As I have mentioned in an earlier story (“Teaching Kaci”), I worked as a professor of English at a small but expensive New England college for about thirty years. The college had a mandatory policy of “retirement at 65”, but I had decided to take mine about five years before that. My wife had died of cancer some years earlier, and I wanted to spend what remained of my life doing some traveling. I even thought about the idea of moving to Paris if I could get a small apartment.
Since, as a professor, I always had the policy of not getting personally involved with my students and NEVER agreeing to an exchange of sex-for-grades, my personal relationship with the young and pretty female students was pretty minimal. But during my final two years, I got a little more liberal about that. After all, this was a liberal arts college. One of my involvements was with the aforementioned Kaci; the other was with April, which I am going to tell you about now.
April came to me oddly enough in the same way that Kaci did. Each professor was allowed to have one personal intern each semester. After Bill Clinton’s embarrassing incident with an intern, they changed the name at the college to “student assistant.” I was expected to give the paid position to one of the top students, and April was one of the five people who applied for it. Since the jobs were given at the beginning of the semester, I always asked the applicants to include a picture, since I had not yet associated a name with a face.
If you read the story about Kaci, you know the kind of picture she submitted, and a year later, April, pure coincidence apparently, came up with the same idea—only different.
The credentials on her resume were excellent, as were those of the other four, but what was different was her cover letter and the picture.
“I really need this job,” she wrote, “And I’ve included a picture of what I would look like working in your office. You can see how much I need the job, since I can’t even afford to buy clothes!”
The picture was paper-clipped to the back of the letter. I took it off and looked at it. The young lady was standing in front of a bookcase and appeared to be putting a book away. The only thing unusual about the picture was that she was completely naked! Then I suddenly realized with a shock that the bookcase she was standing in front of was one of the two in my office! Few of us ever locked our doors here, so anyone could walk in at any time—which is apparently what she had done. I assumed she had shot the picture with a digital camera placed on my desk, and the camera had a self-timer.
I guess this is the point at which I should describe April. She was about five-foot-six with a perfect little figure and with long blonde straight and silky hair. She looked a little like a younger version of the German model Claudia Schiffer. She had small but beautiful breasts, but since she was only half turned to the camera, I could only catch a glimpse of what appeared to be her golden little muff.
Naturally, I called her in for a personal interview.
“I’m intrigued by your application,” I said, “And especially by the picture you included.”
She laughed. “I hope you’re not offended.”
“No, I’m not offended, but since the student assistant can wear whatever she wants when she’s working here, am I to assume this is what you might want to wear from time to time?”
She thought about it for a minute. “If you want me to,” she said.
And I thought about it for a minute. “I’ll tell you what,” I said, “Since this is my last year here, I’m going to do something I never would have considered doing before. The student assistant job is three days a week from three to six, and it only pays seven-fifty an hour. No one ever comes to see me during the last hour, and the building is usually empty. If you would consider wearing this”—I pointed to the picture—”as your uniform for the last hour, I would gladly add another twenty of my own to the college’s seven-fifty. We would of course lock the door at the beginning of that hour.”
She smiled. “It’s deal.”
I was surprised that she had agreed so readily. I found out why later.
April began her student assistant job two days later and was a busy and cheerful worker for the first two hours, putting away books, filing papers, etc. I watched her and wondered if she actually would go through with it.
After awhile, she looked at her watch. “Last hour,” she said.
“Then lock the door. Just turn the bolt and pull the shade.”
She did so. “Is there some place I can change?” she asked.
“The bathroom, over there.” I pointed.
She crossed to the bathroom, and I waited. Less than ten minutes later, she emerged. The only thing she was wearing was a smile, and her right hand was shyly covering her muff. But her beautiful breasts were on display.
“You can start by filing these books,” I said. ‘The number on the binder is the standard Dewey Decimal System.”
Two of the four walls in my office were completely covered with bookshelves, and the English department one year had paid to have my one of the bookshelves set up with a rolling metal ladder, so you could get to the top shelf without having to get on a stool. They said I was “too old” to be getting on a stool.
“Okay,” April said. She picked up the four books from the corner of the desk and started to walk away.
“My God,” I said, “You have the most beautiful little ass I’ve ever seen.”
She wiggled it a little, as if to say thanks.
I tried to go back to my work, but it was really hard when there was a beautiful naked girl only fifteen feet away. She was so beautiful standing there on the ladder with her back to me, I had a hard time taking my eyes off her. And despite my age—I was old enough to be her grandfather—that was not the only thing which was getting “hard.”
“This one doesn’t have a number on it,” she said.
I got up and walked over to her. Since she was halfway up the ladder, her cute little naked bottom was inches from my face when I got to her. I couldn’t help it: I leaned over and kissed her on the butt.
She turned with a laugh. “I never thought when I came to this school that I actually would have a professor kissing my ass,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help that. It was just too beautiful to resist.”
“I don’t mind. Since it was my decision to work naked, I have no one but myself to blame.”
“That’s right.” Now, since she had turned, her beautiful little blonde muff was directly in front of my face. The hair had been trimmed to only an inch in length and was even shorter on the bottom, so her nether lips looked like a fuzzy split peach. Since she had not minded the first kiss, I leaned over and kissed her furry little lips—and gave them a lick.
“Sorry about that,” I said, pulling back.
“That’s what you said before,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”
“Maybe not,” I agreed. “You bring out the worst in me.”
“Or the best. And now, the book.” She handed me the book. It was East of Eden by John Steinbeck.
“It’s fiction,” I said, “No number. It goes in that bookcase over there.” I pointed.
“I’m sorry. I should have known that. You must think I’m a dummy.”
“Yes, I do, but you sure do taste good. Some kind of roses, I think.”
She gave me a funny look, sat down on one of the narrow carpet-covered rungs of the ladder, put the book down, and spread her thighs a little. “You should find out for sure,” she said.
I looked at her. I was not going to resist an offer like that. I leaned forward, pushed my head between her thighs, licked her a few times, then as she scooted a little forward, I put my tongue inside of her. It was warm and wet—and tasted actually of peaches.
“Peaches,” I said as I withdrew.
She stood up again. “I don’t know about you, but my legs are starting to get a little trembly. Could we sit down somewhere?”
“Of course.” I walked over to my desk. My legs were getting a little trembly as well. I flopped down in the large black leather chair and watched as she descended the ladder, walked over, and politely sat in my lap.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“Since my sexual experience has been very limited, I came to this school with the intention among other things of having an affair with a professor, in order to learn more things than I would in books. But I found that most of the professors are married, and I don’t want to break up a family, so I decided I would try to have an affair with you.”
“Even though I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”
“Even that.” She looked a little uneasy when she said: “Do men…actually lose the ability to do it after a certain period of time?”
“Well, my wife died about ten years ago, and I have not had sex with anyone since that time. But the fact that my pants are getting extremely tight should answer your question.”
She smiled and looked down. “Could I see it?”
“Well, I’ve never exposed myself to a student naturally, but I guess it’s okay if you asked for it.” I scooted her forward on my lap a little, unzipped my pants, and pulled it out. Even I could tell it was one of the biggest hard-ons I ever had in my life.
“Wow,” she said, “I guess not.”
The top was wet. She wiped it with her forefinger and put it in her mouth. “Good,” she said. Then she leaned over and gave me a long, lingering, and passionate kiss, with a lot of tongue. My cock was getting even harder. “I’ll bet I know what you would like,” she whispered in my ear.
“What would that be?”
“A delicious blowjob.”
Apparently, without noticing it, I had died and gone to heaven. “I would love that,” I muttered.
She climbed off my lap, got on her knees between my legs, took my hard cock in her hands and put it into her mouth—watching me all of the time. I could feel her tongue swirling around my shaft—and after a few minutes I also could feel that I was about to blow at any time.
She took it out. “You can come in my mouth if you want,” she said, “But I also wanted to tell you that I’m on the pill, so you can come inside of me if you would rather.”
“Yes,” I muttered, “I would rather do that. But could I return this favor first?”
“Of course.” She stood. “How do you want to do it?”
I turned my chair around and pushed it back from the desk. “Why don’t you sit on the edge of the desk and just lean back.” I stood and pushed everything on the desk to the side.
“All right.” She sat on the edge of the desk, spread her legs, and leaned back. I scooted up between her thighs as she put her legs over my shoulders. The fuzzy blonde portal to heaven was before me, and I entered it tongue first—and swirled it around in her.
“Oh God,” she said, “I’ll give you just a half hour to stop that.”
Actually, the time was much less than that. A voice on my intercom suddenly interrupted us.
“Don, this is Paul. I’m finished with that Updike book if you still want to read it.”
Shit! I looked up at April.
“No answer. Ok, you’re out. I’ll just drop it on your desk.”
I quickly reached for the button, but it was too late. Paul Douglas, another English professor, had the office next to mine, and they were joined by a common door which we often used to share books or ideas with each other.
Paul opened the door and started toward the desk. “I’ll just—Oh my God.”
“Well, come in, as long as you are in,” I said. “Shut the door.”
He did so—and just stood there. “I didn’t realize you had someone—”
“Paul, this is April, my new student assistant. April, this is Professor Douglas.” I realized at this point, I might as well make light of the situation. “I’m giving April her oral exam.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He walked over and held out his hand. “How nice to meet you, April.” She held out her hand upside down to him. “You’re a very beautiful young lady.”
“Thank you. Sorry I can’t get up.”
“That’s quite all right. The view is enchanting. I wish you were my student assistant.”
“Needless to say, I expect this will go no further?” I asked.
“Of course. Discretion is my middle name. I’m just happy I was granted a view.”
“And now that you’ve enjoyed the view, would you mind leaving?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.” He turned, then turned back. “Oh, one question: April, are you coming or going?” he asked.
She looked embarrassed. “I think I’m coming,” she said.
“Then I’ll leave you to your pleasures.” And he walked back to his office.
April burst into laughter. “Oh God, how embarrassing. Will you get into trouble because of that?”
“No, Paul and I are friends. He’ll just want me to tell him about it later.”
“But in the meantime, we’re not through here.”
“No, we’re not.” I returned to her bush until my tongue was tired—and until she came in my mouth.
Finally, she sat up. “Do you want to do it?” she asked.
“Good, so do I.” She stood, straddled my lap, and inched forward. “Do you want to put it in or do you want me?” she asked.
“You do it.”
She took my cock in both of her hands, lifted up a little, then closed her eyes and slowly impaled herself.
“Oh God….” I muttered.
She opened her eyes and smiled. “That was just what I was going to say. You feel so good.”
“So do you.”
Then she closed her eyes again and began to ride slowly up and down on my cock.
“I’m not going to be able to hold off much longer,” I muttered.
“That’s all right. I’m ready to come anytime you are.”
“You first,” I said.
She actually did it. I could feel her gush—if that’s the right word—around the base of my cock. I had never had an experience like that in my life before, and that was all that it took for me to shoot my seed about three feet up inside of her.
“Wow,” she said, “I could feel it. You’re pretty good for an…older man.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to be able to watch you walk around naked three times a week without wanting a repeat engagement,” I said.
She leaned over and kissed me tenderly on the lips. “Then how does this sound: How about a repeat engagement at the end of every day I work here?”
I kissed her back. “That sounds just fine.”
And that’s how it worked out for the rest of the semester: a repeat engagement three days a week.