Coming up with a good activity for my next session with M. Stewart was a challenge. Not because I couldn't think of anything, but because I couldn't decide what I wanted to do next. I'd already flashed him my tits and given him a lengthy showing of my tight, auburn-haired pussy. I'd even climaxed unexpectedly as I rubbed up against his desk, my ass in full view. I'd seen his cock - nothing impressive in size or shape, but exciting none the less - as our last meeting where we'd agreed he should pay me if this were to go any further.
I had a few ideas in mind, and I decided to wait until I saw him and heard what he had to say before making up my mind.
After class let out early on Tuesday, I walked to the drinking fountain and back. I did this occasionally instead of always hanging back because I didn't want anyone catching on to our private time.
When I came back, he had his arms folded, leaned against the desk in his typical stance. He looked defiant somehow, like he couldn't wait to show me how this couldn't possibly work. Or maybe he was just terrified that it would.
"I want you to cum on me today."
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. I figured he would be, as I hadn't let him touch me up until this point. I wasn't planning to let him touch me today either, but I didn't know if he knew that yet.
"So, since that includes semen, by your stipulations I owe you fifty dollars today instead of twenty?"
"I only want twenty."
"I don't understand."
"I told you it isn't about the money."
"I have fifty bucks. I can give you what-"
"Are you being all proud now? You need me to know you have money?"
He said nothing, but knew I didn't like games. I liked this being about baser urges, without need to justify and romanticize everything and save face. Humans are all run by sex, yet we feel the need to control our natural desires. The point of all of this was to strip those pretenses away. He knew that, but sometimes I felt I had to remind him.
"This isn't about the money. Plus, I told you to plan for twenty today. Consider it a bonus. I may do that from time to time."
He sat in his chair. "Where would you like me to cum on you?"
"You pick," I offered graciously, but with ulterior motives. "But pussy's off the table. So is the face. For today, at least."
He blinked a few times. "Why do I feel like this is some sort of trick?"
"It's not a trick. You get to tell me where you want to see your cum land. On my ass? Tits? Feet?"
"Tits." he answered quickly.
"Tits it is," I bounced over to his chair and knelt before him. I had a low-cut, stretchy shirt on that I pulled down, along with my bra. My bra acted as a shelf for my small tits to rest on, perking them up a bit.
Without needing to be told, he unzipped his pants and began stroking himself, staring at my chest. I watched as he stroked lazily at first, his wrist doing most of the work. Then he got more serious about it, pumping his whole arm from the elbow. He started panting, kind of snorting through his nose. His eyes kept wanting to close, but he fought it. Probably because he wasn't allowed to touch me and seeing my tits was his only source of stimulation.
"Can I scoot closer?" He asked politely.
"You can come as close as you want, as long as you don't touch me."
He scooted close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of his crotch. He didn't announce anything corny like "Ohhhh, God, I'm close!" or "Ungh, I'm gonna cum..." He just did his business, concentrating on my body as spurts of whitish thick liquid shot from the tip of his shaft. I rotated myself around slowly, helping him spread it all around. When he finished, he reached for a tissue on the desk to clean himself up. I tucked my breasts back into my bra.
"Don't you want to clean up?"
"Nope," I said stiffly, "I'm leaving it there until the next time I see you."
"You're leaving crusty cum on yourself until next week??"
I laughed as I carried my bag out of the room, calling out over my shoulder. "Who says it will be next week before I see you again?"
I showered two days later, careful not to let my tits get under the stream of water. I didn't want to smell bad or look gross, but I wanted to up the "dirty girl factor" a little. I was testing the water, to see just how far I could push him.
The next day, three days after I let him cum on my tits, I showed up unannounced at Monsieur Stewart's office. He was with a student, someone I recognize from our French Films class. He gestured that he saw me, and I waited patiently in the chair outside his office.
When the other student (whose name I never bothered to learn) exited the room, I walked in.
I leaned over him in his chair, pulling my boobs from my bra and letting them spill out over my shirt. I took his hand and ran it over the crusty, dried semen on my chest. "I've had you right under my nose for three days." I said.
"That's so nasty." he stated blankly.
I placed my hand on his seriously hard cock, straining against his jeans. "But clearly you like nasty. You don't have to try to explain why. Or even understand it yourself. Just don't judge. Enjoy it."
As if to illustrate my point, I rubbed my tits in his face, smiling as I pulled away to see little specs of dried semen caught in his stubble.
"How much is this going to cost me?" he asked. God, I hope he gets past this money thing soon.
"Nothing," I replied. "Consider it a follow-up visit from the last time."
"How can you possibly still smell good?" he asked, dumbfounded.
"I showered," I explained, "I was just extra careful not to wash away my souvenir."
