The Professor

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Double Penetration

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. 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 bahis firmaları 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 kaçak iddaa 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.

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 kaçak bahis 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!).

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