Melinda Matson - A seductive student

She stuck her tongue out in his direction, then picked up her skimpy, faded blue cut off jeans from the foot of the bed. She didn't bother with panties, but just pulled on the brief shorts and zipped them up. They were super tight, cutting up into her crotch, outlining the fat hummock of her pubis and, in back, showing a bit of smooth, tan butt cheek protruding from each frayed leg hole. She slipped on her platform sandals and picked up her book bag, walking over to the bathroom door and putting her head, up against it. She knocked on it lightly.

"Paul?" she said, cheerily. "Paul, I'm going now. I have an appointment with Dr. Bertrand." She paused, awaiting his reply, but there was none. "Aren't you going to wish me luck?" she said. The sound of the shower being turned on full force came hissing through the closed door, but it did not drown out Paul's single word response.

"Bitch!" he snarled.

Joselyn giggled and blew him a kiss, then walked out of the apartment.

Joselyn walked from the student housing complex, a series of two-story, L-shaped, ultra modern apartments connected by a winding, narrow asphalt path, across the equally modern and stark campus of Mira Pavo College to Cornelius Agrippa Hall, the Chemistry Building. Though the Pacific Ocean was just over the rolling hills less than a half mile to the west, it offered no respite from the sweltering, early fall heat. Southern California was experiencing what is known as a Santa Ana condition, which meant that the prevailing wind was coming from the east, from the desert. It was hot enough and dry enough to make her nose burn each time she took a deep breath.

When she stepped into the shade of the fifteen story monolith that was Agrippa Hall, the air temperature hardly dropped at all. When she pushed through the double glass doors of the building's lobby, however, the icy cold, air conditioned air hit her like a sledge. It was little wonder, she thought, shivering, that so many students came down with pneumonia. Agrippa Hall had not been designed with their comfort in mind; it was the comfort of the gigantic computers housed in the building's core that mattered. She walked briskly to the open elevator and rode it up to the eighth floor and the Theoretical Chemistry Department.

All the floors in the building were laid out exactly the same; the only difference in the exterior of the rooms was the numbers on the doors. The elevator opened onto a small foyer and from there one had the choice of rounding a corner either on the left or the right. Both choices eventually led one back to the elevator as the corridors ran the full perimeter of the floor and were actually the ends of the same hall. On the left side of the hall, in the… building core, were all the research labs and to the right, with windows to the outside, were the offices of the professors and grad students.

As it was still a day or two before undergraduate classes began, the halls were deserted. In another week or so, the corridors would be lined with students, students anxiously waiting for the chance to whine and whimper before their highly disinterested professors for a few extra points on a Chem IQ quiz or for a day or two extension on a paper deadline. Now all was quiet. As Joselyn walked down the hall, she looked through the half glass doors to the labs, hoping to see some other grad student at work. All the labs were dark, however.

She told herself that she wasn't worried about handling either of the two "animals", as Paul had called them. After all, she had been handling men all her life in one way or another. Yet, deep down, she did feel a twinge of doubt. Dr. Bertrand and Dr. Velasquez were not just ordinary men; they were special, famous, and very important to her career.

Her heart was racing as she knocked twice on Dr. Bertrand's office door.

"Come in," he said, his voice booming right through the wall.

Joselyn turned the knob and pushed the door open. She'd been in Bertrand's office before, so she knew what to expect in the way of clutter and refuse. It was a regular pig sty. The door only opened about two-thirds of the way because its edge struck a cardboard box on the floor. She had to slip into the room sideways.

"Ah, Ms. Foche," the professor said, delightedly.

She looked across the narrow room, across the desk top piled high with opened text books, old newspapers, magazines, odd scraps of paper and yards and yards of computer print out paper to the man sitting in the chair behind it. Dr. Bertrand was in his middle thirties, blonde and blue-eyed. He had a great, grizzly blonde-brown beard that he let go untrimmed. It grew way up over his cheeks and down the front of his neck. As usual, he was dressed casually, wearing a striped t-shirt, Bermuda shorts and sandals. With his longish hair, that beard, and his deep, reddish brown suntan, he looked more like a life guard than a full time professor. He was a very handsome guy and he knew it too.

"Excuse the mess," he said, indicating the debris with a wave of his hand. "I'm trying to get things organized for the new quarter."

Joselyn tried her best not to smirk.

"Push the print outs off that chair," he said, "and sit down."

She did as he asked, shoving the phone book sized stack of paper off onto the floor and taking a seat across from him. As she did so, she felt his eyes drop to her breasts, licking over them, then dropping lower, down to the smooth, flat plane of her bare tummy that lay between the bottom edge of her tube top and the top edge of her cut off jeans. He seemed particularly fascinated by her belly button. His interest in her body was anything but "scientific". And the doubts she'd felt earlier surfaced once more. Could she really hope to control a man like Bertrand? He was not only big in stature in his field, but big in stature, period. A great golden bear of a man who could toss her about like a little doll if he chose to. She shivered at the thought.

"Have you decided on a student to be your assistant for this year?" she asked, much more abruptly than she had intended to.

The professor's eyes swept up from her crotch and her long, silky legs. For a second, the leer on his lips remained, then he seemed to regain his composure.

"An assistant?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"That's right," she continued, pushing on gamely. "If you haven't made up your mind yet, I'd like to be considered for the job. I'm very interested in your atom surface scattering experiments. I think I'd like to do my thesis work in the same general area."

"Really?" he said, pinching a bit of his beard between his thumb and forefinger and twisting it back and forth. His eyes drifted back down to her breasts.

"Have you decided on someone?" she asked.

He looked her in the eye and winced. "Well, Ms. Foche, frankly," he said, "I had already pretty much made up my mind on Mr. Sunami. He has all the academic qualifications for the job."

Joselyn did not miss the implication that there were other, non-academic criteria for the assistantship, criteria that a male exchange student from Sri Lanka, perhaps could not fulfill. From the way Dr. Bertrand was looking at her, she had a good idea what the other qualifications might be. She told herself that as long as he was interested in her sexually, she was the one holding the carrot; she was the one in control of the situation.

"I have the academic credentials, too," she said with assurance, letting her thighs slip apart a little.

Dr. Bertrand didn't miss the movement. His eyes snapped down between her legs to the fat hummock beneath the faded denim.

"Yes, I know that," he said, distractedly.

"Well, am I in the running or not?" she demanded, opening her knees even wider, making the tight crotch band of her shorts cut up into the soft meat of her pudenda, making the tendons on the insides of her thighs stand out against the sleek, tanned skin.