Ever tried asking someone with a PHD how they felt about the whole process of getting the thing? Don’t bother, I’ll let you in on a little secret: they hated it. You know how I know? Because I hated it, every damn second of it. The endless research, the piss-poor ‘salary’ you’re given which barely gets you three square meals a day, and then finally that nightmarish defense you have to go through when you’re finally finished, where people much smarter than you try to poke holes in that thing you spent the last four years sweating on. If you asked me right now why I did it, I honestly wouldn’t be able to answer you. I didn’t have much of a clue what I wanted to do after college, so it was more me stalling for time than any real passion for my field. Eventually, I stalled my way into a doctorate.
Still, I got the damn thing, that’s what counts. It’s probably collecting dust in a box somewhere in my apartment. I started when I was 25, finished it at 30. Got myself a job as an assistant-professor two years later. Been doing that for the last four years now. The pay isn’t anything special, but it’s a living. And hey, the world is always going to need professors, right? Well, assistant-professors. But there’s one thing that makes me put up with this job, which somewhat makes up for all the paperwork and planning I have to do every night, and that’s ogling at all the juicy, young coeds in the college seats.
Now, I'm not much to look at. About 5.8, give or take an inch. There used to be a time when I worked out religiously, but as I grew up and started getting a proper 9 to 5 job I didn't have the time or energy anymore. These days, I'm neither fat nor lean. Just a regular old 36-year-old man. Never had people tell me I was attractive, but then I wasn't ever told I was ugly either. A dime in a dozen is what you could best describe me as. Never had a steady girlfriend or a wife. If you're wondering why, you can join my parents at that party. I'll give you the same answer I always give them: it just never happened. Now get off my back. There’s free tequila at the bar.
Sitting at my desk watching the class slowly fill up, I thought of how it wasn’t too long ago that I sat in one of those college benches, pen in hand and a notebook on my table. I was shy back then, as shy as you can find them. Kept my eyes to myself, only spoke when spoken to. Missed out on a lot of the college life, too; no parties, no clubbing, no nighttime action with girls. Mostly just stayed in my dorm room playing video games or watching TV. I lost my virginity when I was 23, but I barely saw any action after that. It’s something I’ve always regretted. Getting my degrees certainly helped in that regard. It made me realize that I wasn’t a failure, that I really did have something to offer. Still didn't get me laid though. They should really put that on the program, preferably in bold letters.
Now, there is one girl that always stood out from the rest when I was giving my weekly lectures. She sat in the third row from the front, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way around it. She wasn't fully American. Her olive skin, smooth like a baby’s behind, told me that she came from somewhere in the Middle-East. Her hair was long and dark, and she made a habit of pooling it over one of her shoulders, the sight of which would make me unreasonably excited. Her make-up gave her eyes a smoky look, almost inviting you to drown into the pools of her brown eyes. She had a smile that could melt a glacier, and whenever she pointed one at me, I tended to forget what I was saying at the time. Her clothing only made her more of a tease. She liked to wear tank tops of all kinds and colors; strapless, cut-outs, halters, you name it. And their size was just right enough to make one thing perfectly clear: this girl was stacked. Either she was using padding, or her breasts were mouthwateringly large. Easily the biggest I'd seen out of any of the other college girls, hell, out of any woman. They proudly jutted out from underneath the fabric of her tops, two ripe melons just begging to be squeezed. Oftentimes I'd catch one of the male students steal a glance at them, and it always made me feel oddly jealous. Ali never seemed to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care.
Her favorite type of pants were denim jeans; the tighter the better, it seemed. And god knows she had the curves to complement them. While he ass wasn't overly large, it was tight enough that its contours clearly showed through the fabric. I loved to watch her come, and I loved to see her go. Sad as it may sound, she was without a doubt one of the high points of my life.
The first time I saw her, I instantly looked up her name. Aliyah Hamari. Twenty-two years old. Her parents came from Iran, but she was born right here in the States. Occasionally I’d catch her talking to a friend, and it seems that she went by a shortened version of her name, Ali.
Her gorgeous looks aside, Ali wasn’t doing too well in my class. Her midterms had gone poorly, and the various assignments that I got from her made it painfully clear that, unless something changed radically, she would fail this course. And, as I was well aware, this was a mandatory course if you wanted to pass this year.
One day, as class was wrapping up, I walked up to her. She wore one of her customary tops, a stylish green one that tied together around her waist and left her back bare. She was putting her books in her bag and looked up when she heard me approach.
“Ali, could you stay a moment after class?”
Seeing the writing on the wall, she nodded. After the rest of the students had left the room, I invited her to sit on one of the extra chairs next to my desk. She placed her bag on the floor next to her and sat, her hands resting on her legs. Her fingers were perfectly manicured, I noticed. And the way she sat, her arms close to her side, made her chest stick out even more. Christ, was she doing this intentionally?
“So,” I started, trying my best to keep my eyes off of her giant knockers, “I think we both know why you are here.”
“Yes,” she said, keeping her eyes down. Her voice was low but clear.
“Something has to be done, Ali. This can’t go on like this. You will fail.” This sounded too much like I was reproaching her, I thought. I changed the tone of my voice. “And I don’t think either of us wants that to happen, right?”
She didn’t say anything but nodded. I could see her beautiful nut-brown eyes glisten, her long black lashes rapidly moving up and down. Oh crap, was she about to cry? I wasn’t equipped to deal with that! I’m just a teacher, not a psychologist.
“Uh, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out,” I said quickly, trying to reassure her. She angrily swiped her right arm across her eyes, as if she was mad at herself for this involuntary display of weakness. The harsh movements made her breasts sway alongside them; left, right, left, right…it was almost hypnotic. I wanted her, I realized. No, it was more than that…I needed her.
Something started cooking up in the lowest reaches of my mind, an idea that was as stupid as it was arousing. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, never had in all my four years of teaching. But then I never had a student quite like Ali before. I can only imagine that having this busty, exotic goddess so close must have fried some of the connections in my brain. There was no way I would have even considered this otherwise.
“Ali,” I said, “you’re a bright girl, and I don’t want to have to fail you. I know how hard your parents worked to get you this far, and it would be a shame if it all had to end here.”
Hearing those words, she started tearing up again. I felt bad, because I knew how much she cared about making her parents proud. But it had to be done if my plan was to work.
“Maybe your brother can help you? Didn’t he graduate just last year, full honors?”
“No!" she said, the power in her voice startling me. I must have hit a nerve.
“You two don’t get along?" I asked innocently, sensing an opening.
“All day, every day, its all about Hamid with my parents,” she said angrily, trying her best to dry her eyes with her hand. “Did you hear what Hamid did? “Ali, why can’t you be more like Hamid?” “Hamid would have had no trouble with this.” They just wont stop! I want…I just want them to…to…”
Suddenly she couldn’t control herself anymore. The tears freely came out, and her body shook with every heave of her chest. This was my moment, I knew. I stood up from my desk and moved to stand next to her. Lowering myself to my knees, I embraced her in a tight hug.
“It’s alright,” I murmured, as I let her tears soak into the cotton of my blouse. “There, there, don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”
Her ample tits were awkwardly pressing into my chest, and I could tell one thing for sure: she wasn’t wearing any padding. Or a bra. I felt my dick begin to stir. I had to move carefully now. If I rushed things, it could end up disastrous.
Confident that she was caught up in her crying, I slowly started caressing her hair, up and down, long strokes at a time. She had her arms tight around me, her face buried in my shoulder. Her perfume was intoxicating; it smelled of lavender, deep and penetrating. We stayed like that for a while, her on the chair and me on my knees, as she let it all out. A part of me felt bad that I'd made her cry, but another, hornier part thanked the lucky stars for my current situation. I was closer to a girl than I had been in years, and I was relishing every second of it.
I could have stayed like this for at least an hour more, my hand caressing her hair, her chest pressing into my own, drowning in that lovely scent. But I knew that the longer I waited, the higher the chance got that she'd pull herself together. Deciding this was the time, I steeled my nerves and slowly began lowering the hand that was on her hair towards her back. I started rubbing her naked back in small circular motions, slow and steady. It felt like rubbing a piece of silk, perfectly smooth and deliciously soft. At the same time my other hand brushed away the hair around her shoulders to reveal the right side of her neck.
I first let my breath touch her spotless skin to gauge her reaction. Nothing. Carefully, my mouth went towards her exposed neck, and I pressed a soft kiss on her exposed skin. Ali's body wasn't heaving anymore, but she hadn't raised her head from my shoulder either. I took this as a sign to go further. I kissed her again, and again, savoring every touch of my lips on her skin. Meanwhile, I lowered the hand that was on her back until it reached the upper parts of her ass. I let it roam around a bit, rubbing and squeezing the denim-covered contours of her bottom. Even underneath the fabric of her jeans I could feel how tight her ass was. I could only imagine that she worked out rigorously. It felt like heaven. My rock-hard dick was pressing against the insides of my pants, screaming to be let out.
Just as I wanted to intensify my kissing and take things to the next level, I felt a shock go through Ali. Suddenly, she jerked her head back, her eyes wide.
“What are you doing?!” she said, her voice high. One of her hands went to the wet spot on her neck, where moments before I had been kissing her.
I instantly let go of her ass. I was still on my knees, staring her straight in her eyes, her breasts rising before me like twin mountains. This close to her, I could clearly make out her nipples poking through the thin fabric.
“I, uh…I-,” I began, but she cut me off.
“I am not that kind of girl,” she stated, her voice dripping with disgust. The kind, smiling beauty had suddenly changed into a deadly viper, ready to strike at the slightest touch.
“N-no, you don’t underst-,“ I stammered. Dammit, what the hell had I done?
She abruptly got to her feet and swung her bag over her shoulder. As with every movement she made, her breasts swayed noticeably underneath her top.
“You don’t think I noticed you staring at my chest during every lecture? You’re as disgusting as all those other boys who can't keep their eyes to themselves. I should report you to the dean's office right now!”
Those words cut through my panic. I felt a sudden anger pooling up from within me.
“Oh please, with those tiny tops you like to prance around in, you’re basically asking to be ogled at.”
Instantly, I regretted my words. Where was this bravado inside of me coming from? I wasn’t even tenured. If the higher-ups found out what I'd done, they would fire me ten times over. But another part of me felt cathartic at finally calling out this hypocritical tease of a girl. Her little act might work with her pious parents, but not with me. She was a slut, and she knew it.
Ali’s eyes grew wider, the disbelief plain on her face. “You...you horrible…whatever, I’m going to the dean’s office right now. You're sick.” She turned to leave.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said calmly.
She turned around, a look of contempt on her face. “What?”
I raised my hands disarmingly. “Nothing. It's just that I thought you wanted to pass this class. Say a word to the dean, or anyone else for that matter, and you can bet your ass I’m going to fail you. Not that that would require much effort with how your grades are looking.”
“You…you wouldn’t,” she breathed.
“Not if you won’t.”
For one long moment, I thought she would slap me. Then she let out a frustrated shriek and power walked out of the room. As the door slammed shut behind her, I realized that I’d been holding my breath and let it out in a long sigh. I sat back in my chair, pushing away the stacks of paper on the desk to rest my head in my arms.
The smell of Ali's perfume still lingered around the area of the chair she'd been sitting on. A wet spot was visible on the left shoulder on my blouse where seconds before Ali's face had been. I groaned, though I wasn't sure if it was due to the situation I'd put myself in, or the sexual frustration of finally getting to touch the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen only to be rebuked seconds later. As I gathered all of the paperwork into my briefcase, I knew one thing for certain: I needed a drink.
The following few classes went rather event-less. I did my talks, the students took their notes, and we’d call it a day. Aside from one of the male students falling asleep and farting himself awake, much to the joy of the entire room, nothing much happened. Considering I hadn’t heard anything from the dean, I could only imagine that Ali hadn’t gone through with her threat. In class, she had moved three benches up, and I could see her staring at me with ill-concealed hatred. She had also started dressing more modestly, I noticed. She now took to wearing sweaters, which certainly did the job of covering up her skin. Her breasts were another case though: try as she might, their shape was still clearly visible underneath the cloth, and they still swayed noticeably whenever she stood up or sat down. And I knew Ali wasn't the type to wear over-sized clothes to hide her bust. It seemed there was no escaping her inner slut.
I didn’t mind Ali’s change in attitude. If anything, it made her even sexier. Seeing that this hauntingly beautiful creature had emotions like anyone else only made her more attractive. She was guarding herself against me, trying to hide herself from my lustful gaze. I felt like Adam seeing the forbidden fruit hanging from the tree in Paradise: knowing it was taboo only made it more desirable. I glanced at her as she was talking to a friend. Did she know that the man she so hated was jerking off to her image every night? That he wanted to rip off her sweater and stick his raging hard dick between her giant tits while she moaned beneath him, her smoky eyes staring up at him? That he wanted to feel every inch of her tight ass, and pull of her jeans to ravage her pussy like a rabid dog? That he wanted to violate her in every way and cover her pristine olive skin in his cum? When Ali caught me staring, her eyes darkened for a moment before ignoring me and continuing her conversation.
Unfortunately, or should I say fortunately, her grades refused to improve. We were reaching the end of the last semester, and it was quickly becoming obvious that her only shot would be acing the finals. I’d probably have a better shot at winning the lottery. So, I wasn’t entirely surprised when one evening, as I was going through my e-mails, I saw one with her name on it. It had only a single sentence in it, and I felt my pulse quicken.
“We need to talk.”
