Page 51 of Backlash

“I’ve given this a lot of consideration,” she says, re-assuming the air of a teacher. She snaps her fingers and I tear my eyes away from her chest. “Please make yourself comfortable before we begin.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I sit cross-legged on my bed, leaving just enough room for Adair to join me.

Instead, she wheels a chair a few feet from my bed and flips through my notes until she reaches a section I photocopied from Cyrus. Obviously, they’re from a class I missed. “Let’s begin. Markets increase overall welfare via the concepts of consumer and producer blank.”

“Surplus.”

“Well done.” Adair kicks off her shoes and fires off another question, which I also get correct. She pulls off her socks.

My dick twitches in my pants at the sight of her bare skin, even if it is only her feet. “Do you have warm feet or something?”

She ignores my question in favor of another quiz. “With every purchase they make, a consumer experiences what measure of satisfaction?”

“Utility.”

“Very good.” Adair fixes me with an impish smile and takes a good 20 seconds slowly removing her jacket.

Now I can make out the entire outline of her bra beneath her top, and suddenly my jeans feel extra tight. “Are you—are we doing what I think?”

“What two functions limit the production of businesses?”

Shit. I can’t think. “Uh, cost, and…” I trail off sheepishly.

“Diminishing returns,” she says with another tut. She shifts in her chair as she puts the jacket back on.

“No.” The word escapes my mouth reflexively. If every class involved a striptease, I’m sure I’d never miss one.

“The antithesis of the unregulated market is what other model?” she asks.

“The monopoly model?” I say, trying to sound casual.

Adair pauses a moment, clearly enjoying herself. She begins to re-remove her jacket, but pauses at the last second. “Is that your final answer?”

“Yes.” I am absolutely sure I’m right. I lick my lower lip.

“Good boy.” The jacket comes off quickly this time, pulling against the satin fabric of her top and revealing part of her breast.

I can actually feel the amount of blood reaching my brain decrease. I uncross my legs in order to make more room in my jeans. Adair notices the growing bulge and gives her glossy bottom lip a coquettish nip.

“I took psych my last year of prep. I got an A,” she brags.

“This is what they teach in psych?”

“Not exactly. But we did cover techniques for the reinforcement of desirable behaviors. This is just a practical application.”

“And all of the blood leaving my brain for other places?”

“A regrettable side effect, unfortunately. Let’s continue.” She flips over a page of notes and now the impish side is back. “Oh! A tough one. The Nash Equilibrium is considered the ideal solution to what thought problem?”

“The prisoner’s dilemma!” I say, embarrassed by my own enthusiasm.

Adair places the notes on the edge of the bed, crosses her left arm over her right, and slowly pulls up the hem of her top.

I lean forward, slack-jawed, as Adair pretends to struggle with getting it to slide up and over her breasts. Her timing is impeccable.

At last, she puts me out of my misery, her top popping off suddenly and sending her breasts colliding into each other. I scoot forward on the bed, manually readjusting my jeans yet again. I really think it would be better to just to get the fooling around out of the way.

It takes me a moment to realize Adair said something.