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In the time that had elapsed between her first course with me and the second, enormous changes had transpired in her life as well. She had broken up with her loser boyfriend from high school, Rob, about whom I’ve reported the relevant facts already; she gained all sorts of experiences, admirers, and rumors through her exploits in the dorms with various fellas; and she embraced her inner-nymph by accepting who and what she was and reveling in it instead of being ashamed of it. This meant that she watched porn, “chatted” with guys, gals, and couples on the internet in steamy chat-rooms, and she masturbated on a very, very regular basis without guilt or shame. All of these metamorphoses were apparent in her demeanor, confidence, and physical beauty. She had really cum into her own, you might say.

Letch that I was that semester, I invited her to my office to rake her over the coals concerning a paper she had written. It was on modern art’s incorporation of Classical and Neo-Classical themes and figures. I scrutinized her paper thoroughly, giving her a good verbal lashing for each of its imperfections. I behaved like Attorney Grey (James Spader) in The Secretary, and I have to say, Lo was the perfect Lee Holloway in her relish of the verbal dress-down. Oh, if I had known then that my little sex kitten would like to really be dressed down. . . . But I didn’t and so she left my office in a huff. As she was walking out the door, I said, “Lola.”

“Yes?” she said, turning toward me in the doorway.

“If you really want to improve that paper, you would do some in depth research on Jeff Koons. It would really spice up the end.”

“Jeff Koons,” she said, “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Check out his ‘Made In Heaven’ sculptures. That may set you down the right path.”

“Thanks, Professor H.,” she said with a side-long glance.

Of course you know that Jeff Koons is most known for his adorable, shiny, silver oversized bunnies and other sculptures that look like twisted balloons, but are in fact made from metal. He also made quite a little scandal in the art world when he fell in with an Italian porn star and made a series of life-like sculptures of the two of them making love in the most explicit ways. I admire this because it made all the critics apoplectic. Those who had followed Koons and praised his work pre-MIH couldn’t square the down-and-dirty art with their vision of “high” art. It was egocentric, lewd, profane, vulgar, and pornographic. But he didn’t give a farthing what the critics said. He was head over heels in love with his porn star and he was going to make her his muse and subject. Somehow I sensed that Lo would really take to this. Looking back on it now, I see that I am no different with Lo. My recommending Koons to her then was prophetic. . . .

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Months later, after we had been together for some time, she admitted to me that for about a year she had been masturbating to various fantasies about me. Her favorite fantasy was replaying that day in my office when I rebuked her for the quality of her paper and suggested she investigate into Koons, but in her imaginings she spreads her legs and gets me hard while I berate her and her writing. She slowly slides her short skirt up over her hips and drives me into a wild mania in which I cannot control myself any longer. I throw all the papers and books off my desk and I sit her up on it and get down on my knees as I bury my face between her legs, lapping up her wet pussy lips with my tongue as she screams wildly — the echos of which reverberate down the silent hallways. Her hands grab my hair and pull my head deep into her cunt and after she cums she tells me to do it again, forcing my face into her pussy. She stops me just before she cums a second time and she turns over, bending over the edge of the desk and tells me to give her a little kiss “right here,” pointing with her finger. I obey and she pushes her ass into my face so that I am as far into it as I was into her pussy. Her hands grab at her breasts and she pulls on her nipples until I stand up, undo my belt and let my pants fall to the floor as I feed her my incredibly hard cock.

[Excerpt from the story “The Student Body” from the book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE!]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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