Office Hours

The day was over; I was tired. Classes had gone well, although there were one or two students who simply didn't seem to grasp that college is another way to spell work. One of my more difficult students, Laura Buisson, the daughter of a trustee, was especially obstreperous. Her attitude of entitlement and assumption of authority—all unearned—grated on me. Her midterm performance was undistinguished at its best. On her present course she was bound to fail. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, the door to office left slightly ajar.

I must've drifted off for a moment. I was awakened by the clunk of a foot on my desk. Sitting up and opening my eyes, it was Laura, in all her arrogance, slouched in a chair, one leg up my desk. "Yes, Laura," I asked. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

"My grades," she responded churlishly. As it there could be any way for her to respond.

"You're giving me bad grades," she said, throwing her midterm up to my desk.

"I see." I was angry. She had that special talent of instantly making me see red. Her behavior only compounded it. "I'll be happy to talk to you about your grades, but first, sit up, take your foot off my desk, and start acting like an adult. Please pick up your test and hand it to me in a slightly less-arrogant manner."

Sitting up, she glowered at me as she picked up her exam.

I looked the exam; it was her very best work, a 68, a D+. Good lord.

Going over the answers I explained to Laura why she had only earned a 68. She was unimpressed.

"You need to treat me better. You don't like me because my mother's a trustee. You need to fix this or I'll talk to her" she stated.

I was doing my best not to slap her silly. "I don't respond well to demands or threats, Laura. Your performance is substandard, your attitude poor, and your manners atrocious. Maybe, if you took classes seriously, your scores would be better and you might even learn something."

She bolted upright, leaned across my desk, and tried to slap me. I blocked it. I was furious. She tried again, this time I caught her wrist. "You arrogant, presumptuous, little bitch! Who do you think you are?" I pushed her away, and walked around my desk. Laura closed the door.

"You're going to get it know," she sneered. "First, I'm going to kick your skinny, old ass, and then I'm going to have you fired."

She stood, arms akimbo, glaring at me, her face seething with hatred and anger. Laura wore low-slung, skin-tight, black pleather pants that only just made it to her hips. Her red bikini showed above what passed for a waistband. On top she wore a leopard patterned bustier. "Was she a student or a prostitute in training," I wondered.

"Missy, you'd best eat some crow right now, or you're going to be in for it," I warned her.

"The only eating around here is going to be you eating my pussy after I kick your ass."

"Have it your way," I said. I kicked of my sandals and removed my blouse. Sliding out my skirt, I placed everything on my chair. After adjusting my lavender bra and panties I walked forward.

Laura kicked off her shoes and lunged at me, arms outstretched. Her inexperience and arrogance would be her downfall, but not before I put her in her place.

Grabbing her wrists, I drove my right knee into her stomach, drawing an "oof" from her surprised face. I followed it up with another knee, leaving her doubled over, with knees bent. Holding onto Laura's left wrist, I walked around and twisted it behind her back in an arm lock. Cocking my arm, and gave her barely pleather-clad ass a smack that echoed. This was far too easy and too much fun. Laura was proving to be a superb tension release.

Wrapping my right arm around her neck while still driving her left arms upward, I whispered in Laura's ear, "Are you surprised? I'm only just starting. When I finish with you, you're going to beg me for mercy. If I like you, I'm going to make you my girl. But not before I have some fun." I released Laura, shoving her away from me. "Come on, show me what you've got, missy!" I demanded.

Much more cautious she approached me slowly. Maybe she wasn't nearly as dull as I'd thought. We came together in a bearhug. Her arms were strong, but she was inexperienced. That only catfighting Laura had done was with some sorority girls, and she'd probably cowed them pretty easily. My own experience went back to junior high, but more on that much, much later.

Squeezing, I felt the heat rising from her bustier, mixing with her perfume. The feel of it against my breasts and belly wasn't half bad. The brush of Laura's outer pleather skin against my satin panties tingled. As if by agreement, we released one another. We were both breathing hard. Laura was perspiring rather freely; she unbuttoned and slid out of pants. She did the same with her bustier and stood before me in a red thong, breasts free. The must've been B cups, maybe 34s or 36s.

We circled. I feinted with a left-handed slap that caused Laura to duck to her left. Driving in, I wrapped my arms around Laura's head and threw her to the ground. I grabbed her blonde hair and wrapped my legs around her middle. "Time for a scissor," I thought. Laura cried out in anguish as my legs tightened. Beating and slapping my thighs, she cried out "Let me go, let me go!"

"Not yet," I said as menacingly as I could. "There's so much more I want to do, so much more you need to learn, Laura." As much as this spoiled, arrogant child of privilege angered me, there was something about her I liked--besides beating her ass into the ground.

I gave her middle a couple of good hard squeezes, making her cry out again. Laura was weeping. Nobody had ever treated like this. "It's about time somebody did," I thought.

Releasing my hold I finished her off. Standing above Laura, my feet firmly planted beside her breasts, I lowered myself to her face. "Is this what you thought you'd be doing to me, Laura? Life doesn't always work out the way we want it to, does it dear?" Underneath the bluster and bravado was an annoyingly over-confident young woman. Beautful, attired slatternly, and in need of a lesson. "In loco parentis," I suppose.

Laura had given up completely. Putting my warm, moistening cunt on her face sent a charge up my spine. I ground my lavender-clad, clean-shaven pussy against Laura's face. I pulled the material to the side. "Lick me," I commanded. She obeyed without any fuss. Laura went to work on me. Whatever her shortcomings as a student, and they were legion, Laura knew how to pleasure a woman. Her tongue was warm, wet, and gentle on my clit. I changed position, putting my ass against her face, and ground away.

I next planted the full weight and spread of my ass on her face. Laura struggeled, and I remitted, but only enough to let her catch her breath before smothering her again. I shifted my position just enough to let her breath and continue servicing me.

Laura's lips and tongue were magic. I massaged my breasts as I writhed on Laura's face. Leaning forward I pulled Laura's red thong between the cleft of her pussy lips. Her pubis was clean, save for a landing strip of closely-trimmed hair. I started massaging her a bit, but only a bit.

I dismounted and walked toward my desk. I cold feel her eyes following me.

Sitting in a chair, I ordered Laura to "Come here and worship my cunt." Coming to me meekly, she buried her face between my legs. I moved her hands to my breasts. Exposing my orbs, I had her play with my nipples. I was ready to burst. Leaning forward I grabbed Laura's thing and pulled up as far and as hard as I could as I exploded, my cum drenching her face. Cocking my left leg, I placed it against Laura's chest and pushed her away.

"Don't forget I'm the professor, and you're the student. Next week, same time, and don't forget your books. You're going to learn. Now get dressed and get out."

"Laura," I whispered. "Yes, ma'am?," she responded. "Your grade still stands, but I have hope for you."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, professor" she replied as she left my office.