"So, Mr. Killigan, I assume you know why you are here?"
I looked up at the headmaster, Professor Dawes, unsure of what to say. Maybe I could get off easy. I really didn't want to leave the university; I'd worked hard to get in for a long time.
"Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Killigan. You know exactly why you are here." He pushed a piece of paper across his desk. I looked down at it and gulped. CARTER KILLIGAN was written across the top, and below it, my grades were listed, clear as day. I was failing at least two classes and was borderline failing in a third.
I looked back up at Professor Dawes, wondering in the back of my mind exactly what he was thinking. Everyone said he was a weird headmaster, known for his strange ways. Sure, he seemed a little kooky, but so far nothing too far out of the ordinary had happened to me at his school.
"Yes, Mr. Killigan," said Professor Dawes. "You are nineteen, barely on your way into the world, and you are failing out of college. Now why is that?"
I didn't know what to say, so I looked away, ashamed. My parents would be furious if they knew. They had, after all, paid half of my tuition.
Professor Dawes continued. “These grades, to be quite frank, are atrocious.” He stood and began walking around me, his hands clasped behind his back. “Nothing seems to be getting through to you. You are an adult, so we cannot hold you in detention. I am not your father, so I cannot take away your basic privileges.” He turned to look at me then, a glint in his eye. “I think what you need... is a good fucking.”
“A-a fucking, sir?” I asked, unsure I had heard correctly.
He nodded. “Yes, Killigan. It would teach you to submit, and it could increase those grades a bit.” He winked.
I stared. “You... you’re going to...?”
“Oh of course I can’t without your consent, and you know it would have to remain between us. After all, I could lose my job for having such a relationship with a student. But... you really do need the points.”
He had me there: I did need the points. I thought about his offer. Maybe he was crazy after all. But then what did that make me? The idea of letting my headmaster screw me was one of the wildest, but when I looked at my lap again I realized I was getting an erection from the thought.
Apparently Professor Dawes noticed this as well. “Splendid, that answers that,” he said.
I was about to protest, but he said, “Oh no, my boy, you are in no position to argue.”
So I didn’t. In fact, I think I almost smiled.
“So,” he said, clapping his hands together twice, “let’s get to it, boy.”
Normally I would have protested, but as my member grew harder, I could do nothing to stop myself. I stood and turned to him, waiting for instruction.
He nodded once, and I knew what he wanted. I began to undress.
“Make sure to leave nothing, Killigan,” he added in a nonchalant manner, as if this were as common as someone taking out the trash.
I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off, followed by my undershirt, leaving me clothes only from the waist down. Next I kicked off my shoes and stripped away my socks. I stood up straight to look him in the eyes once more, but he said nothing. So I unzipped my jeans and removed them as well. Finally my boxers. Without them I would be completely at his mercy. The thought made me happy yet terrified. I pulled them away slowly, first over my enlarged member, then over my rear. At last all my clothes lay in a heap on the floor.
He nodded again, and the grin returned. “Very handsome erection you’ve got there, Killigan,” he noted. I blushed.
He turned and began to walk into another room, and I realized I was meant to follow him. He led me into a room off his office, one I had never noticed before.
Professor Dawes closed the door behind us. The room was small and dimly lit. It then occurred to me to wonder how many other young men—or even young women—had gained “extra credit” this way.
A strange-looking contraption was in the little room; it came up to about my waist.
Professor Dawes turned to me. “This is for you,” he said with a smirk. “Over you go.”
I realized I was meant to lean over the thing, so I did. It could have been a table, I supposed, but it was built oddly, with another flat square plank across the bottom, and round arches in the middle of the legs at the bottom.
“Place your feet through the arches, against the legs,” he instructed.