A Wicked Education: A Study Hard Romance

Alluring athletes. Intellectual bookworms. Unconventional free spirits.
The dating options are nearly endless.
And yet, none of these “boys” hold my interest for longer than it takes to suck down a cold beer at a hot summer frat party.
Fortunately, among these campus men, a few figures stand apart.
My professors.
Their smart- sexy maturity makes the college boys around me pale in comparison.
And I quickly learn the intentions of these men are not limited to growing my intellectual knowledge.
No, they propose an alternative type of education, one that dives into a realm of desire and sensuality. And hot study sessions.
The kind that is not available in any textbook or lecture.
They give me a wicked education…in lust.
They teach me…a thing or two in the sack.
They ensure I’m at the head…of my class.
But the most important thing is to remain a straight A student.
Even though they're sure to grade me very...hard.

This hot, over-the-top romance includes sexy professors with a penchant for pursuing and protecting the college coeds who give them a run for their money. If you love outrageously naughty stories as a way to indulge your not-so-secret bad girl side, this is for you.
A Naughty Lesson
A Wicked Education
A Sinful Classroom

“So anyway, it was super hot—like eighty-five degrees—when Stephanie, Melanie, Brandie and I arrived in PV. You know?”
Yeah. I knew. 
How could I not know that Tiffanie from down the hall had just gotten back from Puerto Vallarta for spring break? 
Or ‘PV,’ as she called it. Like she was a regular there or something. Where it was hot and sunny and beautiful and everyone got great tans.
She’d only been talking about ‘PV’ since the beginning of the semester. So yeah, I knew.
Her bubbly enthusiasm, as much as it chafed me, was a distraction of sorts from the hubbub swirling around our dorm. The hubbub that I was not part of. While it was always like this on ‘return days,’ when people got back to school after a long break, today it was more like a bomb had gone off. After all, spring break was the most revered break of the entire school year. 
And after two and a half years at Wellshire University, I’d been able to sort the ‘return days’ into piles.
The first, and most chaotic, was move-in day, which happened twice a year—once in late August, and again in mid-January. This was, of course, at the start of each semester, when rooms may or may not be shuffled, new people were moving in and had no idea where to go, and everyone’s crap was piled up on sidewalks as their parents unloaded and then took off before getting roped into carrying duffel bags and other junk into multi-floor walk ups built before the ADA had required elevators and ramps. 
And if I were to rate those two move-in days, August was definitely worse because you were moving in everything you were bringing to school. At least over Christmas break, you could leave whatever you wanted to behind, making the January return a lot easier. 
Yes, January move-in was mellower. That was when you’d have your winter starts. There were fewer newbies arriving, instead just returning students putting away whatever new electronics and the occasional winter sweater they’d scored as holiday gifts. 
Today, though, was the most exciting of all return to campus days—the famed spring break return. Over holiday break, the weather was usually crappy and most people all went to the same place, namely home. Oh sure, some would go to a boyfriend’s or girlfriend’s home, and a very select few went on an exotic vacation like skiing or some such. But those were few and far between.
Spring break, though? Now that was exciting. It was the return when most people had gone somewhere and did stupid college shit they’d never tell their kids about, which kept campus gossip buzzing for days. It was the day when people screamed in excitement or cried in embarrassment.
Yes, there were always tears.
For me though, it was torture. At least this year.
For some of the girls in my dorm, my room had become a sort of gathering place. Part of it was because of my roommate, Birdie. She was just that sort of person who attracted lots of friends. She was sweet and sort of nerdy-cool. And while she spent most of her free time working in the library, she was also always willing to lend an ear to someone in need, whether it be some girl bellyaching over a boyfriend ghosting her, or a lousy grade when they thought they deserved better. 
But Birdie wasn’t there yet, not having arrived from her own romantic spring break with not one, but three hot dudes. Who happened to all be employed by the university. How she pulled that off still baffled me, but I had to say, I’d never seen my friend happier.
So that day, to my surprise, the passersby who stopped in were there to see me. I was the funky social boho girl, the Bettie Page lookalike who rocked corset tops and combat boots, went through eyeliner like some people went through toothpaste, and often had a sarcastic, occasionally insightful, and sometimes downright rude comment on everything.
I was an outlier in the world of beautiful, preppy Wellshire University blondes. But, for some unfathomable reason, people still liked me.
Which pissed me off from time to time. I mean, I’d spent a good part of my life being the ‘alt chick’ and making sure I was the most unpopular girl in school. Why college turned that on its head was beyond me. Unexpected, and not at all understood.
I turned my attention from the couple out in front of my dorm arguing so loudly they might have been right in my room, each accusing the other of cheating during their separate trips. Like I said, spring break ended, for some people, in tears.
From the stories I’d heard each year, this vacation rite of passage was about a lot of things, but fidelity was not one of them.
Tiffanie continued her debrief. Which I had not asked for. 
She slammed her hands on her hips. “You would not believe how drunk Stephanie got that first night. Oh my god, she drank like, two gallons of margaritas. And you know how she gets.”
“Not really,” I muttered, feeling the headache behind my eyeballs increase in volume. Fuck all, where was Birdie? She’d rescue me from this drivel, smiling and nodding politely as she always did, patiently listening to Tiffanie share her download.
While I’d put in my earbuds and listen to music or a podcast.
“Well, Stephanie is like, a total slut when she gets drunk,” Tiffanie continued. “So like, it’s two in the morning and she’s got like, three guys dancing with her, feeling her up, her left boob’s out of her dress. I mean, it was like… damn girl, get you some!”
Tiffanie laughed, but part of me wanted to roll my eyes. The other part was a little jealous. I wasn’t proud of that, but it was true. Party girl might not have come back from Mexico with a boyfriend, but at least she’d gotten some action. Better than my spring break.
“So what about you, what did you do?” she asked hopefully. 
Before I could answer, another visitor, this time from the guys’ floor, popped in. “As hot as Miami was,” Charlie Conners said, giving both of us hungry looks, “I’d say the view is much better back here at Wellshit.”
We rolled our eyes. It was what you did with Charlie, grade-a horndog and supposed accounting major. But everyone knew what he really majored in was pussy. As in, he treated pussy like Pokémon. Gotta catch ’em and all that. But at least he was honest about it, not trying to pretend like he wanted a real relationship with his conquests. 
I had to hand him that. 
“Really, Charlie?” Tiffanie asked in pretend offense. I knew she was on his to-do list. Actually, he’d made it pretty clear I was on his to-do list too. I just wasn’t interested. 
I smiled, just to torment him a little. “Wow, Charlie, looks like you brought a nice tan home from Miami,” I said, looking him over. 
I’d bet that wasn’t all he brought home, with the fucking around he probably did.
Ew.
It was no secret how busy the campus health center was after spring break.
Charlie grinned, flexing his biceps in his new Miami tank top. “You know it, Jessa. So, you ladies had a good spring break? Ready to study hard now? Only a couple months left in the semester you know,” he said with a big grin, as if he ever studied.
“You’re always studying hard, Charlie,” I said, making Tiffanie laugh. “Too bad you don’t study long.”
“There’s more than one way to study, oh Snow White vixen of the third floor,” he said with a deep bow. 
Accepting that I wasn’t interested in his spiel, he turned all his focus to Tiffanie. “If I can ever share with you some of those alternative ways to study, Miss Tiff, I’m only a staircase away.”
Tiffanie gave Charlie the look. I’d learned it pretty well since coming to campus. It was the look that said ‘We can stop the conversation any time you want. Let’s get down to fucking.’
Maybe that meant she’d get out of my hair.
But not yet. “You know Charlie, I was thinking about hitting the books tonight,” she said with a twinkle, then turned to me. “But I was just asking Jessa here about her spring break. What did you do, girl?”
Charlie could not be less interested in my spring break, particularly when there was potential sex on the table.
And not wanting to cock-block the guy, I made it brief.
“Nothing as exciting as you two,” I said, moving toward the door to get them out of my room before they started rutting on the carpet. “Went to wine country, did some artsy shit. That’s all.”
“Ah, wine country,” Charlie said with a grin. “You know, Jessa, I’d love to see what kind of girl you are when you’ve got a bottle or two in you.”
“Not gonna happen, Charlie,” I told him for what felt like the hundredth time. “Besides, you and Tiffanie have some studying to do, right?”
“Always willing to do a group session if it includes you, Jessa,” he said. 
I had to give him credit for persistence.
He turned to Tiffanie, who’d already started fluffing her hair and pushing her boobs out. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t need to try so hard. Charlie was pretty much a sure thing. “Shall we?” he said gallantly.
It was funny, the sudden, almost gentlemanly question at the end of Charlie’s blatant panty chasing, but Tiffanie was all for it. They went in one direction and I in the other to the vending machine, where I grabbed a pack of Twinkies
I tore them open like a starving animal and bit into the soft sponge cake, closing my eyes and savoring the greasy deliciousness. They were my kryptonite for so many reasons, and at that moment, the sugary sweetness was a welcome about-face from my own spring break. I did go to wine country, like I’d told Tiffanie and Charlie, but it wasn’t on some single-woman get away, where I got dramatic vistas all day, drank wine all evening, and slept with hot, hunky vintners all night.
Nope, I went with my mother. That’s right, Wellshire University’s resident raven haired rockabilly chick went on spring break with Mommy. We did tour a bunch of vineyards, and I did get plenty of pics for great landscapes and interesting material to use later in my art classes. But instead of gallons of wine, I sipped and tasted tiny quantities of it in between bottles of spring water. Instead of rich, luxurious foods, we nibbled at vegetarian sample platters. Oh, and yoga. There was lots of yoga. Mom had turned the trip into a ‘detox your body, detox your mind’ tour.
It was the biggest bait and switch in the history of mother-daughter travel.
And I didn’t see a single dick. I saw plenty of men, of course. And like just about everywhere else I’d gone since my boobs started growing from acorns into the size of grapefruits, I got plenty of interested looks.
But everyone kept their pants on, especially me. That’s how things worked you travel with your very married, very protective mother. Three out of the five nights I couldn’t even use the little vibrator I’d packed, since I had to share a room with Mom.
So, my friend the Twinkie was a lame act of rebellion, a silent protest against a week of endive, tahini, kale, and textured vegetable protein. I never thought I’d say this, but I was looking forward to the dining hall starting back up tomorrow. I was ready for burgers, fries, and fish sticks.
As I returned to my room, I navigated all the noise and attention. Three guys tried to start up conversations, clearly trying to get into my pants, but, no. Not gonna happen. Truth was, walking through the dorm, past the common room and up the stairs, I had to admit I was bored with boys.
I wanted a man.
Part of college life was, of course, about hooking up. Fact. I might not have been a psych or sociology major, but I knew that the instinctive drive to figure out what the hell you wanted to do in life, and who you wanted to do in life, was amplified by having so many options available as one does on a college campus.
For me though, I was done with the games and the silliness. Drunk frat bros who paid people to write their papers because they were too lazy or dumb. Minute men who barely lasted long enough to stick it in. Dumbasses who didn’t even know how to do their own laundry.
I wanted to be inspired. I wanted to be challenged. I wanted to feel the same passion from a lover that I felt when I was painting or using my imagination. I wanted…
Well, something that Charlie and the other guys around campus didn’t offer, that was for damn sure.
I got back to my room, closing the door to cut off the constant drop-ins. I just wasn’t up for the stories of drunken debauchery that highlighted all that I hadn’t done over spring break.
And didn’t really want to do, anyway.
Instead I plugged my phone into my laptop to transfer all the photos I took, hoping that maybe I could find something inspirational for my next painting project. I had about three quarters of them done when my door opened again, and in walked my roommate.
Thank fucking god.
I threw my arms around her and stepped back.
What a difference a semester could make. Her entire freshman year, she was the hidden flower of Wellshire, absolutely gorgeous but so shy and reserved she was nearly invisible. And she was a virgin on top of all that.
More than once I wondered whether her shyness was just an act. With those big eyes, pouty full lips, tight body, and big, bouncy brown hair, she had no clue she was attractive. It was as if she’d never looked in a mirror. Damnedest thing.
Until last semester. After confessing to our friend Roxy and me that she was a virgin, and a joking comment on our part that she should use that as inspiration for an English class essay, her life changed, practically overnight.
And that’s why my girl had just gotten back from spring break with her three boyfriends. Her three older boyfriends. Her three older, professor boyfriends. Maybe I was a little jealous.
But thrilled for her, too.
“How was your spring break, Jessa?” she asked with a tight hug.
“Eh. Boring,” I said, hugging her just as tightly.
Geez, she looked amazing. 
Was that what a week straight of fucking three hot guys did for you? If I could bottle that, I’d be one rich bitch.
Gone were Birdie’s insecure glances, or the slightly confused looks as the sounds of college life filtered into our room. Instead a confident, beautiful, and sexy woman who knew the power of not just her mind but her spirit and sexuality, crossed the room to put her bag down on what was technically her university-issued dorm bed. 
I say technically because most nights she no longer spent in our room. She slept at her mens’ places, going to bed with one or more of them. And this past spring break was probably an erotic adventure that would have blown even my dirty imagination.
Not that I was above digging for details. “So? How was your week with the… guys?” I asked, jonesing for juicy details.
Guys. Multiple guys. More than one. And I’m not talking a measly menage. These crazy kids were a foursome.
A goddamn foursome.
Who knew that was even a thing?
Jessa hadn’t, either. Until it was.
Her new arrangement was something I still wasn’t sure how to handle in public conversation. And while she was no longer in any of her lovers’ classes, that didn’t mean people didn’t know things. And talk. So I did what I could to quell any rumors, since around Wellshire U, about the only thing more popular than sex was gossip.
“Everything was amazing,” she sighed happily, falling back on the bed and stretching her arms above her head. “We went to the mountains, to Kai’s family cabin, and… yeah, it was good.”
I chuckled jealously at the way she said good. Such a bland word, but so full of possibility. “So are there any fantasies you didn’t get fulfilled?” I asked, trying not to look desperate for a racy story.
Birdie gave me a look that had me burning inside, and her huge crooked grin could only be described as shit-eating. “Nope.”
She was killing me. But I wasn’t going to beg.
“Wow.” I got up and locked the door. 
If our friend Roxy came by, I’d let her in, but that was it. Everyone else could pound sand, including Tiffanie. Oh wait, Tiffanie was probably off having sex with Charlie Conners, so she wouldn’t be by anytime soon, anyway. Unless he was a minute man. 
Trying not to look too eager, I continued. “Okay, I’ve got to ask. In all your… time together, you’ve had a few, shall we say, group activities, right?”
Birdie rolled her eyes. “Of course. Do you think they line up outside my door and come in one at a time? Hello! I mean, we have one on ones sometimes, but normally it’s at least two of the guys, and most of the time all three.” Her eyes fell closed, and she smiled. “God. How did I get this life?”
I wondered that, too.
After a moment of dreamy remembering, she continued. “Like last week, I was in the hot tub with Leo when Cary walked in on us… and joined. It was so freaking hot. You have to try it sometime.”
Um, yeah.
“I bet.” I took a deep breath, repressing my own shivers at the image. Her guys Leo and Cary were nice, and I didn’t mean personality-wise. “I was just thinking, Birdie, have you ever, you know, sat back and watched as two of your men engaged in some sweaty naked wrestling?”
“Sweaty naked wrestling?” Birdie asked, laughing and shaking her head. “No. The guys are just into me. Not that I would mind seeing something like that. But it’s not their thing.”
“So you’ve… done everything with them, right?”
My previously innocent virgin roommate nodded. “Yup. Not a single virgin inch of flesh left here. We like to experiment from time to time. Keep things very… fresh.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there was that time Kai lapped up my ass like it was a bowl of ice cream,” she said with a big grin, shivering at the memory, “and in return I massaged his prostate, blowing him while sticking a finger up his backside.”
Okay. My formerly virgin roommate had just surpassed me in sexual experience. 
“Did he like it?” I asked in a croaky voice.
“His nickname is now Firehose,” Birdie said, grinning. “Seriously, he came so hard his balls literally ached afterwards. You should have seen him walk. So… I’d say, yeah, we’re open to trying some new things.”
I sat back, flushed and almost sweating at the thought. “Fuuuuck. Daaaamn.”
I just didn’t have the words. Birdie had become a woman, and it showed. Even her hair was more gorgeous— still long and curly, but mature and sexy, with one sultry lock hanging over her eye, making her look like the temptress that she was. The confidence really stood out. And impressed me. Then again, if she’d been handling three dicks on the regular, no wonder she was more confident.
“Hey… I’m still me, remember?” Birdie said, almost reading my mind. She grinned, and tugged at one of her curls like she used to. “Really, Jessa.”
“I know, I just… am very jealous of your spring break compared to mine.”
She let out a relieved laugh, and sat back. “Okay, fill me in. Last time we talked, you were going to wine country with your mom. Not my choice, but… okay.”
“Yeah, shouldn’t have been my choice either,” I admitted. “But Mom promised me a trip to a gallery that was on my bucket list, in addition to vineyard tours, wine tastings, and yoga.”
“Was it fun?” she asked.
“Yeah well, the yoga was fine,” I said, “but Mom wasn’t. Apparently she wanted to use the trip to have a ‘talk’ with me.”
“A week-long talk?” Birdie asked incredulously. “She must’ve had a lot to say.”
“She sure did. Apparently, I’m wasting my time here at Wellshire studying art,” I said with more than a little bitterness. “Getting a ‘silly art degree’ is a waste of my time and her money, and if I wanted to paint, there was no reason I couldn’t just ‘play around’ with it on the weekends.”
She grimaced, knowing how this hit my pride. “Ouch.”
“And it got better,” I admitted. “She said while my degree might not be of any use, a husband sure would.”
My stomach curdled at the words every time they played in my mind, and even more so when I actually spoke them out loud.
But when they’d come out of my mother’s mouth? Well, that hurt. Like drive a dull dagger through my heart, kind of hurt.
I’d wanted to scream at her. I’d wanted to run. Instead, I just excused myself for the ladies’ room, where I sat on the toilet seat with my head between my knees to ward off my nausea. I didn’t know how to tell her what a vicious betrayal that sort of remark was. So, I didn’t.
Birdie was equally indignant, sitting straight up and stomping her feet on the tile floor. “No fucking way!”
I nodded. “Yup. I mean, I wouldn’t mind having a Steady Eddie. It would be fun. You know, someone to hang out with, have lots of sex with. Problem is, I’ve been back on campus for like, three hours now, and you know what? None of the guys around here do a damn thing for me. They’re all… so lacking.”
She looked at me knowingly. “Maybe, what you need isn’t a student, but a teacher? Worked for me.”
Before I could respond, there was a knock on my door. “Hey, bitches, open up!”
Roxy. My BFF had no filter sometimes, and as I opened the door, she exploded into the room like she always did. Although this time, she looked tired. She’d not had a nice little spring break vacation like Birdie and I had. No, Roxy’s week off school meant nothing more than double shifts at her hotel maid job. My girl struggled to make ends meet, and worked herself to the bone every spare moment she had. 
“So where’s my weed?” I joked, a code phrase that Birdie and I came up with whenever we wanted save Roxy’s feelings. When we used it, all conversation connected to money or our privilege stopped. I was pretty sure Roxy knew what we were doing, but she let it slide.
“Your weed is all smoked up, baby,” Roxy said with a weak laugh. 
Birdie nodded sagely. “Have a seat, we were just talking about Jessa’s woes.”
“Woes?” Roxy asked, and for the next few minutes I filled her in on what my mother had pressured me about, editing out the wine tastings and expensive shit. 
“Well, we know what’s on Mom’s mind. She’s not holding anything back,” she said.
“Tell me about it,” I sighed. “Neither of my parents takes me seriously. And I don’t know if the art department does either. Like, my grades are fine, but I’m not getting the right doors opened.”
“What would be the right door?” Roxy asked. “I mean, for the rest of the year?”
“That’s easy,” I said quickly. “I need to get into the Spring Show. It’s for the best of the best of the undergrad art students, and if you’re in, you get noticed. If I did well in that, I’d get a sweet scholarship. That’d let me cut the apron strings with the folks, and I’d get exposure to gallery owners. Last year’s winner even got a summer-long residency at the Corning Museum in New York. A whole summer of all the mentoring you can handle, picking the minds of the artists in residence, making killer connections… yeah, it’d be sweet.”
“That sounds amazing,” Birdie said.
I sighed. “It would be. It truly would be. And looking back at the winners of the Spring Show, lots of them get offered residencies, internships, and fellowships that launched them upward. This goes for all sort of media, whether it’s paint, metal, glass, or whatever. And supposedly you get matched to something that suits you. I mean, it’d be stupid to offer a fellowship at the Getty to someone who’s more of a MoMA chick. Know what I mean?”
I saw that my two friends didn’t, but they nodded along anyway. “So, you’re right, Birdie. Oils are my thing, color on canvas.” I tapped my fingers together. “Now… I just need to figure out how to get noticed.”