Sky is a tanned, nicely put together 19 year old, 5'6" and around 115 lbs thin. She is graced with petite breasts, frequently accented by a push-up bra to deepen her cleavage, quick and intelligent green eyes with long lashes, high cheekbones, light, shoulder-length brunette hair with natural blond highlights, and thin and shapely legs that few men fail to imagine parted, knees back and pointing skyward. Her make-up is spare over a perfect complexion and full, rosy lips.
There is a self-conscious and gyroscopic grind to her pert little ass, a muscular pair of buns driven by a self-conscious young woman with little on her mind beyond the choice of clothing that best highlights her package. Many find her intoxicating but few get a taste. Tricked out almost exclusively in expensive silk tops that accompany anything from a daring slit skirt, to silk pants, to tight and fitted jeans and short skirts, Sky is invariably dressed for any occasion. She works little yet gets exceptional grades. The Sky's the limit as her friends say.
Bess, Dr Elizabeth Drake, to be more precise, is Sky's business writing professor. Bess is a bisexual and a contradiction even to herself. She is 31, noticeably taller than Sky at 5'10", around 140 lbs, equally leggy but with a discernibly fuller bosom, ass and thighs, and an attractively muscled and deceptively strong body from regular visits to the gym. A brown eyed dark haired brunette, Bess dresses for work in flowing ankle-length skirts, and tops that show a hint of cleavage that never does justice to what lies beneath, gauzy lingerie seldom associated with the average college professor, covering large breasts kept firm from exercise and a pussy kept waxed and smooth.
Bess swings like a pendulum from men to women and back again. She likes men for the piercing thrust of a hot cock, a sensation she relishes in every hole, to be graphically precise, the mix of pleasure and burning pain neatly describing her own divided nature. Men respond to her deft oral skills and developed vaginal muscles that can milk a cock to a most satisfying climax.
But most men can be domineering and aggressive (and the spineless ones are a bore to her) and being so usually prefer their women a tad submissive and demure. Bess is occasionally only too willing to accommodate them. Her favorite game is the slightly dim teenager and the truck driver. She plays the role with a girlish sort of lisp, feigning ignorance of all things sexual until forced to perform for her more experienced companion. She quickly stumbles onto the ideal technique to slide seven inches down her throat in one thrust as she pretends to gag and moans plaintively through her nose in mock protest, or screams into a pillow about how tiny her bottom is as her character is rudely introduced to the indignity of anal sex with a monstrous cock.
The act inevitably crests when, if they haven't busted a nut as they smacked red her wiggling ass, she pants "oh please don't put it in my mouth again." The guy either cums wide-eyed, seconds after the words leave her lips. Or, if he is a more controlled lover, she kneels and finally drops the act as she hungrily sucks her scum from his tool with one hand massaging his balls and the other operating a finger daintily exploring his asshole.
But after too many nights worshiping prostrate before a throbbing cock and deftly swallowing load after viscous load, or uncomfortably shifting all day from cheek to cheek and nursing a sore butt from a healthy stretching the night before, she gets the itch to be worshipped herself.
She spies a young woman and pounces almost uncharacteristically, her quarry never suspecting her dominating nature or their own predilection to be dominated in creatively decadent ways. She spends her days using a pretty little undergrad or unsuspecting waitress, creating a personal slut for a time, and breaking her first if need be. But eventually the urge for a real cock again emerges and this game grows tiring, so then it's back to the other Bess for a time, and the pendulum swings again to the teen and the truck driver or a like scenario.
Late one night, sleepy and deep into grading a set of essays, drinking her nightly cognac, Bess read an essay that was just a bit too polished. After a web search or two she discovered the undocumented source of the essay, an obscure business journal the foolish student wagered Bess was unaware of. Bess dropped her pen in the dim light of her study and drank, angry at the student who had the temerity to cross her and violate the ultimate college policy. She flipped through her grade book to find the culprit's full name: Sky Collins. Slowly she connected the name with the face, calling forth her image.
Attractive, politely confrontational, sweetly feminine Sky's face swam to the surface of her consciousness as she remembered the girl's posture in class from the Thursday before, seated in the front row of the auditorium. Crossing and uncrossing her shapely legs in class. Shifting to her side to display through her slit skirt that long, silky length of thigh. Sitting with legs spread in shorts so tight that Bess could make out the outline of her pussy as she took notes. Bess wondered how hard or easy this would be.
Unbeknownst to Bess, Sky delighted in her ability to tease both men and women, and until now it had gotten her into no trouble. A couple of angry lesbians in study groups, rejected at the last moment when she discovered that they were unwilling to do her research for mere flirtation. What were they going to do, complain? And to whom, she thought? One incident with a drunken graduate student trapped her into giving him her first (and then second) blowjob to ensure a long ride home from a concert, but that was the cost of playing her little game, and it led eventually to her current scholarship from information gleaned from choking down his massive gob as he held her head in place, impaled on his flesh.
The following week Bess returned all of the essays, all but Sky's. She instead handed her a note requesting that she visit her office "for a chat." Sky blanched when she read the note. She instantly knew that she had been caught. Running to the bathroom after dismissal she entered a stall and collapsed fully clothed on the toilet, feeling slightly faint from having no lunch that day and the knowledge that she had royally screwed up.
Instinctively, she pulled up her skirt, reached for her mound and stroked herself into a serene composure through the silk of her panties, not for sexual gratification, but just to coax the endorphins to flow and the tension to recede. Masturbation was virtually the only sexual outlet the busy girl allowed herself, and sometimes she found herself frustrated and clenching and unclenching her thigh muscles in class as her mind wondered and her eyes roved over the young men in the class. She was always careful not to spill over the edge in public and noisily announce a clandestine orgasm, for Sky was a very noisy girl when eventually she did cum.
Nonetheless, she couldn't bring herself to see her nemesis that day. She wasn't ready; she needed to prepare for the meeting. Bess, on the other hand, had expected her to appear and was angry that she hadn't come for her conference. But the intelligent junior would not receive her grade until she appeared, which she did the following afternoon, late in the day when the autumn sun began to darken Bess's little office.
Sky fretted over what to wear to her meeting. She wore a short-waisted, girlish top that highlighted her navel, and plunged to reveal more cleavage than she normally exposed, a short jean skirt and a thong underneath to give her butt a smooth profile as she walked, and white open-toed sandals. She figured that if she looked like a kid and defenseless to the professor, she had a better chance of being treated more as an irresponsible child and less as an immoral cheat. She even eased up on her makeup to look wholesome and naïve. She popped a valium just before the meeting—her one vice she fed by raiding her uncle's psychiatric practice now and again--to ensure that she would remain relaxed through her performance. In short, Sky unknowingly made herself into Bess's ideal victim.
When she knocked on her office door, outwardly reserved and respectful to hide her inner tension, she had her tissues pocketed for the obligatory tears she would need to shed. Bess answered with a thin-lipped tense smile and asked her to sit as she removed her wire rimmed glasses and placed them on the edge of a bookshelf. Though her office was stuffy that day, Sky felt an uncharacteristic chill as she sat on a cold black leather loveseat that was crammed into the small office next to a filing cabinet. Bess's perfume hung in the air along with a slightly musky scent.
Her professor's outfit as well struck her as uncharacteristic. She wore a tailored pants-suit with her hair pulled back into a low, tight pony tail, and her blouse too was unbuttoned lower than normal. Rather than sit behind her desk, Bess first sat on the front edge and towered over Sky, her long legs crossed and her feet resting uncomfortably close to Sky's in the narrow confines of the office.
"So," Bess began, "do you know why we are here for this little chat?"
Until now the girl had not decided on a course of action, to call her professor's bluff or to confess and throw herself on the mercy of the court. Sky quickly decided, judging from Bess's soft but aggressive stance, that this was a woman in no mood for bullshit. So Sky started to cry softly and sniffed, staring out the window in a well-rehearsed gaze, and letting the tears run unchecked down her cheeks.
