Even though Kiki had grown up within half a mile of the famous, architecturally-significant Administration Building that dominated the entrance to the College, she had never been inside before. Townie boys and girls never went to school at the College — they only worked there and made deliveries and pick-ups. The differences in class and wealth were just too great and no townie kid wanted to be looked down on by the rich kids who made up the student body at the College. So they went to State, way over in the city, an inconveniently long drive away and maybe lacking in prestige but State gave them a good education almost for free and without attitude.

Now Kiki was walking into the inner sanctum, the palace (or should that be “temple”?) of administration of one of the most prestigious institutions of higher education in the country, of the biggest employer for miles around, of the political force that pulled the strings in that part of the state and that ran the town like it ran its food and custodial services.

The Administration Building was old and looked as historic as it was. The carpet was just a little threadbare and the furniture was elegant but not new. It was just worn enough to make the alumni feel like they should support the place so it shouldn’t get too run-down. She saw a sign at the base of the elegant stair case: President’s Office, Room 210. She mounted the stairs and walked down a long corridor with oil portraits of the 17 Presidents who had led the College during its long history. The older the President, the more distinguished he looked, Kiki noticed, even though the College had been pretty mediocre for the first century of its now-distinguished history. It used to be a place where rich fathers sent their untalented sons to become gentlemen. For the last several decades, since a small number of donors had given it big bucks in an effort to get bragging rights, it had become a genuinely good school.

The secretary scowled at her as she walked into the President’s office suite. What was that about??? Kiki wondered. She hadn’t even opened her mouth!

Kiki didn’t look trashy today, although she could not conceal her curves if she dressed in a flour sack. Still, her blouse and skirt were modest, her figure was slim and her boobs were in a bra for once, she was wearing low heels, and she was trying very hard not to sway her hips as she walked. Kiki decided that it was because the secretary, even though she was a nice-looking, mature woman herself, was a stuck-up bitch at heart and looked down on her youth and attractiveness.

Actually, it was because the secretary thought she was a student and always tried to protect her boss from student walk-ins because they took up so much time. Students would just walk on in, thinking that their enormous tuition gave them a right to speak to the President as if they owned the place and he was working for them. Which, in fact, was close to the truth.

The secretary was befuddled for a moment when Kiki said her name and it corresponded to the President’s scheduled 2:00 appointment.

“Oh, Kiki! Come right in!” said the handsome, tall, balding, distinguished-looking older man who came out the door when she was announced. “How good of you to come! I appreciate that you made the time for us! Please come in and sit down.”

Now the secretary was thoroughly confused. Who was this girl? Why was the College’s President kowtowing to her?

The large office was furnished with bookcases with a collection of globes and leather-bound books. The walls were hung with antique maps. Before becoming an administrator, the President had been a world-famous geographer and had been among the world’s leading professors of cartography — the study of maps. In one corner sat an impressive-looking desk and at the far end was a conference table with seven güvenilir bahis or eight chairs around it, but closer to the door, in the middle, was a seating arrangement that looked like a living room. The President sat there. Sunlight flooded the impressive room.

Kiki took a seat on the sofa. They exchanged pleasantries, without reminding each other that they had met before once, at the home of one of the economics faculty, where he had fucked her. She smiled, her peculiar little smile where the corners of her mouth turned up.

“You know, Kiki, you are one of the most popular people with the Department of Economics. All our econ faculty seem to know you and they all love you. They recommended that I speak to you.”

Kiki didn’t say anything. Perhaps the President did not remember fucking her once, at one of Henderson’s famous dinner parties. Then again, it was hard to forget having sex with Kiki. She figured he was just pretending not to know her.

“We have a serious problem. The Department of Philosophy has invited some European philosopher to spend some time as scholar in residence. He is from Moravia and his name is Vick Dickatyou. His field is Freudian psychology.” His eyes were fixed on the buttons of Kiki’s blouse, as if expecting them to pop open by themselves at any moment, as well they might have.

Kiki gasped. “I think you mean Viku Dicae. He is from Moldova and he famous! He works in comparative epistemological neurolinguistics and you may have him confused with the great Stavoj Zizek, from Slovenia, who works in Lacanian psychoanalysis. That’s different. But Dicae is such a famous intellectual! What an honor for the College!”

“Right, that’s what I meant.” The President said. “But having him here may cause a problem, even though it’s only for a few weeks. But it’s too late to withdraw the invitation. I wish they had invited the guy from Slovakia.” Throughout the conversation, the President of the College had been staring at Kiki’s breasts, proportionate and well-shaped even though confined today to a bra.

“Slovenia,” Kiki corrected him. “And that’s the other guy, Zizek. What is the problem?” Kiki asked. “Oh, by the way, while we are having the conversation, would you like for me to bare my breasts so you can look at them?” Kiki was tired of wearing that stupid bra.

“Why, yes, Kiki. That would be very nice. How kind of you.” He moved over and sat beside her on the sofa.

The President went on while Kiki was disrobing. “The man has gotten himself into real trouble. He just doesn’t seem to know how to keep it …..in his pants. He was at the University of Caen, in Belgium, last year and….oh it was terrible.”

“Caen is in France.” Kiki had taken off both her blouse and her bra and was sitting topless. “Wow. If the French were scandalized it must have been something.” Her lovely breasts glowed in the light from the windows and her nipples threw pointy shadows. The President did not touch her but was clearly entranced by them.

“He claimed that the age of consent was different in France and Moldavia but….. For Pete’s sake you’d think he’d be more careful with the students. And there were so many of them!” The President was getting agitated, imagining a scandal unfolding at the College that, if it happened, would almost certainly force him to resign in disgrace.

“Moldova. That’s the name of the country today.” Kiki corrected him. “Moldavia was its name when it was part of the Soviet Union and before, like in the Middle Ages.”

“Right, that’s what I meant. You know, Kiki, we had a real problem here a few years ago. We can’t afford to have something scandalous happen again!” His voice broke.

Kiki knew the basic story of the recent scandal from town gossip but not the details because the wimpy newspapers in town did not dare report türkçe bahis on it, so the President enlightened her. The President stared at Kiki’s boobs while he talked. It seemed to calm him down.

“Feel free to fondle me and tug on my nipples while you talk,” Kiki interrupted him, arching her back to push out her adorable breasts. The President did as she suggested.

In the late 1990’s, the College had gained a reputation as a wide open, party-loving rich kids’ school. At the same time, the College attracted some of the best faculty and scholars in the world, so it still kept its world-class reputation. Cool children of the elite were clamoring to go to school there. One of the attractions was prestige, another was money, but the big one was sex. Parents, none the wiser, were thrilled at their children’s educational aspirations.

It worked for a while, because both the students and the faculty were powerfully motivated — good grades and good teaching went hand in hand with pervasive promiscuity, as long as they kept quiet about it! The kids became motivated to work hard because it got them sexual favors. They set up little sex games to reward each other for doing well on a test or in a course. The faculty was in on it, too. There was a rule that a student could improve his or her grade by just one point for putting out, but no more — after all, there were standards to uphold. And the same held true in the other direction for student evaluations: sexy courses and tolerance of classroom nudity meant a better shot at promotion for the new faculty. Whatever brought them to the College in the first place, in time the best minds and most productive teachers at the College stayed on as horny middle-aged professors because they were getting all they wanted and could handle.

“Then it had all started to fall apart. First there were the rumors, then the internet postings, and finally all the pregnancies. Geez,” the President was a bit of a prude in his language, you’d think that rich smart kids would know better! We had to hire an obstetrician on the student health service staff!”

The parents were soon in revolt, the alumni started withholding their support — it had been a catastrophe! There was a big crackdown to show the parents that the College took it seriously and the students in the first two years were required to live on campus. Applications dropped like a rock and for the first time in almost half a century the College could not fill its incoming class!

“Kiki, I can’t face another disaster like that!” The President was visibly upset now, in spite of Kiki’s mammary distraction. “It would destroy the reputation of the College…..and me!” He started to sob.

“There, there, sir,” Kiki cooed. “Would you like to suck on my tit? It would make you feel better.”

“Kiki, you’re too kind,” said the President, applying his lips to the nipple of Kiki’s right breast. After a minute or two on each tit, he seemed to relax.

“What can I do to help?” Kiki asked, knowing full well what the President wanted. Actually, both things the President wanted.

“I understand that you are Moldovan.” The President could barely be understood because his mouth was full of Kiki’s firm left breast.

“Well, half Moldovan,” Kiki sighed. She squirmed a little as the President’s teeth bit down lightly on her nipples. “My mother came from there. I was born in this country.”

“There aren’t many Moldovans around and that gives you something in common bond with him, a reason for us to arrange for you to meet him. You can be part of our welcoming committee, a reason for us to introduce you to him. After that, nature” by which the President meant lust, “will take its course. Can you, could you, maybe….”befriend” him?” the President asked. “Keep him happy and occupied so he doesn’t threaten our güvenilir bahis siteleri campus life and values?” He was nuzzling in her cleavage now as he spoke.

Kiki had heard through the townie grapevine that the old licentious ways were coming back into fashion at the College. They were just kept underground, in the form of invitation-only “tits out” parties [if this interests you, read “Felicity Gets Fondled!”] and even the occasional “balls out” party [if this interests you, read “Gretchen Does the Groping”]. But she was not about to tell the President what she knew was going on already. He would find out for himself soon enough.

“Kiki, we’ll make it worth your while! We have rich and powerful alumni who want to protect the reputation of their alma mater and when I explain things — well, they can be very generous!” He was sucking on her vigorously now on alternating sides and tweaking the other nipple with his fingers.

“Of course I’ll help in such an important matter!” Kiki said, gasping as the President ran his thumbs roughly over her wet nipples. “I’m sure the College’s supporters will recognize my efforts in whatever way they feel is appropriate! All you have to do is arrange for me to meet him — you’d better do it the minute he arrives, so he doesn’t cause trouble right off the bat. Speaking of bats, I think we should take care of this now, don’t you?” Kiki pointed to the tent in the President’s trousers. “Sit back now, and let me do the work.”

The President sat back on the sofa and let Kiki take off his pants. Lovingly, she put her soft white fingers around his upper-class, white Anglo-Saxon penis and began to stroke. The President sighed. “That feels so good, Kiki. It just takes all the stress away.”

Kiki knelt down on the floor and moved in between his legs. She held up his dick with one hand and fondled his testicles with the other. He had gotten quite hard — he still had good wood, at his age!

Kiki wished they had time to fuck but she realized that she was already pushing it so she engulfed his cock with her mouth and began to suck. Her tongue, her lips, her head motion brought him to a place of deep arousal and he forgot all of those concerns that had caused him such anxiety just a few minutes before. Then she swallowed him down and he experienced the miracle of her deep throat muscles! It was so good — like nothing he had experienced in his long and distinguished life! She knew exactly how to work him and he came, forcefully, manfully, confidently, and as if all his cares were exiting through the tip of his penis into Kiki’s loving mouth and then down her talented throat! When his emission was over, he was so deeply satisfied that it occurred to him as he recovered that a few minutes with Kiki was better than an hour-long fuck with his regular mistress.

The President slumped on the sofa. Kiki licked the last drop of extruded semen off his little eye, tidied him up and tucked him back in his pants, then put her blouse back on without the bra, her still-aroused nipples clearly poking out in front. She put her bra in her purse. Then, after the President had stood up, appearances restored, she stood on tiptoe to reach his face and gave him a peck on the cheek. He seemed surprised and his hand came up quickly to rub it off. Since she wasn’t wearing lipstick, that couldn’t be his concern. She figured he probably just wasn’t comfortable given where her mouth had just been. Too bad — his loss.

He resumed his patrician bearing and saw her to the door, murmuring “Thank you!” as she walked out the door.

One look at her nipples, erect under her blouse, and the secretary gasped, and then glared at Kiki. As she crossed the waiting room, she did not bother to keep her hips from swaying.

On her way home, she stopped at the Hotel Vincennes to celebrate with a couple daiquiris. The College, the great and famous College! had called on her for deliverance only she could provide. At long last, the College had to admit that a lowly townie girl had something they didn’t and couldn’t do without.