“Accidentally” spill water on Professor Luck

You look up at Luck, your attention torn up from your work, and from the questions you’ve had, by her sudden exclamation. With an almost sudden strike of thought, you suddenly feel the same way, thoughts and questions bubbling to your mind as you realise, yeah, it really is that hot. Despite not having felt them before, you can feel those beads forming on your forehead, and underneath your shirt, trailing down, in rivulets, as they run towards your eyes and down your chest and sides.

“Yeah,” you agree, chuckling almost nervously – even though you have no reason to be – tearing your eyes from the perspiration making its way through the thin fabric of her shirt, and to her face, her eyes. They somehow seem more sensual now – slightly lidded, blinking faster, sweat and little droplets that aren’t quite tears, dotting her lashes and moistening the slight bags underneath as well.

“If only I had a fan,” she muses, stepping back, before glancing down under the table.

You glance down at the table—her glass of water just laying there—and you get an idea. An absurd, terrible idea—but an idea nonetheless. As she squats down, looking at the boxes under the table, trying to see if any of them offer any sort of protection from the overwhelming heat, you suddenly join her—jostling the table just enough to knock the glass over—and you squat down in time to see a great deal of water pour all over your cute professor.

“Ah!” she shouts, rising, suddenly banging her head against the underside of the desk—sending more water over her—before she backs away and sprawls across the floor, legs all askew, her back straight as she leans against the nearest wall for a bit of support. Her hair is soaked through, the style ruined. But more importantly, her shirt is soaking wet, giving you a clear look at her bra and also at her surprisingly flat stomach, showing the slightest hints of toning.

“Are you alright?” you ask, hurrying over to her, as though you hadn’t caused it all.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, hand going to her head, rubbing the slight bump. “I just, I have – do you mind heading over to my desk? I’ve got a spare shirt in my top right drawer.”

You nod, getting to your feet and scrambling over to pull out another, near identical, white shirt. But when you turn back around to give her the shirt, you freeze, stunned by the sight.

Almost shamelessly, or, likely in Luck’s case, without realising it, she had stripped. She holds her wet shirt in hand, water droplets falling from her hair onto her body, each breath giving you an enticing view of her slim figure—as though she doesn’t know the sight she’s got on underneath. But for that cruel bra, you would have seen her topless…

“The shirt?” she asks, a slight smile on her face, knowing full well what you were looking at. She holds out her hand, which you reply to by dumbly standing there and tossing it over.

Professor Luck quickly starts to dress again. You sort of just stand there, watching her, with a slight tinge of sadness, as the glorious image is covered up at last.

“I guess somehow or another, we cooled off,” she laughs. “But I’ve got to get this cleaned up now. Could you give me some space?”

“Of course,” you reply, only slightly disappointed as you gather your things and head to the door.

Luck +15

Credit to Kallitseren!