[ad_1]

*May 22nd, 11:23pm*

“Nnngh! Ungh! Ungh! Augh!”

She was nude, on her tiptoes, bent over the kitchen countertop, her
breasts crushed against the cool surface as she tightly gripped the
edge of the granite slab, bracing herself, violently shaking with
every forceful push, each jerk of her frame eliciting a deep, primal
grunt. Her entire body was damp, glistening with sweat, some of which
she could feel snaking down her inner thighs, vein-like rivulets fed
further by the foamy cunt juice oozing from her engorged slit.

“That’s it, nngh, take it, ungh, take it…”

The man’s fingers dug deep into her pale, rounded hips, lifting her
ass up in the air and controlling the tempo of his thrusts. He looked
down, marvelling at the sight of his member repeatedly pulling out,
her soaked labia tightly gripping his cock, only to suddenly disappear
as he quickly penetrated her with a jolt of his hips. He too was
grunting, more loudly than usual, knowing full well the effect his
vociferation was having on her.

“No… ungh… please…” she pleaded, squirming as his assault
quickened.

“Cum… ugh… for me…” he ordered.

“No… I… fuck… agh… ah! Uuuunnngh!”

Her legs began to tremble and then suddenly seized as her head snapped
back, her body forming a smooth arc of flesh in the air. The long,
guttural groan escaping her gritted teeth was suddenly cut short,
overwhelmed by the spasms which continued to rock her frame. She
remained tense, eyes tightly closed, grimacing, until finally she
began to ease, lowering her head and resting it on her arms now
crossed atop the counter, trying to control her still-heaving breaths.

“Good girl, that’s a good girl, just one more, just one more,” he
sweetly coaxed her, feeling her shiver against his thighs and stomach,
his cock still deep within her.

As her orgasm slowly subsided he began to run his hands across her
smooth back, caressing her drenched skin, one palm gently rubbing her
left shoulder blade while the other slid underneath her torso, tracing
the bumps of her ribcage before finding a dangling breast which he
tenderly cupped. He leaned forward, spooning the girl from behind, his
face close to her cheek, his lips nearly touching her ear.

“D,” he whispered.

*May 22nd, 3:12pm*

As she waited outside the office she again glanced at the papers she
held, not unlike a poker player repeatedly peeking at their cards,
hoping that their hand were actually better than what they first
saw. This was, of course, to no avail, as the red “67/100” remained
stubbornly scribbled near the top right corner of the front page.

“Stupid conservation of angular momentum,” she wondered, pouting.

The fact of the matter was that her first instinct had been to address
her insult towards those directly responsible for her conundrum, but
years of familial conditioning interceded and thus at the last moment
she redirected her frustration towards a basic physics principle.

In her mind her parents were, to put it mildly, “stereotypical”.
Medicine, perhaps an engineering degree, were what the ancestors
demanded. She, on the other hand, gravitated towards the arts, which
is why her decision to major in history was met with disappointment
and near disdain. Law college had been briefly discussed as a
compromise, but was quickly vetoed in case the family decided to move
back to Taiwan (which was absurd in her mind, her Mandarin was
child-like and she could barely read the language, let alone write
it). Still she managed to salvage her chosen university education,
albeit under two strict conditions: she needed to maintain at least an
“A-” average in every course, and tuition would only be guaranteed for
four years.

An excellent student, things were going well until her last year, when
she suddenly realized she was two credits short for graduation (math,
of course, had never been her strong suit). Much to her despair, the
only available course left for the term was a first-year physics
class, a pretty basic introduction for STEM specialists, but which for
her might as well have been an attempt to split the atom. Still, she
had no choice as she was out of options, so she pinched her nose and
registered.

Truth be told she was studious, and did an admirable job given her
academic background. Try as she might, however, the exams could as
well have been written in hieroglyphs (which, given her knowledge of
ancient Egypt, would have likely been preferable). The final exam she
now held in her hands had sealed her fate: a “C-” grade for the
course.

Weighed against the prospect of paying back her parents, groveling
seemed like a reasonable course of action, which is how she found
herself outside her physics professor’s office. Much like the
aforementioned poker player, however, she had an ace up her sleeve.

She had noticed the professor’s glances linger just a little bit too
long during class, the fact that he leaned ever so slightly too close
into her when she asked for help, the extra time he at all times seemed
eager to spend when explaining to her a particularly difficult
concept (which, in her case, were most of them). From the outside it
just looked like gentle encouragement in the face of adversity, but
she knew, like all women do, she knew.

She was gonna need every efficient benefit when making her case,
and this was certainly reflected in the wardrobe she had chosen for
that particular day. She was, by her own admission, an average-looking
girl, with a modest figure and some traces of stubborn adolescent acne
still lingering on her forehead (hooray for concealers!) and upper back
(these days just the odd pimple and blackhead, thank goodness).

She nonetheless believed she could be considered cute, particularly
when she meticulously applied her make-up by carefully following the
instructions of the trendy Youtubers currently in vogue. Her white
terma linen top from Guess was hardly scandalous, but just short
enough to show her pale, glabrous midriff when writing something near
the top of the blackboard, and it was hardly happenstance that the
short twill skirt in blue from H&M made her nicely-formed legs look
longer than what her petite frame would suggest. She had only really
splurged on her sandals, a black Sarto Greene gladiator pair with an
ankle strap which could certainly stir the proper imagination. The
glittery pink-and-white French mani/pedi from the day prior was
perhaps a bit obvious, but she toned it down just a smidgen by tying
her raven-black hair into a single ponytail, held together with a
bright red bow.

The door opened and a dejected-looking student walked right pass her
without even lifting his gaze. A bad omen, perhaps, but she wasn’t one
to be easily discouraged. She perked up, small but firm breasts
pressing against the one-size-too-small top, smiled, and made her way
into the office.

*May 22nd, 3:52pm*

“OK, good, so you do know the equation for the period of a
frictionless pendulum, but what we really want to know is the
acceleration due to gravity, how can we measure that?”

Needless to say, things were not going according to plan. She expected
her charms would help her earn the extra marks, not questions about
periods and pendula. She stared blankly at the symbols she had just
written down on the blackboard, solely there because of rote, unsure
of how to respond. Normally she’d just have to plug in the numbers
given to her, not think about what they actually meant.

“What happens if you square both sides?”

She squared both sides. The equation remained just as inscrutable as
before.

“Try grouping all the constants together, just place the ‘g’ under
four pi-squared,” he suggested, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

“How can we get ‘g’? Is there something you can plot?”

She moved the “g” to where he said, but as for the rest he might as
well have asked her to calculate a flight path to Mars, she was
completely lost. After a rather awkward silence he approached the
blackboard and drew two axes, labelling them “T-squared” and “L”, and
drew a straight diagonal line.

“The slope, of course, is inversely proportional to the
acceleration due to gravity,” he tiredly explained, with a sigh.

“Look, you know the formulas, but you don’t actually figure out
them, I’m sorry but I can not give you any extra credit for the course,
I really am sorry.”

She turned towards him, with a look that could only be described as
inquisitively disappointed. Her head slightly tilted, she held his
gaze for a moment, which he then nervously lowered.

“I mean, I’m not blameless, it’s my job you learn this properly,
but the class overall did well, your background is just a bit weaker
than the others but in time I’m sure…”

“I don’t have time,” she blurted out, taking a step towards him,
venturing into his personal space.

The professor was taken aback, but held his ground. She seemed very
sure of herself, and her dainty appearance, which he had noticed the
instant he saw her, now took an altogether more suggestive nuance. She
took another step towards him, by now her head was hovering close to
his chest and had to look up to face him.

“I need an ‘A’, however that may be.”

The professor quickly regained his composure, a hint of a smile
forming on his lips. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the
last, but it would certainly never be worth his tenure. That said, it
was still intriguing, and he was curious to see how far she’d go. At
least, that was what he told himself, though the twinge of excitement
deep within his chest suggested other, less rational forces at play.

“And how do you propose we do that?” he asked, readying to cut the
conversation short before boundaries were crossed (though that train
was already speeding out of the station).

“You like me,” she simply stated, taking one last small step so
that their bodies were nearly touching.

Tenure, however, didn’t have the sweet, intoxicating smell of her
hair, nor the sound of her breath flowing from her barely parted
crimson lips, or the heaving of her breast which conjured said
breaths. Tenure was quickly becoming an abstraction, one which could
hardly compare to the warmth emanating from the delicate body of the
girl standing before him, the student he had at all times feared one day
would take a class of his. The bluntness of her assertion had shaken
him, for it was simply the truth, a truth which had germinated months
prior, since the first moment he saw her.

“I’ll never tell, it’ll simply be an assignment for extra credit,”
she huskily continued, reeling him in.

“That would be unfair to the other students,” he replied, his mind
racing. His sudden decision, rash and thoughtless, had been
fulminating: he had to have her, but if he was gonna risk it all it
might as well be on his terms. Furthermore, he had a hunch, a feeling
that things were not as simple as they appeared.

“What are the stakes?” he asked.

She blinked, confused.

“After all, you like me too,” he said, with more confidence than
what he actually felt.

It was now her turn to be taken aback. Uncertainty crept in, as she
slowly began to realize she might not be the only one doing the
reeling.

“You have a ‘C’, set me off and it goes to ‘B’. A second time gets
you an ‘A’ and you get your wish.”

Her head tilted, almost imperceptibly.

“So what’s at stake?” she asked.

“Perhaps you’ll get some joy out of it too, so much so that it’ll
be me making it worth your time, in which case your grade goes down,
say, from ‘C’ to ‘D’ if you can not hold back, and maybe it’ll happen a
second time, in which case you’ll end up getting an ‘F’ instead,” he
explained.

She looked at him intently, her breathing accelerating every so
slightly.

“Seven tonight at my place?”

A hint of a nervous smile traced her lips. The deal was a no-brainer,
there was no way she could fail. She slowly nodded, but also decided a
fair warning was due.

“You can not win though, I’ll hold back, or you won’t be able to
tell,” she told him, defiantly.

“Oh, I assure you I will,” he calmly replied, as he slowly turned
around to write down his address on a piece of paper.

*May 22nd, 6:59pm*

“You’re punctual, that alone is worth a C+,” he joked, though the
girl didn’t seem to discover it funny as she entered his condo.

“Slippers?” he asked, watching her reach for the straps of her
sandals. He himself was barefoot.

“I believe pretty soon we won’t be needing anything at all, will
we?” she replied, neatly placing the Sartos on a doormat next to his
shoes and heading inside.

“Can I get you anything? A snack or something to drink?”

He stood in the open kitchen which was close to the entrance,
separated from the living area by a counter. She took a quick look
around before sitting on the couch which was resting against the wall.

“It’s nice but smaller than I imagined,” she said, putting her feet
on the edge of the sofa and wrapping her arms around her bare legs,
wiggling her toes.

“Well,” he said, already mesmerized by her carefree eroticism, “I
live by myself, I don’t need the extra space.”

“Hmmmm… is that so?” she said, pensively, leaning back as she
stretched her arms and arched her back, her breasts pushing the Guess
top to its limit.

The professor cracked a smile, it was obvious now she knew exactly
what she was doing, and part of him admired her wiliness. Another part
of him was growing increasingly concerned with how well it was
working.

“So you’ll up my grade every time I make you come?” she asked,
getting back to company.

“That’s the plan.”

“Blowjob OK?”

“No, it’s a two-way street, grade goes down if you’re the one who
gets off.”

She sat quietly on the couch, looking at her reflection on the large
flat-panel TV facing her from the A/V cabinet across the room.

“You can leave if you want, you worked hard for that C- and it is
your legitimate grade, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, giving
her an out.

“Making you come twice in a row is gonna be pretty easy, you
know?” she said, still looking into the black mirror. “And as for me,
it’ll never happen.”

“Well, then I guess you’re in luck,” he said. “I have some condoms
in…”

“No condoms, that’d be cheating,” she snapped. “Don’t worry, I’m on
the pill… cramps…” she explained, her tone quickly softening. “Where
to?”

“We can start in the bedroom,” he said, motioning towards a door to
his right. He looked for any reaction to the way he had phrased his
answer, but noticed none.

The bedroom was spartan, hosting a large king-sized bed and a
nightstand. Only a couple of Mucha posters, “Reverie” and “Night”,
adorned the otherwise plain walls. The professor had followed her
inside but suddenly seemed to have remembered something.

“Do you mind if I put on some music? Just in the background, not
Barry White though…” he said, heading back to the living room.

“Who?” he faintly heard behind him, as he turned on the TV and an
old PS3 he used for music playback. He quickly scrolled down through
the XMB music listing until he found Winona Zelenka’s interpretation
of Bach’s cello suites. BWV 1007 poured from the speakers, though he
made sure the volume was low enough to be barely perceptible.

He returned to the bedroom only to discover a small pile of clothes on the
floor, neatly folded, and his student sitting on the bed, wearing
nothing but the red bow which tied together her ponytail. He very
nearly gasped; in his eyes the lanky, mousy girl who had struggled
each week through his classes was breathtaking.

She stood up, fully revealing herself, slim frame, small but
well-formed breasts, a somewhat dishevelled but still trimmed triangle
of black pubic hair nested between her legs. She walked towards him,
approaching until she was mere centimetres away, and slowly began to
unbutton his shirt, which gave away to reveal his own, unimpressive
physique, letting it fall on the floor behind him. She proceeded to
kneel before him, unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, carefully
unzipping the taught tent that had formed over his groin. Finally she
pulled on the elastic waistband of his boxers, lowering them to reveal
his stiff erection. She then stood up, facing him, and took his hand,
guiding him towards the bed. Leaving the messy puddle of clothes
behind him, he quietly complied, lying down flat on his back.

The girl made her way around the bed and climbed it from the other
side. She gently took his cock in her hand and leaned over, her lips
hovering for a moment just above the engorged tip.

“Don’t worry, it’s just some lubrication,” she said, before he
could protest. “Physics, am I right?”

He almost laughed at the quip, but humour was quickly forgotten as she
engulfed his member, running her tongue over his glans, pressing her
lips around his pole, slowly bobbing her head as she moistened his
dick with saliva. He tensed, becoming aware that, necessary though
they may be, he might not last through her preparations. He was just
about to give her a warning when he felt the rush of cold air replace
the warmth of her mouth.

Still holding his cock, she positioned herself above his waist,
straddling him, carefully aiming his member towards her entrance, ever
so slowly lowering herself.

He felt a couple of prickly hairs tickle the tip, a sensation which
was soon replace by the softness of smooth flesh enveloping his
cock. She flinched, but as he penetrated her he realized she was
soaking wet, the prior need for lubrication an obvious ruse to push
him even closer to the edge. Nevertheless she was very tight, just
entering her was proving a nearly insurmountable challenge in terms of
him holding back. Finally her ass pressed against his thighs as she
bottomed out, fully impaled. A tiny whimper escaped her lips.

For a few moments they remained still, their heavy breathing audible
over Bach in the background. He wanted to close his eyes, to try and
relax, but was instead mesmerized by landscape of her body, the
smooth, pale curve of her abdomen leading up to her firm, delicate
breasts crowned by two small, light-pink areolae and the dark nubs at
their centre.

He reached out, intent on cupping the mounds above him, but was
stopped as she took hold of his wrists and gently pushed down, leaning
forwards until his arms were pinned next to his head and her face
hovered just above his.

“I’m going to start fucking you now,” she said, matter-of-factly.

It took all his willpower not to ejaculate in response.

—

[Part 2](

NSFW: yes

[ad_2]