Vixen's art teacher was a young man with a beard, a neatly trimmed red beard. He was fresh out of grad school, and this was his first position. He was hoping for tenure and then for a better job at a bigger and more prestigious school. He was not married and lived very frugally.

The first time he saw Vixen as she entered his classroom, his genitals quivered. He wanted her. But, of course, he knew the rules; she was off limits.

Vixen studied him now and then as she stood at her easel and drew a cubic box, a tall vase and a polished ball with her charcoal pencil. She rubbed on some shading with her thumb, and when he came and stood behind her, she could smell him.

Vixen took a deep breath and tried to relax as the man put his left hand on her shoulder and quickly improved her shading with his forefinger thus giving her figures more depth. She felt her vagina tightened involuntarily as his bulging groin touched her hip.

"It's really very good," he said, standing back and cocking his head. "You have a good eye." What an ass, he thought, admiring the girl's denim-covered buttocks. I'd love to draw it. And knead it. And bounce on it. He smiled to himself.

Jim Morris had never been very successful with the girls. He had dated off and on in high school, but in college he had worked almost full time and his social life all but disappeared. He wasn't a virgin, exactly, since he had enjoyed a couple of late night blowjobs and humped briefly with two twenty-dollar, home-town sluts, but he had never really copulated with a girl his age, and he was eager to begin.

As he stood behind Vixen, he felt himself becoming aroused and moved quickly to look at another student's work. That night, lying on his back, he saw her in his mind, imagined her buttocks bared, and stroked himself to a gushing climax, spurting a half-dozen times with his scrotum in his fist.

By early December Vixen had enjoyed a number of campus lovers and was still seeing Ralph, the well-hung lacrosse star, when she felt the need for a big cock. Her Texan roommate was astonished and sometimes worried by all of the slight girl's eager males, but since she was getting plenty of sexual attention, she tried not to concern herself about Vixen and the many eager men who bounced on her bones.

Vixen had set her sights on her English teacher. He was young and handsome, with a thin nose and a boyish grin. She was having less trouble doing research and learning to document her work than she had anticipated and was in the process of narrowing a research topic to be developed in the second semester into a footnoted paper with a proper bibliography.

Ralph had told her than Mr. Valpor was considered a good teacher and that the rumor was that the man was engaged to be married into a wealthy Philadelphia family over the mid-semester break, "Main Line" he called it. Vixen was determined to find out how he was in bed.

The redheaded girl stood before her mirror and watched her wide-necked black sweater slide off her shoulder and hang from the jutting left boob on her 40D chest. She wiggled, and it stayed there even when she flexed her pectoral muscles and made her shapely jug bounce up and down. She smiled at her image and decided that she ought be able to get Mr. Valpor's attention with that gesture.

She tossed her head and the dark sweater crept down another inch over her ivory breast, barely hanging onto her agitated tit. Vixen stroked her firm breast until her nipple hardened and then tried the whole process a second time. Her areolas were small and pink, and this time half of the left one showed against the black of the fuzzy sweater that stretched between out between over-sized jugs and hung down over her finger tips when she let it.

She smiled at herself, feeling aroused. Even with her over-sized and silicone-improved jugs, she seldom wore a bra, and usually enjoyed the stimulation her sweaters gave her nipples.

The English class was held in the library and did exercises with newspapers and other periodicals both on-line and in the stacks along with reference works such as the Reader's Guide. Back in the tall shelves of magazines, Vixen made her move. She approached the teacher with her yellow pad in the hand and her pencil between her teeth, batting her long eyelashes with her sweater poised on her rounded shoulder.

"Mr. Valpor," she said and then took out the pencil and shrugged. The sweater started to slide. "I can't find the July copy of this one." She felt her breast being bared and looked up at his face as she held out her notepad. He blinked and then he swallowed. Sweat popped out on his forehead. It was at least as big as a softball, and it was rising like the moon.

"Perhaps someone has checked it out," he said after clearing his throat, his eyes flickering back and forth as her high, firm breast came almost fully into view, a perfectly shaped mound of upturned pale flesh tipped with a thumb-sized nipple. He felt himself suddenly and fully aroused.

Vixen used the hand with the pencil in it to pull her sweater back up and smiled at the man, her big nipple fully hardened and jutting out like a fingertip. "Thanks," she said, "I'll check."

Valpor rested his butt on the windowsill and watched her walk down the narrow aisle, auburn ponytail swishing back and forth, holding his clipboard over his groin. His cock ached, and he dearly wished his fiancée did not insist on waiting for the wedding. He could feel his testicles pulsing.

Excited by her attempted seduction, Vixen picked up Ralph after practice and mounted him on the reclined passenger seat of her Mustang, testing her car's shock absorbers out in the park. When Ralph recovered, he knelt in front of the seat and took her from behind as she bent over the seatback, panting with pleasure as the leather stitching rubbed at her mound. She grasped the headrest with both hands and met his thrusts with her own, biting her lower lip to keep from squealing with pleasure.

The next afternoon, the drawing teacher announced that they were going to start doing life studies, sketching pictures of real people and that they would start by doing each other. He paired them off, mostly girls with girls and boys with boys, but Vixen ended up with an acne-scarred young man with pale blonde hair and a big nose.

She smiled at him and introduced herself. He said his name and sniffed, looking down shyly. They got to work. After thirty minutes or so, the students sat in a circle and held up what they had done for comments and criticism.

The boy who had been drawing Vixen had only sketched in her hairline and carefully delineated her left eye, eyebrow and one side of her nose. Vixen had drawn his whole head, ignoring his acne scars and diminishing his crooked nose a bit, barely suggesting his unkempt hair. It was a decent likeness and was generally praised. Her subject blushed.

By the time they had gone around the circle, the class ended. She offered the boy her drawing, and he bowed and thanked her. "I've forgotten your name," she said.

"Victor, James Victor," he said and Vixen lettered that under his likeness. "Sign it, please?" the boy asked.

The girl wrote "Vixen" cater-corner.

He handed her his sketch and carefully placed hers in his pad of paper. They briefly smiled at each other.

Jim Morris, the art instructor, made the first move, stopping Vixen as she was about to leave. "Got a minute?" he asked and led her back to his small office.

She sat where he waved, on a wooden stool, and he sat behind his desk and twiddled with a pencil. "I think you have real talent," he said. "Have you ever painted?" She sat with her knees apart, very unladylike, and her tight jeans displayed her swollen pussy which had entertained a horny sophomore the previous evening and was still pulsing.

She shook her head, measuring him and liking what she saw. He had a really nice beard, good shoulders and a broad chest. She wondered how well he was hung. She had noticed he had big feet. She shook her head and stopped glancing at his groin.

"Well, I hope you'll take my acrylic class next semester. It's acrylics this time and oils next year."

"OK," she said. "I need an elective."

"I'm going out doing some sketching this weekend. Would you like to come along, out on the shore, down toward Cape May probably."

Vixen sucked her teeth. "Gee, I'm sorry. I'm all booked up and there's a lacrosse game tomorrow that I promised to go to." If things went as scheduled, she would be fucked at least seven different men between Friday night and Sunday afternoon.

"Maybe next week if the weather's good?"

She smiled and nodded. "OK. I'll look forward to it."

So will I, thought the teacher. So will I, damn it, as he resigned himself to another week of beating off.

When she left the studio, Vixen went to the classroom building and up to Mr. Valpor's office, ready to try again. She pulled her cowl-necked sweater down off one shoulder, knocked, entered and saw he was correcting their periodical exercise. "How'd I do?" she asked.

"Didn't notice," he lied. Hers had been one of the few perfect papers.

"Wanted to ask about my topic. How about if I narrow down to just one year of her life?"

"Who was this?" he asked, looking up at the girl and seeing her incredible breasts jutting out at him as she stood with her hands behind her and rotated a bit from side to side. They jiggled. He choked back a moan.