My name is Annie, and this is my story about earning the scholarship that is getting me through college. This is my first time submitting a story, let alone my story to a site like this, but reading through, I'll go ahead and share about me at the time of the story. I'm a 19 year old girl from Washington State, going to school at a small, private liberal arts college in Canada. This story took place about a month into my sophomore year there. Myself, I stand at 5'5, about 135 pounds ... I don't really look fat, I'm just built kind of bigger. Mostly skinny (little bits of baby fat), small boobs (34b's) which bug me because they don't seem to match my body size, with a bubble butt, which also bugs me, it seems too large to me. Red hair, green eyes, small button nose, and very light complexion. My figure is somewhere between an hourglass and a pear.

Anyway, my college, is expensive. My family, not so rich. My parents of course wanted the best for me, even though that meant sending me out of the country to an expensive school. The exchange rate helped for a while until it started dropping. I worked a few small, meaningless jobs to try and help out, but my classes were kicking my butt too. It was a cold October day when I came back to my dorm room crying, having failed my first college test ever. It was in Professor Lambeau's class. Professor Lambeau was in his late 60's, maybe early 70's, a history professor, and by far the most well-respected member of the faculty (by other academic types). To students, he was a hard ass who enjoyed making the lives of his students miserable.

My roommates were concerned about me, that I kept crying and didn't want to go out and do anything on the Friday night. I just went to bed early crying from failing ... retaking a class wasn't something I could afford to do at all, I might as well leave the school if I couldn't pass this class.

Anyway, the next morning one of my roommates brings by her friend Steffi, who happens to work for Professor Lambeau. I've met Steffi a few times, didn't really know her. Always kind of had the impression she was a slut ... Me, I'm definitely not, but I at least know my way around boys enough to get me by. I've only had sex with two boys, but I've given out several "I don't want to sleep with you, so let's do this instead" blowjobs. But rarely, normally because I'm shy and don't like to put myself out there.

Anyway, Steffi comes over to tell me that there could be a way I kill two birds with one stone. I know Steffi is on scholarship for her work for the professor, but don't know any of what she does. She informs me that he's looking for another assistant to start training as Steffi is graduating at the end of the semester. It has great perks ... such as automatic passing grades in his class, and all my school expenses paid. I wait for the catch though, which Steffi explains to me. I'm shocked and horrified, but I honestly don't feel I have too much of a choice. I get an appointment set up, and this is where our story really begins:

Professor Lambeau's House

I walk up to the Victorian manner that the professor lives in. Apparently the professor is rich from all the books he's written and sold, given the nice house, and that he pays for his assistants tuition out of his own pocket. A slight wind catches my coat, causing me to draw it tighter as I reach the door and ring the doorbell. I wait nervously, patiently for a moment before an intercom buzzes. Lambeau's voice can be heard beckoning me to come in.

I enter the house and start to look around. I'm both impressed and scared at the same time by the house, given the books, portraits, and statues that adorn the entryway, let alone the rest of the house. I see light from the room across the main entrance, and a voice calls from that room to "come here." I walk with nervous anticipation, the house is quiet save for the footsteps of my heels as I head into the study.

The study itself amazes me further, as it appears to have almost more books than the school's library. The room is large, several tables, with books open and papers strewn about, old pieces of parchment, maps, globes. In the far left corner of the room is a fireplace, and two chairs, one of which contains Professor Lambeau. In the right corner, a couch whose arms look rather worn.

I walk over to the chair slowly, cautiously, afraid of what's going to happen, if I can handle this. Professor Lambeau just watched me until I reached the chair, where he asked me if I would like to hang my coat up. I shook my head a resounding no, not yet ready to give it up. He shruged and motioned for me to have a seat.

He looked me over for several minutes before proclaiming, "I don't understand why you of all people applied for this Annie. You don't seem that motivated, and you're far too shy for your own good." I frowned and was worried, maybe I didn't have a shot after all ... I just thought with all the tips that Steffi had given me, I could have got the scholarship for sure ... though I must admit I wasn't fully ready to do what must be done, "Sir," I started.

He cut me off though, "I don't care why it is you're applying. I'm sure you have your own sad little pity story like all the others of why you should deserve the scholarship and to be my assistant. It really doesn't matter though, does it?" He laughs a little. I'm fully reminded why none of us students like him as a teacher-- his condescending, elitist attitude doesn't help him relate to students at all. Then again, he probably wasn't worried about that. He continues, "If you're going to be my assistant, I might as well see what I'm getting for my money."

I closed my eyes. Crap! Steffi had warned me about this. His wife had passed away 11 years before. Since then, he's had a bit of a reputation for liking to look at the pretty girls in his class. I swear one time he was looking up my skirt when I sat in the front row and he sat at his desk lecturing. Turns out, he liked pretty assistants too, because one of the conditions of his scholarship is that this assistants would work in little or no clothing. They only worked in his house, normally in the back libraries. Steffi warned me if I even wanted to be considered, I needed to be prepared for that. She had done it herself, advised by a former assistant of his as well.

I nodded to him and stood up. I could feel myself shaking. I had come prepared to do this so I might as well get it done with. I reached down and undid the buttons of my coat, and slowly, hesitantly opened it. Following Steffi's advice, and tweaking it to my own, I wore no clothes underneath the jacket, save for my shoes. As I removed the coat, I revealed my teenage flesh to him. I don't know which he admired more as I dropped the coat to the ground, my smallish breasts topped with tiny pink nipples (the whole area wasn't even the size of a quarter), or my freshly shaved pussy (another Steffi tip).

He raised his eyebrows in surprise ... I hope that meant he was surprised that I, being shy, did it, not that I was the only one who'd ever done it. I started to turn around to give him a view of my butt before turning forward to look at him, unsure of what to do with my hands.

The professor considered me for a moment and said, "Well, I like what I see so far, is that all of it?" "Oh no, I had almost forgot the other part of it," I thought. I turned around and bent over at the waist. He had a thing for girl's asses, and everything that lay between. I counted in my head to 5 like Steffi had recommended before reaching my hands back to pull my cheeks apart. I know my face must have been turning as red as the chair I had been sitting in as not only had I revealed my naked body to someone almost 50 years older than me (2 years had been the most prior to this night), but that I was bending over holding my butt open so this perverted old man could get a great look at my pussy and my little pink asshole (well, I've been told later it was pink, don't know for certain), which no man had seen before.

It seemed like an eternity that I held that position. I was told it would be a waiting game, and that when he was done looking he'd tell me. It wasn't an eternity, but a few minutes later he did tell me he liked what he saw and that I could take a seat. Again it was recommended that I sit so as to not really hide anything. I knew it would be awkward, so I had practiced in a chair in my room (fully clothed though). I sat down again with my butt near the end of the chair and laid back. I pulled my legs up so my feet rested against my butt and held them there with my arms. This gave him an excellent view of my pussy still, and my asshole I think.

This is when the night turned weird for a little while. He started interviewing me, asking me questions about who I am, and about my life, avoiding anything sexual along the way. It'd be like if I was getting to know a friend. Of course, it doesn't feel natrual to get to know a friend naked and exposing your most intimate areas. This interview went on for about 45 minutes before he suddenly said, "You are a very pretty girl and all, but what else can you do?"

I sighed on the inside, this was another cue that I had been dreading. I lowered my feet back to the ground and stood up for only a moment before going down to all fours. He liked having power over girls and a girl crawling around on hands and legs instead of walking was part of that power he liked, so I did it. I crawled over to him reluctantly, and he didn't say a word. When I reached him I looked up at him, he just nodded as if reading my mind and I sighed internally again and reached up to the zipper on his pants, pulling out the flaccid cock of a guy near 70, 3 1/2 times my own age. I closed my eyes a moment before re-opening them and lowering my head to the point where I could start licking the well-used cock (well, you'd think a 70 year old has a well-used cock). It was about as big flaccid as the biggest cock I'd seen hard (luckily haven't been with many big guys), which freaked me out a little. After the few moments of licking around, I no longer had an excuse and started to take it into my mouth.

Much to my surprise, the cock still didn't harden. I'm sure I looked a little flustered when he said, "ED," which I knew what that meant from many, many Viagra commercials. I just nodded and started to get to work as best I could licking and sucking on the cock when a cell-phone ringing startled me. He looked down at me and said, "Keep going," as if this weren't my idea as he answered the phone and started talking to someone. It didn't take me long to figure out it was a business call that was quite important to him.

I must admit I started to get a little embarrassed at this point, and a little bit frustrated. I mean, at 19, I was kinda used to the idea that if a guy had his cock in any part of my body, I was normally the thing he was focusing on. But apparently a shy, naked, teenaged girl's mouth meant nothing to him as he carried on his phone conversation. Of course, this made it much harder to get him off as he was distracted by the phone call. My jaw was starting to ache, and a glance at a clock told me 30 minutes of this had passed already. Finally I heard Professor Lambeau say that he had work to do and would call whoever he was talking to back later. Once off the phone he said to me, "I'm about to cum, get ready for it."