to some change of my grade.)
Alas, a grade change was not in the cards for me on that day, but something else was . As I started to plead my carefully planned case, Dr. Edelstein beckoned me closer.
“You’ve got a stray curl driving me crazy,” he said, lightly reaching over and tucking the errant hair behind my ear. As he did so, his hand ever so gently caressed the groove behind my ear and lingered for a few seconds. My body thrilled.
“There, much better. Carry on. I’m no longer distracted.”
I found myself a bit flustered, a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to.
“It’s just that…”
“And that button,” he interrupted me, “it begs doing up. I can see the lace on your brassiere. I’m sure you didn’t mean to show me your cleavage now, did you?”
I blushed and began buttoning up the bra.
“Allow me,” he said, once again stepping forward and doing up the button. As he did so, both of his wrists lightly brushed my nipples as his hands very slowly placed the button back in its slit.
I was flushing furiously. There was no more thought of grades. His eyes were now gazing overtly at the entirety of my body. There was no embarrassment on his part. I was a different story, however. I stood in front of him, completely undone.
“Miss Redding, surely you’re not embarrassed, are you? You are one of the most poised and solicitous members of my class. How can this be?”
“No, I’m not,” I said, lying bold-facedly. “It’s only that I am only rather shocked at your unprofessional behavior.”
“Are you now?” he said without a trace of concern. “Come sit down on my couch and let’s discuss either my behavior or your grade, it’s up to you.”
He motioned me toward the sofa and he sat directly across from me on an armchair. It really was a very cozy office indeed, in retrospect. He drew his chair just a little bit closer than necessary and said, “Well, what’s it going to be?”
“I just don’t think it’s fair…” I began.
“Oh, you’re going to talk to me about fair,” he interrupted. “You of the lovely thighs peeking so seductively out of your skirt. You with the body of a goddess hidden beneath your school girl garb.”
He leaned over and stroked one of my thighs underneath my skirt. I gasped.
“Many people would think it unfair that you have been graced with all the beauty you have and they are mere mortals, fair lady.”
I was breathing heavily.
“Spread your legs just a little bit wider so I can see those thighs.”
I obeyed.
“Pull up your skirt, Miss Redding.”
Again, I obliged.
“And perhaps that button could be undone after all, and maybe even one more. I think I was wrong in my first supposition.”
I was only feeling now, not thinking. I was putty in this man’s hands. Yes, he was taking advantage of me, but I wanted him to: more than anything. I had never been flirted with or teased or even caressed before. I had never even experienced foreplay: to put it bluntly, I had only been fucked.
The professor had a hand on each thigh now and was gently caressing them. My legs were open wide. My pubic hair tumbled out of my white cotton panties, as was the accepted fashion in those days. I felt no shame.
“Would you mind awfully taking your panties off?” he said, as though he were asking me to get him a glass of water.
I did as I was asked.
“Oh,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “A woman’s pussy is so irresistible to me. There is nothing more right now that I want to do than eat you.”
Eat me?
At that time in my life and in the lives of most young women my age, this was foreign vocabulary. I wasn’t sure what he meant.
But then he was on his knees on the sheepskin rug that separated the armchair from the sofa and his head was in my pussy and
Alas, a grade change was not in the cards for me on that day, but something else was . As I started to plead my carefully planned case, Dr. Edelstein beckoned me closer.
“You’ve got a stray curl driving me crazy,” he said, lightly reaching over and tucking the errant hair behind my ear. As he did so, his hand ever so gently caressed the groove behind my ear and lingered for a few seconds. My body thrilled.
“There, much better. Carry on. I’m no longer distracted.”
I found myself a bit flustered, a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to.
“It’s just that…”
“And that button,” he interrupted me, “it begs doing up. I can see the lace on your brassiere. I’m sure you didn’t mean to show me your cleavage now, did you?”
I blushed and began buttoning up the bra.
“Allow me,” he said, once again stepping forward and doing up the button. As he did so, both of his wrists lightly brushed my nipples as his hands very slowly placed the button back in its slit.
I was flushing furiously. There was no more thought of grades. His eyes were now gazing overtly at the entirety of my body. There was no embarrassment on his part. I was a different story, however. I stood in front of him, completely undone.
“Miss Redding, surely you’re not embarrassed, are you? You are one of the most poised and solicitous members of my class. How can this be?”
“No, I’m not,” I said, lying bold-facedly. “It’s only that I am only rather shocked at your unprofessional behavior.”
“Are you now?” he said without a trace of concern. “Come sit down on my couch and let’s discuss either my behavior or your grade, it’s up to you.”
He motioned me toward the sofa and he sat directly across from me on an armchair. It really was a very cozy office indeed, in retrospect. He drew his chair just a little bit closer than necessary and said, “Well, what’s it going to be?”
“I just don’t think it’s fair…” I began.
“Oh, you’re going to talk to me about fair,” he interrupted. “You of the lovely thighs peeking so seductively out of your skirt. You with the body of a goddess hidden beneath your school girl garb.”
He leaned over and stroked one of my thighs underneath my skirt. I gasped.
“Many people would think it unfair that you have been graced with all the beauty you have and they are mere mortals, fair lady.”
I was breathing heavily.
“Spread your legs just a little bit wider so I can see those thighs.”
I obeyed.
“Pull up your skirt, Miss Redding.”
Again, I obliged.
“And perhaps that button could be undone after all, and maybe even one more. I think I was wrong in my first supposition.”
I was only feeling now, not thinking. I was putty in this man’s hands. Yes, he was taking advantage of me, but I wanted him to: more than anything. I had never been flirted with or teased or even caressed before. I had never even experienced foreplay: to put it bluntly, I had only been fucked.
The professor had a hand on each thigh now and was gently caressing them. My legs were open wide. My pubic hair tumbled out of my white cotton panties, as was the accepted fashion in those days. I felt no shame.
“Would you mind awfully taking your panties off?” he said, as though he were asking me to get him a glass of water.
I did as I was asked.
“Oh,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “A woman’s pussy is so irresistible to me. There is nothing more right now that I want to do than eat you.”
Eat me?
At that time in my life and in the lives of most young women my age, this was foreign vocabulary. I wasn’t sure what he meant.
But then he was on his knees on the sheepskin rug that separated the armchair from the sofa and his head was in my pussy and
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