Professor Brandel’s face lit up at the sight of Chelsea stepping through the door and saying his name.

            “Chelsea!  Great to see you.  What can I do for you?” he queried pleasantly, setting his pen and gradebook down as Chelsea slowly took a seat in front of his meager desk.  Despite his peppered gray hair, the professor’s cheerful demeanor and healthy lifestyle made him look younger than his fifty-one years.

            Chelsea brushed her fluttery skirt under her toned cheerleader’s thighs in the seat and settled in, leaning forward far enough in her chair that Brandel could’ve easily peeked down her shirt.

            For a moment, she watched his eyes, and saw them locked politely and confidently with her pupils, not wavering downward for a second.  So, clearing her throat, she sighed, “I just wanted to talk about some stuff in the class.”

            “Of course!  You must be one dedicated student to be in this building on a Friday night.   What would you like to talk about?  If you want, we could review some of Chapter 8 again from in class today.  I know that’s a tough subject for newcomers, and-” he continued excitedly, but Chelsea interrupted.

            “Actually, I had a question about you.”

            Brandel smiled sheepishly and blinked a few times, then nodded.  “About me, huh?  Trust me, I’m not nearly as interesting as some of the stuff we’re learning on Monday.”

            Chelsea giggled her classically adorable bubble gum laugh, which alone was often able to turn heads.  “I highly doubt that, Professor Brandel.”

            “You can call me James.  I like to think of the students here as adults.  After all, you are!”

            “Great.  James,” Chelsea repeated, slathering on the sultry charm when saying his name.  She emphasized it slowly and delicately, as though holding a chocolate on the tip of her tongue before swallowing it.

            “Yep, that’s it,” he answered, giving her a strange smile and leaning back in his chair.  “So, what is it you wanted to know?”

            “Your family,” Chelsea said, nodding toward a picture frame on the corner of the desk.  In it was Brandel with his arm around his wife and his young son and daughter standing in front of them in a yard.  “You love them, huh?”

            Brandel’s face lit up again in a smile as he picked up the frame, gazing sunnily at it.  “Oh, you know it.  I talk about them all the time in class, probably more than you guys care, but I just can’t help it, you know?”

            Chelsea had to keep herself from grinning devilishly and clapping her hands with satisfaction. 

            Now she had confirmation, and she knew exactly how this would go down.

            Admittedly, Chelsea was surprised that her tactics already hadn’t caused Brandel to sneak obvious peeks at her cleavage.  In fact, had she used these mannerisms on most other people in the university, they’d have already been preparing to proposition her for a one-night stand.  It was clear Brandel was not the same.  He would not cave in to the mere peripheral sight of a couple of breasts that would make the newest female porn talent jealous. 

            However, the promise of getting him to change his mind made it all the more fun, and if it took more severe measures, then so be it. 

            Besides, Chelsea acknowledged, she hadn’t been able to go all-out in a long time.

            Adjusting her spot in the seat, Chelsea subtly tugged at her shirt until another button came undone, allowing her tight breasts to push forward through the folds of cloth a few more precious centimeters.

            Brandel’s eyes flickered downward for a moment, but it seemed more out of notice of the action than in gazing, because he returned his attention to Chelsea’s face again, a slight look of confusion creeping into his countenance.

            “Oh, I get it.  Definitely.  Somebody who loves their family is awesome.  Commitment, caring, passion, all that.  People my age might actually call that kinda sexy,” Chelsea admitted as calmly as if she were discussing the local news.

            “Umm, all right, that’s… great,” Brandel answered, biting his lip and raising an eyebrow.  “Anyway, was there something about the class you wanted to know?  The lessons, from yesterday, or today, or… Monday?” he continued, clearly baffled by his student’s words, which rendered him unable to proceed fluidly.

            “And you know what I think?” Chelsea said, ignoring his attempt at a change of subject.  “I think it’s sexy because it means a guy knows what he’s doing.  He can do whatever his wife needs, and he’s experienced at it.”  With that, her smooth fingertips were digging at the button of her shirt again, but she did nothing to hide it as it popped open.  Her thin bra was clearly visible at this point.

            “Chelsea, are you sure you don’t want a… jacket or anything?” Brandel asked, somewhat dumbfounded, clearly now averting his eyes from the sight.

            “Oh, no, James, I’m actually too warm for a jacket,” Chelsea answered, swiping her tongue over her pouty lips and slaking a small streak of saliva over them to glisten in the dim lamplight.  “I’m really just in the mood for some extra lessons.  Like you said.”

            “Maybe… we should cut this… short,” Brandel said, scooting his chair further back and rubbing his forehead stressfully.  “And I’ll see you in class on Monday, Ms. Hanover.”

            “I liked it better when you called me Chelsea, James,” she insisted, now slowly working at the remaining buttons on her white top until it hung loosely around her arms, leaving only her bra covering her sculpted upper body.

            “Please, Ms. Han… I mean, Chelsea,” Brandel said, clearing his dry throat.  “You need to stop what you’re doing.  This is wrong.  This is very, very…”

            “I don’t think so.  And who are you to tell me what’s wrong?  We’re not in class.  You’re not grading me,” Chelsea chuckled, relishing every silly-sounding word dribbling from her sensuous lips like it was gospel.  “I’m just here to be taught.”

            “I need you to put your shirt back on and leave now,” Brandel insisted, standing up and heading for the door to open it.  “Now.  Please, before someone sees this and gets a bad idea about it.”

            “Why would that matter?  I’ve got plenty of bad ideas myself,” Chelsea said with a smile, tossing her shirt to the floor as she stood up and began working her skirt off around her thighs.  “Bad, bad, bad ideas.”

            “This stops now.  I’m going to leave, and when I come back I want you to be fully clothed and on your way out, Ms. Hanover.  This has gone on much further than I could reasonably be expected to handle,” Brandel said, finally gaining confidence in his words, as he marched toward the door.

            “Nope, I don’t think that’s true,” Chelsea said with a sigh, whipping her iPhone out of her pocket and aiming it at her professor until the augmented PMRD camera application had lined him up.  She clicked the button, and in a bright green flash of light, her teacher was practically folding into himself in a whirl of lightning-fast bending particles until he stood at two inches tall on the carpet in front of the door.  “And trust me, you’ve got a lot more to handle ahead of you.”