Once I got stopped for speeding and showed my boobs to a cop to get out of a ticket. He didn’t ask. I just unbuttoned my shirt as he was looking at my license. He seemed torn between arresting me and letting me strip, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept on going and unclipped my bra and took it off my breasts. He glanced around to see if anyone could see, and then he helped himself to a feel. He felt both breasts. It made me wet. It wasn’t his touch—he was rough, but the whole situation that turned me on. It was risky, but after I got out of the speeding ticket I went home and masturbated thinking about him violating me.
He ordered me out of the car… made me assume the position while he frisked me… lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties to make sure I wasn't concealing anything… fucked me with a metal rod he took off his belt then fucked me with his cock, right there, in broad daylight, bent over the hood of my car.
That's not what happened, but that's what I fantasized about while I worked myself over with my vibrator. I wonder what would have happened if he did do that and what would have happened if someone drove by while he was doing it. What if he had his way with me then stuck my head in my car window and cuffed me to the steering wheel, leaving me for passing motorists to enjoy, however they wished, and then came back at nightfall to release me with a slap on the wrist for the speeding. Or should that be a slap on the ass? If I were him I’d give me a major spanking.
I really did show my breasts to a cop, and he really did feel me up and let me get out of a speeding ticket, but this week I did something much worse. It’s something that goes on all the time, at my college, in a big university. I know other girls who did it, but I swore I never would.
It’s the end of summer school after my sophomore year, which is the hardest year, because the college busts the most people out, so it can weed out the duds before they let you start concentrating on your major.
I’m a good student, but my mind just isn’t capable of complicated math. It’s not that I don’t try, but I just can’t do it, and I was going to get another F on my second try at elementary calculus. I wouldn’t have been able to continue on, and my career, my whole life, would have been ruined. My father would have killed me.
You know what I’m talking about, but what other choice did I have? I was going to offer sex to my professor for a passing grade. It’s not like I was going to give anything away that I couldn’t keep—I mean my pussy wasn’t going to wear out or anything. I was just going to share what I had for what I needed.
The problem was, I don’t like the asshole. He’s an arrogant middle-aged horndog who’s always eyeing the girls and making suggestive remarks that make us uncomfortable. I also don’t like the way he smells, and I was deathly afraid he wouldn’t agree to use a condom. I was also afraid of what he would do to me if I went someplace alone with him and put myself in his hands. Despite my misgivings, I made an appointment to meet him after my final.
I wasn’t going to be subtle, so I dressed in a see-through nightgown. That was all I wore, except for sandals and a thigh-high jacket, so I could walk across campus without being raped. Before I left my dorm room I pulled my nightgown up, twisted the cloth into a roll, and tucked it into itself at the waist. That way the nightgown wouldn’t fall below the hem of my jacket, and no one would know that I was essentially naked, underneath.
My professor was aware that I was a failing student, and he leaned back with his feet on his desk and his hands clasped behind his neck, like he was king of the world and I was some kind of slug. He kept his guest chair across the room, so students can’t sit, and I was forced to stand in front of him while he looked me over, especially at my bare legs, wondering what I had on under my jacket. I’ve got to do this
, I thought for the thousandth time, and I said the magic words. “What do I have to do to get a passing grade?”
He knew what I was talking about, but he wasn’t going to say it first. “What are you willing to do?” he asked.
I kept my legs tightly closed, and I opened my jacket and lowered my nightgown before he had a chance to catch more than a glimpse of the strip of hair I kept above my slit. I took off my jacket and dropped it on the floor. My breasts were teasingly visible, and my nipples tingled, advertising my arousal. I hung my head in embarrassment and shame.
He licked his lips. “Put your jacket on, and we’ll go over to my house,” he said.
“Please,” I begged. Then, in a small voice I said, “I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I shrugged apologetically. “But I really, really need to pass,” I implored.
He kept insisting, and I started crying. I hated myself.
Finally, he got up and came toward me. I shrank from him, but he walked past me and locked the door. “Take it off, and bend over the desk,” he said.
I kneeled and got a condom out of my jacket and held it up, pleadingly.
He sighed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he said disgustedly. He took off his trousers and shorts, cleared his desk, lay on it, and he fished my breasts out of my nightgown, so he could see and maul them. He lay down with his legs spread. “Suck me off!” he ordered. “And you’d better do a good job or you’ll be getting the F you deserve. And that’s for sure! And don’t take my cock out until I come in your mouth and let you go,” he added.
I bent over him and took his penis in my hand. It got firm, and then it got hard. I licked it. It didn’t taste that bad, so I put it in my mouth, surrounded it with my cheeks and tongue, and began sucking him.
He let me play with him until he couldn’t take it any more, and then he held my head and fucked my mouth, making me gag. It don’t think it took that long, though it seemed like forever, and he tightened up and gushed cum into my mouth. Some of it escaped out the corners of my lips and dribbled down my chin. His spurts died down, but he kept fucking my mouth until he got soft. Then he let me go.
I spit his come into my hand and shook what I could into his waste basket. I wiped the rest on my nightgown.
He laughed. Then he said, “A minus for the blow job, C for the course.”
With self-loathing I whimpered, “It’s more than I deserve.”
He kept his word and gave me a C. Now, every time I see him he touches his crotch. He tells me he’s sorry he let me off without a good fucking.
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