Today was the day. She was ripe for the picking; he'd made sure of that. So eager to please in class, her mix of sharp intellect with naivety clashing to make her the perfect target for his plans. That, and the fact that her wide-eyed blushing face made his dick twitch whenever he looked at her.
A motivated student, she paid close attention to his every word, and deserved the As he'd been giving her. She was always the first to debate an ambiguous comprehension question, and made convincing and cogent arguments to prove her point. She had been at the top of the class all year and was gunning for the English award to get an upper year college scholarship. The award had seemed within her grasp until her grades in my class had taken a sudden dive. Watching her fight tears as she saw the C I'd given her last paper told me she was ready.
When her grades dropped initially she had marched up to my desk, confident she could change my mind. Her arguments were valid and yet I shook my head and told her how disappointed I was with the lack of quality work I'd come to expect from her. With each new assignment her confidence flagged and her desperation increased. With such a low overall grade in my class it was beginning to make her standard in the department laughable, and any extra money, which I knew she needed, look beyond her grasp, and the English award unfathomable.
I studied her sad face during our discussion of Middlemarch. Gone were her insightful additions to the discussion, replaced with a wavering depression and a glint of the desperation that was perfect for my plans. I ended the lecture and as she rose to leave I called her to my desk. She came, head low- defeated.
"Nothing to add to the discussion today, Miss Whitlaw?" I inquired. She just shrugged, tears welling up in her eyes.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said, "I used to be good at this. Now no masters program will want me, I don't know what to do anymore."
My moment had arrived and I struggled to maintain the casual disappointed tone needed.
"There might be a way to make it up," I said. Her head snapped up and the look of desperation in her eyes made my balls tighten and gave me confidence.
"I can return your grades to As, Miss Whitlaw, if you show me those delicious breasts of yours. Maybe they will do what your assignments have not," I said, this time not attempting to soften my tone.
Her small face went through a cartoonish array of emotions from surprise to horror and disgust. My plan could fall apart here. She could march right to the dean and I'd be finished, but I thought I'd read her better than that. I watched as she thought it through, and was glad I'd taken my time, deflating her bit by bit over term, removing what fight she had. I saw her reach a conclusion and she bit her lip and shook her head.
"That's wrong, Mr. Johnson," she sniffled. "How can you ask me that? You're my professor!"
I shrugged, maintaining a neutral face.
"That's my offer, take it or leave it," I said. She stayed by my desk, breathing hard, tears streaming down her cheeks for what felt like forever as I bent my head to mark today's assignments. Would she take the bait? I was rock hard under my desk in anticipation.
"I- I- can't!" She wailed and ran from the room.
I'd expected this, but still felt an extreme well of disappointment. It was going to be a stressful time while I waited to see what she'd do. But I was patient, and confident in the groundwork I'd laid.
She didn't look me in the eyes for the next week, but neither did the dean summon me. This time, I waited for her to come to me.
Friday afternoon I dropped a comparative literature review on which I'd given her a D on her desk and dismissed the class. The university building emptied quickly on a Friday and I stretched, happy for the weekend. There was a knock at the door, and I saw Miss Whitlaw standing there, breathing hard, eyes wild. She shut the door and almost ran to my desk, dropping her bag. I could barely contain my excitement. This was it.
She reached down and pulled the hem of her white cotton blouse up to reveal a lilac purple bra edged in lace that made my mouth water. Her breasts jiggled as she panted, and I had a moment of worry she'd hyperventilate before she followed through, but she closed her eyes and steeled herself, reaching behind to unhook her bra. It fell to the floor and she stood there in her skirt, eyes down cast and her white skin flushing red. The soft globes of her breasts were everything I'd hoped for and more, their small pink nipples hardening in the cool air.
