My name is Sabrina, and I guess you could say I was a bit of a late bloomer.

High school kinda sucked. I mostly kept to myself, hung out with the same two friends every day, and tried not to get noticed. Boys didn’t talk to me. I don’t even think they knew I existed. Total wallflower syndrome.

Part of me always wanted to stand out and be one of the pretty girls who got all the attention, but in a small town, with a conservative family… that just wasn’t happening.

When college came around though? I saw my chance. And yeah, I ran with it. Hard. I let my hair grow out, tanned for the first time, and watched enough YouTube makeup tutorials to make me dangerous. I torched all my old clothes. No more baggy jeans or hoodies.

The new me was fun. Like, really fun.

Now all my skirts are basically belts, and my tops are either tight enough to turn my tits into eye magnets or so loose it's cleavage city. Either way, these C-cups are leaving an impression. Dressing like what my dad would call a slut became my favorite game. And I don’t just play it with the students.

In my sophomore year, half the guys on campus lied about fucking me. At first I was pissed. Then I realized they gave me a gift: a reputation I could weaponize. So I did.

The rumors did half the work for me. I mean, sure, when I grab an ice cream from the freezer in the caf, I always take one from the bottom. That way I have to bend over and give the whole room a good look at my ass while my skirt rides up. And I make sure to stay there long enough for the chill to perk my nipples, that way when I turn around there’s a new reason to stare.

I don’t just eat it either. I make a performance out of it. The kind where phones come out and people gawk. I’ll pick a guy at random, lock eyes, and take a couple long licks, then a few quick flicks at the tip, so he can imagine exactly how my tongue would ruin him. Throw in a smile, maybe a wink, and that kid’s running for some privacy to rub one out.

It’s all about making them stare and driving them crazy. If you’ve seen me and you’re not still thinking about me hours later, I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

Take Markie, for example. That’s what I call him. Everyone else calls him Mark. Sweet guy. Chronic masturbator. Every time he walks into class, he looks for me. I don’t think he realizes how obvious he is about it. He scans the room, spots me, then darts his eyes away like he’s afraid of getting caught. Too late, Markie. He always sits close. Not too close, not right next to me, but like, close enough so he can smell my perfume, ya know?

He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets much action, so I like to give him something to look forward to. A little bedtime treat. If he’s sitting beside me, maybe an extra button on my top comes undone. Behind me? I’ll drop a pen or bend for my bag so he gets an eyeful of lace hugging the curve of my ass. That gets his cock thinking and something to stroke himself silly to before bed. A little act of kindness from yours truly, even if it means he ruins a sock every night.

That brings me to the guys I really like to fuck with. The ones I’m not so generous to. The jocks. The rich boys. The frat presidents. You know who I mean, basically, all the entitled pricks on campus. The guys who think getting laid is a right they were born with.

Russel was the poster boy for all of that. Starting point guard, ranked sixteenth in the country, guaranteed first-rounder. Fully convinced every girl on campus was just waiting for their turn to be picked by him. He treats freshman classes like a tasting menu. But I’m the one cooking, and all I’m serving up is blue balls.

I got my chance when I caught him alone in the library one afternoon.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Nah, go ah—” he started, then looked up. “Head. Sorry. Go ahead.”

I swear I heard his cock twitch. In his mind, I was already in his bed. In mine, he was already in for crushing disappointment.

I knew he was expecting me to fawn all over him, so I didn’t. I opened a book and acted like I had no clue who he was. I could see him waiting for me to say something, but I kept my eyes on the page. He kept his on my tits.

“You’re that Sabrina girl, aren’t you?”

“The one and only.”

“I’ve heard good things about you. Real good things.”

“Don’t believe the rumors,” I said meeting his eyes for the first time. “Only some of them are true.”

“I’d love to know which ones,” he replied, trying to sound all smooth.

“I bet you would. Care to guess?”

That sounded like the start of a flirt, but as I smiled, I let my bag slip to the floor, spilling a few things onto the carpet. I looked down at the mess but didn’t move. I just started counting in my head. One Mississippi, two Mississippi… Russel was down on his knees, crawling around, gathering up my things before I could get to three. Not bad.

While he was under the table, I parted my legs. Only a little at first. A preview to get his attention. When I heard him stop shuffling around, I knew I had it. My hand slid to my thigh, adjusting my skirt like I’d forgotten he was there. That’s when my knees drifted wider, enough for him to see the thin strip of white silk barely covering my pussy. The hard sound of him gulping was almost cute. God bless whoever invented the thong.

By the time he came up, my cardigan was off and my nipples were pressing through my t-shirt. Somehow, my lips had found a fresh coat of bright red lipstick. You’ll be surprised by what you can do in short time when a good tease is on the line.

“You wanna get out of here?” I asked in a voice dripping with seduction.

“Uh, yeah, but, umm… give me a minute?” he said, turning redder by the second.

Here’s the thing about basketball shorts. Maybe they’re great bait for all the hoop honeys trying to bag a college star before he goes pro, but in a library? They’re the worst possible thing to be wearing when you’ve got a hard-on and the hottest girl on campus acting like she wants to fuck you.

“I’m not going to ask twice,” I said, pretending to lose patience. “It’s now or never. You man enough to take the shot?”

“I—I want to, I just, um… in two minutes, yeah? Five, tops.”

That pleading look on his face, when he knows he’s at my mercy? That’s exactly why I do this.

“You had your chance,” I said, trying to sound mad while fighting the urge to laugh.

I snatched my bag like I was offended and walked out, swaying my hips so my skirt popped side to side, flashing enough cheek to add to his suffering.

“No, wait!” he blurted, way too loud.

Mrs. Kettlesworth, the librarian, turned on him with eyes like the devil herself, and all poor Russel could do was sit there, cursing his dick for getting ahead of itself.

Markie wasn’t the only one who ruined a sock that night.

Having fun with students is how you build a reputation, but the real game’s with the professors. That’s the one I keep score cards for. You know, tease a prof? Five points. Lure him in? Twenty. If you end up with his dick inside you? Fifty. And I don’t put my thumb on the scale. He’s risking his career no matter what, so ass, mouth, or vag, it’s all fifty.

Year to date, I’m sitting at 285. No repeat targets. I’ll let you guess how I got there.

If you want to play along at home, there’s a method to it. Don’t waste time on the old ones. Maybe they have some sins in their past, but they’re staring at retirement and nothing’s going to make them risk that. They’ve spent close to the last decade saying no. Resisting temptation is muscle memory for them. They don’t even consider it.

The younger ones are fun. You can pick up some small points on them because they usually like to play along. Like my Stats prof, Patterson. The guy stares at my tits every time I talk to him. He doesn’t even try to hide it. I’ve even given him the old “my eyes are up here” line, and he just laughed. He knows what I’m doing, and he’s too self-aware to take the bait. He’ll go home, fuck his wife, and think about me the whole time. That’s an easy 5 points.

Who you really want to look at are the middle-aged guys. The married ones are a tough mark, but not impossible. Trust me on that. The single ones are easier. But the golden ticket to fifty points is always going to be the recently divorced.

What they all have in common is that they’ve probably turned down their fair share of ass, but they’re a bit older now and starting to feel that creeping doubt. They’re not getting the same attention they used to, so there’s a little part of their brain that thinks every flirtation might be their last chance.

Grappling with that can twist a man’s mind. If they’ve done it before, they want a last hurrah. If they haven’t, they’ve got to decide if that’s an experience they can live without. Most can’t. And that’s what makes them my favorite targets. Besides, who doesn’t love a dad bod?

I’d been working on my Economics professor Dr. Calloway for weeks. Forty-five, never married, and judging by his Facebook, his idea of a wild Friday night is playing online chess. Nice guy, but really stiff, and not in the good way.  Dry as a martini, and no sign that he even thinks about sex at all. He’s the kind of man who irons his socks and calls his pants slacks. These ones can be hard to crack, but once you do, look out, you’re in for a ride.

For the first couple of months of class, I couldn’t even get him to look at me. I’d put my hand up to answer a question, and he’d call on anyone but me. That wasn’t a roadblock, it was a tell. He saw me as a temptation and was doing everything he could to avoid it. That gave me something to work with.

I knew I was already in his head. Now I just had to push some buttons. I gave him a little of everything. Tight pants so he could stare at my ass, short skirts so he’d dream about my thighs, loose tops to show off some cleavage. And every time I crossed my legs, he got a flash of panties. The Doctor put up a good fight, but I was wearing him down. Those fifty points were as good as mine.

Let me take you to the day it all went down.

I showed up a few minutes late for class, so he had no choice but to notice when I walked in. And I was dressed to kill. White blouse a size too small so my tits popped, a little plaid skirt, some knee-high socks… the kind of schoolgirl you only see on Pornhub.

I took a seat right in the front, where he couldn’t ignore me. He looked up, swallowed hard, and pretended to check his notes, hoping that looking away was going to save him. Not today.

Once he started talking, I pulled out a pen and slipped it between my lips, letting it sit there for a bit before sliding it in and out. My eyes stayed on him the whole time. I gave it a slow lick, and him a small smile. Then I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and fanned myself with a notebook like the room had suddenly gotten too hot. I toyed with him like that for the first hour, just to see how long he could focus on market indicators while I gave him far more delicious things to think about.

Heading into the break, I wanted to turn things up a notch. So I reached into my bag for a bottle of water, letting my blouse fall open. No bra, just tits. I even gave the girls a little jiggle to set his brain on fire.

He was mid-sentence, putting half the class to sleep talking about interest rates when his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and took a long sip of coffee. Looking down, he adjusted his pants. When a man’s standing in front of a class trying to make sure his dick isn’t bulging out, he’s one step closer to breaking. And I just got myself five points. 290.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat a second time. “Let’s take fifteen. We’ll review chapter twenty-one when we come back.”

That was more for him than us. He needed a timeout. A few minutes away from me to cool off and convince himself he was still in control. Some other time, it might have worked. But he had no idea what was coming next.

Part of doing this the right way is understanding when to give and when to take away. A real tease never gives them what they expect. So when we came back after the break, I shut the antics down. No smiles. No twirling my hair when he looked at me. I let him get comfortable again. Let him think the show was over.

That little bit of reverse psychology is the hook. Instead of being relieved, I had him wondering why things changed. Dr. Calloway wasn’t trying to avoid me anymore. His eyes kept coming back. He wanted more. And every time he glanced over, I could see the disappointment when all he saw was an innocent version of me, sitting there, prim and proper, paying attention like a good girl. I made him miss the cock tease. He wanted her back, and it rattled him.

I kept the goody-two-shoes act going for a half hour, then went for the kill.

Just when he was losing hope, I let him lock eyes with me and slowly let my knees drift apart. His eyes dropped to my legs. I lifted my skirt just enough for him to think he was about to catch a panty peek. Then I pulled a foot up onto my chair, pretending to fix a shoe that didn’t need fixing. That gave him a full view up my skirt. It was a no-panty day. The second he caught an eyeful of coed pussy, the vein on the side of his head popped out. I had him. He took the bait. That was a twenty-point moment. 310.

“Class,” he said, “we’ll stop here for today. Read the next chapter, and have those assignments ready for next week.”

Calloway never let us out early, so everyone packed up fast and rushed for the exit. Everyone but me. I had every reason to stay.

He followed them to the door, not even trying to hide how eager he was to see them go. He practically shoved the last few out. That’s when I heard the satisfying sound of the lock snapping shut.

“Sabrina,” he said, sounding like a concerned parent, “your behavior today was unacceptable.”

It was his last grasp at resisting, but I couldn’t take him seriously when all I could see was the boner in his pants.

“What are you going to do, spank me?” It sounded like a question, but I was daring him to do what I knew he was already thinking.

He paused, maybe trying to talk himself out of it. Or into it. The outcome was going to be the same either way. He’d already decided. He just hadn’t given himself permission yet.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Men are so easy.

“I suppose I deserve it,” I said, smiling as I walked to the front of the room. “I was a naughty girl, wasn’t I?”

I bent over his desk and held on to the far edge, letting my hips sway to keep the tease going. Dr. Calloway flipped my skirt and let it land across my back.

“Jesus.” He said it like a prayer, and my ass was the altar. That’s the kind of compliment a girl never gets tired of.

His first swat caught me off guard and made me jump. It stung, but I smiled. Game on. The second one came harder, like he was trying to prove something. That’s how a good time starts. I bit my lip to keep from laughing, or maybe moaning, I wasn’t sure which. The third sent a jolt straight to my pussy.

"My God,” he breathed out, running his hand over my ass like he had to make sure it was real.

“Careful, Professor,” I said, smiling into the desk. “You sound like a man discovering religion. Or at least a new place to worship.”

That wasn’t the first time I’d been in that position. Shocker. I’d been bent over a professor’s desk before, and it always went one of two ways. Some get cold feet, panic, and run. Others realize they’ve already crossed the line and just say fuck it and go all in.

Calloway was one of those.

I heard the sound of his belt being pulled loose, followed by the soft thud of his pants hitting the floor.

“Professor,” I said, looking back at him with a grin that promised trouble. “Are you going to fuck me?”

“I’m going to show you what happens to teases.” His eyes had the wild, focused look of a man who’d stopped thinking. In his business, that’s a good sign.

“Mmm,” I moaned. “Finally, someone man enough to put me in my place.” Total lie. No one ever has. No one ever will. But I let them believe it. Men love hearing it, and they always fuck harder when they do.

He had one last moment of hesitation as he tucked his hand into his boxer shorts.

“You look like you’re about to make a terrible decision,” I said. “Lucky for you, I’m worth it.”

And down they went.

I turned my head forward and rested it on the desk, waiting for weeks of work to finally pay off.

He grabbed my hip and ran the head of his cock up and down the length of my slit before easing himself in.

Sometimes you can look at a guy and know what he’s packing, and Calloway had “average” written all over him. I’d have bet on it. But when he started to push in, it felt like there was no end to his cock. The girth alone had me seeing stars.

“Fuck, are you serious?” I gasped. This was going to be better than I thought.

“Not what you were expecting?” He sounded proud. Which was totally fair.

“No one expects a man in a tweed jacket to have a monster dick.”

His free hand went to my blouse and yanked it open, sending buttons flying across the room. He went straight for my nipple and pinched hard. Who knew repressed economics professors had that in them?

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first day I saw you,” he grunted, slamming forward, trying to shove his cock in deeper, but he’d already bottomed me out.

“Your cock is fucking huge.” Normally I just say that to stroke a guy’s ego, or to make him finish faster when I realize he has no idea what he’s doing. But this time? I actually meant it.

I reached back, not sure if it was to brace myself or slow him down, but he wasn’t having it. Calloway was pounding out every dirty thought he’d ever had about me, and I wasn’t about to stop him.

“How are you this tight?” he panted. “I thought you were a slut.”

“Men,” I said, pushing back into him, “shouldn’t believe the stories boys tell.”

He was starting to lose it. I could feel it. His breathing got heavier and his rhythm got choppy, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cum or prove he could hold out. For a second I thought he might stop, but I could feel it building in me too, and no way was I letting him pull me back from the edge. I’m the tease, not him. I was going to get mine.

“Fuck my pussy, Professor… don’t stop.” That one little sentence, in my most innocent voice, made his mind up for him.

He grabbed the back of my neck and held me down against the desk. It was the angle he needed to fuck me like he’d finally given up on the idea of who he thought he was. God, I love when they crack. My fingers found my clit, and the countdown to cumming was on.

“You fill me so fucking good…” I tried to say something clever after that, but it came out as a long, messy moan instead. He was grunting louder now, with both hands firm on my waist, hammering into me like he was punishing me for every tease that led us here. My legs went to jelly, my knees gave out, and I came so hard my eyes rolled back. I swear I thought that only happened in cartoons.

“I’m going to cum!” he shouted, way too loud for a man whose whole livelihood depended on no one being within earshot of the door.

I gave him one last gift. I pulled away, and for a second he panicked, until he saw me drop to my knees in front of him. I took his cock in my mouth, as much as I could, one hand stroking, the other pulling him closer, daring him to fuck my mouth.

His first shot hit the back of my throat, then I pulled away, letting him paint my face with everything that came after. Because that’s what good girls do, right?

“Oh my fucking God,” he groaned, still cumming, still trying to believe it was all happening.

I smiled to myself. There’s nothing hotter than watching a man realize he’s given me everything he’s got, and hating himself for not having more to give.

For a few seconds, the room was quiet as we tried to recover. This was always the awkward part. For me, I was good. But looking at Calloway, I wasn’t sure. He just stood there, staring at the whiteboard. I couldn’t tell if he was experiencing post-nut clarity, where he suddenly understood the meaning of life, or if panic was about to set in.

He put his hand on top of my head, brushed the side of my face and gave me a smile. It felt honest. Maybe even tender. I wasn’t expecting either. Something real was creeping in, and that’s not a road I wanted to go down. So I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Do me a favor. Don’t tell your friends about this. I’ve got a reputation for shooting down guys who wear argyle sweaters.”

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch. He just stared at me like he had me figured out. No one had ever done that before.

“Relax, Professor. I’m not here to tank your career.”

“I know,” he said.

It wasn’t the words. It was how sure he was about it. He saw right through me. Wait, did I get him, or did he just get me?

I had to take another shot at breaking the tension. “So… does this count as extra credit?”

That made him laugh. He caught himself though and straightened his shirt like laughter was against faculty policy, but standing there with your pants around your ankles and your dick in a student’s face wasn’t.

I stood and smoothed my skirt, pretending I wasn’t a total mess. “You should probably give me an A,” I said. “You know, for effort.”

He glanced at me and winced. “I think I’ll give you some Kleenex first. You’ve got, uh… some…”

“Cum on my face?” I offered.

He nodded, mortified.

I tried to pull my blouse closed, looking for the buttons that had popped off, but the whole thing was a lost cause.

“Don’t worry.” He began rummaging in a drawer. “I’ve got a t-shirt you can wear.”

Calloway dug out a red t-shirt that read Keep Calm and Assume Rationality. I stared at the economics dad joke of a shirt and let out a sigh.

“It was supposed to be a prize,” he mumbled. “For whoever got the highest mark on the Consumer Theory quiz.”

I held it up and shrugged. “I guess it beats walking the halls with my tits hanging out.”

We spent the next few minutes getting dressed, trying to look like we hadn’t just fucked. It was harder than you’d think. Reality hit us in two completely different ways. I was beaming. Fifty points on the board and another prof added to my list. Calloway? He had a different expression. Way more serious, like a mob boss who didn’t want any loose ends.

“Sabrina.” His voice had that forced-serious tone, trying to reclaim authority. “This can’t happen again.”

“Of course not,” I said, looking down at how badly the t-shirt clashed with my skirt. Maybe tits-out wasn’t the worst option.

“I mean it.” He doubled down, not realizing I could blow up three other departments if I wanted to cause trouble. I don’t. That’s not the game I play.

“You’re my favorite professor,” I told him. “Well, now at least. I’d never do anything inappropriate.”

I stuck my tongue out and made a face so he knew exactly how serious I wasn’t.

He groaned quietly, and I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Pro tip: Long goodbyes just complicate things. You've got your points, now just cut and run.

Taking my own advice, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, leaving whatever happened between us behind.

“Dr. Calloway?” I turned to face him. He was already looking at me. Probably staring at my ass as I walked away.

“You’re not supposed to be this uptight after getting laid,” I said. “Kinda defeats the whole point of fucking, don’t you think?”

“I’ll see you next week, Sabrina.” He said it like a man resigning to something he wasn’t ready for.

I smiled. “You will.”

That’s what a win looks like. Another notch, another story, another secret locked behind a classroom door.

As I walked down the hallway, replaying every moment in my head, I opened my phone and added Dr. Calloway to my tally. 360.

Then I deleted it.

It had nothing to do with that look he gave me, if that’s what you’re thinking. It didn’t. Some victories don’t need trophies. They’re better left as memories.

That’s all. Honest.

My game. My rules. Deal with it.