It was the end of only her first semester of college, and th..

It was the end of only her first semester of college, and things had not gone very well. Or, rather, that is to say, they had not gone very well academically. Which is what brought her to Professor Hart’s office. It was the last day of the term, and he was the fourth professor she had visited that day. So far, she had begged, pleaded, and compromised her way into passing grades for all of her failing classes. Professor Hart’s class, Intro to Poetry, was the last on the list. He finished his conversation with a series of polite pleasantries and hung up the phone. He turned to her and smiled. “Miss Taylor. What can I do for you?” She put her game face on: a serious, sad pout. “Well, Professor, it’s about my grade.” “Ah yes.” He turned to his computer. “Let me pull up your scores, but if I recall, they are not good, are they?” “No….” She looked down at her legs, pressed together at the knees and crossed demurely at the ankles. She drooped her shoulders slightly, adding to the appearance of a bedraggled, helpless student. Such an act had worked on every other teacher so far, and while she figured this would be an easy kill, there was no need to get cocky. “I mean, you see…I don’t know, this semester hasn’t gone well for me overall….” “Mmm,” Professor Hart murmured noncommittally, still looking at his screen. “I mean, the stress of moving to school, across the country, I’ve never been away from home for so long and—” “Really? You didn’t go to boarding school?” She stumbled, surprised to have her sob story interrupted. “Um…no…? Why?” “Ah.” He inclined his head in her direction. “Well, your preferred outfit would suggest otherwise. I mean I can’t imagine why else anyone would own so many different short plaid skirts.” She looked at her outfit, self-consciously tugging her hemline slightly further down. “Oh, well I just like them, is all.” “You like them, or you like the reactions they get from men?” ..... She stopped as he moved away from the bookshelf. He approached her, sitting on the edge of his desk, facing her. “You need to pass this class?” he asked in his calm voice. She looked at the list of terrible scores on the monitor. “Yes.” “You want me to keep this information to myself?” She shuddered. “Yes.” He nodded, then leaned back on the desk, stroking his chin thoughtfully. She sat quietly, wrapped in misery, until his stern voice snapped her out of it. “Stand up.” She looked at him curiously. He stared back patiently. “Miss Taylor, I said stand up.” She did, slowly. “Face me.” She turned to face him where he sat on the desk, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Take off your shirt.” He had obviously noticed her shifting gaze. “You can walk out now, Miss Taylor, certainly, and accept the consequences of your actions this semester, or…” he exhaled slowly, his voice deepening, “or you can do what I am telling you to do. She shifted uncertainly, chewing her lip. Professor Hart watched her calmly. Finally, she made a decision and started to unbutton her shirt. Her breasts flowed out, rich and full, as the bra joined the blouse on the floor. Assuming that he wanted a show, she reached up to cup them, play with them. She stroked along their silky sides, letting them fill her hands as she squeezed them gently. Gradually she moved to her nipples, flicking and pinching them slightly, getting them to swell up and harden. Without warning, Professor Hart stood up. “Come up to the desk.” She did, pivoting to face him. “No, face the desk.” Confused, she did as he asked, examining the desk in front of her. While his bookshelves were filled with books and awards, his desk was studiously neat and uncluttered. “Bend over the desk,” he said, still standing off to the side. Seeing where things were going, she tensed up. “Wait, I thought you just wanted a show?” Did I say that? Do you think you deserve to get off so lightly? With everything you’ve done this semester, fucking random boys instead of doing your schoolwork, lying to your professors, lying to me to try and get away with it?” She shuddered, speechless. He gripped her hair harder and continued. “Now, I think you have a lot to make up for, don’t you agree?” Gulping, she nodded. “So, are you ready to make it up to me?” There was silence while she weighed her options. Finally, she nodded again. “I want to hear you say it,” he whispered heavily. “Yes.” “Yes what?” “Yes, Professor, I am ready to make it up to you.” Without warning, he pulled her back up to standing. She stumbled, ass stinging and tender under her skirt. He kept one hand on her hair, but brought up his other hand to play with her breasts himself. He stroked them as he had seen her do, feeling their silky sides, and pinching the nipples. His pinches got harder and harder, and as he worked one, he brought his head down to suck and nibble at the other. She moaned as his tongue traced her hardened nipple, flicking against it as his finger was doing to the other nipple, and yelled as he bit down at the same time that he pinched the other. He released her breasts and pulled her into a kiss, commanding and greedy. She opened to him, letting his tongue flick across hers, letting him suck and bite her lips. Gradually, she started to nibble his in return. He responded by dropping his free hand to her low back, pressing her firmly against him. She reached around him to grab his ass and stroke his back. She could already feel the bulge in his pants pressing eagerly against her thin skirt. Finally he moved her head toward his cock, bobbing right in front of her face. Still looking up at him, she gently licked the tip. He moaned, closing his eyes briefly, as she licked further up and down the shaft, lubricating and teasing him at the same time. He released her hands, and she brought them in to gently squeeze and wrap his shaft while she moved from licking to sucking the head. She started to get into her usual routine when suddenly his free hand came down to cup her jaw. Curious, she looked back up at him, and saw his eyes harden with greedy lust. The pressure on the back of her head increased, slowly moving her to take him deeper into her mouth. She struggled, never having taken a cock so deep before, but with both of his hands bracing her head she couldn’t escape. Her hands grabbed his hips as he thrust deep into her, his cock pressing against the roof of her mouth and swelling in the back of her throat. His balls brushed against her chin and her nose filled with the masculine scent of him. She gagged once, but he didn’t remove himself. Panicked, she gagged again, harder, and this time he released her and slid out. She heaved and panted for breath. He watched her regain her composure, then moved her head toward him again. She opened her mouth to take the head, expecting to work up to the full penetration; instead, he trusts all the way into her at once, hands gripping her head firmly against her struggles. Again, he released her after two heaving gags. “That is very good, Miss Taylor,” he said calmly, breaking the silence. She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth and looked up at him. “Have you done that before?” She silently shook her head no. He chuckled. “Well, then I am glad you learned at least one thing from me this semester.” After a few minutes of this, he pulled himself out of her mouth and pulled her to her feet. “Leave the skirt on, take off your underwear and bend back over the desk again.” She did as he asked, leaning on the glossy wood, the computer monitor with the damning scores still sitting at the peripheral of her vision. She heard rustling behind her as he took his clothes off completely. She looked back over her shoulder. “No…not really….” she said, refusing to admit it herself. “No what?” “No…Professor.” “Hmm. Then how do you explain this?” He thrust his finger into her mouth. She tasted her juices all over it, thick and dripping. When he removed the finger, all she could do was look back at the desk in shame. He made an amused noise, then stepped back. She continued to stare down at the desk as she heard him rustling behind her. Finally, her nervousness got the better of her and she glanced back to see that he had stripped naked and was siding a condom onto his cock. “Face forward, Miss Taylor,” he chided, and she quickly obeyed. He stepped up behind her and grabbed her roughly, spreading her ass again. Before she could prepare herself, she felt his cock pushing greedily against her pussy. She gasped as he thrust into her fully, all the way to the base, and held there as she whimpered and quivered against him. He removed himself slowly, only to slam himself all the way in again. Ignoring her cries, he started to pound her hard, in and out, fully embedding and removing himself every time. She spread her legs wider, to get a better grip on the floor, and to allow him to go deeper. His hands rested on her hips, right above where her skirt was shoved up, and helped guide her onto his cock. She gasped and moaned as every thrust made the pleasure in her body build. She could feel his hot, sweaty weight tensed above her, working in and out of her. She could barely hear his heavy breaths over her cries. “Do the other boys fuck you like this, Miss Taylor?” he whispered heavily into her ear. “Do you let them take you whenever they please?” All she could do in response was moan louder. “Have you ever let two boys take you at once?” he asked, then gripped her hair harder when she didn’t respond. “Answer me, Miss Taylor.” Gasping, she shook her head no. “Well, perhaps we have to…double the stakes, then….”