We're in college. First year. I'm your recalcitrant student, a freshman who sailed through high school. I've been turning in papers late, not doing them very well, and you know I'm bright enough to do the right job. Anyway, you tell me I'm about to fail, and I break into tears. I can't fail, my parents will kill me. You're pretty pitiless but you relent, and tell me to come to your office, at 7 PM on Friday night. I balk, and you say, fine, then, fail. I say OK.... I come to your office on Friday night, and this is how it goes:
You tell me I need to study harder, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get a D in class. A D! I say. My parents don't let me get anything below a B! They'll kill me. Tough cookies, you say. I say, I'll do anything, and you say...anything? I say anything.
"Stand up, Miss Kim," you say. I do so, obediently, wiping the tear streaks off my face. You walk around me, admiring me, I'm in a pleated skirt that reaches about mid-thigh. Not indecent but very cute. I'm wearing a blouse that reaches my skirtline, so when I lift my arms I show a tiny bit of my belly, but not normally.
Standing in front of me, you slide your hands onto my belly under the skirt. I flinch, but manage to stand still, realizing what it is you want. You pull up my blouse, and make me hold it up.
My breasts are contained by a white cotton bra, silky soft but not as soft as my skin. Without even hesitating, you slip your hands into each cup, fondling the nipples until they spring into erectness, and pinching them. You don't even bother with the bra strap, but just pull the cups down, exposing my brown nipples and fair skin. You bend over and take one into your mouth, and roughly pull on it, gently pinching the other one. I can't help it, I moan loudly. You bite down, and I wince. You remove your mouth, and begin to walk around me, making me keep my blouse up so my wet nipples are exposed to the air.
