I am a professor at a respectable English university, teaching literature to what are, for the most part, an appreciative and enthusiastic cohort of students. I have been at my job, in one place or another, for some years now, but it was not until very recently that I ever had someone express their appreciation of my talents in quite the same way as one student did last term. Let me tell you what happened.
I was giving a lecture on Anais Nin, and one of my girls, normally bright and intelligent, very beautiful, sitting near the front of the lecture hall, kept chattering away and giggling with her girlfriends intermittently. She kept looking at me deliberately whenever she did so, so that eventually I couldn't help but call her to task.
'Susanna,' I said sternly, 'This is a university not a secondary school, and it's your own education you're wasting. Now, if you really want me to discipline you, you should come to my office privately, but please don't waste everyone else's time.' Reprimand administered, I carried on with the lecture.
During my office hours I received a knock at the door. Not having any appointments that day, I wondered who it could be. I opened the door and there, clutching a bundle of books coyly to her breast, was Susanna, the naughty young lady from the lecture.
'Yes?' I quizzed, as she squirmed her way past me into the office and shut the door behind her. I backed away behind the desk, mindful of how easily any little gesture can be deemed inappropriate these days. I glanced down at the papers on my desk evasively, trying to avoid staring at her magnificent young form.
She had a petit but voluptuous figure, full of ripeness and bounty, large, pert breasts, round bottom, pink, pouting lips and innocent green eyes, eyes that could just as easily turn to mischief, as she'd shown so many times in class; always ready with cheeky joke or facetious quip. She was wearing a stylish black wrap-around dress that showed off each breast by its steep v-neck, with two folds tied together at the side in a wide silken bow. She wore buff-coloured tights or stockings and heeled black shoes. With the books at her chest and hair done up, she looked just like she'd walked out of the fifties.
'Professor Plimpton,' she pouted, placing her books on my desk and sitting cross-legged on the chair in front, hands gracefully set atop one another on her knee and arms straight, 'Professor Plimpton I know I was naughty in lesson earlier and I've come to be disciplined...' Her voice tailed off slightly as she said this, and she averted her big round eyes downward. Then she brought them up again just enough to catch my gaze impishly. Her voice dropped to just above a whisper as she enunciated slowly, 'I think I need to be spanked...'
She let the proposal hang for a second, as my jaw dropped to the desk top, before bringing her little finger to the corner of her mouth and nibbling absently on the finger nail. Then, before I could respond, she stood up sharply and pulled the string of her dress bow, letting the expensive garment (she was really quite posh) slip off her shoulders and flutter down the smooth skin of her back to the floor. She thrust her chest out a little and stood before me, decked in nothing but a fine-mesh floral pink bra, matching garter and panties, cut in the bikini style with white lace trim, stockings and heels. Slowly, she bent forward over the desk and looked me in the eye,
'Well, Professor, aren't you going to teach me a lesson? I have been a very naughty girl,' She laughed teasingly and jiggled her cleavage at me.
