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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.

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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.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 78