Joselyn took a seat, her mind racing ahead, planning her campaign.

"What is it, Miss uhh?" he said, fumbling for her name.

"Foche," she reminded him. "Joselyn Foche. I'm starting my second year of graduate work in the department."

"Yes, I remember you," he said, giving her a feral grin.

Though his eyes moved only slightly up and down, she got the distinct feeling that he had catalogued every aspect of her entire body, filed it away in, his brain for future reference. The briefness of his once-over riled her. It intimated that she wasn't worth more than a fleeting glance. She was determined to make a more definite impression on him than that. As she turned to the side to put her book bag down on the floor, she casually, "accidentally" let her thighs slip apart. "A-hem!" Dr. Velasquez said, clearing his throat.

Joselyn fought the urge to grin as she straightened up. She glanced at herself and saw what the professor saw that the crotch of her shorts, thanks to all the accumulated slobber and love juice and the stretching it'd received, had become nothing more than a thin ribbon of material, a ribbon that allowed the pink meat of her pussy and the soft fur that rimmed it to show on either side.

"Is something wrong, professor?" she said, her eyes wide with innocence.

"Uhh, no. No, of course not," he said nervously, showing her all of his white, even teeth.

"You had such a peculiar look on your face," she said, crossing her legs. Again, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. When she lifted her right leg up, the material of her crotch-band twisted to one side, giving him a look not just at the edges of her little pink cunt, but at the whole thing, from top to bottom.