured, sympathetic, intelligent, and interesting. The young women are also intelligent, often beautiful, seeking experience—and away from home for the first time. Who would they chose—a horny but unlettered boy of their own age or a cultured and sophisticated man of their father's age? For the professor, such a temptation is hard to resist.
And I did not resist it.
But forget about Sex for Grades. Getting into a pretty student's pants is much easier than that—and this is another example of how I did it.
Colleges are fond of traditions, and one of the traditions at our college was the annual "Sophomore Slave Day." The idea was that all of the sophomore students, male and female, would offer themselves as "slaves" to the highest bidders at the "slave auctions", after which they would have to do anything their "owner" wanted for a whole Saturday, 9-5. The only limitations were: The demands had to be legal, and they had to be inoffensive to the student.
Which left a lot of latitude.
Money raised from the slave auction would be donated to local charities.
Whether they admit it or not, every teacher has his "pets." Usually they are students who are highly intelligent, at the top of their class, and very pretty as well. My "pet" at that time was Gabrielle, or as she was called "Gaby." Gabrielle was an exchange student from Paris who had originally come to America for her last year of high school. But then she had won a scholarship to our small college and decided to continue her education in America.
Gabrielle was about five foot eight, about 115 pounds and had a beautiful and lithe figure and a lovely face. She looked a little bit like the French actress Sophie Marceau, only prettier. She had chestnut brown hair that hung to her shoulders, and like most French women, her breasts looked a little small, but I was sure they were quite nice. I was soon to find out just how nice they were.
Although, Gabrielle was only 19 as a junior, she always seemed much more sophisticated and mature to me than the other students. It was probably because she had that European cosmopolitan air. Her father was some important official in the French government, and Gabrielle had been raised at good schools in Paris. Also, unlike the other students, she did not dress in jeans and sweatshirts but in fashionable clothes, usually dresses or expensive skirts and a top.
I had her in my class first for Freshman English and then two years later in American Literature. And since Paris was my favorite city in the world, and I had been there a number of times, we had many interesting discussions about Paris and things French over coffee at the Student Union. I even got to use some of my limited French on her. At our college and in all colleges, it is natural for the teachers to mingle with the students in that environment.
Gaby was willing to participate in "Sophomore Slave Day," but she said she had never heard of anything like that.
"We don't have that in Paris," she said to me with a laugh.
That was a pity, but I had an idea of how to possibly take advantage of the slave auction—if I was lucky.
Usually, the bidders at the auction were members of the faculty or staff or officials and businessmen from the town. Sometimes the bids were quite high, since the money was going to good charities.
When Gaby came up for auction, I simply could not resist. She was wearing a simple but expensive-looking brown wool skirt and a equally simple forest green sweater. But she looked beautiful, and I knew that I had to have her. I surprised her and a few others when I bid $500 for her. No one matched or topped my bid, so I wrote out a check for that amount to a local charity.
On Saturday, two days later, she showed up at my home, a very old small cottage by the river. I had given her the address. I had lived for many years in the home with my wife, but she had died of breast cancer about five years ago, so now I lived alone. To my surprise, Gaby showed up in the traditional student garb of jeans and a sweatshirt.
"I hope you don't mind what I'm wearing," she said when she saw me looking at her garb. "I thought you might have some dirty jobs for me to do, such as raking leaves or cleaning out your garage or cellar."
I laughed. "No, nothing like that. Actually, I have only one task for you to do that has three parts. It should take no more than two hours, and if you finished all three parts satisfactorily, you're free to go."
"Wonderful," she said.
"But first of all, would you like a glass of wine, along with some Brie and crackers?"
"That would be wonderful. I didn't have much of a breakfast before I came."
"Good." I went to the kitchen, poured two glasses of white Bordeaux and prepared a plate of Brie cheese and crackers.
"Here you are," I said, putting it on the table before her.
"You're nineteen, right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"So my serving you a glass of wine is probably very illegal."
She laughed. "It would not be illegal in France."
"I know. Neither would be the task I have for you."
"Good." She drank some of the wine and ate a cracker with cheese. "I was really shocked at the amount that you bid for me," she said "It was much more than most of the rest of the bids for other people. Are you sure I'm worth that much?"
"Yes, I think you are."
"So what is the task you have for me?"
"Well, as you know from the rules, the task cannot be anything illegal nor can it be anything that would offend the student."
"So let me preface my request by saying this: This request is made because I am very much attracted to you, but if you find the request offensive in any way, I will withdraw it—and send you to out to straighten up my garage."
She laughed. "All right."
"You are the best student in my class, so this is not anything like Sex for Grades."
I paused. "Well, I might as well stop beating around the bush, so to speak, and get right to it. I would love to watch you undress."
"You would love to watch me undress?"
She looked around. "Here?"
She laughed. "There is no need for you to feel awkward about such a request. This is quite common among students and teachers in Paris."
"I imagine it is. But here, it's frowned upon by the college. Still, that's what I would like to ask."
"I knew that you were attracted to me," she said, "I could see it in your eyes. But did you know that I was attracted to you?"
"Men are the last to know that. Particularly if there is a difference in the age."
"There is a big difference here. I'm sixty-two, old enough to be your grandfather."
"I know. I looked you up in the faculty list."
"Is that a problem?"
"No, it's an asset. Older men are more attractive."
"Then you don't find my request offensive?"
"No, quite the opposite. I'm very flattered."
"Then you will do it?"
She smiled, put down the wine and stood up. "This ought to answer your question." She crossed her arms and pulled her sweater over her head. She was wearing a pretty lacy white bra.
Then she pushed the white sneakers off her feet, unbuttoned her jeans, pushed them down, and stepped out of them. Her lacy white panties were a perfect match for the bra, and the only other thing she had on now were white socks. Her underwear looked so nice and new, I began to wonder if she had guessed my task in advance.
She put her hands behind her back, unfastened her bra, and tossed it on the chair beside her. As I had expected, her breasts were on the smallish side but beautifully formed, with maroon-colored nipples.
Then, with a smile, she hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties and slowly pushed them down, revealing her lovely chestnut-colored bush, which looked like it had been trimmed to only an inch in length. I could see her down-covered nether lips below it.
She put her hands at her sides and smiled.
"You are absolutely beautiful," I said, "The most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
"Thank you. French girls always leave something on, so I am going to leave my socks on.
"That's fine with me."
"And what is the second part of the task?"
I believe it is what you call in France Le Blowjob?"
She laughed. "Yes, it is called the same thing in France as in the United States, another one of your Americanisms that has been adopted there."
"Then that is Part Two."
"I had a feeling it might be." She looked around. "Here?"
"Unless you would prefer the bedroom?"
"Yes, that would be more comfortable. Especially because of le difference."
"Yes, based on some movies I have seen—and you know the kind of movies I am talking about—with Americans, The Blowjob is fast and furious, just like your movies. But French girls prefer to do it slow and more—how do you say it—lingering?"
"That sounds wonderful to me." I walked over and to her surprise picked her up in my arms. Since I visit the college gym once a day after work, I am in pretty good shape despite my age. And she certainly did not weigh very much.
"How romantic," she said with a laugh.
"I've always wanted to carry a beautiful naked girl into my bedroom."
"And now you can."
"Yes." I carried her into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed. The bedroom was small, but one of the two windows had a lovely view of the river, and the other window overlooked the house next to us, which was about 50 feet away.
"Should we close the blinds?" she asked.
"I don't think so. The only person living next door is Henry Cohen, a retired professor from the college. He's eighty-five years old, so if he happens to be watching, it will be the nicest thing he's seen in years."
"All right," she said with a smile. "As long as he doesn't have a movie camera. I don't want to be in one of those movies."
In fact, I had told Cohen earlier in the day that he might like to watch around this time with his binoculars, since I might have a real treat for him. I have always tried to be of help to our senior citizens.
"Since I'm naked, you ought to be naked too," she suggested lying on the bed.
"All right." I took off all my clothes and deposited them on the nearby chair.
"You look very nice for a man of your age," she said.
"Thank you." Part of my looking nice, I suppose, was that I had a semi-erection just from looking at her. "I'll just lie down?" I asked.
"Yes. Here," she said, patting the bed.
I did so. And during the next 20 minutes, I got to know the difference between The Blowjob and Le Blowjob. She began with sucking the balls, then slowly licking the shaft up and down, particularly the bottom, then kissing the head, and finally taking it into her mouth, slowly swirling her tongue around it, and gradually taking it in deeper until her lips were pressed against my public hair. I imagined Le Blowjob should last about a half hour, but after about 20 minutes, I realized I could not take much more of this. "I'm going to come," I moaned, "Can I come in your mouth?"
She took it out. "Yes, please do. That is the only way to finish it."
And that's what I did. I came in her mouth, with a quantity that I had not experienced in 40 years. I gasped. Then finally, I looked over at her. She opened her lips to show me a mouthful of creamy cum. Then she swallowed it, licked her lips, and smiled.
"Did you like that?" she asked.
"I think I've died and gone to heaven."
She sat up, a perfect naked Venus. "And what is the last part?" she asked.
"You want to have sex with me."
"You got it, but we will have to rest awhile. I need to rebuild my energies." I sat up. "Can I pour you another wine?"
"Of course. You can take all the time you want to 'rebuild your energies.' We have all day. I can be here until five."
"Don't tempt me." Naked, I went into the living room, got the glasses, went into the kitchen, and refilled them. Then I took them back to the bedroom and handed her one. She had raised a pillow to the back of the bed and was sitting there with her legs crossed. I was charmed by her complete naturalness in being nude. I guessed it was because she was French.
I sat down in the chair. "Is the French style of making love like Le Blowjob?" I asked.
"How do you mean?"
"Slow and lingering."
She laughed. "Yes, when it is good. And that is the way I like it."
"Good, then that's the way I'll try and do it."
"But you need to rest for awhile." She smiled. "Can I confess something to you?"
"This will be my first time doing it in America."
I sat up. "You've got to be kidding me. You've been in America for a couple of years."
"I know. But in high school, I found most of the boys to be stupid and boring. And in college it has not been a lot better, and a lot of them drink all the time—and brag about the women they have---"
"Yes, but usually they say 'fucked'."
She smiled. "I masturbate a lot, nearly every night."
"Wow—that's amazing....I've never seen a woman masturbate."
She thought about it for a minute. "Would you like to?"
"Are you kidding? What man wouldn't?"
"Well, you said you needed to rest for awhile. Why don't I masturbate while you are resting? You can watch if you want."
"My God, I really have gone to heaven."
She laughed. "I've never done it with someone watching before. But I'm very good at it, so I think I can. But don't say anything while I'm doing it. I need to concentrate."
"All right, but one question before you start. What do you use as a masturbatory fantasy?"
She smiled. "If I understand what you are asking, I use: things. This time I will use you. You are doing it to me in the lecture hall in front of 50 other students."
"My God, I think I'm going to have another orgasm just picturing about that."
"So don't say anything." She put her glass of wine on the nightstand, closed her eyes, and spread her thighs. Then she used her forefinger to find her clitoris and began to slide it slowly back and forth.
Within a few minutes, she was beginning to breathe more deeply and to moan softly. The breathing and the moaning grew deeper and longer as she went on, and finally after about 10 minute, she sucked her breath in quickly and cried: "Ohhhhh!"
Wow! I could not see much because of the way women are made, but it was apparent that she had enjoyed a strong orgasm—and was still coming in smaller trembling ways after it.
Finally, she drew her legs up to her chest, turned, opened her eyes and smiled. "Was that all right?" she murmured.
"I think I'm going to have a heart attack," I said.
She sat up quickly. "Really?"
"No, that was just figuratively speaking. But I've never seen anything so exciting."
"Good. But that was your third part. So can I go now?"
I looked at her.
She smiled. "I'm thinking of a number between three and five," she said, "What is is?"
"Amazing. You've won one extra request. What is it?"
"I would like to have sex with you."
"And you would like to fuck me as well."
"And I would like to fuck you as well."
"Good. Because that's what I would like."
I got up on the bed with her. "Even though I don't think you need it, would like a little oral stimulation?"
"Yes, that would be nice." She laid on her back and spread her legs. I got between them and feasted my eyes on her shiny brown bush. Then I bent down and began to lick her. I could taste her orgasm.
I realized after about five minutes that I was going to come again if I didn't stop this. "I need to fuck you now," I said.
Gently, I slipped it inside her. She was warm and wet inside. In keeping with my promise to her, I did it as slowly as possible. She closed her eyes and began to moan again. After about 25 minutes of this, I finally came deep inside of her. And I kept it there for another ten minutes.
Finally, I pulled it out of her. We were both wet and sticky. "Would you like a shower?" I asked.
I took her hand, pulled her out of the bed, and led her to the bathroom. We took a long and lingering shower together, and to my amazement—I fucked her again.
At the end, we were sitting back in the living room with our clothes on and drinking a final glass of the wine.
"I'm sorry to see this come to an end," I said.
"But what about the Slave Auction next Saturday?"
"What slave auction?"
"The one here at your house. You will be the only bidder, so I think one dollar would been enough."
And it was.