Russ noticed her cleavage first, the twin swollen curves of beautiful dark brown breast exposed almost to the nipple. Then the thighs, taut and slender, crossed and then uncrossed as she adjusted her absurdly short skirt, the better to conceal, or was it reveal, whatever lay in the shadow of her crotch: panty or no panty?
For the first few weeks of the semester he'd been only vaguely aware of her, the only black girl in his small undergraduate class. And he'd graded several of her essays, among the best in the class by far, before connecting them with her. She'd stayed at the back of the room, shy and inconspicuous, contributing little to the discussion.
But then he'd written several lengthy comments on her submitted work, all of them highly complimentary and encouraging, and she'd begun to work her way forward till now, near the end of the semester, she was virtually alone in the front row, just a few feet from his lectern. He was thankful for its shelter as he stood there mid-lecture, his cock more than half erect at the sight of her.
He wondered briefly at the audacity of her outfit, her tits half exposed, her legs on such brazen display. But then this was a liberal arts college. Who was there to inflict a dress code on these free-thinking young people? And she was all alone up front, where no one but he was exposed to this incredibly erotic show.
And show it was, that much was clear, from her half-smile and laughing eyes to the exposed tits and ever widening thighs. For yes, even as he droned on, elucidating the subtleties of early Romantic poetry, she had opened her legs to such an angle that her skirt was almost around her waist and he had a clear view up into paradise. The verdict? No underwear.
He felt the pre-cum seeping from the tip of his cock and for one crazy moment he wondered if he could perhaps ejaculate into his shorts at the sex-tease ongoing right in front of him. It took some effort to drill down into his subject matter, to give his lecture some semblance of final cohesion.
But he did it. Even with that last glimpse of what he was sure was gaping pink pussy tissue searing his retina, he finished his lecture and stood quietly panting as his handful of students filed out of the room. All except the glorious ebony vision in the front row.
"Ms. Bryant, is it?" he croaked as the last student disappeared. "Could I see you in my office a moment?"
"Oh yes please," she grinned, her teeth an awesome vision of white perfection. "I was meaning to ask for an interview. I'm having trouble with parts of my final essay assignment. My first name is Shay, by the way."
"Shay," he repeated.
He led the way, ushered her into his lowly basement enclave, tried to sketch out an approach to what he had to say to her. All of which seemed absurd and pointless: "Ms. Bryant, I couldn't help but notice that your outfits of late expose a little more than I'm used to in my Romantic Poetry class. Do you think perhaps in future you could try to keep your tits and pussy to yourself?"
He suddenly recalled a comment his colleague Colin had made a week or so earlier about a stunning black girl he'd first caught sight of in the college library: "Green eyes and perfect teeth, with magnificent tits and an ass as trim and tight as a track star's." Colin had only just begun a conversation with her before they were interrupted by an assistant of the dean, one Scott something-or-other, who claimed to have registration papers for her to update but who was clearly anxious to get into her pants.
"And did he, Colin? Russ had asked.
"I'm not sure but I suspect so. There's something about her, Russ old buddy. Not easy exactly, but eager, experienced. In another league from most of the young ladies we come across, as accommodating as many of them are."
Eager. Experienced. Not easy exactly. Clearly this was the young woman in question. And he had her alone in his secluded office just minutes after she'd showed him almost all that she had.
"May I read you what I've done so far?" she began, before he had a chance to speak. "You could tell me if I'm on the right track."
She was seated in the chair in front of his desk and he stood right beside her as she began to read. He could gaze down into the deep trough between her succulent bulging tits and his erection, which had begun to fade, reasserted itself. It throbbed gently in his pants, maybe a foot from her downturned face.
She had a beautiful speaking voice, with just a hint of an accent he couldn't quite place. After only half a dozen sentences he could tell she would be passing his course with no problem. Her introduction was pointed and succinct and was perfectly delivered in sultry, sexy cadences.
"What do you think, Professor, am I on the right track?" she asked suddenly, glancing at his bulging crotch before gazing up at him with her stunning green eyes.
"Perfectly. It couldn't be better. Keep going. Read some more."
He placed a hand on the back of her chair, where his fingers could graze her shoulder and a corkscrew of her hair. He had to resist the urge to caress her cheek.
But then, as if she read his mind, she leaned her head ever so gently to one side, till her cheek was almost touching the granite bulk of his concealed hard-on. He sensed a quiver in his balls and his cock seemed about to burst from his pants.
"You see what I mean, Professor?" she broke off. "The transition from my introduction to my first point seems forced somehow. It doesn't flow."
"It flows perfectly. Don't second guess yourself too much. You're right on track."
"Thank you. It's such a relief to hear you say so," she cooed.
And she tilted her head just a fraction more, till her dark cheek rested solidly alongside his blazing hard-on. He sensed the heat of her face through the fabric of his pants. Her luscious lips were alongside the throbbing tip of his cock. She continued to read as if completely unaware of what she was feeling against her cheek. And her voice retained its steady, sultry tone as she angled her cheek away from his crotch and replaced it with one hand, her fingers testing and assessing the solidity of his obviously erect prick.
"Ms. Bryant..." he began.
"Shay. Please don't talk yet. Let me finish," she whispered. "Do you still think I'm on the right track?"
"Absolutely," he groaned.
Her hand was stroking gently up and down on the outline of his hard-on. But then it was pausing, her fingers moving up to the buckle of his belt. While she continued calmly reading, her hand expertly opened up his belt, unsnapped his waistband and gently fumbled for the bulk of his cock still inside his shorts.
Again she stroked up and down along the shaft of his dick. But then her hand was forcing his trousers wide open, letting the loosed garment slip easily off his hips. One more expert movement of her hand and his shorts were tugged down. His hard-on, finally released, swung heavily into the open, a thick, throbbing log of meat that jutted at an almost ninety degree angle from his crotch.
"Ms. Bryant..." he moaned,
"Shhh," she insisted.
And her cool fingers circled his pulsing cock and began a gentle, expert jerking motion. Her voice continued its recital, barely registering a catch as her fist commenced a solid masturbation of his rock-hard shaft. The motion was slow, gentle, practiced.
"What do you think, Professor?" she whispered. "Is my transition still smooth enough?"
She gazed up at him with sparkling green eyes and paused her hand motions for a moment. Her soft pulpy lips planted a kiss on the head of his cock and another just below the glans. Then, scarcely missing a beat, she resumed her reading along with her hand movements.
He groaned out loud. Never had he experienced such a profoundly erotic moment. That the situation was incredibly risky, he knew. At any moment a colleague could burst through the door and catch him with his pants down and his erect cock in the grip of a student of his. His career would be over. But he was helpless. He was in the hands of a force of nature.
