it was him, she knew it. she knew that helplessly aroused look on his face, it was almost guilty now as she hurriedly slipped her shoes back on. how the fuck did he... her thoughts trailed off. she couldn’t possibly prove something like this and if this was just some curse put on her for wanting her professor badly enough to tease him with different colored toe socks and toe tights every other day, then maybe she deserved it. maybe he had nothing to do with it and this was all a bad dream. an abhorrently long bad dream, she thought.
finally, he got up from his desk to pass out a previous exam that had been graded. he flopped hers on her desk without looking at her. D-. well, this was her only chance to find out, she supposed. she would stay after, ask her professor to help her understand the course content better. she’d always wanted to be alone with him, always hoping her feet would persuade him to ask her to stay after to talk about her grades and god knows what else could happen then.
if she could expose her feet again, as casually as possible, maybe his full reaction between just the two of them would help her figure out if he was the one who made her into this bright orange monster. she spent the rest of the class trying not to squirm in her seat as she envisioned how she found out the truth; if he’d get noticeably hard in front of her, if he’d confess or if he’d sit glued to his desk and ignore her new colorful arches that extended in front of him as she would reach down to massage her foot, complaining of how sore they were. her head down, blindly looking through her test, her breathing became slightly labored as she felt a wetness pool between her flawlessly silky legs. she wanted so bad to know the truth and do everything she could to use it against him.