I balance the pile of student essays in the crook of my arm as I open my office door. I manage to make it to the desk without dropping them and dump them on top of another pile I collected yesterday that I haven’t managed to start correcting either. I slump into my chair, feeling drained already.

My husband, John, had had another restless night with the alarm going off on the ventilator half the night, and I wasn’t feeling the most spritely this morning. I run my fingers through my tousled brown hair as I fire the computer up and sigh a silent fuck at the amount of unread emails cascading onto the screen. I need a holiday, I think to myself and am immediately consumed with guilt. My husband was the light of my life. We’d been together for fourteen years, and while we had wanted kids, it hadn’t worked out. We made plans for romantic trips away, using my research work from the university as an excuse to visit the world. And then he fell off a roof while helping his cousin fix a few loose slates. A stupid, simple, easily avoided accident that left him paraplegic.

His brain wasn’t affected, and he was still the same witty, clever man I fell in love with but now he lay in bed, wired up to a ventilator to help with his breathing and a nurse who helped dress, bathe and feed him. For a time, he was withdrawn emotionally, feeling frustrated, both with himself and the lack of intimacy we now had. Every time I tried to touch him, he would withdraw inside himself and I could sense how he didn’t enjoy me being near him. That was the hardest thing. I adored being touched by him, sharing his physical intimacy and for it to be gone was the cruellest blow.

I began masturbating more than ever. It wasn’t the same but I needed something. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to say something. I thought about going out and getting fucked. Just letting another man take me the way he used to but it felt wrong. After all, it wasn’t his fault.

Finally, we talked about it. He told me he couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching me. The idea of being a cuckold repulsed him. He wouldn’t be able to cope if I came home filled with another man’s sperm.

“What about another woman?”

He smiled. No, in fact, he grinned. “I would pay to see that.”

I’d laughingly enquired if he wanted me to seduce one of my students while he watched and was shocked when he gave a sly grin and nodded. I just playfully pretended to spank him on his unfeeling ass and told him that he was a dirty old man.

As a professor in the university’s Creative Arts faculty and Programme Chair for the Illustration programme, there were plenty of women around me who were not in the least bit shy about proclaiming their lesbianism or bisexuality. I’m not sure if it was the creative arts that attracted these students or if they felt safer than they might have in a science or business school but manys the time, I’ve found myself shaking my head at the openness of today’s youth.

I've taken to chatting to John on video call whilst working in my office. It breaks up the monotony for him so I call him whilst clicking delete delete delete on the unwanted mail from the university that the spam folder unfortunately isn’t able to catch.

He smiles now as I recount my morning, filling him in on the latest gossip from the coffee dock and who was wearing what and who was my latest eye candy. I keep protesting and trying to tell him I'm not trying to seduce them but he loves to hear what they all look like and he has told me on more than one occasion that I have to engineer a way for me to turn the laptop around so the camera would point at them in person. I told him that they would be freaked to see his gormless face leering at them but he told me that I’d think of something.

I’m interrupted from my retelling of the trials and tribulations of Mrs. Murphy’s agoraphobic cat by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” I call, not looking at the door but giving a sly grin to John and opening up a spreadsheet to hide the open video call window.

When I finally look up, I’m surprised to see Caitlyn, a quiet, reserved girl who had been struggling with her projects.

“Hello, Caitlyn.” I indicate the chair in front of my desk. “Please, take a seat.”

I allow myself the luxury of checking her out as she sits down. She’s dressed in a crisp white collared shirt and black pleated skirt. The over the knee white socks make her look like she’s auditioning for a part as a school girl in a manga cartoon. As usual, her long blonde hair is tied up in two pigtails with pink ribbons.

She is nervous and shuffles around in the seat. I decide to put her out of whatever self-inflicted misery is eating her up

“How can I help you, Caitlyn?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you without an appointment, Mrs S. I wanted to talk to you about my grades?”

I watch her twirling her hair nervously with her finger as she sits, knees pressed together.

I open the gradesheet and search for her grades while watching her out of the corner of my eye.

“Ohh dear,” I murmur. “I see.” I look up at her. “It’s not looking too good, is it?”

I leave the gradesheet on screen, covering John’s video call window and spin the laptop around so the screen and the camera face Caitlyn.

She sets her book bag next to the chair, and stares at the front of my desk, not meeting my eyes. “There's been a bit of a fall off… some family issues…” she swallows. They’re settled now, but…” she fades off.

“It’s hard, when family issues get in the way,” I smile reassuringly. “But it’s good they are sorted, yes?”

I stand up and come around the front and sit on the edge of the desk, gazing down at her. I brush my hands down the front of my maroon skirt then pick a piece of fluff from the sleeve of my teal-coloured blouse.

“I was hoping there was a way of making up my grades a bit?” Her chin lifts as she looks up at me nervously and pleads silently with her eyes.

“I've never had bad grades before,” she whispers. “I've always passed everything.”

“What did you have in mind?”

I’m trying to play it cool, but my heart is racing. John is watching me as this beautiful young woman is sitting in front of me hoping I will let her cheat her way to passing the year. It feels so wrong and yet, there is a tingle in my pussy at the thought of her.

“Maybe some extra time to get the work completed, I guess?”

I can’t help smiling. “Oh, Caitlyn, if only life was so simple.” I gaze down, my pussy leaking into my panties as I look into her big innocent eyes.

“I’d do anything… really, anything so that you would let me pass the year.”

“So you just want me to wave a magic wand and everything will be all ok?”

I lean forward and trail my finger down her cheek. “But life’s not like that, is it?”

She flinches a little at my touch, looking a little shocked by the intimacy, but she perseveres.

“Now that things are sorted, I won't let it happen again. It's just late in the semester and I'm not sure I can get my projects together with so little time.” She gives a small, hopeful smile. “I am a little desperate. Please?”

“Only a little desperate?” I giggle.

“Please, Miss. My step-dad will cut off my funding if I don't pass the year.”

“Step-parents can be such assholes.” I stand up and walk over and lock the door before returning to face her, sitting back on the edge of my desk.

She watches me nervously, looking concerned at the sound of the lock being turned

“So, Caitlyn. To sum up, you are a little desperate and are willing to do… anything, is it?” I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll do anything to pass the year. Have I got that right?”

She fidgets nervously in her seat as I perch on the edge of my desk before finally nodding.

“That's about right, I guess? Please, Miss. I need to pass the year and I’m hoping you might be able to help.”

She sits back in the chair, almost relieved that she has finished her pitch.

“Show me your tits.”

Her eyes go wide with shock and she seems frozen in place, staring at me with disbelief.

“W-w-what?”

“You said anything. I want to see if you mean it. Unbutton that pretty little blouse and show me those bee stings you are passing off as tits.”

She stutters a little as she exclaims, “I didn't mean that! I meant I'd wash your car or do your dry cleaning or even clean your house.”

“I have a cleaner already, thank you, but fine. You can leave and take your chances with the exam board and your stepdad.”

She raises her hands as if to cover her tits, she stares, still in shock. I just smirk, waiting to see if she caves in. I know no one will believe her, even if she goes to complain. A girl who has failed all five modules making up a story that I’d pass her if she showed me her tits. No one would believe that.

“I... Just that? I just show you my.... breasts and you'll... you’ll adjust my grades?”

“I’ll adjust one grade.” I smirk. “How many grades is it. Five?”

She nods slowly. “Five,” she whispers.

She turns her head to look back at the door nervously, and then at me. Her eyes pleading.

“You won't... you won’t tell anyone?”

“It's ok, it’s locked.” I smile reassuringly. “This is our secret. No one will ever know.”

I decide not to mention my husband watching everything on video call but she doesn’t need to know about that just now.

She sits silently for a moment, and then takes a deep breath. With her eyes downcast, she starts unbuttoning her blouse, her fingers shaking.

“Good girl,” I whisper, biting my lip in excitement and anticipation.

She is blushing as she undoes the buttons, pausing between each one as if forcing herself to continue.Slowly her midriff and a pretty pale blue lace bra are revealed.

When she finally unfastens the last button, she sits there, her hands resting on her thighs. I can feel the tension in the air. Her lashes are damp with unshed tears as she fidgets in the chair, aware that I am staring at her.

“You need to show me your tits, not your bra.” I sigh.

Taking a deep breath, she nods her understanding and with her eyes still downcast, slips first one arm then the other out of her blouse. She slips the bra strap from her right shoulder and lets it hang down. She slowly tugs down one cup to reveal her small breast.

The nipple stiffens a little as the cool air hits it and I can’t help myself. A soft moan of pleasure escapes my mouth as she reveals the perfect marshmallow pink nipple. I watch it harden while my pussy leaks into my knickers.

She glances up at me, shocked by my moan. Her mouth falls open a little in surprise. I nod at her other breast and with a resigned nod, she slips down the other strap and reveals her other breast as well.

I lick my lips as she watches me. Her tits are perfect. Small, pert and the perfect handful.

She starts to tug her bra back up again, attempting to cover herself but I put my hand out to stop her. “Leave it down,” I order.

I stand and move behind her. “Why did you show me your tits, Caitlyn?” I whisper as my fingers stroke her long blonde hair.

Swallowing, her cheeks reddening, she stares straight ahead, straight at the camera and John watching her as I move behind her. She shivers when I begin to play with her hair.

“Because,” she whispers, her voice breaking a little. “Because I need you to let me pass the year?”

My hands slide lower, moving over her breasts, feeling their firmness and the hard nipples poking upwards. I sigh with enjoyment as I massage her beautiful little tits. My fingers and thumbs squeeze and tug her nipples.

Her mouth opens as if to protest, but her words of protest turn into a soft gasp as I play with her sensitive nipples.

“Mmm, it feels good, doesn't it, Caitlyn? It feels good to have your grades raised so easily, doesn't it?”

She presses her knees together as if fighting the need to push my hands away.

“I... I guess so, Miss,” she whimpers. “Please,” she begs. I can feel her trembling with each touch. I smirk and squeeze and maul her little tits as I watch her fight the need to get up and run.

“If I stop, you won’t pass the other four modules. Is that what you want? Should I stop?”

“Yes. No. I don't know!” She stumbles over the words, confused.

Her body feels so good. I adore the feeling of her young, teenage flesh.

“You came in here looking for an out, Caitlyn. I’m giving you that out. To pass and not upset your stepdad. You just have to be a good girl.”

I pause, watching her struggle.

“Are you a good girl?”

“You said just show you.” Her face is angry. Indignant. “You're not supposed to be touching me like this!”

One hand slides lower, ignoring her, sliding down over the front of her skirt, feeling her pussy through the skirt and panties.

“And you know I am a good girl. I never cause problems and before this semester, my grades were always.. ooh my god,” she gasps as I go lower, my hand pressing on her pussy through her skirt.

“You can't do that,” she pleads. She grabs at my hand to push it away but I ignore her and continue slowly rubbing her.

“I can, Caitlyn.” I speak slowly, measured, calming her. “No one will believe you if you tell and you will still fail the course.”

She tries to fight half-heartedly, then suddenly stops as my words register.

“Please, Miss, I can't fail. You have no idea. Please.”

My hand goes under her skirt and I cup her lace panties, slowly letting my fingers drag over the dampening crotch.

“Is that a yes then?”

She slumps back, a tear running down her cheek, breathing hard as she feels my fingers. She surrenders and unable to help herself, she lets out a soft moan.

I slowly run my finger along her slit, pressing on her clit through the fabric, feeling her resistance crumble. Her legs are relaxing, spreading a little, the cute little pleated skirt rising up her thighs as I tease her.

I rub faster, feeling the dampness oozing through the fabric. I lean in and kiss her mouth as I rub her panties. Unable to help herself, she raises her hips, and pushes herself against my fingers.

“Mmm, good girl,” I whisper. My tongue flickers over her mouth as I feel her lift her hips to meet my touch. This time her moan is louder as her tongue seeks mine.

Our tongues swirl in her mouth, I’m not even sure if she is aware of her thighs spreading wider with each touch. The fingers of one hand grip her hair and hold her face to mine while the other slips inside her panties and I begin to stroke her little bald cunt.

I drag her juices along her slit and paint her clit with them while I greedily kiss her. Her hips lift off the chair as she slowly begins to hump my fingers, her juices leaking into her panties and onto the chair.

Her damp eyes gaze into mine, glazing over with lust when I push a finger inside her, stretching her entrance when I finger her knuckle deep.

I curl it inside her, my thumb pressing on her clit as she loses control, rubbing herself against my thumb.

“Such a good girl,” I whisper.

She grabs my wrist with one of her hands, pressing it into her, forcing me deeper into her.

I add a second finger, stretching her wider, forcing it into her tight little pussy. She’s so tight. My fingers fill her, scissoring inside her.

“Oh… my… god,” she pleads. “Please don't stop.”

My fingers curl and uncurl, tapping her spot as I finger her.

Her fingers fumble at my blouse, tugging at the buttons as her eyes roll in her head. I fingerfuck her deeper, harder and faster, making her squelch as I take her in my office.

The smell of wet needy cum slut fills the room and I wish John could smell her as well as see her.

She shoves her hand into my blouse, rubbing my nipples through my bra. Her pussy drenches my fingers as she rides them.

I break the kiss and move my mouth to her neck, kissing below her ear as I whisper what a good little slut she is. I bare my teeth and slowly suck on her flesh, marking her, claiming her.

I watch her lose control. Watch her giving in to me as she lets me consume her. My fingers plunge in and out, slamming into her as she begins to convulse. I fuck her through her orgasm as she throws her head back and howls. The scent of her orgasm fills my nostrils as she cums all over my hand. I watch her writhe, impaled on my hand until she finally slumps, exhausted.

She sits there on the chair, slumping over, breathless, her pussy quivering and drooling

I pull my fingers out of her still-convulsing cunt and slowly suck them clean.

She is unable to meet my eyes, shame colouring her cheeks.

“You taste delicious.”

I slip my fingers under my skirt and shimmy my panties down my thighs. They fall to my ankles and I step out of them. They are absolutely drenched.

I tug my skirt up, revealing to Caitlyn my neatly trimmed pussy.

She has a feral look in her eyes. Her breathing is still ragged from her recent orgasm. I reach out for her hair and with the merest touch, she slips easily down onto her knees.

I spread my legs for her and she falls on my wet slit and devours me eagerly.

I reach my hand over to the laptop and minimise the spreadsheet. Johns’ grinning face stares back at me as he watches my student kneel between my legs and lick me to orgasm. He stares into my eyes as Caitlyn brings me to the edge.

I reach my hand out as if trying to hold his as my student kneels and licks and makes me explode on her face.

She sits back on her heels, blushing furiously with my cum dripping down her chin.

“I… I can’t believe I just did that.”

I smirk and reach into my handbag and retrieve my lipstick. I slowly and carefully write WHORE across her little tits.

That’s what you are, Caitlyn. You sold your pussy just to pass the year.”

She stares in disbelief at me, at the word I wrote on her. At what I say she has become.

Her mouth opens in protest, speechless, like a goldfish.

“And you will be a good little whore for me any time I want you until you get all five grades up to a pass standard, won’t you?”

Comprehension suddenly dawns on her.

“That…” she falters. “That was only the first one?”

Nodding, I smile at her.

“I understand,” she whispers.

“Good girl. You’re my whore now, aren’t you, Caitlyn?

“I... I guess I am.”

I lean in and kiss her again on the mouth, tasting my flavour on her lips.

You'll let me pass? She moans, whimpering softly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper as I kiss her on the forehead. After handing her her clothes, She gets dressed almost in a daze.

“Yes, Miss. Tomorrow,” she agrees as she slowly buttons up her blouse.

I close the door behind her and turn, feeling suddenly embarrassed that my husband watched every second of that little slut’s seduction.

I sit behind my desk and pull the laptop to me. John has the cheesiest, dirtiest grin on his face as he admonishes me for being a very very naughty girl.

“I can’t believe I have to wait until tomorrow to watch you again,” he laughs, and I feel a fresh wave of love for him crash over me. I think we will be alright after all.