I started having fantasies about my Philosophy professor just recently. I think it has something to do with me hoping I could screw him for a good grade...:)
His office is the very last office in the history department, down a long hall and at the very back. I think it's because he's one of the longest-running faculty members in the department. The room is rectangular, and as I walk into the room the wall facing me is completely covered by books on any Philosophical subject under the sun. I have to turn left as to the right there is a wall, and as I do, I see he is sitting at his dest, engrossed in a book he is reading. I slowly turn and close the door, then walk across the small space to an uncluttered chair, where I sit. I have just come from work, so I am wearing a hot pink cotton skirt that falls just below the knee and a black button-down top that feels much like long underwear. As usual (and as mandatory), I have stockings on, black ones today, and some 3" black heels with only a thin strap of canvas over the crease of my toes. I crossed my legs, knowing that my skirt would slide up, revealing the dated garters I chose to wear instead of the modern pantyhose. I pulled out a notebook and pen, then adjusted my shirt for maximum exposure and waited expectantly for him to look up from his book.
It didn't take long. He cleared his throat, marked his page and placed the book aside in one swift motion, then he turned his office chair to face me. His flurry stopped suddenly as he took me in in one long look. He must have realized then that he was staring and he adjusted his glasses and greeted me.
"Hi, Barbara," he said. He was wearing the usual; a white, long-sleeved Oxford, unbottoned at the throat. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his shirt was tucked squarely into his gray slacks. He wore dark brown loafers and gray plaid socks, and the outfit was completed by a leather-banded watch on his wrist.
"Hi, Dr. Mikkelsen." I replied, shifting slightly. "It was nice of you to see me." I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, hesitating a split second with my legs open. I feigned nonchalantness and flipped my hair back as I did so. I pretended that I didn't see how he watched every move I made.
He cleared his throat again, shifting his eyes from my body. I wriggled again in response. "No problem, Barbara," he said. "I like it when students show me that they are taking an interest."
My eyes wide and innocent, pen siding gently up and down my chest, I said, "I am very interested, Dr. Mikkelsen."
He swallowed visibly and cracked a half smile, "That's great, just great," he said, mind obviously straying to the dark side of the conversation. I decided to play with him.
"Okay," I began, pulling a paper out of my notebook, "what do you think I could improve upon?"
"Absolutely nothing." he replied, not thinking.
"What?" I asked, confused.
"Oh!" he stumbled, trying to recover. "I mean, let me get our paper out so we can go over it..." he pulled it out and began looking voer his notes, nervousness leaving slowly. "Yeah, um, on page two, you could be a little clearer about your second point. I don't want you to feel too forced to make another point."
I crossed the room and knelt by him. "Where was that?" I asked innocently, looking at the paper. "I don't feel forced at all, Dr. Mikkelsen." I said, looking him straight in the eyes. "I just want you to enjoy it."
He looked at me for a long while in silence. "Is there anything else?" I asked, gently placing my hand on his knee. "I'm a willing subject here, so give me your best."
He looked down at the paper, considering my words. "Are you sure?" he asked gingerly.
"Definitely." I responded. "Anything for a good grade."
He slowly took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Okay..." he started. As he began talking, he leaned toward me to show the specific places in my paper that he thought could be better. I looked at the paper, and could feel his breath on my neck as he spoke. I could tell by the inflections in his voice that he was making points and criticizing my paper, but I registered none of what he said. All I concentrated on was inching my hand slowly up his leg, feeling his smooth baritone reverberate in my chest as he massacred my paper. Then there was silence and I realized he had stopped talking. I blinked quickly and looked into his face, inches from mine.
"Wow." I said. "That was a pretty hefty assessment." I dropped my voice to a husky whisper. "Are there any other problems I can take care of for you?" I let my hand wander further still. I looked at the obvious bulge two inches from my hand and then up at him, my eyebrows questioning.
He took my hand and held it up. "Don't play a grown-up game if you're not going to follow through." he said, jaw clenching.
"Dr. Mikkelsen," I began, "I intend to give you the best of my abilities on this, believe me." I stood up in front of him and began unbottoning my blouse. "And I expect for you to fully appreciate my efforts." I slipped it off, allowing him a first long view of my body. I had worn my lacy black bra -- my "good" bra -- that made my breast look delicious. I could practically see him salivate as he looked at them. I then untied the string on my skirt and lowered it slowly to the ground, lifting each foot out slowly. I stood facing him in heels, black stockings, lacy black garter, panties and bra. I oozed sex and he sucked it right up.
"Now, Dr. Mikkelsen," I said, leaning back on his desk, "I believe it's time for you to put that ferocious tongue of yours to better use." I slid my panties to the side of my crotch, giving him his first look at my luscious pink folds waiting to do his bidding.
He slowly stood, came to stand between my legs, and tilted my face up to see him. "This may be your game, little one," he said slowly, "but I am the manager. Get on your knees and suck me."
