Lesbian sex between a teacher and her student

I’m a junior in college. I’m 20, blonde, and five feet six inches tall,
quite pretty, and I have an athletic and very attractive figure:
35-23-34. I have very shapely legs, a tight rear, and my breasts, while
not huge, are firm and ample for my body. Needless to say, I have no
trouble attracting men.

Most of these men expect that someone who looks and acts as I do must
be a “dumb blonde”, but they’re usually surprised to find out that I
have a straight “A” average and that I’m smarter than they are. I find
most of them silly and amusing.

I haven’t had much trouble getting my good grades, and all my
instructors have liked me, so I was distressed last semester with my
English professor, a woman of about 35 or so. For some reason, she
took an intense dislike to me, and although I could tell I was doing
better than anyone in the class, she wouldn’t give me anything higher
than a B on my first two papers.

I’m going for a 4.0 average, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let
this one woman spoil it for me. So after my second paper, I decided to
try to get through to her, and I asked her if I could meet her for a
conference. She stiffly and formally agreed, and she suggested that we
have our meeting at her home. Our school is small, and this sort of
thing is quite common, so I agreed to meet her after dinner that night.

I wasn’t sure why my professor seemed to have it out for me, and so I
had no idea what to expect from our conference. But I always try to be
prepared for any contingency, so decided to dress in a sexy manner,
just in case that might prove to be helpful to my cause. I wore a pair
of shorts, a cotton sweater (without a bra), and a pair of high-heeled
sandals, all of which looked, I thought, quite good on my body, set off
by my sun-lightened hair.

I showed up about 8:15 P.M., 15 minutes late, and we sat in her den.
She sat behind her desk, and I sat to the side of it, in a straight
chair, with my legs crossed. She was wearing clothes that were a bit
more casual than her usual classroom attire, but she behaved just as
stiffly and disapprovingly as ever.

I discussed the papers I had written, and she replied to me in an
annoyed, perfunctory manner that my papers were fine. I asked her why,
then, did she only give me B’s, and her answer was that a B is a
perfectly good grade, and I shouldn’t complain.

I then tried to engage her in a conversation about what she had
lectured about in class that day. It was a very interesting topic to
me, and I let her know that, but she wasn’t moved at all by my animated
and genuinely excited manner when I discussed it. She just responded
to me curtly, barely concealing her disdain for me.

I guess I’m spoiled, but my instructors tend to like me and to reward
my good schoolwork with good grades. I’m also spoiled by the
consistently positive responses I get from men and women. So I was
starting to get annoyed with this pain-in-the-ass professor, who was
disappointing me on both counts.

So finally, I just confronted her point blank. “I don’t understand,” I
said. “My papers are quite good by your own admission. I’m quite
interested in the topics you discuss in your course and I’m probably
more knowledgeable about them than anyone else in the class. So what
have I done to get you so down on me? What do you have against me?”

She was startled by my sudden frankness, but she quickly composed
herself and gave me a long, hard stare. After a painfully
uncomfortable pause, she sighed and began to speak in a tense,
disdainful manner. “Miss M—–,” she began, “I must say that I have a
very hard time believing that you don’t know what it is that I’m so
‘down on you’ about, as you put it.”

“But Dr. S——,” I replied, more politely than she deserved, “I
really haven’t the slightest idea what I could have done to get you
upset at me.” I was certain that it must either be some sort of
misunderstanding or else some sort of irrational, unwarranted prejudice
on her part (yes, I admit it: I have a very high opinion of myself, and
humility isn’t one of my weaknesses).

She gave me an icy look and then responded in a forced, clipped manner.
Well, Miss M—–, if indeed you are so out of touch with yourself as
to be so totally unaware of your faults, I suppose I have no choice but
to enumerate them to you.”

I just stared at her. If she were almost anybody else, I would have
stood up and told her in no uncertain terms just where she could stick
her enumeration’s, but despite her pigheaded idiocy, I prudently kept my
true feelings to myself. All I wanted from her any more was my “A” —
I no longer cared a rat’s ass about her opinion of me as a person.

It must have become apparent to her that I wasn’t going to say
anything, and she finally started to speak again. “So Miss M—–,”
she said condescendingly, “where shall I begin? Should I start with
your flippant, know-it-all attitude? Or perhaps your phony,
apple-polishing manner in class would be a better place to commence.”

I silently laughed to myself. She knew damn well that I wasn’t an
apple- polisher. There were at least 5 other students in her class who
stood out that way. And I know better than to act the know-it-all,
too. My general demeanor in class is to be calm and self-assured, and
to politely and quietly answer only when I’m called on.

So I could tell that something else was bothering her. I needed to
find out what it was if I was to have any hope of convincing her to
give me the grades I deserved, so I confronted her once again.

“Well, Dr. S——,” I replied calmly. “I must say that I’m very
surprised that you could have gotten that impression of me. I really
don’t think I’m as much of a know-it-all or a sycophant as several
other students in your class, and I’m sure you know who they are. So I
can only imagine that there’s something else about me that must have
upset you, and Dr. S——, whatever it might have been, I assure you
it was unintentional.”

She looked at me for a moment with an unreadable expression, and then
she suddenly lashed out with surprising venom: “That’s exactly what the
problem is with you, and all the others like you!”

I had no idea what she could be referring to, so I just looked at her,
perplexed.

This seemed to get her even more upset. Her face became red and she
began to stammer angrily. “You … you young _women_ are all the same
…. every last one of you! You … you use your … your charms and
…. and you make all the boys like you
…. that’s what you do all right … and you act so damn innocent about
it! You’re so used to having men falling all over their feet for you
that … that you don’t even know … or care! … what you’re doing.
You get you get all of the men to stare at … at your … at you,
and you show off your … your bodies to them and make them do all
sorts of things for you … and you just use them ’cause … ’cause you
know they’ll … they’ll let you do anything and … and you don’t even
think about it. That’s the worst thing about it! You just flitter
into the classroom like a … like a taunting little innocent
temptress … wearing those … those revealing clothes …” she
gestured at me and continued to fume and sputter, getting herself more
and more worked up.

So now I knew exactly what was bothering her. She was attracted to me,
as I’m sure she has been with many of her students over the years, and
she was resentful and frustrated that I and the other objects of her
desire weren’t interested in her in return.

I had to admit that most women would find her difficult to like. I
already mentioned how stiff and uptight she was, and on top of that,
she was generally ill-tempered and lacking in the usual social skills.
If she was exceptionally good-looking, some of her students might have
been attracted to her in spite of her cold demeanor (or in some cases,
even because of it), but she was at best average looking.

But even taking all this into account, I’m sure that there must have
been at least a few women in her classes over the years who might have
found her attractive. However, I assumed that she was either too
cynical to have noticed their interest, or that she only cared about
the more good-looking, popular women who would be much less likely to
pay any attention to her.

As for me, I could barely stand her, especially after the way she had
been treating me so far that night. But then again, I wanted that “A”
very, very badly, and now I could see that there were two ways to get
it. Both involved being devious and manipulative, and I had no qualms
about that, especially since she was being such a jerk to me.

One way involved “admitting” that I’ve been secretly attracted to her.
I could tell her that I’ve been fantasizing about her for weeks and
that the reason I dressed and acted so much like a “temptress” was to
try to get her interested in me. I could then “realize” that I just
should have told her my true feelings to begin with, and then fall into
her arms.

I’m sure this tactic would work with her — at least in the short run.
But she would surely fall head over heels in love with me, and I
couldn’t maintain that charade for another 3 semesters until graduation
— and I’d definitely have to do that in order to keep the whole thing
from backfiring before I could get my hands on my diploma.

That left the second choice, which, as I thought about it, seemed more
and more to be the best course of action after all. After a minimum of
deliberation, I made up my mind to do it.

All this went through my mind in just a few seconds as Dr. S——
fumed and raved like a frustrated celibate about how I’m such a
“bubble-headed bimbo”, and so on.

I immediately began to put my plan into action. I suddenly stood up
and put my hands on my hips. “Dr. S——,” I said firmly, staring her
in the eyes. She looked away, and I added firmly, “Would you look at
me!”

My sudden forcefulness took her by surprise and she stopped in
mid-sentence, gaping at me.

“That’s better,” I continued. “Much better. Now Dr. S——,” I added
more calmly, “I think I know what’s bothering you.”

Another surge of anger went through her. “I would hope you know by
now, little lady!” she spat. “For the last 5 minutes I’ve been telling
you in no uncertain terms how …”

“Shhhhh,” I urged like a mother quieting her child. “You’re just
getting yourself worked up. Now Dr. S——, I hear what you’ve been
saying. You’ve been talking all about flirty, insincere women and all
the horrible things they do.”

She shook her head angrily. “And I suppose you’re going to try to
convince me that you would never think of doing that sort of thing,”
she said sarcastically.

“No, not at all,” I said calmly. “I wouldn’t think of trying to
convince you of that.”

You
…. you wouldn’t?” she replied, surprised in spite of herself.

“Most assuredly not,” I answered. “That would just be dealing with
superficialities. I think it would be much more … should I say

satisfying’? … if we were to dispense with those trivial, misleading
issues and get to the … should I say ‘root’? … of the problem.”

She suddenly looked very confused. “Listen, Miss M—–,
…. I’m not sure … I don’t know what you’re driving at here, but if
you think …”

I cut her off before she could get herself worked up again. “What I’m
driving at, Dr. S—— …” I said, pausing for dramatic emphasis as I
slowly turned around and bent over, propping myself up by the arms of
the chair behind me. Looking over my shoulder at her, I continued,
“… is that I really think you’d like to get a look at my ass.” As
she gaped at me in disbelief, I took one hand and began to slowly
massage my bottom through my shorts,

“Now … now Miss M—– … I … would you please … I mean …”

She was totally flabbergasted.

“Come on, Dr. S——,” I cooed in a sultry voice, “we both know how
much I’ve been turning you on. Don’t fight it. Just let yourself feel
how aroused you’re getting.”

“Now listen, Miss M—– …,” she said, struggling to keep the upper
hand — but failing.

I just acted as if she hadn’t said a word. I reached my hand into my
elastic waistband and began to play with my butt underneath my shorts.
“I know you’ve been fantasizing about me,” I said. “I can tell. What
part of me do you think about when you masturbate, Dr. S——?” I
stood more upright and grasped the waist of my shorts with both hands
and pulled them down along with my panties, completely exposing my
buttocks.

“Did you fantasize about my ass?” I taunted as I wiggled my nude butt
at her. “Hmmmm?”

She just stared at me, her mouth opening and closing, but no words
coming out.

I pulled my shorts back up and turned around to face her. I grasped
the bottom of my sweater and raised it up, exposing my braless breasts.
“Or do you picture my tits when you rub yourself off? Huh, Dr. S——?”

With one hand I began to massage my breasts as she stared. “I have
_really_ hot tits, don’t I? Uh-huh,” I added with a lewd smile.

I pulled my sweater back down over my breasts, and then I lowered both
hands to my crotch. I began to massage my vagina through my shorts.
“Or do you dream about my little girl spot? Huh, Dr. S——? Do you
wanna see my cunt?”

Her demeanor was a combination of dejection, confusion, a little anger,
and an increasing amount of sexual arousal. “Look, Miss M—–,” she
said almost pleadingly, “please … would you stop that for a minute
….”

I gloated to myself at how quickly I had turned this cold, arrogant
bitch into a pleading little girl. “No, I won’t, Dr. S——,” I said
with calm defiance as I continued to massage my crotch in front of her.
“I can listen to you quite well while I’m rubbing my pussy. Just tell
me whatever it is you want to tell me. Come on, Dr. S——,” I added
with a hint of dominance in my voice as she hesitated. “Talk to me —
now.”

I could see her going through what appeared to be a difficult
inner struggle. Then, after a few seconds, she spoke in a halting,
stammering voice. “Look … Miss M—– … I admit that … that I
was … well, harsh with you before
…. but … well, it’s just because I … well, I never liked being …
well, teased by girls. I could tell that … or at least you seemed
as if you were just another good-looking, teasing, insincere woman, and
…. well, and now you’re doing … you’re doing just what I feared the
most. You’re being … cruel and you’re playing on my.. my weakness
just like … just like all those other mean, cruel girls. Won’t you
please stop? Please!”

She looked like she was almost going to cry, but if I wanted this to
succeed, I knew I had to maintain the pressure. I continued to massage
myself and I said, slightly more kindly, “Do you think that I’m just
being an insincere pussy-teaser right now?”

She nodded dejectedly. “Well, Dr. S——,” I then continued, “we’ll
see how you feel about that in a little while. Why don’t you raise
your skirt and start masturbating for me?”

She looked as if I had just kicked her in the gut. “Didn’t you …
didn’t you just hear me?” she moaned desperately. “Here I just … I
just admitted to you … something that I can hardly admit to myself
….” her voice quickly become small and sad and plaintive again, “…
and all you do is act cruel and try to hurt me more.”

“No, Dr. S——,” I replied calmly. “I’m not trying to hurt you. On
the contrary. I want you to pleasure yourself. Just like you do when
you fantasize about me. Come on,” I urged, “put your hand on your cunt
and masturbate for me, and I’ll take off my pants and show you my slit.
I know you’d like that, Dr. S——. I’m offering you something
really erotic and really hot, and so how can you possibly say that I’m
being cruel to you?”

“Well …” she said quickly as if she was going to argue with me, but
then she got quiet — as if she suddenly realized the folly of looking
a gift-horse n the teeth.

“Come on, Dr. S——,” I said with cold, taunting assurance after she
just sat there for a moment or two, struggling with herself. “I know
you like to fantasize about me when you masturbate. I know women
_real_ well, and I can read you like a book. I wanna get my pants off
for you, so get nude for me and show me your pussy”

She tentatively obeyed me, and she nervously took off her shoes and
socks and then stood up to pull her pants down. Another look of
uncertainty covered her face, and she began to stammer something about
feeling really unsure of herself and wondering if she really should be
doing this.

Instead of saying anything to her in reply, I just took both my hands
and slid them into my shorts, and I began to rub myself again, this
time moving even more lewdly and sexily than before. “Oh God!” I
moaned like a nasty slut. “My cunt is so fuckin’ hot — so fuckin’
wet! Get nude and I’ll show it to you — I’ll stick it right in your
face when you masturbate — I know you’d love that!”

She only hesitated a second or two longer, and then she seemed to throw
caution to the wind. In less than a minute she was standing in front
of me, totally naked, her hands fidgeting nervously in front of her
groin. She looked at me like a shy young girl searching for approval
from her mother. I had read her correctly: underneath her cold,
arrogant, condescending exterior was an insecure little kid just dying
to be told what to do.

She was about to get these inner desires satisfied in a way she
probably never dreamed of.

“That’s very good,” I said after looking her up and down as if to
evaluate her in some unspecified way. “Now move your hands out from in
front of yourself. Come on — raise them above your head so I can look
at you.”

She tentatively did what I told her.

“Uh-huh — that’s right,” I said with a hint of approval in my voice.
“Now do you want to see me nude, too?”

“Um … well, yes … I … I do,” she said, stammering. “Um … you
said that you’d … you know … um, take off your shorts if …”

“I know what I said,” I interrupted, letting a little bit of annoyance
creep into my voice. She visibly shrank from me when she heard that.
“And I keep my promises. Now get on your back on the floor and do
everything I tell you to do, and soon you’ll see that I meant
everything I said.”

She obeyed me and soon she was on her back. I stood over her, one
foot on either side of her waist, and I looked down on her with my
hands on my hips. “So tell me, Dr. S——,” I said with a hint of
condescension in my voice. “Have you ever done anything like this
before? Hmmm?”

“Uh … no … I haven’t,” she replied, still unsure of herself.
“Never anything like this at all. In fact … um … well, I haven’t
ever even been with a woman before at all … I … um, I never even
kissed anyone or anything.”

She seemed horribly embarrassed about this, although she obviously had
the urge to admit this to me anyway. I’m sure it was because she
wanted approval, but I did nothing to reassure her. Speaking in an
even, matter-of-fact tone of voice, I replied, “Hmmmm — I figured as
much. How about any men — or boys?”

“Huh?!” she replied, “I don’t understand what …”

“Have you ever had sex with any men or boys? Did you ever masturbate
with a man — suck their dicks — did anyone ever fuck you in the ass?”

“No! Never! Absolutely not!” she replied with pained righteousness.

I could tell that she was telling the truth. She was just a shy,
insecure lady who liked to fantasize about women, because she felt that
they were inaccessible.

“OK. I believe you,” I said, letting her off the hook a little. “So
you’ve never been with a woman, but I bet you really have some hot
fantasies about them, don’t you?”

“Well
….” she said, her voice trailing off.

“Yeah … sure you do, honey. We both know you do, so you might as
well stop playing games about it. So Dr. S——,” I added before she
could respond, “Did you ever fantasize about having a wet, juicy pussy
in your face while you’re masturbating?”

“Um … well, pretty much like that …” she replied in a small voice.

“Uh-huh. I know, baby, I know,” I said, suddenly acting intimate,
soft, and supportive. “So here, honey. Open your legs and start
masturbating — and watch me as I take off my clothes — _all_ my
clothes.”

Her face lit up like a kid who just got her Christmas wish. She slid
her hand down began to stroke herself — slowly at first, and then
more forcefully as she got more into it.

As she rubbed herself on the floor underneath me, I slowly removed my
clothes, acting like a slutty stripper. She watched me with an eager
expression on her face.

I didn’t speak at all. Soon, I had stripped all the way down to only
my panties and high heels. Then, I really began to taunt her. I began
to teasingly pull the crotch aside give her glimpses of my vagina, only
to quickly cover it up again. I pulled my panties really tight against
me and squatted down within inches of her face and gyrated my hips.
This got her much more aroused, and soon she was breathing heavy and
bucking her hips up and down in rhythm to her fingers

Then, I eased myself out of my panties and started to talk really dirty
to her. “Ooooooh yeah, baby. Look at my pussy — my hot, wet cunt!
See how my finger slides _deep_ inside — in and out — yeah!”

I turned around and straddled her head, facing down to her feet. Then,
I squatted down with my crotch only a short distance above her face. I
leaned forward and supported my weight by holding onto her thighs.
“That’s it, baby,” I hissed lewdly, “rub that pussy– ooooooh, so good
— yeah, feel it get wet! Now do you want to smell my pussy baby?
Huh? You want my lil’ hot, wet slit right down on your face? Huh?”

“Uh … yeah … uh-huh!” she croaked, the words catching in her throat
as she panted.

I could tell she was close to orgasm. Slowly, I lowered my open vagina
right down over her face, covering her mouth with it and allowing her
nose to push up the crack of my ass near my anal opening.

I’m sure he’d been dreaming of something like this for years. “Oh
God!” she moaned with joy and pleasure as I began to move my pussy all
around, getting my juices all over her grateful face.

“Come on now,” I ordered in a low, throaty whisper. “come for
me…cuuuuuuummmmmm!

I knew that would push her over the edge. With a deep moan that was
almost a scream, she began to wildly thrust her hips up and down and I
knew that the A was mine.

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