Monica awoke the next morning in a strange mood. Her roommate, Kelly, had already gone for the day and while she was frustrated, masturbation was not going to cut it this time. After breaking up with her high school sweetheart, Monica had spent the first six months of her freshman year at university single. Sure, she had been to wild parties but somehow, the wild part had escaped her life.
As a result, sexually frustrated and with no knight in shining armor in sight, she had taken to fantasizing about one of her teachers. Mr. Legallant, her literature teacher, was simply amazing. His masculine jaw, dirty blonde hair and early twenties physique had been enough on more than one occasion to drive her to attempt to get off in class. Most people would not notice, but the clenching and unclenching of her thighs, while swinging her crossed legs, was enough to get her there if she was particularly frustrated. Unlike some of her girlfriends, Monica had started touching herself at a very young age, as a result at nineteen, she was not as much a nymphomaniac as simply a young woman with an insatiable sexual appetite.
For a brief moment, Monica started to massage her rosebud nipples in bed, toying with their per stiffness, luxuriating in the memory of her wanton dreams. The thought of her teacher, Mr. Legallant, fulfilling her every nook and cranny had been the subject of several fantasies in his class. One time, she was sure that as he smiled, she came, legs twirling in a circle as she clenched her inner thighs tight. Even if it was not a full orgasm, by the time she got to a restroom to clean herself up, the panties had ended up in the trash to avoid getting her black skirt wet and risk showing through. The walk home that day had been particularly enjoyable, with many hot guys smiling at her knowingly. With the cool fall spring air rustling her skirt, she knew they were reacting to the faint smell of pussy on the air from her classroom exploits. She smiled at them wickedly and winked but walked on, ignoring their lecherous grins.
The trouble was, Monica was deathly afraid of rejection. Her dream boy, Brock, had been the object of every high school girl's fantasy. Only his prick was the size of a pencil in girth and a deck of cards in length, so despite his physical beauty, his package never delivered. Dumping him off before going to college had been quite easy for Monica. The only problem was, after three years of being part of a couple, even a high school one, she had no idea how the whole dating thing worked. With her looks, she scared off most guys before they even had the courage to approach her so the few that ended up trying to chat with her most often were either overconfident douche bags or ignoramuses who assumed that her looks meant a corresponding lack of brains.
Frustrated and lonely, Monica stopped twisting her nipples despite the ache between her creamy thighs. The boy shorts she wore to bed hugged her most intimate areas in a dreamy fashion but at the moment, she was delirious with need of something more real. The dorm rook clock showed that it was early on Tuesday, which figured. Her afternoon had ended on Monday in Mr. Legallant's class. While he was a great teacher, incredibly handsome and very friendly Monica desperately hoped that he was not just being nice. The college had very strict rules on student teacher fraternization if the student was currently enrolled or would be enrolled in that teacher's class. However, every day that Monica had sat kicking and twirling her legs, stimulating herself in class, it seemed that Mr. Legallant had noticed and appreciated the show.
After more than a month of hoping that his appreciation would lead to something more, Monica now despaired that she was not as attractive as she thought. At five eight, she turned heads with her lustrous black hair and pert, c-cup breasts. Going to yoga was approaching religion for her, as a result, every inch of her frame was toned to perfection. Monica knew that people, men and women, appreciated and admired her physique. While most women had gravity defying breasts at one point or another in their lives, Monica stood out like a siren in the dark.
Getting out of bed in her boy shorts and lacy bra, she stood and stretched, idly wondering what she should try to accomplish first. Her roommate, Chelsea, would probably be stuck in the library for the rest of the day. Even though she had a cute mousiness about her that reminded Monica of Velma, from Scooby Doo, Chelsea was a shy, quite girl who hardly spoke to anybody. As a result, Monica had felt particularly alone all year long, as most other women had simply been jealous and most men had only wanted to get in her pants.
Monica took her time stretching, going from standing dog to cobra to other yoga poses, spending enough time to languish in the peculiar mix of pain and pleasure she always got from pushing her body to the flexible limit. By the time she finished, most of her sexual frustration had finally left, as much as it ever did. Grabbing a towel from inside her closet, she headed to the showers to freshen herself up before heading out into public. The shower served to wake her up and clear her head from the lingering effects of her erotic dreams. If she had not been so frustrated with having only herself for company, the hot water of the shower surely would have prompted her to finger her wet kitty to a fast climax.
However after more than six months of frantic, afraid to get caught masturbation stints while trying to relieve her growing frustration and not get caught by her roommate had left Monica less interested in fingering herself than ever. She turned off the shower, her nipples stiff only from the temperature change, and toweled herself dry. As she rubbed the tan cloth against her naked flesh, she pondered the dream of the night before. Andy was a hot man, to be certain, and Monica admired his restraint. Every guy she had conversed with from freshman to senior had wanted her number, a date or her pants, all in less time than it took to get to know them.
She wrapped the towel around her and headed back to her room to get dressed, idly considering a few courses of action. The simple solution she came up with, taking another cold shower, did not appeal to her at all. Nor did the thought of fingering herself to orgasm, even though she was sure that Chelsea would not be back for hours at least. That left finding a man to help with her frustration, which again, did not appeal to her at all. While she thought about her options, Monica dressed her lanky yet buxom frame in the same black skirt and blue top she wore when she had masturbated enough to cum in Mr. Legallant's class. As she dressed, an idle thought came to her about visiting Mr. Legallant in his office hours.
The parallel with her dream the night before left her shivering, which did not help the final preparations before she left her dorm room. Brushing her hair a final time, she studied the raven locks, slightly curled, which dangled far enough to touch on the tops of her breasts. Her blue top left a considerable expanse of tanned cleavage bare, framed by her raven colored tresses. Monica had always admired her own physique and the lack of acne only made her clear, open complexion that much more appealing. Sighing, she also realized it had made her life exponentially more frustrating as any number of nice guys were far too intimidated to make the first move, or any move, for that matter.
Monica finished at almost ten in the morning, shutting the door and almost skipping down the hall on her way out the dormitory. With her quarters on the third floor, it took a few minutes to exit the building but she was in great spirits as she exited to stroll in the spring California sunshine. Mr. Legallant's office was only a ten minute walk from her dormitory and according to memory, he was supposed to be there until eleven am. As she walked, Monica idly wondered if he would be wearing the loose, white shirt she remembered from her dream the night before.
As she walked, she passed by a few students who knew her, or at least recognized her. Most only smiled and nodded, but a few ventured more familiar greetings and said, "Hi," or similar. Monica was only half paying attention and provided non committal responses to each and everyone. Since her dream had been so wonderful and so outrageous, an idea had formed in her head that morning. Despite her usually diligent moral compass sounding the alarm, Monica squished the notion that she would hold back when meeting Mr. Legallant and instead focused on how good it would feel to finally have some relief. One part of her still worried as she walked that if Mr. Legallant was as bad a lover as her high school boyfriend, he would not be able to fix her problems. However that voice was a minor annoyance as she strode quickly across the college campus to attend his office hours.
By the time she arrived it was nearly ten thirty and of course, the door was closed. Shit, Monica thought, he's probably knee deep helping some football player with his grammar and won't have time to attend to me. As she assumed a comfortable pose to wait, Monica wondered if she was thinking straight. Sure the handsome teacher had been more than willing to smile and engage in small talk with her but that was a long leap shy of fucking her. While leaning up against the wall, clad in her black skirt and low cut blue top, Monica realized she should have brought her book bag or at least some papers. Looking up and down the hall, she noticed only a few other students present, none close enough to get the attention of unless she shouted. Shrugging, Monica thought that if her plan failed, she had more to worry about than her textbook sitting back on her dorm room desk.
Less than three minutes passed and Mr. Legallant's office opened to reveal a stunning blonde, shorter than Monica and very top heavy. The girl must have been a freshman, like Monica, but she was not a classmate. Her catholic school girl uniform, with white top and plaid skirt, caused her more panic. Could Mr. Legallant have just been fucking this little whore, Monica thought, watching the buxom blonde strut down the hall. Idly, Monica wondered if she should have worn a shorter skirt, seeing the blonde's plaid reach only mid thigh. The stockings came up to her knees, which left only an eight inch span of pale, creamy flesh bare.
"Hi," a baritone voice smoothly said, causing Monica to jump, her head swiveling to the direction of the sound in a whip like motion. "How are you today, Monica?" Mr. Legallant stood there, a cream colored polo shirt outlining his pectorals admirably.
