he was separating the hair and my vulva and his tongue was inside me exploring my depths.
He moved his hands up to my breasts and began to gently caress and then more roughly pinch my nipples.
I was full of moans and juice and absolute surprise and ecstasy. Rest assured, grades were no longer on my mind.
The good doctor tongued and fingered me to my first-ever orgasm as I slid forward with wide-open legs on his sofa chair. As I came, gasping noisily, he put his hand over my mouth and said, “Oh no, Ms. Redding, this calls for restraint. Please no noise, or I shall have to stop.”
Stop ? I thought. He isn’t done? There is more? He went on for another fifteen minutes, causing me to come and come and come, playing with my breasts, my anus, helping me with my own hands to find and bring my own self to climax by stimulating my clitoris. It was all an absolute revelation.
And he didn’t fuck me. He didn’t unzip his pants. He didn’t ask me to do anything except to succumb to the pleasure of his gifts.
When finally it was over, I could bear no more, and class was about to begin, he said, “So, Miss Redding, I know you came in here for something, but I can’t quite remember what it was. Do you?”
I shook my head as I did up my buttons and pulled on my panties. “I think I came in wanting something, but I got something better.”
“Let me walk you to class. It’ll be such a pleasure seeing you in the audience this afternoon.”
I was still reeling and wasn’t even sure I had my blouse buttoned up straight.
“I ask only one thing,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Most people just take and never give. Learn how to give. Learn how to be a lover. If you like, I can teach you more. We have time. But I will tell you now: you need to work for your grades. You deserve the grade you got, and no amount of seducing me will change that. I am more than willing to tutor you, though,” he added.
For the next three years, I had weekly, sometimes biweekly tutoring sessions with Dr Edelstein. It was because of him I became both a professor of sociology and a professor of seduction.
Eventually, my professorial, sexual, and my emerging entrepreneurial skills came into play. I grew tired of the grind of academia, the low pay and the limited opportunity to indulge my greatest passion: satisfying the needs of my body. Over time, I came up with a plan that would combine my skills and desires into a lucrative and fulfilling avocation.
I now own a “boarding house” for college men (who must be “of age” so I don’t get myself into any trouble) where I charge a great deal of money for these lads to live and learn. You might call me the “den mother” of these gentlemen who come to me with little or no experience, but with driving hormones that no doubt cause them to spend endless hours in the shower jacking off or cowering under their sheets and missing class in order to expel their manly fluids. My role is to guide these potential Casanovas in the ways of seduction and lovemaking. Of course, there is some benefit in it for me as well. There is no use denying that.
I own a large old Victorian house close to campus that has been renovated to accommodate both my boarders and the “classroom” facilities I require. I accept fifteen lads each year to come and live with me. I censor them very carefully before acceptance, looking for a high degree of commitment, a strong record of academic achievement, and a willingness to learn. They must be quick studies because I am not a particularly patient woman. I’m not particular, however, about race, color or size - I am turned on by a variety of men.
But therein lays another key to my scrutinizing process: they must turn me on. If I am going to be their professor and work with them in the “lab,” I expect to feel at least a tingle for them before
He moved his hands up to my breasts and began to gently caress and then more roughly pinch my nipples.
I was full of moans and juice and absolute surprise and ecstasy. Rest assured, grades were no longer on my mind.
The good doctor tongued and fingered me to my first-ever orgasm as I slid forward with wide-open legs on his sofa chair. As I came, gasping noisily, he put his hand over my mouth and said, “Oh no, Ms. Redding, this calls for restraint. Please no noise, or I shall have to stop.”
Stop ? I thought. He isn’t done? There is more? He went on for another fifteen minutes, causing me to come and come and come, playing with my breasts, my anus, helping me with my own hands to find and bring my own self to climax by stimulating my clitoris. It was all an absolute revelation.
And he didn’t fuck me. He didn’t unzip his pants. He didn’t ask me to do anything except to succumb to the pleasure of his gifts.
When finally it was over, I could bear no more, and class was about to begin, he said, “So, Miss Redding, I know you came in here for something, but I can’t quite remember what it was. Do you?”
I shook my head as I did up my buttons and pulled on my panties. “I think I came in wanting something, but I got something better.”
“Let me walk you to class. It’ll be such a pleasure seeing you in the audience this afternoon.”
I was still reeling and wasn’t even sure I had my blouse buttoned up straight.
“I ask only one thing,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Most people just take and never give. Learn how to give. Learn how to be a lover. If you like, I can teach you more. We have time. But I will tell you now: you need to work for your grades. You deserve the grade you got, and no amount of seducing me will change that. I am more than willing to tutor you, though,” he added.
For the next three years, I had weekly, sometimes biweekly tutoring sessions with Dr Edelstein. It was because of him I became both a professor of sociology and a professor of seduction.
Eventually, my professorial, sexual, and my emerging entrepreneurial skills came into play. I grew tired of the grind of academia, the low pay and the limited opportunity to indulge my greatest passion: satisfying the needs of my body. Over time, I came up with a plan that would combine my skills and desires into a lucrative and fulfilling avocation.
I now own a “boarding house” for college men (who must be “of age” so I don’t get myself into any trouble) where I charge a great deal of money for these lads to live and learn. You might call me the “den mother” of these gentlemen who come to me with little or no experience, but with driving hormones that no doubt cause them to spend endless hours in the shower jacking off or cowering under their sheets and missing class in order to expel their manly fluids. My role is to guide these potential Casanovas in the ways of seduction and lovemaking. Of course, there is some benefit in it for me as well. There is no use denying that.
I own a large old Victorian house close to campus that has been renovated to accommodate both my boarders and the “classroom” facilities I require. I accept fifteen lads each year to come and live with me. I censor them very carefully before acceptance, looking for a high degree of commitment, a strong record of academic achievement, and a willingness to learn. They must be quick studies because I am not a particularly patient woman. I’m not particular, however, about race, color or size - I am turned on by a variety of men.
But therein lays another key to my scrutinizing process: they must turn me on. If I am going to be their professor and work with them in the “lab,” I expect to feel at least a tingle for them before
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