I sat grading student assignments in my third-floor office at the university. My back was to the worn door that was currently closed. Past the journals piled on my desk, I had a small but dirty window that provided natural light. Occasionally, I found myself distracted by the noise of the coeds walking past. I sometimes thought about all the potential each of them had ahead of them. Other times, their young voices only reminded me of my middle age, so I usually kept the window shut. Today, the window was open to let in some fresh air, and through it, I could see the spring daffodils blooming.
I glanced at my watch, the one my wife gave me last year to help me stay fit for her. Strangely, I noted that my next appointment was already twenty minutes late. I didn’t recognize the name “Flora Polis” on the meeting invite, so I thought it might be an error. I considered leaving my office and heading home when I heard the sound of high heels clicking against the floor of the hallway outside my office. The noise stopped, and the door creaked open without so much as a courtesy knock.
I started to swivel around in my office chair to see who had just entered so rudely. I was planning to comment about common courtesy, but before I got completely turned around, a familiar woman’s voice spoke.
“Professor,” she began, “I’m sorry for being a little late for my appointment, but I really do need to talk with you.”
I looked briefly at my wire-frame glasses sitting on the desk. Even without my glasses, I could recognize the woman standing in my doorway right away. She was a little older than many of my students, but the additional years made her seem confident in herself. Her black hair was fixed neatly in a ponytail. Her gray skirt was slightly shorter than I was used to seeing from even the younger students. Still, the short skirt looked befitting on her toned legs. She wore a white blouse that hugged her small breasts. I noticed the top two buttons were undone. “Being late is not a good way to start a discussion. What brings you into my office today?” I inquired of her, remembering her tardiness.
“Professor,” she started. Her lower lip protruded in a slight pout. “I don’t think your recent exam reflects my…” she paused a moment before continuing, “my abilities and how I could best apply myself.”
She turned and locked the office door behind her. Without a word, she walked towards where I was sitting. She stopped in front of me and studied my face a moment. She took in a deep breath and then said, “Isn’t there something we can work out, Professor?” Her delicate hands tugged the sides of her skirt downwards as if she was suddenly aware of how short the garment was. Her dark brown eyes stared into mine as she leaned towards me and placed her hands on the armrest of my chair. I shifted awkwardly. I would have thrown any other coed out of my office for trying to seduce me like that, but this woman was different. I felt conflicted at the inappropriateness of what she insinuated we might do here in my office as her intense gaze held me fixed to my chair.
I closed my eyes and stood up to break her invasion of my personal space. I opened my eyes again before putting an extra two feet of distance between us in the small office. I cleared my throat awkwardly and tried to regain control by saying, “Take a seat, and we can discuss this.” I motioned to the straight-back wooden chair that was the only other chair in my office. It was worn as most university-issued furniture was. Almost as quickly as I stood up, the woman sat down and smoothed her skirt on her lap with her hands. Before I could object, she surprised me by sitting in my comfortable desk chair left the stiff wooden chair for me.
I did not have the energy to protest. Instead, I sat in the wooden chair, and I listened as the woman pleaded her case for why I should give her special treatment. She said, “Oh, but I studied so hard and knew so much. But…but some of the content wasn’t covered in class. I knew the answers. I just messed up the answer sheet. I just ran out of time.” It sounded rehearsed and fake. I have heard these same excuses for poor grades from many students over the years. I listened out of courtesy, knowing her argument would not influence her score. Besides, she already made it clear that she came prepared to do more than talk about tests and class performance.
Instead of listening to her, my attention became focused on her shoe. She sat in the chair with her legs crossed at the knee. The shoe was a shiny, red pump with what must have been a 4-inch spiked heel. The heel ended in a metal tip. The red heels looked expensive and well cared for. Her red pumps were striking enough that I was surprised I didn’t notice them when she first walked in. Somehow, her shoe slipped down her foot and was dangling from her toes. It looked as if it would fall off any second. Yet, it stayed on even as she bounced her leg as she spoke. This balancing act had my attention as I fully expected the shoe to suddenly drop to the floor, but it did not.
“Professor, are you even listening?” I heard her say. Her leg stopped bouncing, pulling me out of my fixation with her shoe. I looked up at her face and saw her smiling at me. I realized I was caught staring at her foot and blushed slightly.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” she feigned. “It’s just that these shoes are new and still need to be broken in a little. My feet are just a little sore. Do you mind if I take them off? Do you, Professor?”
“Well, no…I mean…I certainly wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” I stammered as I shifted in the wooden chair and crossed my legs to hide my growing erection. I wanted to avoid embarrassing myself further.
“Professor! I am shocked at your display.” She exclaimed as she covered a broad smile with her hand. I was not able to hide it in time, apparently. “What would the dean say if I told him how inappropriate you are right now?” I think you need to apologize to me.”
“I should apologize to you?” I said with all the indignance I could muster. “Did you not just come on to me here in my office?”
Her feet were bare now. Her toes were painted the same shade of red to match her pumps. Her toes pressed against the ground, but she kept the heel of her foot off the ground. She rolled her chair closer to mine and whispered, “I did no such thing. If I was coming on to you, I probably would have done something like this.” I was speechless when she lifted her leg and placed her toes firmly on my crotch. I looked downward, surprised at her audacity. Suddenly, her cell camera flashed. “There. Now it isn’t just my word against yours. I have proof. Now we can talk more after you apologize to me. Why don’t you rub my foot as a way to begin your apology, Professor?”
She did not remove her foot. Instead, I did what she requested and reached for it. As I held her foot in my hands, I realized my rising desire to touch her was beyond my control. Again, I stopped listening to what she was saying about owing her an apology. I could only focus on her delicate foot, which I was now massaging with both hands. My thumbs traced the curve of her arches then slid into the space between each manicured toe. “Stop.” She commanded, “You’re not listening to me again, are you?” She outlined my growing cock with her toes. “I think you should apologize harder by kissing my foot.” She declared.
I blushed once again. I suspected that she knew how desperately I wanted to taste her dainty toes. She lifted her foot up to my face. She was building up such desire inside me that I felt compelled to do as she wished. I took her foot in my hand, guided her toes to my lips, and kissed them.
“Not good enough. You hesitated too long.” She told me. “Suck them.”
I have never had a visitor to my office be this aggressive, this controlling before. I have never before succumbed to the charms of someone trying to seduce me in my own office. I was a professor, and she was in my office. She was supposed to listen to me, but I found myself helplessly enslaved by the arousal she stirred in me. I did what she told me and took each toe into my mouth one at a time. I kissed and sucked each toe as she grinned in satisfaction at my submission to her whim. When I was done with every toe, she put her foot behind my neck and pulled me forward. I felt off-balance and shifted to the edge of the chair.
“Kneel in front of my chair.” She commanded. I slid off the wooden chair to kneel in front of her. I was uncertain what would happen next and how I would react. I was worried someone would knock on my office door. I was worried about what it might do to my reputation to be caught here with her in this situation.
“What do you think about your position now, Professor? Do you still feel cocky and in charge? Do you want to be in control here, or do you truly want me to be? Your choice.” She slipped her hands under her skirt and pulled her panties down to her knees. Before sitting back up, she squeezed my erection under my pants. She commented, “I’ll take this as your enthusiastic consent to continue. Now, take my panties off from my legs so you can feel and smell how messy I made them from teasing you.”
My hand trembled as I reached for the dangling lacy intimate. I gently slid the panties over each delicate foot. They were unmistakably wet. I brought the panties to my face and inhaled her arousing aroma before setting them on my desk. “Come, take a closer look.”
I should have stopped this control she had over me. I should have left my office, but I couldn’t. The risk of the situation only heightening my arousal. I was mesmerized by her as she opened her knees, and I could see her untrimmed, fuzzy pussy. The outer lips looked slightly swollen and were glistening with wetness. Seeing her most intimate area produced a desperate need within me for her. I was not in control of myself anymore, and I suspect that was what she wanted.
I licked my lips instinctively. It was an action that did not go unnoticed. “Oh, does someone want a taste?”
“Yes,” I admitted, although I wanted more than a taste of her. I pictured myself thrusting deep inside her. I desired to make her mine and fuck her until she forgot about her grade or anything else. I knew I could show her how a man with both experience and fitness can treat a woman. Yet, here I was on my knees in front of her. All I could manage to do was accept her offer.
I moved forward towards her. She placed her foot on my forehead, keeping me from closing the distance between us. “What do you say?” She giggled.
“Please?” I guessed. I could feel my heart racing in my chest.
“Oh, ok…Wait. no.” She teased. “Tell me you’ll give me an ‘A’ for my ability to apply my skills for the betterment of your class.”
“Ok. I’ll give you an ‘A’ on your exam,'” I quickly responded.
“Mmmm…still no.” She pushed me backward slightly with her foot on my chest. She stroked her hand on her leg in front of me. Her hand traveled from her knee to her thigh before dipping between her legs. She brought her wet fingers in front of my face.
“Lick. Taste.” She commanded. I licked at her fingers with my tongue. I heard her giggle as I sucked each digit clean. She tasted sweet. I wanted more.
“Please?” I begged.
“Still no,” she said casually, then looked at her fingernails. She let out a giggle and brought her toes to my lips again. I instinctively licked them again with my tongue. flash went her cellphone camera. “Now, which friend should I send that photo to? Hmmm?”
“Ok.” I surrendered. “I’ll give you an ‘A’ for the whole course, not just the test.”
“Much better. Good boy.” She praised. “Now, come over here and get your reward.”
I slid forward on my knees. I half-thought this vixen would stop me again, but she didn’t. As I approached, her intoxicating scent fueled my desire even further. She put her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me close to her. As my lips connected with her pussy, her head tilted backward. She sunk deeper into my office chair.
“I want your tongue on my clit,” She demanded next. My tongue flicked at her sensitive clit. She jumped. “No, not like that. Use the flat part of your tongue, and no matter how tired your tongue gets, do not stop.”
I did as she asked. I gave in to the intense desire she instilled in me. She swung her left leg over the armrest of my chair, and her thighs parted wider, giving me more access to her pussy. My tongue explored every fold, ridge, and smooth surface for her swollen cunt. She tasted as sweet as she did on her fingers. My mouth and jaw ached from the effort, but still, I licked at her. Her fingers intertwined in my hair and pulled at my head as she pushed my face firmly against her pussy. Her moans grew louder, and my throbbing erection demanded attention. My free hand unbuttoned my pants and reached inside to touch myself while I lapped at her clit. Finally, I felt her shudder against my face. Her thighs closed around my ears, muffling the sounds around me. I still heard her moans and quick breaths as her pleasure neared its crest. I looked up at her from my position between her legs. I did not remove my mouth from her mound. She covered her face with her hand to stifle her cries of joy as she reached the peak of her orgasm. I was confident that she was still loud enough for anyone standing outside the door to have heard her. I hoped they didn’t.
She stroked my head as I lay between her thighs and touched my cock. “You can take your hand out of your pants, Professor.” She spoke more like a command than a request. I groaned slightly in frustration as I reluctantly surrendered my grip on my cock and withdrew my hand. “You can take care of that after I leave when you are back at home.” She assured me.
“But…” I started.
“Not…until…after…I…leave,” she repeated, emphasizing each word as if speaking to a child.
“As you wish.” I acquiesced.
“I wish it, professor.” She said as she stood up, smoothed her skirt, and slipped her heels back on.
She giggled and kissed me firmly on the lips. I opened my mouth to accept her probing tongue. She broke the kiss and sat back with a satisfied look on her face. “See you at home, my Professor?” She teased me.
“Yes, my wife. I’ll meet you back home soon. I only have a few more things to grade today. I really wish you were my student.” I replied cheekily.
“Better hurry up with your work,” she said. “I think there is something you want to take care of when you get home. Isn’t there, my hubby?”
“Oh, yes! I am glad you came to surprise me at the office today. Maybe we should do this more often. Thank you. I love you.” I blurted out in my excited state.
She held up her phone and took one more photo of her disheveled husband. Then she closed the door behind her, and I was alone.
“Flora Polis,” I said out loud. “What a strange fake name she used to put herself on my schedule. Flora Polis,” I repeated to myself. Suddenly I recognized the name was an anagram, “April Fools!”
Copyright 2021 by Quinn Blueheart