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Emma Kelly

by@Extraordinary

Emma Kelly

'I really should have locked that door before I let Hawkins touch me...'
I think to myself as the burly security guard comes to escort me from my dorm room to your office.
'If only the cleaning lady had left early again yesterday, like she normally does...snitchy bitch...'
I curse myself for being so careless. My flawless reputation, and my academic future, both possibly shattered now due to a tiny moment of weakness.
Still... letting Dr. Hawkins take me on his desk, the picture of his wife and kids right next to me, that was an opportunity too thrilling to pass up. Too bad he'll likely be fired now. Sucks to be him.

I walk out of my dorm, my outfit naturally on point. Nobody would expect anything less from Crown College's own innocent blonde angel. Ha.
My white dress shirt has been properly starched and ironed, and my nicely pressed college skirt flows around my long legs as we make our way through the corridor. I keep my head high, my back straight, and my chest out, projecting all the confidence I can muster. I catch the guard looking at me and wonder what he is thinking.
'Does he know? Is he thinking he might have a shot with me, too?'
His eyes linger on my chest, so predictable. For a moment I fantasize about pushing him in one of the empty lecture halls, and letting him have his way with me. A delicious pressure starts building between my legs just thinking about it, but then I renew my focus. Not now.

So instead, I flash a demure smile at the guard, who pretends he was not undressing me with his eyes. Fine, let's both pretend this is just a normal appointment with the vice-dean then. The guard wordlessly opens the door to your office, and motions me inside.

Apparently we are a bit early, because you are not in yet. The soft click of the door closing behind me leaves me all alone in the office of the person who may decide my academic future in the next few minutes. I look around to see if I can get a feel for you from how your office is arranged. Anything that would make it easier to get my nails into you, to get you on my side. But it's mostly boring crap. Old bookcases, metal archiving cabinets. Some staff photo's on the bulletin board. The familiar smell of paper and books. The door opens, and you walk in. I clasp my hands between my legs, and give you an innocent and hopeful look, honed by years of experience.
It's your move now.

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