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Twelve years of a miserable marriage, a messy divorce and the unexpected bankruptcy of her long-time employer had led her back to college, and now her hopes of proceeding with her degree were threatened by academic probation. The mountainous work load, the uncompromising asshole professors, the sheer difficulty of juggling her responsibilities as a mother and the demands of her school work, had left her constantly exhausted this term, and her grades showed it. A D in this last class would mean the loss of financial aid, and an end to her education dream.
She’d be damned before she let that happen!
She looked herself over in the mirror. Sure, she was older than all the cute little things in the class. But they were just girls, while she was all woman. She smiled at the firmness of her breasts, and the alluring curve of her hips. She approved of the shapeliness of her legs, and the wonderland of experiences her coquettish smile promised. “Professor Jones, you have no idea what you are in for,” she murmured, as she undid one more button on her blouse. She smoothed her skirt over her firm, full ass, picked up her car keys and sashayed out the door. She was on a vital mission, and she looked good!
Half an hour later, she sat opposite Professor Jones in his office. She pushed her chair back from his desk, so he would be able to see her in all her glory. The skirt was short, but not so short as to look cheap. She crossed her legs alluringly so he would be treated to the sweeping curve from her knee to the tip of her toe, and she let her tasteful black pump swing back and forth.
Professor Jones muttered his apologies as he busily tried to finish an email. She let the moments pass, idly twirling a little curl of her hair with her finger, and then allowing that finger to trace slowly down her neck toward her ample cleavage. Professor Jones was playing things very cool, she thought. Or else he simply hadn’t noticed how agonizingly sexy she looked.
Eventually Jones raised his eyes and offered her a warm and encouraging smile.
“I’m glad you came to see me,” he began. “Your last paper was…well…I’m not sure it was your best work.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I was under a ridiculous time crunch. Everything was due at the same time. And right in the middle of it all, my son fell ill.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The Professor sounded quite sincere. “How is he feeling now?”
Dammit, she thought. Here I am dressed to seduce the guy, and he’s got me talking about my son!
“He’s much better, thanks. He actually managed to return to school on Friday.”
“That’s great news. Maybe if you have a little more time on your hands, you might be able to rework the paper for me? Really show me what you can do?”
This was the chance she’d been waiting for — a chance to play on his sympathies, and to hint at the boundless gratitude she would show him if only she could receive a solid passing grade. She coaxed a little tear to appear as she widened her eyes imploringly. She leaned forward, to allow him a better view of the black lace bra that barely held her bountiful breasts. She let her tongue linger on her lips momentarily as she breathed, “Thank you. Thank you so much, Professor. I’d be overwhelmingly grateful for that chance. It’s so vital that I pass this course, and I will do anything — ANYTHING — to make sure it happens.”
It seemed odd to her, though, that his eyes never left her own. His voice seemed full of concern, without a hint of lecherous intent, as he offered, “I think you are an extraordinary student — an extraordinary woman. And I’m certain that, with a little work, you’ll be able to prove it in this paper.”
She actually felt herself blush a little as he said this.
By the time she arrived home, she was still unable to work out what had happened. No matter how many suggestive poses she had struck, how many times she had given him the chance to stare down her shirt, he had offered no clear reaction. Then again, he had been consistently warm and encouraging, and had insisted on an appointment the following week to discuss her progress. Perhaps that was when he would make his move? Well, next week she would dress to kill once more. That passing grade would be hers!
A week later, and she was knocking demurely on his office door once more. She chose to wear the same skirt as the previous week — after all, it was absolutely perfect in the way it showed off her legs and clung to her sumptuous ass. But this week’s blouse was sheer, and her bra was extremely thin. With the slightest breeze, her nipples stood upright and demanded attention from anyone who saw her.
She sat closer to the desk this time, and let one of her shoes fall from her foot. Having made sure that the office door was obscuring anybody else’s view, she let her stockinged foot stretch nearer his, so, later, they might casually touch.
She handed him a draft of the paper and watched, with some frustration, as he buried his eyes in the pages, leafing through quickly and scribbling occasional notes. Hoping to distract him, Mamak Escort she leaned across the desk. She even interrupted, asking a tentative question about how he was finding her work. But neither the seductive neckline, nor the gentle cloud of perfume around her, not the foot she gently brushed across his leg or the breathy voice she used as she asked about the paper, were able to distract him.
“It’s…interesting…,” he mused, looking up and directly into her eyes. “I really like this theme you introduce in the third paragraph. But, you’ve been a little lazy in developing the idea.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here to whip me into shape!” she quipped, with a lascivious wink. But again the Professor appeared immune to her suggestions.
“I really need you to develop this idea more clearly, and to provide me with more convincing evidence.”
Taking the paper back from Jones, she let her fingers graze over his hand for a second. But there was no evidence that he noticed. He simply smiled encouragingly, and asked that she return on Friday.
“And remember, you are an extraordinary student — and an extraordinary woman.”
Thursday night she worked late, falling asleep at her desk as she attempted to improve her paper. Her late night efforts, however, were continually interrupted as she pondered how she could sway him in order to secure her passing grade. She was feeling less extraordinary by the minute — all her efforts, and he still hadn’t so much as raised his eyebrows in appreciation of her curvaceous form.
When she pried herself off her desk the following morning, she realized she had overslept. No time to primp or preen for the prof today: it was all she could do to run a comb through her hair, pull on some clean clothes and race off to his office in time for the meeting.
Damn, damn, DAMN! How could she have been so foolish? Time was running short in the term, and the sooner she managed to seduce her professor, the sooner her academic future could be secured. And under that pressure, she had chosen this time to come to his office looking…well…plain.
Not that it seemed to make any difference to Professor Jones. He ushered her into his office, and directed her to sit. He took the paper from her and busily started to read. A smile seemed to creep across his face, and he quickly began scribbling some notes in the margin.
“Is something wrong? Or funny?” she asked uneasily.
“On the contrary,” he quickly replied, “I think you’ve done an excellent job developing that theme we discussed last week.”
And with that, he began to analyze the work, offering critiques, commentaries, cautions and congratulations. He seemed very enthused.
“But, having said all of that,” he continued, “Your conclusions leave me totally confused.”
This sudden criticism caught her by surprise, and for once she let her seductive demeanor slip.
“What do you mean? The way I see it…” and she launched into a lengthy exposition of her ideas, carefully qualifying and clarifying her statements in response to his questions and suggestions. She supported her arguments by referring to various hypotheses and analytical frameworks they had studied in class as though this was the most natural thing in the world, and she added perspective with examples she drew from class readings.
“I see,” said Jones, staring vacantly at the ceiling. He blinked, and turned to her suddenly. “Well that makes perfect sense. Why didn’t you just write that in the first place?”
And faced with that simple question, she found herself lost for words.
Eventually she stammered, “I…um…I did write that. Um…didn’t I?”
But Professor Jones smiled, shook his head, and handed back her paper.
“Bring me the final draft on Monday. Oh, and don’t forget: you are an extraordinary student, and an extraordinary woman.”
Saturday night was a tense one. This last opportunity to write the paper, and to meet with the professor, was upon her. Her recent efforts with the paper had obviously fallen short of the standards her professor set, but at least she seemed to have made some progress in that direction. Her seduction attempts, however, seemed an unmitigated failure. Nevertheless, she was pretty sure she would still fail the class unless she was able to give the Professor some additional “encouragement” to pass her.
Despite all of this, there was another issue that kept gnawing at her. The criticism Professor Jones made of her paper had seemed unfair. For all his kind words and gentle encouragement, the guy just wouldn’t give her credit for any of her insights or arguments. With a jaded sigh she reread the previous draft to confirm her suspicions.
As she read her paper, however, something unexpected began to happen. Immersing herself in the process, she soon found that her focus improved. In no time, her mind was whirring at millions of miles an hour, reworking phrases, refining her logic, tightening her arguments. And the criticisms Professor Jones had made became clearer Masaj Yapan Escort and easier to understand. It was true, the arguments she was presenting were good; but her conclusions were loose and poorly presented. There were gaps in her logic. She often failed to produce convincing evidence. But remarkably, all these issues she confidently addressed, correcting and improving the paper markedly before sleep finally took her in the early morning hours.
On Sunday she spent the day relaxing with her children for the first time in months.
Monday saw her rise early to prepare for her final meeting with Professor Jones. She wore open toed shoes this time, and stockings that were admittedly slightly slutty. A garter belt couldn’t hurt. And a short, tight-fitting dress with a low neckline. Her paper lay on the table, printed the previous evening.
“Professor Jones, I can’t begin to tell you how overwhelmingly grateful I am that you’ve given me the opportunity to rewrite my paper,” she gushed as she entered his office. “It means the world to me. You’ve been so kind, and so encouraging, and I don’t know how I can possibly repay you.” Her eyes were locked on his, hoping to discern whether he was finally going to show any kind of appreciation of the way she was dressed, or the way she held herself out to him, or of the desperation in her eyes.
But Jones was as implacable as ever. He reached for her paper, saying, “You’re an extraordinary student, and I’m anxious to see what you have been able to accomplish.”
It seemed like hours that he spent pouring over the paper. He made an occasional mark, a note or two in the margin. But eventually he came to the end of the paper, closed his eyes for a moment, before scribbling a final few words and a grade at the end of the paper. He handed the paper back to her.
She read the note. The words were familiar. “You are an extraordinary student, and an extraordinary woman. And you have written an extraordinary paper. Grade: A+.”
She felt elated, jubilant. She wanted to scream. She was tempted to throw her arms around the professor, to share her joy, but something in his reserved, though friendly, demeanor calmed her. She simply chanted a litany of thanks.
Jones seemed oblivious to her gratitude.
“Before you go, I wonder if we might discuss another rather…ah…delicate matter?”
Immediately she fell silent, listening intently for the delicate matter to be named.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Her brow wrinkled, and she wondered whether she was about to be subjected to some religious propaganda. But the professor pressed on.
“Seriously, why would you come to college at all, if not to challenge yourself, to challenge your mind, to think in new ways?”
She nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of his statement while struggling to understand its relevance.
“And yet,” Jones continued, “When I asked you to rework this paper, your inclination was to shy away from that challenge, and to rely on familiar strengths to carry the day. Your thought that your beauty, your intense sexuality, your seductive, sensual nature were more likely to earn you a passing grade than your brain.”
She knew his statement was true, but she longed to deny it. Nevertheless, the professor’s voice projected the truth in a tone that defied contradiction.
“So, what have you learned?”
She hesitated, impulsively shrugging her shoulders in the hope of avoiding the professor’s scrutiny. It didn’t work. He fixed his eyes on hers and repeated the question.
“What did you learn?”
Under his steady gaze, she worked up the courage to offer a shaky-voiced reply.
“That my ideas, my thoughts, my arguments…my MIND…are worthy of respect… DEMAND respect…”
As an enormous smile broke across her face, and a real tear welled in her eye, she couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Professor Jones congratulated he once more on an excellent paper, and bade her farewell.
It wasn’t until later in the evening, after her children were in bed and she’d treated herself to a couple of glasses of wine, that she reflected on the morning’s events. Foremost in her mind was the relief that she’d avoided the threat of academic probation. But this thought was currently being overshadowed by the pride she felt in her paper, and in the praise she’d received from Professor Jones. She laughed. Somehow, he had known she had it in her all along. He had appreciated her ability even before she had, and he’d prodded her and pushed her and encouraged her to discover that ability. Maybe it was the wine working it’s magic, but she was beginning to feel a real affection for her instructor.
What else had he said? He had talked of her beauty, her intense sexuality, her seductive, sensual nature. All the time, she had been thinking that he hadn’t noticed her. But he had. He had seen her, he had appreciated her, and yet he had chosen not to take advantage of her. When was the last time a man had deliberately chosen not to take Moldovyalı Escort advantage of her when given the opportunity?
She poured another glass of wine and sank into the couch. Slowly, she stopped thinking about her grade and her paper and her future. But she kept thinking about that gentle, encouraging man who had appreciated her beauty and her sexuality, but chose not to exploit them, preferring to push her to realize the power of her own mind. And in her half-drunken state, all sorts of interesting ideas began springing to her mind…
The next morning, about half way through his second cup of coffee, Professor Jones heard a knock on his office door.
“Come in,” he called. A moment later, she was walking into the room and settling herself into the chair directly across the desk from him.
Professor Jones immediately noticed that she was wearing exactly the same outfit she had worn on their first meeting in his office. Then he noticed the same heady scent she had worn. And then he noticed something new. There was something in the way she held herself, a twinkle in her eye and a strength in the way she set her jaw that distinguished her from the desperate student he’d seen two weeks earlier. Across the desk, he now saw a formidable, confident woman – and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She didn’t wait for him to speak.
“I owe you a great deal, Professor Jones. You’ve been kind, patient and encouraging with me. Thanks to your help I think I’ll be safe from academic probation this term. And more importantly, I think I’ll be able to approach next term’s courses with a newfound confidence.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” he replied. “It’s gratifying to see a student grasp the true power of her mind.”
“Nevertheless,” she interjected, “I can’t help thinking that there is unfinished business between the two of us.”
Jones eyed her suspiciously.
“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” he replied. “I asked you to rewrite a paper for me, and you did an admirable job. I’m not sure what business might be unfinished.”`
She nodded a handful of times before she inquired, “What about the requests I made to you?”
“The requests you made of me?” Jones seemed to be struggling to understand what she meant.
“Come now, Professor.” Her tone was almost dismissive. “I was practically begging for it.” And with that, she settled herself further back in her seat to observe him, as though preparing to watch an adversary squirm.
Professor Jones pressed his fingertips together and thought a moment before responding.
“I believe what you proposed was transactional in nature. Quid pro quo. You offered me…umm…something…in return for a grade. I declined your offer.”
“And yet,” she now leaned forward, anxious to force home an advantage, “You gave me the grade I wanted. Don’t you want to collect on the debt?”
“Not at all.” He smiled warmly, still the friendly, supportive instructor. “You earned your grade with your excellent work. There is no debt to collect. Besides,” and here Jones’ expression softened, and he offered her a cheeky, conspiratorial smile, “What you offered is worth far more than a measly grade. Even an A+.” And for the first time, she saw his eyes move appreciatively over her body. It made her feel bolder.
“Well, then. Now that I’ve earned the grade, would you agree it was impossible for me to propose the same transaction?”
It was Jones’ turn to nod.
“So, if I presented you with the same opportunity as before…,” she calmly unfastened one of her shirt buttons, “Nobody could misconstrue it as a transaction, to earn a grade?”
“That’s true,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on the widening gap in her blouse. “However, someone might wonder exactly what had motivated such a generous offer.”
Her response was simply, “Let them wonder!”
Their eyes held each other unwaveringly for quite some time. In the quiet office their breathing synchronized, and each of them contemplated the possibilities that the other presented.
Eventually, she spoke again.
“You make a wonderful teacher. I wonder if you have anything more to teach me?”
“And you make a wonderful student. I have some curriculum ideas we could discuss – topics you might like to investigate in depth.”
“Yes,” she smiled. “A very, very deep investigation is exactly what I was hoping for.”
This whole experience seemed surreal, and left her feeling a little giddy. The previous night, sometime after her first glass of wine but before finishing the bottle, she realized that the gratitude and admiration she felt toward her professor had blossomed into affection. Soon after the bottle was drained, she found her mind drifting into a wonderland of fantasies in which Professor Jones featured prominently. When she awoke, she still felt that girlish excitement. But it was paired with a woman’s sense of purpose. She had shaved herself clean. She had dressed swiftly but seductively, deliberately omitting panties, which she hoped would be superfluous. She had marched from her home intent on finding whether her fantasies might become reality. Now she was seated across the desk from him, exulting in the way his eyes were hungrily examining her body. And they were nice eyes, too. Cool and steely grey. They remained kind, even while they sought to work their way directly through her clothing.
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