Curves for Days Read online

  Teacher’s Curvy Pet

  Steamy BBW Insta-Love with an Older Alpha

  By Katie LaRoux

  © 2019 Katie LaRoux

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  NOTICE: This work is entirely fictional. None of the characters bear any resemblance to any real persons, living or deceased. All acts depicted are consensual. All characters are above the age of 18.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: Allison

  CHAPTER TWO: Dr. Dardennes

  CHAPTER THREE: Allison

  CHAPTER FOUR: Dr. Dardennes

  CHAPTER FIVE: Allison

  PART TWO, CHAPTER ONE: ALLISON

  PART TWO, CHAPTER TWO: Dr. Dardennes

  PART TWO, CHAPTER THREE: Allison

  PART TWO, CHAPTER FOUR: Pierre

  EPILOGUE: Allison

  CHAPTER ONE: Allison

  “I wonder what you’re getting all dolled up for?”

  I blush and turn my head to the source of the playful taunt. My roommate, Jane, is leaning in the doorframe of my room, watching me look myself up and down in my full-body mirror, with a mischievous smirk on her face.

  “A nice dress and make-up for an 8:00 am class,” she continues. “It must be Dr. Dardennes’ literature course, huh?”

  No doubt she’s heard me talking about him enough. By nature, I’m pretty private about matters of the heart – not that I’ve had much, or any, to write home about – but Jane’s my best friend, and what with sharing an apartment with her, I couldn’t quite keep myself from gushing about Dr. Dardennes more than once. More than twice. More than ten times. Well … more than enough.

  “Is there anything wrong with a girl wanting to look her best?” I shoot back at her, us both knowing full well I’m fooling neither her nor myself.

  “Uh huh,” she replies, rolling her eyes. She walks back into her room and plops back in her bed. “Good luck,” she says, before falling back to sleep – the blissful luxury of a day where your first scheduled class isn’t until 10:30.

  I look myself up and down in the mirror once again. I have on my best-fitting blue dress, the one that I think is most generous to my curves, and to my bosom – but without being too risqué. It’s a fine line a full-bodied woman has to walk between showing off her best assets and showing too much, but this spectacular find of a dress has always been able to do it like no other.

  My long, curly brown hair has nice, full body today and the new shampoo and conditioner I’ve brought has really graced it with a lovely sheen. A bit of makeup tastefully applied, and I can say that this morning I look just about at my best.

  The semester is almost over. I’ve been putting in this kind of effort to look my best for Dr. Dardennes’ class for about the last month and a half. I’m a girl who likes to look good but, all else equal, if I have an 8:00 class it’s sweatpants and a scrunchy. It was no different for Dr. Dardennes’ class for the first several weeks, too.

  Not that I wasn’t captivated by his gorgeous looks and overpowering intellect from the first moment I saw him and heard him speak, but I’m not one to kid myself. A world-renowned professor who looks every bit a world-renowned male supermodel, what chances are there that a man like that has any interest in me?

  But, and maybe it’s my crazy imagination running wild, I started to notice him looking at me more and more. He would always flash me a big, bright smile whenever I walked into class. It seemed like he was always looking at me whenever he recited a romantic poem or read a romantic passage as part of his lectures.

  In reality, most of it is probably in my head. He’s just a polite gentleman. But in my head or not, I started to feel that if his gaze was going to meet mine as often as it seemed, I wanted that gaze of his to see me at my best.

  I make sure I have all the notes and books I need for the day, zip up my bookbag, and head out. Me and Jane got this apartment together, finally off campus for our junior year. I don’t miss sharing a shower with the whole floor, I don’t miss being assigned a random roommate, and I sure don’t miss arriving at the dorm and finding a purple scrunchy on the doorknob: the symbol the last random roommate of mine devised to let me know that she had brought home some jock or frat bro and was insisting on disrupting my day by banging him, making me find somewhere to wait until they were finally done.

  Nope, I don’t miss any of that at all. I was lucky enough to meet Jane as part of the theatre group in freshman year, and we’ve been best friends since.

  Our small apartment building is just three blocks away from campus. It’s a nice, sunny day. A gentle breeze lightly rustles the branches of the trees lining the road, and the temperature is a perfect, low-humidity seventy-three degrees. As usual, the sidewalks are swamped with other students making the morning trek.

  I arrive at Anderson Hall, where most of the English courses are held. It’s a beautiful old building, built sometime in the late nineteenth century. Not the kind of buildings them make these days, that’s for sure. The kind of building that really screams “Ivy League”. Not that my small liberal arts college is really an Ivy League, but it’s got a good reputation – good enough to attract a scholar like Dr. Dardennes to spend a year as Visiting Professor.

  And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

  I’m actually the first person to arrive in class today. When I walk through the door, Dr. Dardennes is toward the front of the room, turned around facing the blackboard, reading something in his hands. I have to admit, other than his sparkling eyes, just about the best first sight to be greeted by is that fabulous backside. He’s wearing immaculately tailored slacks as usual, formed perfectly for those powerful, long legs and that firm, well-sculpted ass.

  I only take my eyes off of it when the thought occurs to me that I’d look like a real creeper if anyone else happened to barge into the room right at this moment. I turned my head side to side to make sure that just that didn’t happen, and then walk up to about the middle of the room and sit in my usual seat.

  Dr. Dardennes must have heard me sit down. He lays the paper he was reading on the desk in front of him and turns around. When our eyes meat, a warm smile beams across that gorgeous face of his. Even though you can tell he’s shaved just this morning, a dark five-o’clock-shadow is still spread across his prominent, chiseled jaw: a real sign of masculine virility. His thick, dark-blond hair is combed back, giving his hair the appearance of a lion’s majestic mane.

  “Oh, good morning, Miss Simmons,” he says in his smooth, deep, French-accented voice.

  “Good morning,” I manage to answer back in a tiny voice, just about melting into my chair.

  CHAPTER TWO: Dr. Dardennes

  The sun filling my bedrooms wakes me up before my phone’s alarm has a chance to. Always a nice way to start the day – spring, printemps, is well underway now. America took some getting used to, no doubt, but now that my second semester is almost at an end, I’ve really settled into life here.

  Almost, truth be told, to the point of really not looking forward to going home, back to Paris.

  My colleagues at the college here are great, and I’ve really gotten along well with the people in my department. I’ve been remarkably productive in my primary field of research: the medieval poetry of France, Spain and Italy. A particularly knowledgeable colleague of mine happened to be a specialist in early English literature, and we’ve written some very well-received articles analyzing the links of our two specialties.

  This small college town has really captured me with its lovely old buildings and quaint downtown. My English has even improved, though it was very good to begin with. If I really try, I can sound like a native speaker
– no accent at all.

  But I’d rather not sound like a native speaker. I like my accents – and to be honest, so to the American women.

  In short, I’ve become very attracted to my adoptive home, which is exactly how I’ve started to think of it here.

  Well, if I’m really being honest, all those aren’t the only things I’ve become attracted to. In fact, there’s one particular thing that makes me want to stay more than anything else: Allison Simmons.

  A student of mine.

  That sort of thing has always been not quite so scandalous in France as it seems to be in America. But it’s still, well, frowned upon. And I am in America right now after all.

  If I indulge these thoughts too long, I can be up pacing for hours trying to decide what I should do. A man my age, with a crush? And on a twenty-one-year-old junior no less?

  No time for that right now! I have a class to teach. It’s Wednesday’s French Poetry class. Of course, Allison Simmons will be there. She never misses a class. I take a quick shower, rubbing my muscles to work up a nice soapy foam, hop out, dry off, and comb my hair back. I open up my closet and pick out a good outfit for the day: a well-fitting brown suit, white checkered dress shirt and a dark blue spotted tie.

  Walking to class in this suit never fails to draw more than a couple stares from the female students I run across. And from the female faculty, for that matter. I can be a little vain, it’s true, and I can’t help but flash them a playful grin whenever I notice a woman’s gaze has been locked on me for just a bit too long.

  I had the reputation as a “playboy” in my younger years. I could still live up to that reputation to this day if I so chose, but that kind of life seems less and less appealing to me each year that passes by. I just feel like I want one woman to settle down with for good. But finding the right one takes real work, real effort and real time, and most of my attention has been devoted to my research.

  But Allison, my mind can’t help but thrust the thought into my consciousness. She has the looks, that’s for sure. Exactly my type: curvy in the best way. Everyone assumes that just because I have the stereotypical model look – I’m not modest enough to deny it – I must want the stereotypical model girl. But that’s not for me. Give me a fully bodied, real woman you can really hold on to any day.

  That was Allison. Curves for days and warm eyes that touch your heart. And her mind … I’ve never had a student, in America or in France, who wrote essays like hers. In fact, I’m planning to talk with her after class today about the most recent paper she submitted: it really should be published in a top journal.

  I arrive at class, plop my briefcase on the desk at the front of the room, remove my suit jacket and hang it on the chair behind the desk, and take out my lecture notes for the day. I read them over, making sure I know everything I want to cover today and have a decent outline of what my lecture is going to be.

  I hear a sound behind me, and when I turn around sure enough: Allison Simmons is the first student here. And man, what an outfit she’s wearing. A tasteful blue dress that hugs her curves in exactly the right places. Her round plumpness sends my heart racing.

  “Oh, good morning, Miss Simmons,” I say to her, a smile spreading across my face.

  She returns my smile with one of her own, lighting her rosy face up. “Good morning,” she replies.

  CHAPTER THREE: Allison

  As the rest of the students begin to file into the room, Dr. Dardennes turns toward me again and says, “By the way, that last paper you wrote was really excellent. Come to my office hours today, I want to talk to you about it.”

  I can’t keep my eyes from widening and my face from blushing redder than ever. “T-thanks. Sure, I’ll come!” I say, probably not doing a very good job hiding my excitement.

  Dr. Dardennes is usually a captivating lecturer, but today I couldn’t pay attention to his class for one minute. My mind was running away with wild ideas about me and him alone later today in his office hours. A silly fantasy, sure, but a girl can dream. And I couldn’t keep myself from imagining all the scenarios, in great detail.

  The next thing I know, the other students are getting packed up, and standing up and walking out of the room. I spaced out through the whole class! Geez. Time really does fly when a man like Dr. Dardennes is ravishing you in your mind.

  A bit embarrassed at my distractedness, I start to get my stuff together to head out, too. As I stand up and reluctantly turn my back to Mr. Dadennes’ Apollonian figure to leave the room, I hear him say, “A lot on your mind today, Miss Simmons?”

  I stop in my tracks. “W-what do you mean?” I stammer.

  When I see the stern face with which he is looking at me, my heart stops and I’m gripped by a sense of dread. But then I see a smile break out on the sides of his mouth and I see he was just kidding around. I’m flush with relief.

  “Just kidding,” he says, his French accent seeping through more than usual. “It just seemed you were a bit lost in your own thoughts today – and you’re usual so attentive! Hey, everyone gets distracted.”

  I smile myself and feel at ease by his good-natured joking. “I guess I was just flattered by what you said about my paper.”

  “Oh yes,” he replies. “It really was exceptional work. Unfortunately, I have to hurry to my next class, but we’ll talk about it at my office hours later today.”

  He puts back on the suit jacket he had hung on the chair behind the desk, and now all suited up he looks like he should be rather a President of CEO than a college professor. He snaps his briefcase shut and smiles at me while walking past me to exit the room.

  I nod back, a dumb grin on my face. After about a minute I realize I’m still just standing alone in the classroom like a fool, ensconced in a warm glow of love. A sort of exciting nervousness is intermixed with it as I realize that when I go to see Dr. Dardennes later today, this will be the first time we’ll have ever been alone together!

  I never really had trouble with his class so never needed to take advantage of his office hours, and so never had the opportunity to really meet or speak with him one on one. I just about kick myself at this realization, coming to the epiphany that I just should have pretended to have trouble with the class to have an excuse to see him!

  I get myself together and walk out of the room. In fact, I’m walking on clouds as I exit Anderson Hall and head back to my apartment, fancies of Dr. Dadennes dancing in my head. With my head in the clouds I finally arrive my building.

  “Oh shit,” I let out in a hushed tone after I’ve fished my apartment key out of my purse. I’m so out to lunch I forgot about my next class!

  I shrug it off as I unlock the door and enter my apartment. It’s a Sociology course I already have an A in, and I haven’t missed a session yet this semester. I can forgive myself this one. I plop down on the couch, resting my hands on my chest as I close my eyes and feel a gentle tingling of excited anticipation throughout my body.

  Jane will probably be back from class a little bit before I have to head back out to make Dr. Dardennes office hours. I’m looking forward to spilling the beans to her about my upcoming meeting with the hunky professor.

  I waste some time scrolling through my phone, checking out the news a bit, checking some social media. Of course, I can’t concentrate on anything I’m reading, the fact that I can’t keep my eyes from darting toward the clock every couple seconds in torturous anticipation, it feels like every minute is an hour. Eventually, I hear a key insert into our front door from outside and Jane walks in.

  “Skipping class, are we?” she says, taking off her bookbag.

  I move my legs off of the couch so that I’m now sitting rather than laying, to give her room on the other half. I pat the seat next to me, urging her to sit down, my eyes conveying that I have a juicy story to tell her.

  She joins me on the couch and asks, “What’s up?”

  “At Dr. Dardennes’ class today, before class … I got there early, and he said the last paper I t
urned in was so good he wanted to talk to me about it … alone! Later during his office hours!”

  Jane giggles and looks at me coyly. “Oh, did he really stress that word, ‘alone?”

  I blush, taking her joke. Of course, I am building it up in my mind more than it surely is. He’s just impressed with my paper, and out of his kindness, wants to give me some advice that can help me as I continue on to get a PhD, maybe eventually become a professor like him.

  Right?

  I mean, he did look at me, maybe … more intently than usual? Hey, maybe my mind is running away with itself here. But what the heck! I’m going to let myself enjoy this.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I reply to her question, giggling myself. “Either way, it’s pretty exciting. It’ll be fun to talk with him about it either way.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’ll both being having a lot of fun,” Jane replies with a wink.