("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2013. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Student Sex - 1 by Anonymous Author (no address provided) *** A female student offers her teacher sex for a passing grade in his class. (Mdom/F-teen, underage, school, affair) *** PART 1 I had better start by explaining about Amy. I had noticed her on the first day of class. Sitting in the front row of the classroom, looking very serious as she took notes, she had a certain attraction that was greater than the sum of any parts I could analyze. What was it about her? I generally prefer tall women, but she was the sort of young woman who I tended to think of in her absence as taller than her 5'5" frame. Her face was fresh and pretty, rather than beautiful, but without a single flaw in her complexion. Her figure was not the kind that made you do a double- take, yet when you analyzed it you could only conclude that it was perfectly proportioned: curvy but slim hips, and breasts that were medium sized or maybe just a bit smaller. Her hands were graceful; her eyes were bright and inquisitive; her shoulder length hair was straight and tidy; her teeth were white and straight. Kind of the girl-next-door look, not a flashy kind of beauty, but one that would wear well over a long period of time, I thought. In one way, I have misled you in my description of Amy. While her eyes may give the impression of intelligence, in point of fact she was not a very successful student. I didn't feel she was actually stupid, but it didn't take long for it to become clear that she was not going to do well in this class. Maybe she didn't work as hard as she needed to. Maybe she was missing some of the background material the other students already had. Maybe it was a full-blown case of math anxiety. Who knows, maybe it was simpler than that and she just wasn't very smart. None of this made her any worse in my eyes, since there's more to a woman than just book learning. She had plenty going for her even if she wasn't another Cantor. Amy was not a flirt, during class or afterward, and on that first day there was nothing to make me think that anything unusual would happen during the quarter. My thoughts that day were directed toward giving a good introductory lecture. Although I appreciate the decorative value of the female students in my classroom, I had never harbored any illusions that they were there for my entertainment. First, because sexual harassment is wrong; second, because math is just not the greatest turn-on for most gals ("wanta come up to my place, have something to drink, and memorize some dynamite multiplication tables?"); and third because I'm too afraid of getting caught and losing my job. I don't think I'm a prude on the subject, but I know I've gotten some kidding from a couple of my friends about my somewhat old-fashioned attitude. Maybe I've missed out on some good times along the way as a result, but I have to believe I've missed out on a good deal of needless trouble as well. Better to take the safe course, I've always thought. *** A few weeks into the course I administered the quarter's first quiz. I graded it strictly, since that first quiz of the autumn is for some students the shock to their system necessary to get started working on the course material. I emphasized to everyone that a poor grade on the quiz did not mean that they couldn't get a good grade for the course, but as expected the looks on some of the students' faces indicated that a serious re-evaluation of their chances had taken place. It's at this point that usually ten percent of the class decides to drop the course, and a larger number decides that they had better schedule some office time with the instructor. That's the whole point, of course, to shake the sleepy ones out of their doldrums. This class was no exception, and I found myself overbooked with students wanting help. Amy was one of the students who signed up for office hours. She had never come up to talk with me after class, as many of the other students often did, so this was the first time we had spoken with each other. Based just on her looks and manner, I had her pegged as a Political Science major, or American Lit. Maybe even Art. I was mildly surprised when she told me that she was in the pre-med program. The College Algebra course she was taking from me was required in her program; more than that, she told me she had to earn at least a B. Although I didn't say so, I was dubious about her chances. I gave her my usual pep talk, tried to explain some topics she found confusing, and gave her references for further study. But as she left, I didn't get the feeling that I had done her much good. Maybe it was because she kept calling herself dumb the whole time she was there. Although some of the students came back for second or even third visits during my office hours the next two weeks, Amy did not. I didn't think anything about that fact, since many of the students in a given class aren't really that motivated, and with upwards of 80 students in the class I didn't have the luxury of looking after each one if they didn't seek out attention. Amy attended each lecture, but never asked questions, and her note taking appeared to be an exercise in trying to take down each syllable I uttered and each symbol I wrote on the board. With some students, this would indicate a lack of real interest in the material, and a desire just to know the probable contents of the final exam, but looking back I now interpret Amy's methodology as sheer desperation. I can guess that Amy's reluctance to visit me again was more a reflection of her fear of failure than of a lack of motivation. Not surprisingly, when I gave the midterm exam, Amy's score was the lowest in the class. Sometimes a foreign student will do poorly in a class for a while, solely because of the language barrier, and will eventually catch on to the concepts and move up in the rankings. But when an American student like Amy finds herself near the bottom, it's much rarer for progress to be made as the quarter goes along. What's more, she was a sophomore, whereas most of the students in this class were freshmen. I have seen many freshmen start out slowly, because of the new environment college represents, and then catch fire as the quarter goes along, but this is much less likely with a second-year student. Again, with perfect hindsight, I can speculate that Amy knew this would be a tough course for her, and she put it off until her advisor insisted she take it. I don't know a teacher who doesn't feel awful when a student tries and still fails. The worst part is returning the graded exam paper to the student, seeing her take it with low expectations in her eyes, and watching her face fall when she sees that she has failed to come up to even those low expectations. Amy didn't cry, but you could see she wanted to. I rather expected that she would visit during my office hours that day, and wasn't sure what I should or could say to help her. Honesty may be the best policy, but I also don't like to discourage a student who is willing to try-try-again. But once again I was busy enough with the students who did show up that I didn't have time to dwell upon the matter when she didn't. The next class session two days later marked a change in Amy's manner. It was difficult to describe exactly, and someone watching her for the first time might not have thought anything of it. She was dressed the same, in her blouse and jeans. One odd thing was that she was taking hardly any notes, and another was that she had a very strange smile at times. Not a self-confident smile, certainly not a happy smile, one that was forced and seemed to be directed at me. But it was also hesitant, and anytime I really looked in her direction she dropped her gaze after a second. I couldn't have put the reason into words at the time, but I felt somewhat flustered, and found myself stumbling in my delivery to the class. After class, she walked down the hallway toward my office. For more than an hour she lurked in the hallway, wandering away for a few minutes, then returning to check if I was alone. I had seen this sort of behavior before, when a student is too embarrassed to let classmates see how badly she is doing. I was sure it was killing her to have her friends know her troubles. Pride goethe before a fall, you know. It was late in the afternoon before the last student left and she finally entered my cramped office. Quietly she said, "I need some help." I told her that I had a few minutes, and motioned for her to sit down with me at my desk. She listened as I went over her exam with her, nodding her head and murmuring "uh huh" when I would pause to see if she was following my explanations. But even more than the first time she visited, I got the feeling that I wasn't getting through to her. Unlike earlier in the classroom, her face was almost expressionless when I looked at her, and she rarely looked up from the exam paper. A couple of lightly humorous remarks I made evidently did not register. She seemed distracted by something. Finally, it was almost five o'clock, and I told her, "I have to leave soon. Perhaps you can come again during my office hours next Tuesday." She touched me lightly on the arm for a moment, and said "please, I need a lot of help. Could we schedule some make-up time before that?" It was a hesitant yet determined touch, not quite seductive and yet something more than just an instinctive touch on the arm. I crossed my legs, my own instinctive reaction to hide the possibility of her seeing the beginnings of the erection that was stimulated by her touch. Was I imagining things? Was she coming on to me? With some girls I would have been sure, yet Amy seemed so innocent. She had not looked me in the eye when she spoke, which would have given me a better way to gauge her intentions. I certainly did not want to embarrass her, or myself, by making an inappropriate comment based on what was quite possibly my own imagination. I managed to utter, "what do you mean, make-up? You haven't missed any lectures or exams." She seemed embarrassed at her miswording, and mumbled, "I dunno, I mean some extra help. I really need to learn this material." I exhaled. Yeah, I guess I had read into her question something she hadn't meant. I hoped she hadn't noticed my reaction, or at least would forgive me if she had. It was an understandable mistake, after all. Except, she continued, "It's pretty hard for me. Or maybe I'm just making it harder than it needs to be. Sometimes I like to, y'know, make things hard. That's what my boyfriend says." Was it just me, or did she also realize the double entendre she was making? She wasn't looking at me, and there was nothing else in her manner to suggest anything like that. I decided to try to back away from that line of conversation, just in case she was trying to lead me on. I replied, "Well, I suppose I could come in for a while tomorrow. How about 10?" She continued to look at the papers in front of her, and said, "I've got classes most of the day tomorrow. Would you have time sometime this evening?" I again wondered if I should read something between the lines in her request. Yet her delivery was so flat, and she seemed so introverted, that I had to doubt the conclusion I was drawing. "No, I have to get to a meeting in a few minutes on the other side of town," I lied. "Anyway, maybe you should be trying to find a tutor, who could give you what you need." I mentally winced at the choice of phrase. Did she understand the double meaning that could be inferred? I was ashamed of myself for even worrying about the way to phrase an innocent question. My conscience was clean, after all. "There's a list of tutors on the wall opposite the department office," I went on. "I've never had much luck with those guys. They always seem to be as confused as I am. I'd really, really appreciate it if you could find some time for me. What about after your meeting tonight?" She seemed sincere, yet how could she not know how personal her suggestion sounded? On the other hand, was I getting worked up over something entirely in my imagination? On the third hand, if she was trying to come on to me, couldn't she be more original than talking about 'appreciation'? On the fourth hand, how many hands do I have, anyway? I pointed out that they keep the building locked after hours. "Maybe you have a friend who could help?" I suggested. "My boyfriend took Calculus, but he just makes fun of me when I ask him questions about math. Could I come over to your house? What time will you get home?" she persisted. My hormones were working like they hadn't in a long time, not since I met the gal that had precipitated my divorce. I looked at Amy's face. She had for just a moment turned slightly toward me, but now quickly looked back at her papers, avoiding my eyes. I made the mistake of letting my eyes wander below her shoulders. Her words sounded so suggestive as to be laughable, yet her manner indicated that she was thinking about nothing but studying to raise her failing grade. How simple it would be if I would just ask her, "are you proposing a lay-for-an-A, or what?" and tell her to forget it, but what if I was wrong? Embarrassment, at the least, possibly real trouble with the dean, if she complained to someone. No, best to play it cool. I should just tell her, "No, I don't think that would be a good idea." But she was so attractive to me, the horny part of my brain wanted to find out what she intended. And so innocent, that the logical part of my brain wanted to believe that she was completely unaware of the impact that her suggestions were having on me. With the two halves of my brain pre-occupied like that, I had no extra brainpower for talking, so I blurted, "you don't know where I live." Dumb. Or, maybe the horny part of a guy's mind will always win. She responded to my non-sequitur with one of her own, saying, "I've got a bike." If there was a hint of seductiveness in her eyes, or even humor, I was missing it. Just a simple, factual statement, like "I've got a pencil", or "I've got a million bucks", or "I've got a wet pussy just waiting for you." There went my brain again. Gotta stop thinking like that. "It's a long ride. I don't know if it'll be worth your time." The horny part of my mind was keeping this line of conversation going, yet doing so betrayed the fact that I was wavering in my resolve. If, indeed, she was even thinking what I was thinking. She replied, "you're the best teacher I know, I'm sure you'll be able to help me." Not even a hint of a suggestion of a trace of an improper proposal there, was there? Especially considering the alternative replies she could have made. ("Oh Teacher, I'm sure it'll be worth it for you too. Pant pant.") The conflicting sides of my brain came to an agreement that I was getting worked up over nothing. Of course, if I was such a great teacher (to take her remark at face value), how come she was flunking my class? I looked at my watch. "Well, I don't think you should come over alone. Can you bring someone along, maybe your boyfriend?" She thought for a moment, then said yes. "OK, I should be home by about nine. Bring your books," (duh, like she was going to bring a dildo and some Crisco), "and I'll help you for an hour or so." I gave her directions to my apartment, glad to have figured out a way to defuse a touchy situation. I found myself driving home very carefully. My mind was so woozy from the extra adrenalin I had been pumping, and then the letdown, that I had to concentrate on the road or I'd run off it. Now that she had agreed to, I wondered if it was really necessary to have insisted she bring someone. I thought, so what if she came alone, a few cheap thrills for me, all in my mind, and she'd never be the wiser. I can think what I want, and as long as I don't act on it, no harm done. She doesn't even know for sure that I live alone. For all she knows, I'm happily married to my gay lover. And anyway, I don't think she means any harm. Soon after I walked into my apartment, the phone rang. It was Amy. "Hi, I'm glad I found you at home. I thought you were going to a meeting," she said in her customary toneless voice. "Uh, actually, I, uh, found out my meeting has been cancelled at the last minute," I said, embarrassed to be caught in a lie, and glad that I had thought up a second falsehood that would cancel the first. "Would you and your boyfriend rather come over a little earlier?" "That's what I wanted to call about. My boyfriend, like, can't come. But I still, you know, want to come see you anyway." Hoo boy. And here I thought I had it all worked out. My erection started to form again, and since I was alone I fingered it idly through my pants pocket, before deciding that that was an especially foolish thing to be doing. "Well, I don't know..." "Please, sir, I really need your help. It would mean a lot to me." There was something about the way she called me sir that weakened my resolve. Damn, I wished I could see her face, to help me tell if there was anything to my suspicions as to what she meant. I had to go by my assessment when I saw her earlier, which was that she was merely naive. "Well, OK, for a little while." "Um, can I come now? Would that make it hard for you?" "Uh, give me a little time to eat and clean up, OK? How about 8?" "Um, OK. See you." Click. I wondered what I was letting myself in for. My attention wandered as I prepared myself dinner, and I had a near-mishap with a paring knife. After my sumptuous repast of spaghetti and meatballs (no garlic, just in case - who am I kidding?), I decided to straighten up the place. Chuckling to (at?) myself, I took a few minutes to clean up the bedroom as well. If I'm going to kid myself, I might as well be thorough. Cleaning up took less time than I expected, mostly because I did such a poor job of it, and I sat down to read a magazine. But I couldn't concentrate on it. I decided, however, that I was really enjoying the adrenalin rush I was feeling. I began to mull over the possibilities. Maybe she would arrive wearing a bikini, come through the front door and lead me to the bedroom, and... Nah. I didn't know her well, but that didn't seem to be her style. Maybe she would play it straight for a while and pretend to study with me, then at some point slip her hand onto my leg and rub it, moving closer to my crotch until she was giving me a handjob, then ask if I'd like to do something more. Yeah, that would be nice. But again, she's coming over just to study, and anything else is just my hormones talking. It was a little less than an hour and a half before she was to be there. I decided to do a better job of cleaning the bathroom. After all, a gal might need to go pee even if she's just there to study. While in the bathroom, I considered that maybe the wisest course would be to jerk off now, so that I wouldn't be tempted to actually do anything when she was here. Funny how those childhood associations with the bathroom continue into adulthood. It's just a good thing my friend Dan isn't coming over here this evening, I thought. He had been with me at that bar when I met Deborah, and although I had been definitely attracted to her, there was no doubt in my mind that it would never have gone beyond just playful touching and dirty talk with her if he hadn't been egging me on. Not that I blamed Dan for my divorce. Maybe I should call Dan anyway and invite him to come over while Amy was here. Wouldn't that put a charge in her circuits! Maybe Mike; that might be fun for her. Or better still, my three fishing buddies from up north. Boy, they could be crude; I'd like to see Amy's reaction when one of them pinched her nipple in front of everyone. There I go again, I thought. Even if she is desperate for a good grade, I don't want to see her humiliated, do I? She is so sweet and innocent, and here I am thinking such thoughts. Of course, if she is coming over to seduce her professor, then maybe she isn't so sweet, and definitely not so innocent. It's not that she has anything bad coming to her, but she might deserve to be taught a lesson. I sat back down in the living room and resumed reading. Still an hour to go. I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood to clear my head. It was an unseasonably warm autumn evening, and the fresh air felt good. But the dark thoughts continued to loom in my head. I thought of the double meanings she had been dropping. "My boyfriend can't come." "Would that make it hard for you." "I like to make things hard." Well, if she really is interested in trading a little hanky- panky for a grade, then she can't insist on being too particular about every detail of the transaction. In fact, if she needs this grade as badly as she says she does, she is in no position to dictate any of the conditions of the deal. I caught myself again at this point. Isn't that the fantasy of a dorky teacher, that he can get free sex in exchange for a good grade? I felt ashamed, but not so much so that my erection subsided any. There's a first time for everything, even screwing a student. But the situation would have to be just right. OK, so what could I expect from this young woman? Slam bam, thank you ma'am? She could no doubt be convinced to give a bit more. Probably a blowjob first if I played my cards right. Caryn had never been too keen on that particular activity when we were married, which had made it more of an issue to me than it rightfully should have. So, yeah, Amy should be made to sample the sausage. What about after that? I'm not really into anal sex, but maybe just once it might be fun, with a girl who's not in any position (ha ha) to argue. Would she permit herself to be tied up? I considered that, and realized that I didn't have the necessary equipment on hand. The ladies I date aren't very kinky, and anyway I don't know anything about the subject. That kind of activity is very tricky or someone can actually get hurt. I realized I was getting too far from my apartment, getting near a bad section. I turned back. My realization that I was near our small red-light district caused another wave of guilt to come over me. I have never, never, come even close to screwing one of my students. Not that I get that many opportunities, but I have always been careful to not emphasize the power a teacher has in giving grades, and to not make comments that could be misinterpreted. Hell, I always make it a point to say "arrive" instead of "come", and "difficult" instead of "hard" when talking to a female student. It's a form of sexism, I'm sure, but a benign sort that makes certain that no one gets any wrong ideas. Now here I am, thinking about the possible sex acts I might perform with a student who will be, err, arriving in half an hour. Well, I decided, if she didn't try anything I'd just play it cool, and if she did come on to me then maybe I'd lead her on a bit before telling her to forget it. Cheap thrills, I repeated. Besides, there are lots of times professors have students over to their place. Usually it's a group of students, and the professor is someone in the Sociology department hosting a rap session (like, wow, maaaan), but the point is, having a student over does not automatically mean something is going on. It might not look good to every single old prude out there, but that didn't make it wrong. Then again, that analysis was bullshit, since the ideas going around in my mind definitely WERE wrong. I walked back up the steps to my apartment, went to the bathroom, then came back to the living room and sat down on the couch. The kidneys sure were working overtime tonight. Again I tried to read my magazine. The article I turned to was about why the U.S. educational system wasn't teaching its students well enough. Just what I needed. I went to the fridge and got a can of pop. No beer tonight. I didn't want to do something I later would regret and blame it on the alcohol. I went to the bathroom again. Though I felt like I needed to pee, just a little bit came out. I caught myself checking whether my underwear was clean. Old boy, I thought, you are setting yourself up for a big letdown. I went back to the living room, and turned up the thermostat a couple of degrees. It was a nice night, but you wouldn't want her to get too cold in her birthday suit, I chuckled to myself. Why was I even contemplating such a risk to my career, for just an evening of fun? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I asked myself what it would take to be worth the risk. Maybe more than just one night of fun. What if she could be talked into repeat performances? I felt a major wave of horniness come over me with that thought. Now, that would be something closer to being worth it. The thought of reducing this apparently classy girl to the level of common slut was unexpectedly stimulating. But I would still have to protect myself somehow, from there being the slightest chance of word getting out. What kind of leverage could I have, once she had her grade? How many of her other teachers had gone through this charade? I should make a righteous stand tonight, and explain to her that trying to get by in school by sleeping with her professors is wrong. Corny, but the right thing to do. Yet, when I thought of her, I couldn't bring myself to believe that she had done this before. If I sensed her leading me on, and I wasn't sure that I did, I also sensed humiliation and pain, certainly not what you'd expect from a girl to whom this was old hat. I was going to have to find out, for my own peace of mind, just what Amy wanted. Probably she was just naive, and had no clue what her visit was doing to my imagination. If on the other hand she is already just another slut, then so be it, I don't have to get involved. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. I looked at the clock. Ten minutes before eight. Heart pounding, I opened the door, and was greeted by a young girl who asked if I'd like to buy some candy for her school's fundraiser. Sure, kid, just don't come inside the apartment or you'll get molested by the pervert with the dirty thoughts. I gave her the two dollars, shut the door and returned to the couch. I realized that I was disappointed that it hadn't been Amy yet. I was really looking forward to seeing her, prepared to find out that she was really and truly coming over just to study, hoping for it to be something more, dreading that the "something more" was her usual M.O. for passing a course. About the time I found my place in the magazine again, there was another knock at my door. It was Amy. She looked much the same as she did in class, wearing nice jeans and a conservative print blouse. She was wearing sandals instead of her usual loafers, and no more makeup than usual, which is to say, none that I would notice, although some girls really know how to use makeup so that you don't even know it's there. Her long medium-brown hair was held in the back as usual by a clip. She wore no jewelry except for a small right-hand ring. The only thing I noticed out of the ordinary, almost obscured by the books that she held to her chest like a schoolgirl, was that the top two buttons of her blouse were undone. I couldn't remember if that was Amy's usual style. I decided I was going to have to sneak a peek down there sometime during the evening. "Hi", she said, and I thought her voice cracked a little. She cleared her throat and said, "I hope I'm not, you know, too early. I made better, um, time than I expected." Her face was expressionless. So was her voice, even more so than usual. "No problem", I replied, "come on in and put your books on the table over there. Would you like something to drink, pop or some juice?" "Sure, a Cokersumthin." I went to the kitchen and retrieved a can from the fridge. When I came into the dining room, she was standing by one of chairs at the table. "Nice place," she offered. I moved next to her, preparing to move around her, and said, "go ahead and sit down, let's get started." As I motioned toward the chair my hand grazed her back. Gee whiz, here I was trying to maintain my cool, and right away I did something that could be misconstrued. I pulled my hand back but did not comment. This small faux pas, and the fact that she hadn't flinched, perversely gave me a brief bit of courage, and I considered what kind of leading remarks I could make, ones that would seem innocent unless she already had ideas, but would still require her to make the first real move. Something like "what hard things would you like to work on first?" No, too obvious. "I'm glad you're here." "What do you need?" "What can I do for you?" No, I was afraid those would seem too personal or suggestive if she was here with pure intentions. I was unable to realize that if her intentions were indeed pure, that she would think nothing of such innocuous remarks. Paralyzed with paranoia, my courage evaporated and I wound up saying nothing as I sat down at her right. I thought I detected a scent, some sort of light cologne. Nice, and not too much. Maybe she wore it for me, or maybe she wears some all the time, though I couldn't recall smelling it in my office. Can't throw a woman in jail for wearing perfume when she studies. I opened her book to the chapter we had been covering in class, and began going over the material with her. As usual, she seemed to be only going through the motions of studying. After a bit, I gave her a problem to work, and I turned my gaze toward her neck, peering as far down the front of her blouse as I could and still be undiscovered. The light wasn't really coming in at the proper angle for me to see very far, and I was able to glimpse only just above the top of her cleavage. No sign of a bra, although it was possible that I just couldn't see far enough. I was intrigued. I quickly looked back at her face; she was asking me if she was doing the sample problem correctly. Good thing she wasn't much for eye contact, or I'd be caught looking down her shirt. I gave her a little redirection in her work, and she resumed scribbling. I noticed that as she worked, the fingers of her left hand were idly playing with one of the lower buttons on her blouse. It was going to be a real challenge keeping my hands to myself. "Here, would you like some M&M's? I just bought them from a girl for her school's fundraiser." She smiled, for the first time that day I think, said "thanks", and took the package from my hand. "You shouldn't take candy from strangers, you know, but in this case I think it's OK," I ventured. This was a little more provocative than I had planned to say, but it seemed sort of all right. "I can trust you?" she said, and I wasn't sure whether it was a statement or a question. She looked at me for a moment, then turned back to her problem, as I said "I'm safe." I feigned moving something on the floor with my shoe, to get a chance to look again at her feet. I was not surprised that they were as nice looking as her hands, with no nail polish, just clean and natural. I worried that she'd think I was a weirdo if I spent too long looking down there, so I returned my attention to the pages of the book. I wasn't sure if she consciously realized what I had been looking at, but she chose that moment to slip her left foot out of its sandal, and tucked that ankle under her right thigh, in a semi-Indian fashion, the sole of her foot facing me. I guess I am a weirdo, because I found that it stimulated me a surprising amount. I got up, and brought a floor lamp over next to the dining table, trying to guess what the proper angle was to get a maximum view down her blouse next chance I got. "There, that's better, isn't it?" I said. She was still getting the exercise answers wrong, and sighed, "I don't think I'll ever get this." "Sure you will," I fibbed as I sat back down, "you're getting better." "I don't know what I'll do if I can't stay in the pre- med program. My parents will kill me," she went on, looking at me steadily for once. I asked her how she picked pre-med, and she said that both her parents were in the medical profession and that it was just expected. You have to feel sorry for anyone in that situation. If she fails, the weight of the world is on her shoulders, and even if she succeeds it's only what everyone expected her to do. "Come on, you can do it, let's try these problems here", I encouraged her, and I fought the urge to pat her on the thigh for emphasis. Amy looked at me, then down again at her papers, and asked, "I really need a B. Isn't, um, there something I could do for extra credit?" Her voice cracked ever so slightly again as she spoke. I sneaked a quick look down her blouse, but really didn't see much more than before. Well, here we go again. Was she, or wasn't she trying to start something? Surely she was. My curiosity was getting the better of me, yet I had to be sure before committing myself to saying something overt. I considered a thousand different things to say, without finding the magic combination of words that would be safe and still tell me what I wanted to know. I finally said, "Well, the course covers the fundamentals of basic algebra, so there really isn't anything you can skip and make up for with other material." Not very sexy, I know, but I couldn't afford to make a mistake. "Oh. I see." Her voice had a flat tone of dejection in it. After a moment, she tried again. "What about if I came over and graded some papers for you?" I struggled with my emotions. I wanted to hear her to offer a somewhat more personal favor than grading some boring papers. But if the offer was not to be freely given, the ramifications would be serious. "Uh, no, outside work like grading papers can't have any bearing on the grade a student gets. It wouldn't be fair." As though what was going through my mind was fair. "What can I do?" she asked, more to herself than to me. A tear worked its way out of the corner of her eye, and began a journey down her cheek. "Keep trying, you'll get it," was all I could muster. I hoped this was not some sort of scam she was pulling; could that tear be genuine? It was awfully well timed. She wiped the tear from her cheek, and said, "I'm sorry. Um, could I use your bathroom?" "Sure, down that hall, first door on the right," I said, glad I had taken the trouble to give it a second cleaning. She slipped her sandal back on and got up, and I watched as she walked out of the dining room. Her blouse was not the clingy kind, so it was hard to be sure, but it seemed that maybe her breasts were moving more freely than they would if she were wearing a bra. Or was that my imagination seeing what it wanted to see? I hadn't been able to tell for sure when I'd seen her walk before, because of the way she'd been holding her books. Well, I'd be sure to get a better look now, when she came back. When the bathroom door closed, I got up and moved the floor lamp a few inches and turned it a few degrees, trying to have it be in just the right spot to shine down on her chest when she sat down again. I heard the toilet flush and the sink being used, and the sound of her blowing her nose. It occurred to me that maybe she was having her period, but I looked and saw that she had left her purse on the table, so that probably wasn't the case. I'm not too hung up about menstrual blood, but it is one of those things you don't usually think about when you size up a girl as a bed partner, even though it's part of every girl's life. After another minute, I heard the bathroom door open and she returned. I noticed immediately that the third button of her blouse was now undone. Yes, as she walked you could see from the way her blouse moved that there was nothing constraining her small breasts underneath. So. It was certain now that she wanted to earn her grade in exactly the way I had suspected. Why couldn't she be more straightforward about it? Maybe nothing more complicated than nerves. I just said, "Everything all right?" but knew that I no longer had to be ultra-careful with what I chose to say. I could say something now, or wait and she'd say something soon that would confirm her intentions, and I'd figure out how to tell her no. I'd give her that wise yet caring advice, you know, something like out of Father Knows Best. Amy sat down, looked at me and nodded. Her face was a little paler than before. Nerves, I assumed. I wondered if I looked pale too, since I was feeling a touch of nervousness myself. I wanted to prolong the suspense, so I decided to ignore her signals a little longer, and said to her, "Ok, let's try again," and gave her another problem to work. She looked like she was unsure what she wanted to do, and started to say something, but picked up her pencil and began to work. As she leaned forward I once more gazed down her blouse. The view was much clearer now. Her breasts were indeed smallish, perhaps a B-cup, but she made up in quality whatever might be lacking in quantity. I could see practically down to her nipples. As she wrote, she rested her left arm on the table, and after a few moments she did a most extraordinary thing. She casually hooked her free thumb loosely over the fourth button of her blouse, the topmost one that was still buttoned. After a few more seconds, and with the same studied casualness, she then leaned back just slightly, so that her thumb stretched the blouse fairly tight. I watched avidly. She was giving me a clear view of her breasts. With the lamp repositioned now, in fact, I couldn't have seen more if she had chosen to take her top entirely off. Her breasts were completely free from the fabric of the blouse, supported only by their own adequate muscle structure. I kept silent, afraid to say anything that might break the spell and cause her to cover up again. I studied her nipples. They were generally in proportion to her breasts, although possibly a little smaller than average, and they were a nice medium brown, with a clear definition of where they started and where they stopped. She would turn heads in a crowd if she were to wear a see-through blouse. I looked at her face. She was trying hard to look like she was focused on her work. I wondered if she could possibly think I wasn't sizing her up. No way. Her purpose was clear. I could make whatever move I wanted. My breathing was noticeable now, at least to me. I hoped she didn't notice, because I wanted to appear in complete control of myself. The view of her breasts was even more exciting to me than I had expected, and I was no longer sure I wanted to tell her no. I decided to correct a mistake she was making in her math, and to get her attention I lightly touched her right hand. "I can show you the right technique," I said, and as I took the pencil from her I made sure to touch her hand just an instant too long. It felt good to touch her soft skin, and I wanted more. She looked up at me, and I smiled at her to try to make her feel at ease. She dropped her gaze back down. I saw her sneak a quick glance down her blouse, and she took her thumb out and straightened slightly to let the blouse resume its normal shape. She tried to do it casually, but her cheeks flushed just a bit to give her away. I guessed that she had miscalculated just how exposed she had been. She wanted to have me see her attributes, yes, but not really flaunt them. Well, she had flaunted them. I wondered what she would do next if I didn't make some sort of move. I showed her the way to get the right answer to the problem, and gave her another to work on. She picked up her pencil, looked like she was going to try again, then put it down and looked at me. "What can I do to get a B in your class?" she asked. "We've been through this already. What do you have in mind?" I responded. I thought we were finally getting to the heart of the matter. She looked back down, and said quietly, "whatever it takes." She put her palms on the chair beside her upper legs, forcing her knees together, and held her arms stiff. Her blouse, its sides being pushed together by her upper arms, billowed a bit and exposed her upper chest, although I couldn't see as far down as before. "Do you have something in mind?" I repeated. "I dunno," she mumbled. I waited, probably for only 15 seconds, but it seemed like longer. She said nothing more. Undoubtedly she felt that she had laid her cards on the table, and it was up to me to accept or reject her offer. But there was no actual offer to discuss yet, and even though her intentions were very clear, her implied offer was not nearly acceptable. It would still require some care to get her to admit what she was here for. Apparently the next move was mine. I swallowed, and began. "Listen, let me, uh, ask you something. I hope I'm not jumping to any conclusions here, and I apologize in advance if I am. But your actions tonight have been very, uh, unclear. Someone watching you tonight might, you know, get the idea you are trying to interest me in a deal, where I give you a B in the course, in exchange for some, uh, personal favors tonight. Sex, that is." No answer. "Is that what you are trying to propose?" Even though I was sure I had made all the correct inferences, I still felt a thrill as I asked her, for this was the moment of truth. No other moment would be as risky, after this. After an interminable wait of maybe five seconds, her lips parted and she said, "I guess so." I could barely make out her words, she spoke them so softly and indistinctly. She could not look at me, at odds with herself, obviously pulled in too many directions for her to take any decisive action. She was clearly not happy that this moment had arrived, yet it was also clear that she had decided for herself that this was the only way open to her. I wanted to prolong this. This was not how I had envisioned it going. The few times I've had girls come on to me, it was always with this big ego thing on their part, like they knew they could make me do what they wanted just by tempting me. Like with Caryn; she had been pretty cool toward me the first semester I met her, until suddenly she warmed up and got me to ask her out. I figured Amy would be that way too. Instead, it was almost like she figured I'd turn her down. Like, for once I really and truly had the upper hand in this. "Well." I reached my arm behind her, putting my hand on her far shoulder, lightly rubbing the area near her spine with my thumb. I paused a few more seconds. "This comes as a surprise." Not exactly a truthful statement, but what the hell. "Are you a virgin?" I had to know. She gave half a shake of her head to mean no. "You certainly are a nice woman, and very attractive. But there are a couple of things the matter with what you propose." Technically, what I had proposed. All she had done was show me her tits, but let's not quibble. I watched as she looked up at me. As expected, she had a slightly perplexed look on her face, which was quickly replaced by a numb look as she concluded that she was being turned down. "I think I'd better leave," she said, starting to get up. I didn't want her to leave; the constant erection I'd had for the last forty-five minutes felt good, and I didn't want it to stop. "No, uh, wait, listen to what I have to say." She sat back down and looked again at her knees. I continued to lightly stroke her back. Even through her blouse, it felt very good to me. "First, it wouldn't be, uh, fair to the other students in the class. They are all working to earn their grade, and it isn't fair to let someone get the same grade without, you know, working for it." She replied, "But I have been working, so hard." This was the first sign of any inclination to assert herself, but I cut her off with a gesture of my hand. "Second, you seem to have somewhat overestimated the value of your services. If I were selling a passing grade for cash, which by the way I am not, how much do you think I would charge?" "I dunno," she said dully. A real Shakespeare, this girl. I labored to keep my tone even; I tried to avoid the "ums" and "you knows" that would give away my own nervousness. A definite plan was forming in my mind. "A minimum of $2000. There are a lot of risks involved in such a deal, and anyone would be foolish to take that risk unless there was a lot to be gained. On the other hand, I could go downtown tonight and find a girl to sleep with me for $50." For that price, I'd probably get myself a good case of the clap, but now was not the time for a lesson in either microeconomics or medicine. "Now, tell me, what do you think you could do for me in bed tonight that would be worth $2000?" Amy was silent, humiliated. "Right," I said, taunting her slightly. "I want to go now," she repeated. I realized we had reached a crisis point. An unstable equilibrium. I wanted to keep the level of excitement exactly where it was right there, but that wasn't going to be possible. She was ready to walk out. I could either let things simmer down and let her go, or go through with what she and I had both been hinting at. I reached my decision. For once, I said to myself, I wasn't going to be wishy-washy. "Now," I pressed on, turning my chair slightly to face her, and removing my hand from her back and placing it on her knee instead, "if you were serious about all this, here is what you would be proposing. You would offer to come to my apartment every week; today's Thursday, let's say every Thursday night." She looked up, startled by my sudden nuance, though she continued to look straight ahead and not at me. In a way, I was as startled as she was by what I was saying. I didn't know what her reaction would be to this, but I told myself that I could pass it off as just hypothetical if she objected. Another adrenalin surge in my system made it difficult, but I continued to maintain a slow, gentle and rather formal tone to my voice. "While you were here, you would submit to anything I asked of you. Do you know what I mean by submit?" She nodded. I decided to be specific anyway. "It means that you would do whatever I say, without question, without dissent, and without hesitation. I would not cause actual physical injury, but aside from that you would have no right to refuse whatever I asked. If you did refuse a single demand, the deal would be cancelled. Understood?" Amy nodded again. This was going better than I had imagined. I had to be careful not to spoil things by going too fast, but it looked like Amy had real potential as a slave. I wished I knew what exactly to do with one. I waited for Amy's reaction. She still didn't look up, but said "OK", and again started to get up. "Wait a minute," I interrupted, my hand touching her on the thigh to indicate she should sit back down. "I'm just saying what kind of a deal you should be proposing. I didn't say that I would accept." The oldest negotiating trick in the book: make them think they've agreed to a deal, then hold up. "Now, there's not many weeks left in the quarter. I'm not sure that you could do enough to earn your grade. So part of the deal would have to be that I might invite one or two friends over to visit on Thursday nights. You would be required to submit to them just the same as you submit to me. I can't tell you in advance what those demands would be, because I frankly don't know what they might want. If you refuse their demands, the deal would be over. Do you follow me?" Amy looked down and swallowed hard but said nothing. After all my hours of indecision, I was amazed at how smoothly I was coming up with these details, and in fact how smooth my voice was. It was like I was delivering a lecture to a class. Most of the ideas I described were ones I had briefly thought about during the day, but they had not been fleshed out until the moment I spoke. I decided I was comfortable with what I was saying, and greatly hoped that Amy would be too. Of course, if she bridled at this point, I could still say I was just speaking hypothetically, trying to explain to her why all this was wrong. "There are six weeks remaining in the quarter, counting tonight, plus one week to turn in grades. If you were to perform your end of this deal, then my part of the deal would be to give you the grade you need in this class." Amy still said nothing, her hands wedged under her thighs, her eyes focused on her knees. "Now, you may think this is a good deal, since you know what you'd be getting out of it, a good grade. But I have no idea of the quality of what I'd be getting in return." That was a lie. I'd seen her titties. I paused a few moments to let her think about what I'd said, as well as to decide whether I really wanted to say what I was about to say. "I want to see what you've got to offer." I reached over and swiveled her chair to face mine directly. Again, I paused to see what she might say in response to all this. She continued to study her knees, bracing herself with her arms against the sides of the chair, and said nothing. My heart pounding, I said, "if this is what you want, take off your blouse now, please." I thought saying please was a nice touch, though it sounded odd in the context of everything else I had said. I realized that this was a big step: if she complied, I could no longer maintain the fiction that I was speaking hypothetically. After a second's hesitation, she unbuttoned the fourth button, then the fifth, finally the sixth, and opened the blouse to let me view. My peek down her blouse had not misled me, and the view I was now witnessing was truly inspiring. Her breasts, though somewhat small, were perfectly symmetrical and perfectly supported. Her smooth nipples were an even deep bronze all over, with no variation in color, and no moles or veins or hairs or other imperfections. Simply perfect. I spread my legs slightly, reached forward and did the same to hers, and moved so our chairs were touching. I slid the blouse down her arms, took it from her waist and placed it on the table, then reached forward and placed my fingers on her back, my palms on her ribs and my thumbs on her nipples. As I rubbed the tips of her breasts, I resumed my monologue. Her nipples stiffened slightly, though maybe not as much as other women I've known. "There are a few more details to be worked out before we agree to a deal. You will continue to attend classes and take the exams. This is partly to keep from arousing suspicion, but also is for your own protection. That way, you are free to cancel the deal at any time, and I will grade you fairly if you do. So you should try to keep up with the classwork, and if you feel you can get your grade legitimately, you can still do that. You can view your deal with me as insurance." She sat quietly as I rolled her nipples. "Naturally, you will not tell anyone of our arrangement, and you will act natural when around me in class or afterwards." I had already figured out how to further insure her discretion. "You will come here every week without fail. If your bike breaks down, you will have to figure out a way to get here. If it is raining, you will have to figure out a way to get here. If you are having your period, you must come anyway and I will decide what to do. If you are sick, you must come anyway and I will decide what to do. If your grandmother dies, you must come anyway and I will decide whether you can go to the funeral. If you fail to show up one time, the deal is over. I want to be sure you understand this." Amy nodded. I asked, "are you on the Pill?" She shook her head no. "That's OK," I said. What I had in mind for her wouldn't require very much birth control. I continued rubbing her breasts. "Your breasts are very beautiful." After a few seconds, Amy mumbled "thank you." I then added, "most women would be moaning with pleasure from having their nipples tickled." I paused, gauging her reaction, and she said nothing, but quietly murmured "mom" I was pleased. If she would put up with personal criticism in an intimate situation like this, she might well be open to most anything I might suggest. Her reaction also indicated that she would allow me to arbitrate the standards of feminine response. I made a mental note of that for later, and decided to let her know that her response so far had been insufficient. "Perhaps you are the kind of woman who needs to have her nipples sucked in order to get turned on." When she still said nothing, I asked her to stand up. I craned my neck and she bent toward me slightly as I brought her right breast to my mouth. I took her nipple in, at first lightly swirling it with my tongue, then sucking it gently, and finally sucking it rather hard. She began moaning right away, just as I figured she might, and when I first sucked hard she made an odd little sound, sort of a cross between a grunt and a chirp, and I eased up for a moment in case I was hurting her, but she didn't flinch when I resumed sucking hard. She began stroking the back of my head, and I repeated the process with her other breast. Her nipples were still only partially erect, but she was moaning so I didn't worry about it. Either she was getting good and turned on, which was good, or else she was faking for my benefit, which was better, at least for my purposes. I stopped sucking, and told her to sit down. "I think you'll be very satisfactory. I've been doing all the talking for a while. Is there anything you think I should know?" She shook her head and quietly said no. "Then I'd like you to tell me in your own words your interpretation of our arrangement, and if we understand each other then I think we can proceed." I waited for her to speak. She hesitated, then said, "I will come here every Thursday night...". I stopped her, and told her to look at me when she spoke. She restarted, "I will come every Thursday, and do what you want. If you want, um, to have friends, I will, um, do what they want too. If I don't, the deal is off. If I do, you will give me an A." I think a little of my eloquence got lost in the translation, but she had the gist of it. I had to keep from chuckling at her change of the grade from a B to an A, but I couldn't let it pass without some comment. "I think the grade we had discussed was a B, but under the circumstances I suppose I can go along with what you want. This arrangement will continue until I turn in the final grades for the class. If that's agreeable to you then we have a deal." Amy looked down, then evidently decided that she still was required to look at me. She brought her eyes back up but had trouble maintaining eye contact. I waited, wondering if she would volunteer anything. As usual, she said nothing, so I said, "OK, I'd like you to go to my bedroom, the first door on the left, take off your clothes and get on the bed. I will join you in a minute." I went to the bathroom to get the K-Y and a couple of condoms, and just like in a poorly written movie I found myself looking in the mirror. I thought, "proud of yourself?" No backing out now. I felt guilt, but reasoned that we were both going to get what we wanted. Besides, she needed major help with her self- esteem, and right now maybe just totally giving herself to a man was what she needed. That's the kind of logic a horny man sometimes resorts to. While in the bathroom I decided to try to pee, but couldn't. The erection I was sporting probably had something to do with that. No pee, just a couple of drops of seminal fluid oozed out. No matter, I didn't really need to, and in a few minutes it wouldn't be much of a priority. I heard the bedsprings briefly squeak in the other room. Obedient girl. I wondered if, in spite of all my caution, I was letting myself get set up in some sort of con game. But I didn't see how, since I was so sure I had her pegged correctly. If this was a con, it was an all-time great one. I went to the closet to get my Polaroid (the 35mm would be better, but I wanted the discretion that instant photography offers), and checked that the safety lock on the front door was set. It wasn't, and I set it. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier? Mighty funny photos someone waiting outside the door could have come in and taken three minutes ago. This thought made me chuckle at myself, and reinforced my conviction that no nasty surprises were in store for me. It's a good thing there's no history of cardiac trouble in my family, because once again my heart started pounding hard as I walked toward the bedroom. I strode in, and as I expected Amy was lying naked, on her back, on top of my bed. She had turned on the nightstand light, at its lowest setting, so my view was only dim. I hadn't even speculated on how she would look from the waist down, I had been so preoccupied with her top, but she was no disappointment. Her legs were together, so I couldn't have seen everything even if the light had been brighter, but her pubic hair was soft looking. The hair only reached a couple of inches above her pubic bone, maybe less, and I imagined that she could wear the most revealing bathing suits with confidence. Or maybe she just kept it trimmed. I was looking forward to studying this matter. I put my paraphernalia on the dresser at the foot of the bed, guessing that she would not see what I had brought in. She raised herself slightly onto her elbows, spread her legs maybe an inch, and looked at me, apparently waiting for me to start the ceremonies. Ever passive. I walked over to the nightstand next to the bed, turned up the light to its brightest level, and went back to the wall switch and turned on the ceiling light. The light was harsh, but I wanted a good look. I could see that her pubic hair was about the same medium brown as the hair on her head, or maybe even lighter. They say pubic hair is always darker, but I'm not sure that's such a hard and fast rule. At least it wasn't with Amy. Maybe it only seemed lighter because it was so sparse and fine. I spoke. "Um, I think you are getting a little ahead of the game, Amy. Sit up, and get into a kneeling position." She complied, and folded her hands in her lap. I told her to spread her legs, and she did a little bit. Then I told her to take her finger and rub her cunt until she had permission to stop. She hesitated, and I asked her if I needed to show her how. She shook her head and began doing as she was told. I wondered if her hesitation was due to the nature of the request, or due to the fact I had said cunt. I didn't care, as long as she went along. This was my chance to have things my way. I quickly undressed in front of her, taking off my underpants last. See, it had been worth checking that they were clean. She watched me as I undressed, and kept her eyes on my penis as it bobbed when it came free, but her face was expressionless and I assumed she was watching only because she thought I expected her to. I asked, "Are you getting turned on?" She said yes. I probed, "Are you turned on by your finger, or from watching me?" She replied, "both." I felt like I was playing a game of twenty questions, but decided that now was not the moment to ask her to elaborate. As near as I could see, or hear, her pussy was still pretty dry, so I didn't put much stock in her answer anyway. "Of course, you were already pretty hot, from having me play with your boobs, huh?" "Um hmm." I wanted her to remember her dining room lesson. I'm no student of psychology, but it seemed like the right approach, to keep hammering away at her insecurities. I joined her on the bed, also kneeling, and shifted around until we were facing knee to knee. I put my hand on her hand as it moved around her cunt, and after half a minute told her that she could stop. "I like to be with a woman when she's good and hot," I lied. Well, I mean, I like a hot woman, but I lied in implying that I thought this one was hot yet. "You'll have to keep it in control, though, and not let your lust get in the way of what I want." I took her face in my hands, leaned forward, and pressed my lips to hers. Her lips parted, and I tasted her tongue. She reached up and put her hands behind my head, and rocked her head gently back and forth to add passion to her kiss. Simulated passion, of course. After a little of this, I pulled back and said, "Here, I want you to put your hand here," and put her right hand on my left thigh, "and this hand here," and put her other hand on my right thigh. I resumed kissing her, and she began massaging my legs. I broke away again and said, "No, just rest your hands there," and went back to kissing her. I didn't have any handcuffs, and didn't know anything about bondage anyway, but this might be the next best thing, to see if she would keep herself immobilized on my command. Keeping one hand behind her head while I kissed her, I used my other hand to begin playing with her nipples again, first one, then the other, back and forth. I heard her go "mmm" as we kissed. She had learned her lesson well. I put my hands on her cheeks and pulled her face away from mine, tilting her head downward, and began lightly pushing her head, prepared to add more pressure if needed. She allowed me to push her down until the top of her head was around my chest, then resisted, as if she only then realized what I was intending. "I have something else I'd like you to kiss," I said. I let her shift her weight slightly, then resume pressing, this time a little harder. She let herself be folded down until her mouth was near my penis. I then put my hands on her hands, so as to remind her not to move them from my thighs. She started kissing the tip of my cock without further instruction, not too accurately since neither she nor I was doing anything to hold it steady. After a half minute of love pecks, I told her, "Kiss it all over." She shifted her weight again and kissed it up and down the shaft. I let her do this for another minute, then told her, "Now go back and just kiss the top of it." I used my right hand to steady my penis, and she seemed to understand, and passively resist, what was about to happen. In spite of the fact that moments earlier she had had her mouth next to the tip, she now kissed all around under the head of my cock but not squarely on top. I put my other hand under her chin to lift her head slightly so that she was kissing the tip in spite of herself. Then I slipped a finger between her lips and separated them. She pretended not to catch on to what I had in mind, which was fine since I was perfectly willing to be explicit. Slowly I worked my finger between her teeth, and thereupon pushed down on her lower jaw to indicate she should open her mouth. She didn't comply quickly, but she didn't actively resist either. When I had half of the head of my cock in her open mouth, I stated, "this is getting you more and more turned on, isn't it?" She nodded slightly, "Um hmm." "Go ahead then," I said, and pushed downward on the back of her head. She allowed the head of my cock to slide in, and I let her stop there. She didn't seem to have any clear idea of what to do at this juncture. Despite all my fantasizing about her during the evening, I hadn't stopped to consider whether she'd be any good at this. From what I could tell, this might be her first time doing it. I reminded myself to take it real slowly, since the last thing I needed was to make her gag. On the other hand, she probably didn't know where to draw the line, so if I was patient enough I could probably get her to perform some amount of deep throat if she was capable of it. I tried to figure out a way to let her know what to do, without accusing her of not knowing. Besides, she surely knew, at least in theory, and just needed to be encouraged to start. "Does it turn you on to suck it?" was the best I could come up with. Her reply of "um hmm" was equally unimaginative, although you could make allowances for the fact that it's difficult to be eloquent when there's someone's cock in her mouth. She began giving a little more action. "Watch out for your teeth," I cautioned as she began to scrape rather than tease. I'd let her do it her own way for a while before trying to instruct her. Not that I was such an expert. My only expertise was as a recipient, and even that was awfully limited. In my highly aroused state, she didn't have to be a trained expert to quickly bring me to a pre-orgasmic peak anyway, and I wanted to make this last. So I periodically took my cock out of her mouth, touching her nose and cheek with it, then putting it back in. "You're very good," I told her. What the hey, give her a little encouragement. "Your tongue is so good," I added, hoping she would take the hint and ease up on the teeth a little. I repeated this process of putting it in, taking it out. Each time, I put it in a little deeper than before, although still not even halfway. There was plenty of time, and hurrying it could only spoil things. After a few minutes of this, I pulled out again and sat there watching her. She waited for a bit to see what I was going to do next, and when I didn't do anything immediately she looked up at me. I placed my hands on hers, which were still rooted to their spot on my thighs, and asked her, "what do you call this?" and she paused before replying thickly, "oral sex." "No," I corrected, pointing to my penis, "what do you call this thing you are sucking?" "Your thing, uh, your penis." She said the word like it was a foreign term. "That's just the medical term. You surely call it something when you are talking with your girlfriends? A dick, a cock, a prick, a pecker?" She thought for a moment, straightened her back somewhat to face me, then shyly returned my smile and said, "Some of the girls in the dorm call it a cock." "If you didn't call it that, what would you call it? A dick, or a prick, or a pecker?" "A dick, I guess." There was just a hint of flirtatiousness in her voice. "You don't like to call it a prick or a pecker?" "No." I waited to see if she would elaborate. She said, "That's what gross guys call it." "Or gross girls?" "Yeah." "OK then," I said, "from now on you are NOT to call it a penis or a dick or a cock. When you want to suck it, you say 'may I please suck your pecker', or 'may I please suck your prick'. Go ahead, try it now for me." The smile disappeared from her face. "May I please suck your pe-pecker?" she asked in a wooden voice, the word seeming to stick in her throat. "Yes you may," I replied cheerfully. As she bent back down and fit it into her mouth again, I added, "and by the way, I've changed my mind. You are not to refer to it as a pecker anymore either. Only the word 'prick' will be acceptable." She made no sound, other than the soft slurping and smacking associated with the act she was performing on me, but my guess was that she would remember to use the right vocabulary. She would remember who was boss. I pushed her head as far down on my cock as she could comfortably take it, which was still only about halfway. A man has a chance to be introspective when he is being given head. I pondered the change in my personality that night. Or rather, the side of my personality I was allowing to come forward. Never during my time with Caryn had I tried to dominate her the way I was beginning to dominate Amy. Caryn was not the type of woman to be dominated. And the few women I had dated since the divorce, well, I was always trying to be gentlemanly with them, so I never approached them in this way. It never even occurred to me to do so. It was different with Amy. Her needs were straightforward: a good grade. If somehow I insulted her and she walked out, so what? She wasn't going to cause any trouble, I judged. I could allow myself to be more free with her than I ever had been with a woman before. Whether or not it was a "good" side of me, it was a side I enjoyed. For once, I was getting things my own way. I suddenly realized I had better pull out or I would come right then. Because, I had other plans for where my load of sperm was going to go. "That's enough of that for now. You are very good, and later I'd like to teach you a few tricks you may not know. But now, how would you like a nice backrub?" Amy straightened up partway, looked at me, and said, "sure." I wouldn't say she exactly lit up at the notion, but her relief was evident. Probably because she was getting tired, and also because she figured that receiving a backrub was safe. She had gotten away cheap and hadn't had to let me come in her mouth. She turned around and lay on her stomach, with her head on the pillow, and I straddled her thighs, poking my penis at the crevice between her legs just under her buns. I began massaging her shoulders, and as I leaned forward I allowed my penis to probe the spot it was at. Amy kept her legs together, not tightly, but enough so my penis didn't get very far. That was OK; I just wanted her to know it was there, and wonder what I had in mind. I give pretty good backrubs, you know, and I didn't spare the effort with her. After a while I said, "I don't know if you deserve such special treatment, Amy. Our deal was that I'd give you an A if you took care of me, and here I am taking care of you." "Do you want me to rub your back now?" "No, that won't be necessary. Lie still." I got off of the bed and went to the dresser, and as I put on a condom I continued, "pull your knees up under your tummy." She did as she was told, her head on the pillow at the head of the bed, facing away from me. She was lying on the bed all folded up like an accordion. I picked up the tube of K-Y. I asked her, "are you ready for me to fuck your cunt?" She said, "yes," and I told her, "Lift your bottom in the air, so I can see it. Higher." She complied; she was ready for me to penetrate her. I walked back over to the bed. "Now spread your knees apart a little. No, a little more, so your cunt is wide open for me." I climbed onto the bed behind her, opened the tube, and applied some jelly to the condom. I asked her again, "do you want me to fuck you now?" "Yes." "When you speak to me you must show your respect and call me sir." I waited, but she didn't say anything, so I repeated, "do you want me to fuck you now?" "Yes, sir." My heart again was pounding. She was letting me dominate her. "Tell me what you want me to do." "F-Fuck me, sir." "When you ask me to do something for you, you must say please. Ask me again." "Please fuck me, sir." "Is your cunt wide open for me?" "Yes, sir." "Tell me." "My cunt is wide open for you, sir." "Tell me how I should do it." Silence. "Tell me what you want me to put, and where." "Your pri-i-ick in my cunt." "Say it with respect." "Please put your prick in my cunt, sir." I rubbed some jelly on her asshole. Before she could react, I had pulled her bottom down a little bit and forced the head of my cock into her ass. "I don't know if you've ever had this done to you before. If not, my best advice is to remain as still as possible." I adjusted my stance, and pushed in, pulled out a little, pushed in again. "It may hurt a little, but it'll only hurt worse if you try to move. I'll try to be careful." I continued to work my way in, two millimeters forward and one millimeter back. This was only my second time for this, and doubtless her first, but for a couple of neophytes we weren't doing too bad. Besides, even her incompetent attempt at a blowjob had gotten me to the point that this didn't have to take too long. I was in nearly halfway. "Try to relax and let me do the work. You've got a real nice asshole; we'll have to do this, uh, more, uh, uh..." If there's anything more ridiculous looking or sounding than a person having an orgasm, I'd like to know of it. Or maybe I wouldn't. Anyway, there's no point in describing the next few seconds, except to say that I was overly ready for it and it was a major relief. I hadn't even worked up a sweat in the process. I withdrew and, grabbing a wad of Kleenex, gingerly removed the condom and wiped her butt clean. I had finally found something imperfect about Amy: her butthole was poopy inside like anybody else's! I checked her bottom for any traces of blood, but she was fine. I didn't figure I could have hurt her, since I hadn't had to get at all rambunctious. I rolled her over onto her side, and lay down beside her, facing her. There were tears on her cheeks again, but I pretended I didn't notice. "How was that?" I asked with mock politeness. "I don't really like that," she said. "Well, you did just fine. We won't have to do that all the time when you are here." I had been very hard on her mentally, and it seemed that now was a time to loosen up a little and acknowledge her feelings. But only a little, at least yet. I had something I needed to do first. I got out of bed and stood up. "I'm going to take your picture." Amy rolled slightly so that her face was buried in the bedspread. "I know you intend to keep your part of our bargain, and not cause any trouble. But I need some protection in case you were to change your mind after you got your A. You know what I mean?" I went to the dresser, and picked up the camera. Amy didn't move. "Come on, I'm not going to show them to anybody. They'll just be for me." I stepped by the side of the bed, and rolled Amy onto her back. "Why do you want to be so mean to me?" she asked through her tears. "I'm not being mean, I'm just making you live up to your end of the bargain. Do you want to just forget the whole thing?" She didn't say anything, just sniffled a little; her nose was running. She was crying a lot more than I expected. I handed her a Kleenex, and she blew her nose. I had been harder on her than I had realized, and there was some risk in offering her an easy way out. But if she stayed through this and came back for more next week, I knew I would have an obedient partner for the rest of the quarter. She was silent. "OK then, prop yourself up on your elbows." She did and I went back to the end of the bed and pointed the camera at her. She turned her head away just before I snapped the shutter. The photo came out, and I set it on the dresser to develop. "Pull your knees up and spread your legs." More tears, but she obeyed. This was my first clear look at all of her pussy, but I was preoccupied with taking a good photo before she changed her mind. "Look over here." The camera clicked and whirred again. "OK, that's all." I stood by the dresser and watched the photos develop, and Amy lay back down on her back, her knees still up. "I'm going to keep them in a safe place, so don't bother having someone break in and try to steal them. No one has to see them as long as you keep quiet about this." The pictures were ready. The focus wasn't sharp, Amy's eyes were red and her hair I now noticed was a mess. Not what I'd send to Playboy, but I now had my insurance policy. I sat down at the foot of the bed and looked at her. "I need to go pee," she said. I nodded, and she got up and waddled out the door. Geez, maybe I had hurt her butt after all. I heard her blow her nose again, and then it was several minutes before I heard the toilet flush. I sat on the bed and waited. I'd offer her something to drink when she got back, but no reason to get something now. So I just sat and monitored the state of my penis. Its erection was disappearing, but it was not going completely back to its unaroused state either. It could be coaxed. I wasn't eighteen anymore, and twice in one night was probably going to be about all I could comfortably muster. Anything more than that would have to be for her sake, and I was pretty sure that twice would be more than she wanted anyway. She still hadn't come back, and I was worried that maybe something was the matter. I debated whether to let her have her privacy or to check that she was all right. Finally I heard the sink faucet. She let it run for almost a minute. Another round of nose blowing, the sound of the bathroom door opening, the faint sound of her bare feet on the hallway carpet. She came back into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed, rather than at the foot of the bed by me. She was walking much more easily now, and I felt reassured that I hadn't injured her. You could still tell she had been crying, but she was much more composed. She had carefully rearranged her hair into something resembling its customary perfect order, tied back with the clip. She picked up her underpants and started to put them back on, but I told her not to. "Would you like something to drink?" I offered. She mumbled, "no." "Come on, some pop, or I've got some beer, or would you like something stronger?" I figured that giving liquor to a minor would be rather inconsequential, at this point. ("I realize, your honor, that sodomizing an unwilling woman is not worthy of the court's attention, but I intend to prove to the court that the defendant gave my client a BEER!") She said nothing, so I got up and went to the kitchen. I decided to just give her soda pop, rather than anything alcoholic. She'd been through a lot, and might resent it if she thought I was trying to lower her inhibitions further with drink. Maybe I was being overly cautious again, but I didn't know her well, and some people are hung up about alcohol. I chuckled at the thought of trying to guess what she might be capable of with lowered inhibitions. Would my heretofore untested sexual creativity be up to the challenge? I returned to the bedroom with two glasses of pop, and sat on the middle of the bed, next to Amy, who had moved there during my brief absence. She cautiously sniffed her drink, took a sip, then took a longer swallow. Her demeanor became a little less gloomy. Did she interpret the non-alcoholic drink as a little peace offering? We both sat naked, legs folded Indian style, in the middle of my bed, drinking Seven Ups. "I'm sorry if you thought I was being mean." "Well, I was expecting one thing, and then you did that, and it hurt and you didn't care." "I didn't hear you say anything. Does it still hurt?" "A little." "Well, if it still hurts tomorrow you should go see the doctor at the campus clinic. You don't have to tell him about us. Just tell him that you and your boyfriend were experimenting." "I think I'll be all right." The shame of telling anything to the doctor would give her plenty of motivation to recover quickly on her own. I wanted to continue in that vein. "I wasn't trying to be mean, you know. I just let you know what I wanted. Our agreement is that you do what I want when you are here. Well, I wanted you to suck my prick, then I wanted to fuck you in the ass, then I wanted to take your picture. You did everything just the way I wanted. You were just doing what you agreed to, and you did just fine." I put my right arm around her back, and I was delighted, and maybe just slightly amazed, that she snuggled a little bit next to me. I asked her about her boyfriend. "Yeah, his name is Mark. He's really nice. He's in the marching band." And I suppose she's a cheerleader. How Norman Rockwell. She told me more about him. It was the first topic we'd hit upon that she seemed to open up about. I made all the amateur pop-psych inferences you might expect, especially in light of her activities with me tonight. I wondered if Mark knew how far he could take her if he wanted. I was pretty sure she was new to this tonight. Do you love him, I asked. "Yes, our parents want us to wait until after school to get married, but I want to do it now." I told her I thought her parents were probably right. Is he a good lover, I asked after a while. She was opening up to me nicely. "We've only done it twice. One time we were alone in his parents' cabin all afternoon, and he got kind of, you know, insistent. I should have stopped him. But he was lying on top of me, and kind of slipped my panties off and did it. That was when he told me he loved me." Oh, puhleeze, gimme a break. "One other time we were taking a walk in the woods, and we sat down in this place away from the path, and we were kissing, and I was, you know..." She placed her hand on my thigh and brought it up toward my cock briefly. "Playing with his prick?" "Yeah, and he said he couldn't wait. I didn't want to do it out in the open like that, but he said I shouldn't do that to him and then not, you know, help him out. I wanted to wait until we got back and then I'd, you know. I shouldn't have started rubbing him there, in the woods, I guess. He started lying on top of me like the other time, and...". Her voice faded. Real nice move, "Mark". Sounds like rape to me, Stud. I asked, "So you don't usually have a physical relationship with him?" "Oh, you mean like do I make him wait forever? I know a guy can't go forever without, you know, um. I do that for him when he needs it, um, when we are alone, you know?" I was not totally clear what she meant, although I had sort of the idea, and felt an erection coming on. No way to cross my legs to hide it this time, like back in my office earlier that day. (Had it only been that afternoon?) Besides, why should I want to? "What do you mean?" I said flirtatiously. She smiled and cast her eyes downward and almost giggled, "You know." "What?" I teased back, and held her closer. She looked at my face. "I use my hand on him." "What? I thought just guys knew about that." She giggled charmingly. "You see what's happening to my prick?" "It's getting bigger. Didn't you already, um...?" Could a pretty nineteen year old be so ignorant of male anatomy and habits? "Sure. Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to go again. How about if you show me how you do it to Mark." I'd let her be in charge for a while; she was starting to have a little fun. She took hold of my cock at the base and gave it a squeeze. My semi-erection fleshed out almost immediately. I tilted my head and her mouth met mine. We kissed wetly for a while, and we slowly reclined ourselves until we were lying down. She continued to knead my cock very satisfactorily. I slipped my arm out from under her back, and got on top, straddling her waist. She tugged and squeezed at my cock as I bent down and resumed kissing her. This went on for a total of about five minutes, when I disconnected from her mouth and straightened my back. "You do that very well," I said, truthfully for once. "Aren't I doing it right?" she asked, looking inquisitively into my eyes. "Couldn't be better. Why?" "You still didn't, um..." Quite a picture I was getting of old Markie. Rapist, premature ejaculator, sousaphone player. "Come? Well, this is my second time tonight, after all. How about if I show you something Mark would like?" Amy smiled and said suspiciously, "Whaaat?" I slid up her body until my knees were under her armpits. "Most men like a good blowjob. Let me show you how I like it, so you can finish what you started when you were sucking me before." I put my thumb on her chin, and she opened immediately. I put my cock in her mouth about as far as I had previously, and let her close around it. She rubbed her tongue as best she could, given the limitations of space inside. I slowly drew my cock out, slid it back in, then back out entirely, and let it dangle above her waiting mouth. "You know what's the secret of a great blowjob?" She closed her mouth and shook her head. "Sucking. Nothing complicated. Just suck it as I pull it out, then open up and let me put it in again, over and over. The deeper you can take it in, the better." "But it's alre..." she started, as I pushed back in. She tried, and while I can't say the results were perfect, she showed a definite improvement. I pushed to the back of her throat each time, and each time pulled out slightly less far. I was pushing, trying to see if she could take it all the way. The thought of Needle Dick, the bug-fucker suddenly came to mind, and I envied him. But my tool was no bigger than the guys in those movies, less than some, so I knew it could be done. "Urghh" came the sound below me, and I realized I'd hit her gag reflex. I pulled out. "Whoops! Sorry. You all right?" "Yeah. But it's back all the way. It made me gag." I was going to have to give her some hints, which I didn't have. I took a guess, based on something I'd heard. "It's not that hard. The key is to use a swallowing motion. Here, let me put it back in, and don't exactly suck, just try and pretend you are drinking a glass of water." A glass of water while flat on her back, right. I pushed, and got another gag reflex in reply. "It's OK, just relax and try again." I put it back in, a smidgen less far, and let her take a couple of practice swallows. "Swallow hard. Pretend it's a really big glass of water." Linda Lovelace would have cringed, or probably just laughed, at my feeble advice. She swallowed once, and on the second swallow I glided my cock inward. It went a little further than before, then she gagged. Again I pulled out. I didn't need her vomiting on me. I ran to the kitchen and got another bottle of pop, pondering whether some liquor would be better. No, probably not. I brought the pop to her, said "take a sip", and lay on the bed on my back, my cock standing up like a statue. "Here, maybe it'll be easier if you are on top. Get on top of me, and rest on your elbows on the bed." Without a lot of enthusiasm, she complied. "If you can get the hang of this, Mark will love you forever. Hold my prick with your hand, and put it in your mouth." She slid my cock into her mouth again, as far as it would go. "Now start swallowing, and see if you can get it deeper." I lightly put my hand on the back of her head, not to push but just to offer encouragement. She tried again. She bobbed her head down as she made a swallowing noise, then tried to raise back up. My hand stopped her. "No, don't take it out. Just keep trying." She bobbed down again as she swallowed, backed off, bobbed again, backed off, again. After half a minute of this I raised my head slightly to have a look. She was not really getting any more of it in. "That's pretty good," I falsely complimented her, "can you just keep it in now?" As she bobbed downward, I increased the pressure on her head, and she did not try to back off. Suddenly she started struggling, and I let her pull out. "I can't breathe," she panted. "Oh, yeah, sorry. That was great. Do that again." She took a few breaths and began again. It was not actually deep throat, but it wasn't bad. I let her up when she needed to. After a couple of deep breaths, she went at it again, this time more quickly. "Now see if you can suck it," I suggested. She moved her throat muscles slightly but after a few seconds had to come up for air. "You are great. That's just fine." She cycled through three more times, going down, coming back up for air. I decided to switch positions again. "Now, how about if you lie back down and see if you can keep doing it that way." She got down, and I remounted her face. I don't know that it was so much the dominance of the position, as it was a matter of plumbing. It just felt nicer pointing down into her than up. I placed her hands on my butt, poked my penis part way into her mouth, and let her set the pace. "Let go of my butt when you need to breathe." I humped gently, and she made what sucking motion she could. When she let go of my butt, I pulled out and let her catch her breath. She really was not making much progress in taking me deep, but by this time I didn't really care. "I think one more of those and I'll come. Are you ready?" She took me back into her mouth, I felt myself go past the point of no return (orgasmically speaking), and began to ejaculate. As the first spurt came, I began pulling out, to let her taste what she was getting. I stayed in her mouth until the spasms stopped, then told her "swallow what you've got so far, and suck hard to get the last few drops." She did that, and I slowly withdrew. I collapsed beside her. She was making a funny little swallowing sound, evidently unfamiliar with and unprepared for the aftertaste. I turned her head toward me, and kissed her soundly. "I hope you'll remember how you did that. That was great." The word great was getting trite, but I didn't care. I slipped my arm under her neck and cuddled her. "That was your first time, wasn't it?" "Um hmm", she cooed. "Well, remember to always swallow all the come you get. It's good for you. Lots of protein. You sure are a good learner," I added. "If you applied your learning talents to math, you'd be getting an A+ and I would never have found out about this particular talent you have." She didn't reply, and I mentally chided myself for being insensitive about her difficulties in my class. We lay there for a while, I stroking her hair, and then she said, "Can I ask you, um, a question?" "What?" "Are you gay?" Huh? Here I was lying in bed naked with a beautiful woman, basking in the afterglow of my second orgasm, and she wonders if I like boys? "Whaddaya mean, gay?" "Well," she said, "you've been with me all night and haven't wanted to make love to me." My oh my, what a narrow view of sex she had. Either that, or I was a real Hugh Hefner, mister sexual sophisticate. Of course, she had a bit of a point; the things she and I had done so far I could have done with a guy. Still, I rationalized that it's not what you do so much as whom you do it with; I didn't care to explore that line of thought much further. I was surprised at the familiar tone she was taking with me. I wondered if I needed to nip that in the bud. I removed my arm from under her and sat up. "Look", I lectured, "I'm not your boyfriend. I'm not gonna be your boyfriend. Get that straight. Don't go trying to fall in love with me. It doesn't matter to you whether I am gay, straight, or do it with poodles. When you are here, you have only one goal, and that is to be the biggest slut you can be. Our deal is, each week, you will do what I ask of you, no more and no less. Understand me?" She smiled and said yes. I asked, "so, you want me to fuck you?" and she said casually, "if you want to." "Then ask me." "Make love to me." "I don't make love, I fuck. Ask again." She hesitated, the foul word sticking in her throat. "Fuck me." "What do you call me?" "Sir." "Ask me again, with respect." "Would you please fuck me, sir." But there was a sarcastic edge to her voice, which I had not heard from her before. She was testing me. I got up and walked to the bedroom door. "All right, if you are going to take that tone, our agreement is over. You think this is all some sort of damn joke? 'Would you please fuck me, sir'." I mimicked her vocal inflection. "If you are going to have that attitude, put your damn clothes on right now and go the hell home. I'm going to the other room, and if you still want your grade you had better come out and beg me to fuck you. With respect." And I went to the dining room and sat at the table where we had been studying. I didn't expect to have to wait long, and she didn't disappoint. She followed me out of the bedroom with a worried look on her face. "Would you please..." "Hold it. Come here." I stood up. She came over and I pulled her close to me and put my hand on her shoulders. "If you are going to beg, get down on your knees." She sank to her knees, and I pushed firmly as she went. "All right. Go ahead." "Would you please fuck me, sir?" She had the desired tone of humility. I decided to press the advantage. "Is that how you beg? That's asking. I don't believe you want it. Look at me when you speak." She looked up, and darned if she didn't fold her hands like she was praying. "Sir, um, I humbly beg you to please fuck me. Um, I am sorry if I, um, displeased you." She left out the part about her being a miserable servant and all that, but I think my point had been made. "Now, as you can see, my prick is not hard. Think about what you'd like to do to remedy that, to get me ready, and be sure to ask me with respect." To be continued? Archivist's Note: This author did not provide an email address so it will do the reader no good contacting the archive staff for further parts. Check back at a later time to see if there have been any updates to this story by the author. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison system. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 78