James Wiltshire was the type of professor who was notorious not for his academic prowess or scholarly reputation, but for his looks and background. He was a new appointee to the University of Miskatonic in the fall to the history department. The women on campus gave him more attention than what he was comfortable with. He supposed it was his English accent that endeared him so to the female population. Most of the women found him adorably shy, and some of the bolder ones considered him the ultimate conquest. The men could respect him for his intelligence, even as their girlfriends swooned over him.
Ashley Vaughn was one of the more nubile coeds at Miskatonic. Her academic and personal reputations preceded her everywhere she went. She was the youngest student in the Masters program at Miskatonic, and undeniably the brightest. She was withdrawn and focused, preferring to study in the library to taking part of drinking or partying.
The one thing the two had in common was having reputations that were far from the truth.
James had noticed her papers were always impeccable. She was always on time, always taking notes, and never said a word. Her papers intrigued him in a way he thought was probably not quite appropriate. He had caught himself wishing she'd come to his office hours on several occasions. Not to be seduced - though he certainly wouldn't mind that - but he did respect her mind. He imagined having long talks with her about her interests in history over cups of Earl Grey.
And maybe bending her over his desk and banging her senseless. He was, after all, a man.
His fantasies - both of tea and sex - went unanswered for most of the semester. It wasn't until a month before the semester was over that a tapping interrupted him at his door. He was irritated until he saw her standing in his doorway, dressed more like a professor than a student. She wore a fitted jacket and skirt that accented her curves. His mouth went dry for a moment, and he praised God that some women didn't buy into the stick mentality. She was fit, and had curves. He hoped some lucky man got to appreciate them.
"Miss Vaughn. What can I do for you?"
She smiled disarmingly and walked into his office. It was not lost on him that she walked slowly and purposefully. Her smoky violet eyes, which he had previously thought to be gray-blue, held his eyes intently as she closed the door behind him. He swallowed hard. It wasn't against the rules to be behind closed doors with a student, though it was generally discouraged at the risk of making the student feel uncomfortable.
"May I sit down?"
"Oh! Of course. How rude of me. Please, sit."
She smiled slowly in such a way that sent chills down his spine. He was somehow getting the impression that every action she made was planned. Carefully thought out to play on fantasies of his that she had somehow found out about. She sat down gracefully, then began casually rifling through her shoulder bag that she had with her.
"Ah ... would you care for some tea?"
He almost blushed when he said it. Without looking up, she murmured "please" and continued looking for whatever it was that she needed. He noticed that she crossed her legs, and he sorely wished there wasn't a desk between them obstructing his view. He began heating up the water for the tea in a coffee maker and retrieved two random mugs from his desk. At long last she pulled a thick pack of paper from her bag and set it on his desk. Her smile widened, as though she had some secret. James glanced at the paper, and then took a second look with confusion.
"My thesis, Miss Vaughn?"
She smiled, nodded, and leaned back. Her next words put out the heat in his loins without any kindness.
"I've highlighted the parts you've plagiarized. Other than that, it was very original."
He froze. He could deny it. Demand she leave his office. She was staring at him like he was a monkey and she expected him to do tricks. He had thought those eyes of hers to be soft and demure. He now found them cold and callous. Damn American Bitch, he thought.
"What makes you think I've -"
"Don't insult my intelligence."
She interrupted him. She fixed him with a cold smile until she saw the slight sag in his shoulders. She had already won. She liked playing this game, and she hadn't even gotten to the best part. She rose from her chair, reaching up to her hair as and freeing her hair from the loose bun she had it in. She walked around his desk slowly, propping herself on the edge of it in front of him.
"Ask me what I want to keep quiet about this, Dr. Wiltshire."
She had just squelched the heat in his body, and without a thought ignited it once more. His eyes roamed over her legs in a luxurious moment before he swallowed and asked a bit hoarsely.
"What do you want to keep quiet about this, Miss Vaughn?"
Her smile widened. He saw that she liked him playing to her whims, playing this game of hers. He resented this position of power she had over him, yet at the same time it felt strangely erotic.
"To start with, the tea you offered me."
Her eyes flickered to the coffee maker. It had just finished filtering the last bit of heated water. He took two mugs and put a teabag each in them, then filled them with steaming hot water. She swirled her teabag absently as she let it steep.
"Can you guess what color panties I'm wearing, Dr. Wiltshire?"
He coughed suddenly and blushed. Guess? No, he couldn't guess. But he sure as hell could fantasize - and he did. He had thought of her sitting in the front row of his class, prim and proper to the last, with black crotch less panties on underneath a modest skirt. He imagined skimming his fingers along her smooth thighs to find a dripping wet sex and a very willing student.
"That's hardly an appropriate question, Miss Vaughn!"
"And it's hardly appropriate to plagiarize your doctorate thesis, Dr. Wiltshire."
She pushed her cup of tea aside and grabbed his hand. His mind told him to resist. His body decided to see where she was going with this. Still propped up on his desk, she raised her right leg and set a heeled foot on his leg. She brought his hand along the skin of her thighs, which was exactly as he had envisioned it. She led it up to the hot nether regions of her body, letting his fingers feel thin lace covering an inviting spot on her body.
"Can you guess now, Dr. Wiltshire?"
"Black?"
He offered weakly. She shook her head and tsked softly.
"No imagination whatsoever. I'm glad your office has carpeting. Get on your back - on the floor."
He opened his mouth to protest. To his surprise, she slapped him lightly across the face. Her intent was clear. She eyed him dangerously, and tapped her fingers on his thesis. For a moment he glared at her. He certainly wouldn't mind boning her, but he should be the one to be in charge. This was hardly fair. He obliged her demand and moved from his desk to the floor on his back. She smiled, and stood above him, her feet slightly more than shoulder width apart. From here he had a nice view of her panties. Her burgundy colored lace panties.
"Burgundy. Miss Vaughn."
She smiled and nodded approvingly. Silently she hiked up her skirt and then straddled him. It was in direct contrast to how she normally was - elegant and quiet.
"Here's our deal, Dr. Wiltshire. You're to do everything I say, without argument, and I'll stay mum on your little indiscretion of your thesis, here. Say no, I walk out now and report you to the Dean of Humanities. Your choice."
He shot her a sour look. Even though he had fantasized about taking her body and had desired her sex, he hated being blackmailed like this.
"I don't really have a choice, do I? I'll do as you say."
