Four years ago.
Krysta sips tea from a white ceramic mug as she reads the screen. She wears a bright green v-neck t-shirt she received as a gift in high school that reads 'This Girl Loves Math,' with an image of two thumbs-up on the chest. The projection of her 34K bust casts a shadow over her keyboard. From a high angle, a deep chasm of cleavage can be seen beneath the thin, faded cotton. Concentrating, Krysta leans forward, her breasts resting on the desk as she scrutinizes the text. Her shirt is tight enough the bulging tops of her breasts are visible through the stretched material and she idly bounces the tip of her pen on her chest. With a satisfied nod, she straightens up in her chair and clicks her mouse.
Relaxed, Krysta queues up Prince's Nothing Compares 2 U, swaying to the opening bars. She takes the last sip of her tea and sets down the mug. Pushing back from her desk, she extends her arms to the side then raises her hands above her head. Her protuberant breasts tug the hem of her shirt up, exposing a hint of her belly. She lowers her arms and rotates her shoulders adjusting the straps of her undersized and overstuffed 34H full-coverage bra. With one hand she reaches behind her back and unhooks the clasps. With the other, she pulls the enormous satin bra out from under her shirt and drops it to the ground.
Her breasts unbound, Krysta shimmies her shoulders, sending her chest into symphonic undulations. Reaching forward, her breasts compress until a line of cleavage creeps up into the v-necked collar. She pulls back her elbows and presses her chest forward. Thimble-sized nipples protrude through the cotton. Her fingers knead her flesh, gradually working forward until they meet the outer edge of her areola. She emits a gentle moan.
With a demure smile, Krysta’s hands ride the contours of her chest down to her ribs, cross-crossing at her belly to reach the hem of her shirt. Clutching the fabric in each hand, she gives it a quick tug then draws her shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion. Her wrists catch her breasts, pulling them up before they slip free, settling just above her belly button. Dropping her shirt, she pulls her shoulders back and straightens her posture. Rotating her shoulders she examines her bare torso from various angles. A smile stretches across her face.
Krysta scoops her hands under her breasts and cradles them, filling her arms to capacity. Tit flesh bulges and billows as she momentarily struggles to hold it all. Arching her back, she lifts them until their upper slopes ride at neck level. Tilting her head forward, she tenderly runs her chin along the soft skin, giggling at the sensations. Krysta gives her breasts one final squeeze, allowing them to cradle her jawline before bringing them down to rest.
Krysta runs her hands down the swell of her bosom. She slows as she reaches her areolas, and bites her lip as her fingers roll across her nipples. Continuing down, she cups each of her breasts and gently lifts. The two jiggling mounds settle atop her hands, and she rotates her shoulders, her tit flesh undulating in hypnotizing waves that seem to flow with the music. Krysta pulls her breasts apart and drops them. They smack together with a dull clap. She repeats the maneuver several times, each time slower than the last.
At the climax of the final chorus, Krysta gradually guides her breasts together, creating a profusion of cleavage. She gives her exquisite melons a gentle squeeze savoring the final cadence. She holds the final pose until the sound dies away, then she relaxes and opens her eyes. Krysta offers a gracious smile and waves to the audience of just over a thousand who have tuned in for her inaugural topless webcam performance.
"Thank you for watching, everyone. I'll see you next time!"
Her smile morphs into a coy grin as the video cuts to black.
* * * * * * *
"Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice, Krysta."
"My pleasure, Dean Mitchell. It has been a little while."
Krysta shook the hand of Dr. Carol Mitchell, Dean of the College. A tall, pear-shaped woman with short gray hair, she wore heeled loafers, brown slacks, and a green blazer. She gestured for Krysta to have a seat as she stepped behind her polished oak desk chair and sat down herself. Behind her, several ceiling-high bookcases framed a narrow window overlooking the quad. An esteemed Mathematician, Dr. Mitchell had authored one of Krysta’s recommendation letters that secured her doctoral fellowship. Krysta had recently informed Dr. Mitchell as well as her academic advisor, Dr. Janet Fleming, she would decline the fellowship to pursue other professional opportunities.
Immediately following her webcam performance, Krysta found several frenzied texts from her advisor as well as an email from the Dean requesting she stop by at her earliest convenience. Krysta typically dressed 'casual-comfortable-clean' for most campus activity. Figuring a one-on-one meeting with the Dean warranted more formality, she wore a crimson red turtleneck, a charcoal knee-length pleated skirt, and knee-high black boots.
"I hear you're something of a wine enthusiast," Dean Mitchell said, uncorking a bottle.
"I have taken an interest in the past year."
"I have an award-winning 2010 Cadaretta Cabernet here. I'd like to share with you."
Perhaps Dean Mitchell had not gotten her message and intended to celebrate Krysta accepting the fellowship. While Krysta doubted this was the case, she concluded it did not make a difference to her. She nodded and watched as Dr. Mitchell poured two glasses.
"Krysta, I assume you know why I've called you here."
"I imagine it has to do with my declining a doctoral fellowship in favor of focusing on my topless modeling career."
"That is correct."
"Professor Fleming thought I was kidding."
"We both thought you were kidding until we received your letter last night." The two shared a ceremonial toast and Dean Mitchell took a sip from her glass. "Then, of course, there was the performance that followed."
"Word travels fast, I suppose." Krysta was not interested in whether Dean Mitchell had watched her show. "But yes, I have decided to focus on my modeling career. I should clarify, I live off-campus and no campus resources were used to produce the video."
Dr. Mitchell waved her hand. "No, no. I'm not concerned about that."
"Good. I have no desire to disrespect you or this institution. I am making a professional decision based on my personal motivations."
"I see." Dr. Mitchell said, admiring the way Krysta exhibited the same self-confidence and poise she had during conference presentations, tutoring, and her thesis defense.
Krysta turned her attention to her wine, swirling it in her glass and taking in the aroma. She took a few sips. "This is an excellent wine. A strong fruit flavor with hints of black pepper and...oregano?"
"Impressive! You have quite a palette. Have you considered sommelier certification?"
"I did, but it seemed an impulsive and whimsical idea."
Dr. Mitchell chuckled and set down her glass. She opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved a stack of playing cards. She slipped them out of the box and performed a picture-perfect card spring shuffle. "Krysta, when I was your age, I wanted nothing more than to play professional poker. This was in the '70s, mind you, and women already had a difficult time being taken seriously as scholars." She continued idly cutting the deck with one hand as she spoke. "My hobby was hardly a secret to my peers and mentors and I garnered quite the reputation. Eventually, my academic advisor took me aside and informed me that if I took my academic career seriously, I would need to quit playing and focus."
"And, you did."
"I was concerned about what my future colleagues would think, so I took her advice and dove full bore into my third-favorite thing in the world, Mathematics."
"What was your second?"
"Close-up magic." Dr. Mitchell held a card between two fingers which vanished with a flick or her wrist. "Both hobbies—particularly poker—grew both lucrative and time-consuming through high school and college. I actually paid my way through my last two years of college hustling poker. When I turned twenty-one, my junior year, I started traveling to regional tournaments. Many went as far as to say I was blessed with remarkable natural talents."
"But my advisor, the distinguished Doctor Yamhill, was correct: I could only truly dedicate myself to one thing. I stopped playing cards in graduate school but believed I might one day return to it. By the time I earned my first tenure-track position, there was no turning back."
"Do you regret your decision?"
"I'm past the point where I imagine what my life would have been like had I chosen differently. Passion keeps me looking forward. Once I'd decided my direction, all other possibilities fell to the wayside." Dr. Mitchell leaned back into her chair and took another sip of her wine. "Not everyone is like that, Krysta, but some of us are."
"Krysta, despite what Dr. Fleming has implored, I am not here to sanction you. I will not try to talk you out of your decision or tell you how 'you're wasting your potential' and 'throwing away the time and energy others have invested in you.'"
"Thanks. My mother already gave me both of those."
"Did she also give you the 'you're turning down the opportunity to be a leading scholar in a field badly in need of strong female representation in favor of joining a field ripe with over-representation—not to mention exploitation—of women?'"
Krysta straightened. "I expect to be a leading figure in that field as well."
"I will not speak to that. However, if I may ask you one thing: Why? Why would an honors graduate of one of the leading Mathematics programs in the country turn down a sponsored research fellowship in favor of a career as a topless internet model?"
"Because I want to."
A silence hung in the air before Dr. Mitchell erupted into rollicking laughter.
"Fair enough," she said, finishing her wine and pouring a second glass. "Krysta, despite Dr. Fleming's insistence, I did not ask you here to talk you out of your decision. You can always come back and be a Mathematician. Also, despite what Dr. Fleming so charmingly expressed in her reply email, with your CV, you could certainly 'do anal and get a Doctoral fellowship.' More likely at a west coast school, but even that leaves you plenty of options."
"Does Dr. Fleming not understand the difference between pinup modeling and hardcore pornography?
"The distinction is likely of no consequence to her. Also, Professor Fleming is junior faculty and likely concerned her first advisee becoming a topless model will reflect poorly on her tenure review."
Krysta rolled her eyes. If anything, she should be worried about her bland and uninspired research.
"Krysta, some professional advice: watch out for those expressive eyes of yours. Professor Fleming does fine work. Not everyone can be as creative as you."
"That is flattering, particularly coming from you."
"I must confess, I admire what you're doing. It...fascinates me. I do hope you'll occasionally drop by and give me an update. No offense, but I don't expect to follow your work closely online.
"Perhaps I'll see you for next year's Ethics and Artificial Intelligence Colloquium." Dr. Mitchell sipped her wine. "I think they're looking for a few more volunteers for next year's conference committee."
Krysta chortled. "Noted, but unlikely."
"And, should you decide showing your breasts online is no longer for you, I will happily provide you a reference. In my four decades in this field, you are one of the most gifted, tenacious minds I have had the pleasure of working with. Whether it's robotics, probability theory, or tits modeling, I encourage you to apply the same creative brilliance that has gotten you here." Dr. Fleming extended her glass towards Krysta. "Sound good?"
Krysta toasted and finished her glass. "Challenge accepted."
"I'm glad to hear it," Dr. Fleming said, following suit and setting down her empty glass. "Oh, and Krysta?"
"Please don't do anal. Not on camera anyways."
"I will not do anal."
"That's all I ask."