Chapter 1: End of Class

Professor Belton stood at her podium with a pile of blue books calling out our names. Each student present jumped up and retrieved their test results. Some would stay to read them over and others would just stuff them into a bag or backpack and leave immediately. Attendance wasn't required so the full class wasn't there. I figured only the students who were on the edge between pass and fail had shown up because the final test grade had the biggest impact on our final class grade.

I was one of them.

History hadn't been my best class, but I never missed a day and it wasn't just determination to do my best. Professor Belton was a fantastic teacher and good on the eyes. I was never sure which kept my attention more, the eye-catching outfits or the energy she put into keeping the class's attention; probably a combination of the two. For this optional attendance, she wore a bright red silk blouse and a dark green business skirt, matching stockings and red high heels. Her long blonde hair was down and styled. Apparently since she wasn't going to lecture she didn't feel inclined to look as professional as she normally did. Personally, I thought she looked stunning, whether professional or casual.

Professor Belton called out our names in alphabetic order. That made me nervous because there were over a hundred students in the class and my last name started with "S". I waited patiently, nervously rubbing my hands together.

When she called my name, "Ral Setton," I accidentally kicked my backpack, sending it rolling down the stairs. After stopping it from beating me to the podium, I walked with what dignity I had left to retrieve my graded test. I was already apprehensive about my final grade, much less the test grade. What helped even less was her asking, "Would you mind sticking around? I want to speak to you in my office after the others leave."

I could feel myself pale and she noticed. "You passed, by the way."

For a moment all I could do was stand there and stare into her blazing blue eyes. From a distance she was a spectacular woman but suddenly, this close, she was almost breath-taking. I nodded in a quick, tight movement, acknowledging both that I passed and her request to talk in her office. Somehow, I found my way back up to my seat and started reading over all the red ink in my blue book. Before I knew it she had wished everyone a good holiday and those who hadn't left begun working their way to the exits.

"Ral, could you give me a hand?" The Professor called out, shaking me from studying my mistakes.

Everything I had gone over had screamed back at me, "You knew those answers!" Slapping the book closed and stuffing it into my backpack the same questions plagued me. Why did I not write it down? Why did I miss such important points in every question? Why, with all that red, did I pass? Maybe I would get a chance to ask her. Maybe that was what we were going to discuss.

Looking over my shoulder as I got up, I noticed the door close behind the last student. The exit called to me. I wanted to go home, to be with my women, but Professor Belton wanted to talk. Hopefully, that was all she wanted.

The Professor stood next to the podium waiting as I gathered up the remaining blue books. She led the way to her office door to the right of the auditorium. Once inside, I stacked the books next to the ones she had carried in. I asked, "Professor Belton, don't you have an aid to help with grading tests and stuff?"

It was a silly question considering how much she enjoyed History and teaching her class. Her answer wasn't a surprise. "I want a personal hand in knowing what each of my students has learned during the semester." She leaned against her desk, crossed her arms over her stomach and looked back at me. "Besides, when I know a student is struggling yet he or she knows how to answer, I can give leeway. A student aid wouldn't."

She turned the question away from my attempt at a delay into the very thing she wanted to talk about. Just what I needed: a brilliant, stunning, energetic and highly acute instructor. "I guess I don't understand why you passed me then." I pulled the blue book from my backpack. "I mean, there's almost more red ink here than black." It was true. She had not only marked what I got wrong but also filled in the portion of the answers that I missed.

"Partial credit goes a long way Mr. Setton. Most instructors are black and white, right or wrong. They want it all or nothing. History isn't black or white, so expecting perfect answers isn't just." She had the same tone she used when in class. I felt like I was about to be the sole member of her audience and receive a special lecture on study habits and such.

Flipping through the pages, I couldn't face her when I admitted, "Honestly, I could have done better. When I was going over the answers I felt like an idiot for not putting in what you finished." I was disappointed in myself. I could have ... No, should have done better. I had even considered cheating half-way through the semester, and I don't mean sneaking in completed blue books or writing class notes on the bottom of my shoes. No, I had other ways of cheating that could have never been proven. However, my conscience won out and I was left with a "C" for my final test grade.

"Ral, you're not perfect. No one is. Not one of my students this semester got a perfect score." She said it with a smile I knew was there even without looking. Her statement even confirmed my reason for not cheating.

I nodded and closed the book to put it back. As I slung the backpack over my shoulder, I looked at the Professor. My next question stuck to the tip of my tongue when I saw her again. There was no actual change but somehow, she suddenly seemed more ... luscious. Her blazing blue eyes stood out in contrast to the flushed color of her face. Her blonde locks haloed her head and her soft red lips parted as she looked back at me.

The change of my perception of her caught my attention. Not the actual changes, because there were none, but the fact that I believed she looked better.

Looking at Professor Belton, I felt my desire growing. Not only that need for sensual flesh, but the swell of my cock down my pants leg. I didn't know why, but I was very aware of how alone the two of us were in that room, and it made the possibilities more ... licentious.

The problem was, I could affect her in the same way, and it took no effort at all. Since before classes had started, I had the ability to fill women with lust, especially women that I found attractive. Professor Belton certainly met that criterion. I called it my Charm, though others might call it glamour or animal magnetism, because that's how those I affected sometimes acted; like they had no control, just the instinct.

Professor Belton's smile wilted around the edges. She could see plainly what was on my face. It might have scared her, but she didn't look skittish. I was probably already affecting her, because part of me wanted her. Part of me knew I could have her.

I had to stay in control of myself. I had to get away from her before things got out of hand. The signs were there and she was showing the second. The first was her wanting to be alone with me. "Professor, I should be going..."

Her smile returned quickly and she stepped away from her desk in my direction. "Nonsense. Where do you have to run off to?" She was looking me over and I knew how she was mentally undressing me, thinking about what I would look like minus my shirt, then my pants...

I swallowed hard. That brilliance in her eyes seemed to flare. It was a burning I was all too familiar with. The women I lived with usually wore that look like a pair of contacts and I never kept them from what it would take to diminish that look. Her desire was growing and I was the focus. "Actually I have to get home to pack. Some friends and I are catching a late flight tonight for West Virginia," I told her. It was the only real excuse I had without lying.

She cocked her head to the side as if seeing me differently. What any woman saw when they looked at me like that was a guess at best. "You can't spare a few minutes to keep me company?"

She didn't just want company and I knew it. The real problem was my body was responding to her just as she responded to me. In another minute we would both be devoid of clothing and using her highly polished desk for our fornication. In fact she took the initiative and began unbuttoning her blouse.

You might ask, why not enjoy? Because once usually wasn't enough. Once I had sex with someone and reached orgasm, a link would be created that kept us together. Obviously not physically, but in a mental/emotional way. I believed the women with whom I'd already established such links with were my responsibility. I also believed that they belonged to me. It was wrong to think like that, especially with the number I was bound to, but it was true and nothing I had done changed it.

"Then, is there something ... particular ... you want to ... discuss?" I asked with a heavier breath than I wanted. Her breathing had gotten heavier too.

She dropped her hands to her sides and her blouse opened to reveal her breasts encased in a silky red bra that matched the shirt. The shirt was sheer enough that I could see light though it. "Discuss?" she asked and shook her head slowly. "No."

Women's breasts were always a fascination of mine, and Professor Belton's were no exception. It took me a minute to rip my eyes from her soft cleavage and meet her steady gaze. "No?" I asked, not entirely sure what she had just said.

I could see heat rising up along her skin and cover the paleness of her soft globes. So badly I wanted to reach out and feel that heat, to press my lips to it and run my tongue along those soft curves.

"No," she said under her breath, but in a slightly different tone.

She took another step closer and stood mere millimeters from me. I was looking down at the deep, soft depth between her rising and falling breasts. All I had to do was lean down and I could lay kisses over her warm, delectable skin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her hand twitch and I realized that something else was happening. Looking up, I found her eyes watching me. The look was a mixture of adoration and something akin to confusion. Was she fighting me?

"Ral, I ... I..." Her voice trailed off as she looked into my eyes. She reminded me of women caught in Dracula's gaze in all those cheesy horror movies as she started to glaze over. She was falling much further than anyone I had ever tried to Charm. I was pushing too hard and that was unacceptable.

I closed my eyes, cutting that connection and I felt her hand on my chest. Looking down, I was relieved that we hadn't made skin-to-skin contact.

She shook herself, as if shrugging off a soft blanket and looked back up. The burning was still there, she was still amorous but not falling into my eyes. That was good. Then she said, "Ral, I have to apologize."

I wasn't expecting that. "Apologize? For what?" I was still breathy. Focusing on talking intelligently would help me regain control of myself and my Charm.