Sally slumped in her creaky wooden seat at the back of the packed lecture hall, the musty scent of old books and chalk dust hanging heavy in the air like a fog of forgotten deadlines. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glow on Professor Jonathan Slater's sharp features as he paced the stage, his deep voice cutting through the room like a blade. She tried to focus on his words about the French Revolution, her pen scratching notes on a crumpled pad, but her mind wandered to last night's party—the thumping music, the warm press of bodies, and the way her friends' laughter had drowned out thoughts of her overdue history essay. Her ginger hair fell in loose waves over her face, and she brushed it aside, feeling the weight of her large breasts shifting under her thin blouse, a reminder of how her social life had pulled her away from the books. God, if I don't get it together, I'll be repeating the year, she thought, her stomach twisting with a mix of regret and the lingering buzz from cheap wine.

As the lecture wrapped up and students shuffled out, Professor Slater's eyes locked onto hers from across the room, his authoritative gaze making her heart skip. "Miss Sally, a moment at the lectern, please," he called, his voice firm yet laced with an undercurrent that sent a shiver down her spine. She approached slowly, her curvy hips swaying slightly in her jeans, acutely aware of the way his eyes flicked over her before he leaned in closer. "You've missed two assignments, and your grades are slipping. Be in my office at four sharp—we'll discuss how to get you back on track." His words were professional, but the subtle drop in his tone, almost intimate, left her cheeks flushing as she nodded and hurried out, the echo of his command replaying in her mind.

Back in her cluttered dorm room, the afternoon sun filtering through dusty blinds, Sally's anxiety coiled tighter in her chest, making her breaths shallow and her palms sweat. She paced the small space, the faint scent of her unwashed sheets mingling with the floral notes of her perfume, until a sudden cramp hit her abdomen, forcing her to dash to the tiny bathroom. She slammed the door and yanked down her jeans, collapsing onto the cool toilet seat just in time for a noisy, relieving stream to gush out, accompanied by a series of embarrassing farts that echoed off the tiles. The release eased the pressure in her stomach, a wave of physical relief washing over her, but her mind raced with thoughts of the professor's stern face and what that meeting might hold—perhaps a scolding, or something more, something that made her inner thighs tingle with unexpected warmth.

After flushing the toilet and splashing cold water on her face in the cramped dorm bathroom, Sally stared at her reflection in the fogged mirror, her ginger hair disheveled and her cheeks still flushed from the embarrassing release. The lingering warmth between her thighs persisted, a confusing mix of physical relief and the illicit thrill of imagining Professor Slater's stern gaze on her body, perhaps tracing the curves that her tight jeans and blouse barely concealed. She smoothed down her blouse over her large breasts, feeling the fabric brush against her nipples, which hardened unexpectedly, and quickly pulled on her jacket before grabbing her bag and rushing out the door, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus quad as her heart pounded with a blend of dread and forbidden curiosity.

By the time she reached his office, the antique wooden door looming like a gateway to judgment, Sally's palms were slick with sweat, and her stomach churned with nerves. Professor Slater sat behind his massive oak desk, his sharp features illuminated by the warm glow of a desk lamp, his eyes narrowing as she entered. "Sit down, Miss Sally," he said, his voice a deep, commanding rumble that made her knees weaken. He wasted no time, explaining how her missed assignments had put her on the brink of resitting the year, his words painting a stark picture of academic failure that left her on the verge of tears, her outgoing nature crumbling under the pressure. "You've left me no choice but to enforce strict measures," he continued, standing and rolling up his sleeves to reveal toned forearms, the subtle scent of his cologne—earthy and masculine—filling the air as he gestured to a straight-backed chair in the corner. "This spanking will serve as your first lesson in discipline," he declared, his tone shifting to something more intimate, his eyes lingering on the swell of her hips and the way her blouse strained over her breasts.

But as he moved closer, his hand brushing the chair in preparation, Sally's anxiety spiked, a fresh wave of pressure building in her bladder from the rush to get here. "Wait, Professor, please—I need a moment, just a bathroom break," she stammered, her voice trembling as she shifted in her seat, the friction against her jeans igniting a spark of arousal that made her pussy throb with unwanted heat. Desperation flooded her as she begged for another chance, her words tumbling out in a rush: "I'll do anything, Professor, anything at all—just give me one-on-one sessions with whatever punishments you see fit." Her eyes met his, a silent plea laced with the electric chemistry simmering between them, her large breasts rising and falling with each breath as she sensed his hidden sensual side awakening, the air thick with the promise of redemption through intimate correction.

Professor Slater's eyes darkened with a mix of authority and intrigue as he studied Sally's flushed face, her plea hanging in the air like an unspoken invitation. "Very well, Miss Sally," he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine, "but make it quick. Discipline waits for no one." He gestured toward the door with a curt nod, his gaze lingering on the way her hips swayed as she bolted from the room, her heart racing with a cocktail of embarrassment and excitement. Once in the dimly lit university restroom, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like an intrusive

Spanked to Success