I can’t help but notice the blazing blonde hair flowing halfway down her back, surrounding a face which initially confuses me. While she can give off the “I’m-so-fucking-bitching” attitude, I shortly assess she’s actually a semi-innocent, cute, naive, and childlike — yet knowingly flirtatious — young woman, caring more about having fun in the moment than anything else.
Sitting in the front row (“Obviously a learning strategy she’s picked up somewhere,” I silently surmise, smiling to myself), her striking features and two-piece outfit scream for my attention. She’s dressed perfectly for the warm autumn days at the beginning of the school year. The bottom of the thigh-length black floral print skirt flutters innocently in the ever-so-slight breeze passing through the room, but when she spins to take part in the ice-breaker I’ve planned, I notice how the top wraps tightly around her flawless waist around stays snug until where it just passes the point where her perfectly-defined buttcheeks take form. My subtle (yet well-trained) observation skills notice the slight rise of the intended-to-be-invisible top flare of her thong under that silken wrap surrounding her ass. “Hmmm,” I think to myself, “lovely accentuation brought out by a comfortable — and lovely — skirt.” As well, I notice the match: what looks like one of Daddy’s lightweight white Oxford dress shirts. She has tied it off up just under her rack. And what a pair of gorgeous tits: They’re tight, firm, and just a little larger than what might be expected on a girl her size. The only button she’d bothered to fasten was the unique gold-covered change Daddy must have made: the Playboy bunny emblem. Consequently, because the shirt is a tad too big, she affords me an amazing view of her right breast. When she turns, the consequence of not-yet removing all the starch causes the left side to lap open slightly, providing an unobstructed view of her nibble ring and a rush of blood to my easily engorged cock.
By reading and following up on her “beginning of the year” questionnaire, I discover that not only is she on the spirit squad; she’s also one of the premier individual dancers in the state. Within days I learn that, in dance, she regularly wins competitions, showcasing her choreographic talent — and her crushing tendency to unknowingly incite the distracted judges (both men and women) to lust after her.
As the semester progresses, I find I (almost) unknowingly schedule any needed walk through campus at the same times as her practice. Her perfectly trained ass gyrates to the sounds of the music which carries her into erotic ecstasy — at least in my mind.
But it’s in class where her magic continues to capture my imagination and fuel the fantasy. It is a game day just like any other, and she’s there in that short skirt which easily gives way to her tight, pussy-outlining panties. It’s as if she forgets she’s wearing something so short, and lets herself spread those luscious powerful legs just a little too far. It’s then I can barely contain the blood rushing to my member. Needless to say, this makes it difficult to conduct class, as she slides her ass toward the front of the chair, oblivious that she’s giving me a peep show up her skirt. I find it hard to focus on the aesthetic consequences of Reductionism. My brain tries, but slips and stumbles. Ohh, that trimmed young beaver, barely covered by her panties.
I know all it would take: The class session ends, the other students file out considering the profound implications of what I’d presented that morning. Consequently, they’re oblivious that she’s remaining, overwhelmed. Their departure gives me the change-of-pace I need as I put away my notes, seeing the blur of faces exit the room.
At first, even I don’t notice her still sitting exactly where and how she had been less than a minute prior, but it doesn’t take long. I look up and see what I think is that look I’ve seen in the eyes of multiple struggling coeds like her before. But I’m wrong, and we are alone — with nobody needing the room for over an hour.
Tucked behind those those seemingly sad liquid blue eyes is a question. She looks at the floor, or so it seems. “Professor, you… well… you know my grade in this class isn’t so good, and well… I really need a good grade in here, and I’ll do ANYTHING to raise it.”