In many of the stories I have written for Literotica, I have recounted my fond memories of many sexual adventures I had with students and others while I was a professor of English at a small but expensive New England college. So this is another one that I almost forgot.
But before telling the story, I would like to comment a little bit on the relationship between professors and their students. There is no question that one goes into this field because one wants to teach. But unlike being a high school teacher—which I once was—the financial compensation for being a college professor is very good, and the time off—even during the college year—is also very good.
The best "fringe" benefit however is the ready availability of beautiful young girls. They have all of the qualifications: they have just turned 18, so they are legal; for many of them, they have left home and the guardianship of their parents for the first time and are anxious to experiment with things such as sex.
You've all read stories about teachers and professors who have exploited their position of power over the students, particularly in the area of grades. But it has always been my opinion that only the most reprehensible of teachers and professors offer to exchange "sex for grades." That is a good way to alienate your employer, who frowns on such things, as well as alienate the students and their friends and generally, all of society. It is also a good way eventually to lose your position.
There is a much better way that does not alienate anyone. Sex between professors and their students, for whatever reason, has been so common through the years that while colleges and universities frown on it and forbid it, they also know it is going to happen often, and so they try to turn a blind eye to it. The general rule is: You can't "date" someone over whom you have power in grading. After that time, it's okay, and in fact many professors have married their former students—usually losing a prior marriage in the process.
The mutual attraction is understandable. The professors for the most part are cultured, sympathetic, intelligent, and interesting. The young women are also intelligent, often beautiful, seeking experience—and away from home for the first time. Who would they chose—a horny but unlettered boy of their own age or a cultured and sophisticated man of their father's age? For the professor, such a temptation is hard to resist.
And I did not resist it.
But forget about Sex for Grades. Getting into a pretty student's pants is much easier than that—and this is another example of how I did it.
Colleges are fond of traditions, and one of the traditions at our college was the annual "Sophomore Slave Day." The idea was that all of the sophomore students, male and female, would offer themselves as "slaves" to the highest bidders at the "slave auctions", after which they would have to do anything their "owner" wanted for a whole Saturday, 9-5. The only limitations were: The demands had to be legal, and they had to be inoffensive to the student.
Which left a lot of latitude.
Money raised from the slave auction would be donated to local charities.
Whether they admit it or not, every teacher has his "pets." Usually they are students who are highly intelligent, at the top of their class, and very pretty as well. My "pet" at that time was Gabrielle, or as she was called "Gaby." Gabrielle was an exchange student from Paris who had originally come to America for her last year of high school. But then she had won a scholarship to our small college and decided to continue her education in America.
Gabrielle was about five foot eight, about 115 pounds and had a beautiful and lithe figure and a lovely face. She looked a little bit like the French actress Sophie Marceau, only prettier. She had chestnut brown hair that hung to her shoulders, and like most French women, her breasts looked a little small, but I was sure they were quite nice. I was soon to find out just how nice they were.
Although, Gabrielle was only 19 as a junior, she always seemed much more sophisticated and mature to me than the other students. It was probably because she had that European cosmopolitan air. Her father was some important official in the French government, and Gabrielle had been raised at good schools in Paris. Also, unlike the other students, she did not dress in jeans and sweatshirts but in fashionable clothes, usually dresses or expensive skirts and a top.
I had her in my class first for Freshman English and then two years later in American Literature. And since Paris was my favorite city in the world, and I had been there a number of times, we had many interesting discussions about Paris and things French over coffee at the Student Union. I even got to use some of my limited French on her. At our college and in all colleges, it is natural for the teachers to mingle with the students in that environment.
Gaby was willing to participate in "Sophomore Slave Day," but she said she had never heard of anything like that.
"We don't have that in Paris," she said to me with a laugh.
That was a pity, but I had an idea of how to possibly take advantage of the slave auction—if I was lucky.
Usually, the bidders at the auction were members of the faculty or staff or officials and businessmen from the town. Sometimes the bids were quite high, since the money was going to good charities.
When Gaby came up for auction, I simply could not resist. She was wearing a simple but expensive-looking brown wool skirt and a equally simple forest green sweater. But she looked beautiful, and I knew that I had to have her. I surprised her and a few others when I bid $500 for her. No one matched or topped my bid, so I wrote out a check for that amount to a local charity.
On Saturday, two days later, she showed up at my home, a very old small cottage by the river. I had given her the address. I had lived for many years in the home with my wife, but she had died of breast cancer about five years ago, so now I lived alone. To my surprise, Gaby showed up in the traditional student garb of jeans and a sweatshirt.
"I hope you don't mind what I'm wearing," she said when she saw me looking at her garb. "I thought you might have some dirty jobs for me to do, such as raking leaves or cleaning out your garage or cellar."
I laughed. "No, nothing like that. Actually, I have only one task for you to do that has three parts. It should take no more than two hours, and if you finished all three parts satisfactorily, you're free to go."
"Wonderful," she said.
"But first of all, would you like a glass of wine, along with some Brie and crackers?"
"That would be wonderful. I didn't have much of a breakfast before I came."
"Good." I went to the kitchen, poured two glasses of white Bordeaux and prepared a plate of Brie cheese and crackers.
"Here you are," I said, putting it on the table before her.
"Great."
"You're nineteen, right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"So my serving you a glass of wine is probably very illegal."
She laughed. "It would not be illegal in France."
"I know. Neither would be the task I have for you."
"Good." She drank some of the wine and ate a cracker with cheese. "I was really shocked at the amount that you bid for me," she said "It was much more than most of the rest of the bids for other people. Are you sure I'm worth that much?"
"Yes, I think you are."
"So what is the task you have for me?"
"Well, as you know from the rules, the task cannot be anything illegal nor can it be anything that would offend the student."
"That's right."
"So let me preface my request by saying this: This request is made because I am very much attracted to you, but if you find the request offensive in any way, I will withdraw it—and send you to out to straighten up my garage."
She laughed. "All right."
"You are the best student in my class, so this is not anything like Sex for Grades."
"I know."
I paused. "Well, I might as well stop beating around the bush, so to speak, and get right to it. I would love to watch you undress."
"You would love to watch me undress?"
"Yes."
She looked around. "Here?"
"Yes, here."
She laughed. "There is no need for you to feel awkward about such a request. This is quite common among students and teachers in Paris."
"I imagine it is. But here, it's frowned upon by the college. Still, that's what I would like to ask."
"I knew that you were attracted to me," she said, "I could see it in your eyes. But did you know that I was attracted to you?"
