Making the Grade

Trading sex for grades is a practice that must be as old as formal education itself.

I knew of more than one fellow student who had wrangled a D into an A by sleeping with a professor. I chose to eschew this approach; I would have had to sleep with all of mine, and that was too much work. I decided on a more direct approach.

Ms. Peabody not only ran the records department, she was practically the only full time staff member. When grades had to be issued, a couple of students were usually hired on to help with typing, envelope stuffing, etc. The rest of the time, she was rarely seen or heard from. A mousy woman, Janice Peabody looked much older than her age of 32. Low heels, cardigan sweater, conservative skirts. Hair up in a severe bun and thick glasses completed the dowdy costume.

If Janice Peabody was horse and buggy, I was the jet age. Daddy's allowance decked me out in angora sweaters, tight miniskirts, go-go boots, sexy perfume. A sorority sister dubbed me with a nickname, "Mini Monroe", and it stuck. I think she was jealous, but I didn't mind the comparison to that silver screen blonde bombshell. My slender waist and rocket ship boobs had gotten me out of more than one tight scrape, and I was determined not to get flunked out of school.

Ms. Peabody was the key. In those days, it was very much not "okay to be gay." A single woman, and one who worked professionally, was suspect. Ms. Peabody's staid prim mannerisms, however, kept the rumors to a minimum. I wasn't going to be so easily thrown off the scent.

My target didn't join the rest of the staff in the faculty lounge at lunch time. Instead, I discovered that she packed her lunch in a neat box with thermos, and walked a few blocks to a nearby public park. Trailing behind her unseen, I wondered why she went so far? The campus contained ample benches, trees, and even a small pond. I soon found what especially the park had to offer.

Janice always sat at the same bench, back straight and knees together. The only thing in her body language that gave her away was the direction of her stare. Every girl or woman strolling by got the same treatment. I've seen men pay far less attention to tits and ass. Ms. Peabody drank them in, and her face glowed.

Eventually, a middle aged woman walked by, and slowed after passing Ms. Peabody's bench. Turning with some hesitation, as if she had dropped something, she walked back, stopping right by the bench. I was too far away to hear the conversation, but she had obviously asked whether she could join her.

A nod, and soon the women were seated close together. A quiet conversation ensued. Ms. Peabody nodded again, smiling now. The woman, a blonde, contrasted sharply with the staid academic. Though tasteful, her skirt was snug and short. The linen blouse was unbuttoned more than the warm spring day could justify. I'd put her at early forties, and much taller than the petite Janice. Her bosom rivaled mine, and I was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy.

After only a few minutes talking, Janice and the unknown woman both turned their heads, scanning the park, as if somehow suspecting they were being watched. "If they only knew!" I thought, glad I'd chosen a hidden vantage point. Janice quickly packed up her lunch, and the two women rose together, stepping briskly onto the walkway, headed towards the section that housed the tennis courts and swimming pool.

Though the pool itself was closed, the building adjacent to it was not. I knew that it contained male and female sides, with lockers, showers and bathrooms for each. Glancing around to be sure they were not seen, the two women darted inside the ladies section.

Glad that I'd worn tennis shoes, I waited about a minute, then silently entered the dim enclosure. The pair had not flicked on the fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling, and I wasn't about to, either. A narrow wedge of window ran along the wall where it met the ceiling, perhaps one foot wide. No one could see in, but it admitted some natural light. The concrete structure was a bit of an echo chamber, though, and I could tell where the women were.

The large room was divided by two rows of lockers. A low narrow bench faced each row. The changing room, an apt name. I stifled a giggle. Creeping carefully, I perched on one bench. Only a few feet away, in the opposite row, I heard an unmistakable sound. I'd been parked on plenty of double dates, and that was the unmistakable sound of a couple making out. The kisses were wet, but the soft moans were both female.

"Wait a minute," came a soft whisper, and I recognized Ms. Peabody's voice. A slight shuffle of feet. Being unable to see was maddening!

Then a faint rustle, and a throaty voice chuckled, "You do that as if you had practice," This was the busty blonde.

My imagination painted a picture of Ms. Peabody standing, hiking up her skirt, and pulling down her panties, taking a moment to fold them primly and set them on the bench. The kissing noises soon resumed, and a gasped, "yes!" told me that the blonde's fingers had taken the invitation to explore between Ms. Peabody's legs.

A few more minutes passed, and I heard Janice gasp loudly. In a frantic whisper, she began to quickly urge the woman, "please don't stop, please don't stop, please don't stop....."

"I've got you honey," the throaty voice replied, and that was it. I couldn't stand not seeing. Crouching down low, I crept until I could just look around the corner of the bank of lockers.

My imagination hadn't been far off. I could have stood right up and walked over to them, I don't think the women would have noticed. The blonde's blouse and bra were off, draped over the bench. Light red marks showed on her milky skin where the bra had pressed into it. Janice's hands were cupping and kneading the woman's enormous breasts. Their faces moved in a dance, kissing deeply.

Their precarious position seated on the narrow bench showed that Janice had hiked her skirt up around her waist, and, indeed, she had removed her panties. Legs lewdly spread, she gave easy access to the blonde's probing fingers. The woman moved her forearm back and forth, moving with increasing speed. Janice's fingers sank deep into the flesh of the tit she was caressing; it looked painful but the blonde didn't seem to mind at all. Suddenly, Janice went silent. Her neck arched back, eyes closed, face towards the ceiling. Her hand grabbed the blonde's forearm and halted the movement. With a low groan she held it still and pushed forward with her hips. I cursed the dim light and awkward angle. Was she putting the woman's hand inside her? I couldn't tell, but a series of shudders plainly showed Ms. Peabody was having waves of orgasm.

Gradually she collapsed into the woman's arms, and the blonde held her tenderly, stroking the hair that was, bizarrely, still up in a tight staid bun. After a minute or so of this, I heard the blonde softly say, "Care to return the favor, sugar?

An eager wet kiss was Ms. Peabody's assent. Smiling, the woman rose from the bench and unzipped her skirt. Cotton panties followed, and she now stood nude in the dim light. Her heavy breasts shifted as she moved, and Janice's eyes worshiped them.

Janice stood and smoothed down her own skirt, Pushing the woman back a step until she was leaning against a locker, Janice knelt on the concrete floor. The woman smiled broadly, and stepped her legs wide apart. I was startled to see that there was no pubic hair! Shaving that area was not the fashion of the time. The woman's slender fingers reached down and spread her outer lips wide. "Come and get some honey, baby doll" she purred softly.

Janice leaned forward, and put her hands on the woman's broad hips. Inhaling deeply, she was relishing every moment of this act. A few reverent kisses on the plump mound, and soon Janice's entire face was buried in the woman's sex. The bobbing motion of Janice's head suggested to me that she had her tongue out, and was dragging it up and down the wet slit. This went on for several minutes, and I lost the ability to tell which woman was moaning at what time. The blonde's hands clenched at her sides, and her body began to shake. The hands shot out, and grabbed Janice by the head. "I'm close, baby doll," the woman gasped. "Suck now, suck my clit! Oh, do it as hard as you can....."

The slick slurping noise Janice made as she complied had me getting wet and wishing I were in the blonde's place.

Too soon, it was over, and the women rapidly dressed. For Janice, just a matter of stepping into her panties and pulling them up, but she lingered, watching the blonde finish putting on her things. The woman put a light kiss on Janice's lips and whispered, "Next week, same time?"

Janice's face showed slight hesitation, then she slowly nodded. The women discreetly exited a few minutes apart, and I remained a good stretch behind them, not wanting to give myself away.

That weekend, I paid a visit to the local camera shop, purchasing what the smug clerk referred to as a "spy camera". Though it would fit in a purse, he tried to convince me that it had no decent range. I didn't bother to tell him that was a feature I wasn't going to need. Next, with some eyelash fluttering and cleavage showing, I managed to wrangle a position on the school newspaper, which, with some careful maneuvering, should afford me access to the darkroom and the ability to develop my own prints.

The spy camera lived up to it's name, and passionate moans covered the soft click of the shutter button.

It wasn't difficult, armed with a set of prints and dressed like a street whore, to convince Ms. Peabody to change the records and alter my grades. She would keep her job, and gain a new student intern. I couldn't type, and I never filed. The only work I ever did was underneath the desk, my face buried in the thick curls of Ms. Peabody's pussy.

On a visit home one weekend, I snooped in Daddy's office, and found the anticipated stash of girlie magazines. Browsing the back pages, I found ads for "marital aids" delivered discreetly in a "plain brown wrapper." Making a choice selection, I had it mailed to the office. Since I sorted the mail, I plucked it up, and carried it to Ms. Peabody's desk, being sure to lock the door behind me.

Her eyes went wide when she unwrapped the "special delivery." The rubber phallus was thick and long, with an especially wide head molded into it. Head shaking, she said, "Betty, I couldn't possibly."

"Oh come on, Janice. You're always asking for more." I referred to the fact that she loved to be fingered, and routinely begged me to insert more fingers. I picked up the toy with one hand and held it pointing upright. I held my forearm next to it, comparing.

Janice looked a little like the proverbial deer in the headlights. She stammered, "Why, why not just use your hand?" she said. We had approached fisting a few times, but never crossed that literal threshold.

"My hands are both going to be busy," I said. I waved the dildo like a wand. "One hand to hold this."

I held up my opposite hand, wiggling my long index finger. "And the other to put this into your asshole," Janice winced a bit at the crude word, but I could see from her flushed face that she was starting to like this idea. Ms. Peabody was fastidiously clean, and I always relished it when I got her excited enough to let me run my tongue around that tight little puckered hole.

"If you're scared, I'll go first, " I challenged. I brought the dildo up to my mouth and gave it a lick. "You'll have to get me nice and wet, though...."