I sat grading student assignments in my third-floor office at the university. My back was to the worn door that was currently closed. Past the stack of journals piled on my desk, I had a small but dirty window that provided natural light. Occasionally, I found myself distracted by the noise of the coeds walking past. I sometimes thought about all the potential each of them had ahead of them. Other times, their young voices only reminded me of my middle age, so I usually kept the window and blinds closed. Today, the window was closed.
I glanced at my exercise watch, the one my wife gave me last year to help me stay fit for her. I noted that my next appointment was already twenty minutes late. I considered leaving my office and heading home when I heard the sound of high heels clicking against the floor of the hallway outside my office. The noise stopped, and the door creaked open without so much as a courtesy knock.
I started to swivel around in my office chair to see who had just entered so rudely. I was planning to comment about common courtesy, but before I got completely turned around, a woman's voice spoke.
"Professor," she began, "I'm sorry for being a little late for my appointment, but I really do need to talk with you."
I looked briefly at my wire-frame glasses sitting on the desk. Even without my glasses, I could recognize the woman standing in my doorway right away. She was a little older than many of my students, but the additional years made her seem confident in herself. Her black hair was fixed neatly in a ponytail. Her gray skirt was a little shorter than I was used to seeing from even the younger students, but still looked proper on her toned legs. She wore a white blouse that hugged her small breasts. "Being late is not a good way to start a discussion. What brings you into my office today?" I inquired of her, remembering her tardiness.
"Professor," she started. Her lower lip protruded in a slight pout. "I don't think your test would really reflect my..." she paused a moment before continuing, "my abilities and how I could best apply myself."
She turned and locked the office door behind her. Without a word, she walked towards where I was sitting. She stopped in front of me and studied my face a moment. She took in a deep breath and then said, "Isn't there something we can work out, Professor?" Her delicate hands tugged the sides of her skirt downwards as if she was suddenly aware of how short the garment was. Her dark brown eyes stared into mine as she leaned towards me and placed her hands on the armrest of my chair. I shifted awkwardly. I would have thrown any other coed out of my office for trying to seduce me like that, but I couldn't resist her advances. I felt conflicted at the inappropriateness of what she was suggesting we might do here in my office as her intense gaze held me fixed to my chair.
I stood up to break her invasion of my personal space and regain some control of this situation. I cleared my throat awkwardly and tried to regain control by saying, "Take a seat, and we can discuss this." I motioned to the straight-back wooden chair that was the only other chair in my office. It was worn as most university issued furniture was. Almost as quickly as I stood up, the woman sat down and smoothed her skirt on her lap with her hands. Before I could object, she surprised me by sitting in my comfortable desk chair left the stiff wooden chair for me.
I did not have the energy to protest. Instead, I sat in the wooden chair, and I listened as she pleaded her case for why I should give her special treatment. She said those same things as many others have. "Oh, but I studied so hard and know so much. But...but some of the content wasn't covered in class. I knew the answer, I just messed up the answer sheet. I just ran out of time." It sounded rehearsed and not genuine. I have head these excuses for poor grades from many students over the years. I really couldn't listen. Besides, already she made it clear that she came prepared to do more than talk about tests and class performance.
Instead of listening to her, my attention became focused on her shoe. The shoe was red and shiny with what must have been a 4-inch spiked heel. The heel ended in a metal tip. The shoes looked expensive and well cared for. Her red heels were striking enough that I was surprised I didn't notice them when she first walked in. Somehow, her shoe slipped down her foot and was dangling from her toes. It looked as if it would fall off any second. Yet, it stayed on even as she bounced her leg as she spoke. This balancing act had my attention as I fully expected the shoe to suddenly drop to the floor, but it did not.
"Professor, are you even listening?" I heard her say. Her leg stopped bouncing, pulling me out of my fixation with her shoe. I looked up at her face and saw her smiling at me. I realized I was caught staring at her foot and blushed slightly.
"Oh! I'm sorry," she feigned. "It's just that these shoes are new and still need to be broken in a little. My feet are just a little sore. You don't mind if I take them off? Do you, Professor?"
"Well, no...I mean...I certainly wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable." I stammered as I shifted in the wooden chair and crossed my legs to hide my growing erection. I wanted to avoid embarrassing myself further.
"Professor! I am shocked at your display." She exclaimed as she covered a broad smile with her hand. I was not able to hide it in time, apparently. "What would the dean say if I told him how inappropriate you are right now?" I think you need to apologize to me."
"I should apologize to you? Did you not just come on to me here in my office?"
Her feet were bare now. Her painted toes were flat on the ground beside her shoes, but she kept the heel of her foot off the ground. She rolled her chair closer to mine and whispered, "I did no such thing. If I was coming on to you, I probably would have done something like this." I was speechless when she lifted her leg and placed her toes firmly on my crotch. Suddenly, her cell camera flashed. "There. Now it isn't just my word against yours. Now we can talk more after you apologize to me. Why don't you rub my foot as a way to begin your apology, Professor?"
She did not remove her foot. Instead, I did what she requested and reached for it. As I held her bare foot in my hands, I realized my desire to touch her was beyond my control. Again, I stopped listening to what she was saying about owing her an apology. I could only focus on her delicate foot, which I was now massaging with both hands. My thumbs traced the curve of her arches then slid into the space between each manicured toe. "Stop." She commanded, "You're not listening to me again, are you?" She outlined my growing cock with her toes. "I think you should apologize further by kissing my foot." She declared
I blushed once again. She knew that I wanted to taste her skin on my lips. She lifted her foot up to my face. She was building up such desire inside me that I felt compelled to do as she wished. I took her foot in my hand and guided her toes to my lips and kissed them.
