Extra Credit

As Professor Zimmerman wove his way between the desks of my College Algebra class, handing back the first real test I had taken since I started at the university, I could feel the butterflies in my stomach turning into anxiety, then fear, and finally outright panic. I knew I shouldn’t have partied so hard the night before the exam. Taking that test with a hangover and less than three hours’ sleep was one of the worst decisions I had made in my 18 and a half years, especially considering that I was horrible at math to begin with. If I failed this class, I would lose my scholarship and be sent home, and probably have to get a job somewhere mopping floors or selling french fries for the rest of my life.

I silently crossed my fingers beneath the desk as Professor Zimmerman’s footsteps came to a halt in front of me. I glanced up at his face hopefully, but he just shook his head and handed me my test, an imposing red F stamped in the corner. I stared at the back of his head as he walked away, wondering how the hell I would explain this to my folks.

During the rest of the class, I examined my options. I needed at least a B to keep my scholarship. How could I bring up my grade? I looked again at the score on my test. A 3. I made a 3. My heart sank even lower in my chest as I realized that even if I made an A on the other three tests, I would still finish the semester with a C. My only choice was to approach Professor Zimmerman after class and ask him to allow me to retake the test. But the problem with that was I didn’t know the material in the first place!

I bit my lip and tried not to cry as I watched my teacher work out a problem on the board. He looked so serious and... attractive. The thought surprised me. I had never really considered my teacher as a man before, but looking at the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and his hair fell lightly across his forehead suddenly made me wish to see him naked.

I shook my head and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Maybe there was some kind of extra credit I could do? I could go to his office as soon as class was over and beg him to have mercy on me. I would even get down on my knees if I had to...

The image of myself on my knees in front of Professor Zimmerman startled me. What was I thinking? I pictured myself slowly unbuckling his belt, and I felt a slight tingling sensation creeping down my body. I shook my head again and scolded myself for even thinking that way. Surely a respected, serious math teacher would never entertain the notion of a sexual encounter with one of his students! I crossed my legs and squeezed them together tightly. But maybe...

I remembered my roommate Beth, who was a year older than I was, explaining to me how she’d made an A in her sociology class. “Piece of cake,” she’d said nonchalantly. “I went down on the guy once. That was all it took, and the little fucker was eating out of my hand. He was so scared I’d scream sexual harassment that he didn’t even make me take the final.”

I bit my lip again and stared at Professor Zimmerman. The longer I looked, the more handsome he became. He was about 35 years old, with dark brown hair and green eyes. He looked like he was in very good shape, and the way his dark grey pants hugged his ass so perfectly almost made me drool. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Did that mean he was single?

Even if he were single, would this man compromise his career and his teaching integrity just for one little blow job? Probably not. He seemed so intense as he lectured about imaginary numbers. What exactly would I have to do for an A? If not one blow job, how many? Would I have to have sex with him? What was I willing to go through with? As I watched Professor Zimmerman, I realized my answer: a lot.

When class was dismissed, all the students made a bee-line for the door except for me. I had planned to stay after class to talk with my teacher, but I took a little too long gathering my books together, and by the time I looked back up, he was already gone. His office was just a few doors down from the classroom, and as I walked slowly toward it, I felt my heart beating faster. Was I really about to do this? I stopped just outside the door and took a deep breath. Glancing down, I quickly unbuttoned the next button on my blouse and then knocked quietly on the door before I had a chance to change my mind.

A moment later, I heard his voice louder than I expected it. “Enter,” he said. It sounded more like a command than an invitation. I swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

Professor Zimmerman was seated behind his large oak desk in a straight-backed wooden chair. His cool green eyes were trained on my face as I stood nervously in the doorway, my hand still gripping the handle. We just looked at each other. My throat was suddenly too tight to speak. I realized right away that I had absolutely no idea how to proposition him.

He raised his eyebrow at me, and I looked down at the floor. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I closed my mouth, then opened it again, hoping for better luck the second time. Nothing.

“Yes?” he said. I bit my bottom lip and gave him a pleading look. He just looked at me a while longer, and finally motioned for me to close the door. “Sit,” he said. I sat down in one of the two wooden chairs that faced his desk. The chair squeaked. “Now. What is it that you are here for, Ms. Clearwater?” he asked. I sat there turning red as I tried to think of something to say. He spoke again. “Perhaps you are here regarding your test grade? A 3, if I remember correctly.” His stare never wavered.

“Um,” I said. “Yeah. Yes. I’m here because of my test grade.” I clutched my books tightly in my lap with one hand, while the other came up to play with my necklace. “I was wondering... ah... if there was maybe something... I could do, you know, to fix it.” I lowered my eyes nervously. Would he pick up on the implied meaning of that statement?

“I don’t give retakes,” he said bluntly.

I nodded, and tried again. “I was thinking something more like... extra credit,” I said. “Is there something extra I could maybe do... for you...?” I started to blush and fidget in the hard seat.

He tilted his head to one side as he continued to study me without blinking. “Extra credit,” he repeated. His voice sounded amused. “Did you have something in mind?”

I swallowed as I felt the blush spreading over my cheeks. “I was thinking... I could... well we could... I mean, if you wanted me to, I would... umm...”

“You would what?” he asked. There was definitely a smile in his voice.

“You know...” I said. I twisted my fingers in my lap helplessly.

“Say it,” he said coolly.

“I need an A,” I blurted out. “I would do anything.” I gave him a meaningful look. “Anything,” I said again.

“Ms. Clearwater,” he said, “are you offering me sex?”

I didn’t expect him to say it outright. It was almost a shock to hear what I was doing put into words. I hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yes,” I said resolutely. “I am offering you... sex.” I braced myself for his refusal.

He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. He wasn’t smiling, but there was an unmistakable smirk in his eyes. Finally, he said, “Ms. Clearwater, I think I am a reasonable man.” I nodded, and he went on, “How much money do you think a reasonable man would take in exchange for an A in the class?”

I shook my head. “But I don’t have any mon-”

“Just think about it,” he interrupted. I thought about it. I had no idea. “I wouldn’t take anything less than $3,000,” he said. My mouth dropped open. “Now, I know you’re not offering money.” He allowed his eyes to fall briefly to my chest, and I automatically shifted so that my shirt opened up a little more. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He asked, “Are you willing to give me $3,000 worth of... extra credit, in return for an A?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. What exactly was $3,000 worth of sex?

He answered as if I had asked the question out loud. “Ms. Clearwater, I can go downtown and pick up a hooker easily for 50 bucks. For $3,000, I could get 60 hookers, and those women do everything you can think of. What I need you to tell me is this: Are you worth the price of 60 hookers, and can you please me as well as they could?

My mind was reeling. If I had thought I could get away with taking a couple shots in the mouth, I was sorely mistaken. In my shock, my books slid off my lap with a loud thud. I quickly bent down to get them.

“Leave them,” he said. “And answer me.”

My entire body was trembling as I sat up. Sixty hookers... my god... I’d only had sex a few times, and only with drunken, fumbling teenage boys who were far below average in the equipment department. Was I ready to be this man’s prostitute? I didn’t even know his first name! But he was so handsome... just the cool stare that he was giving me was enough to start the wetness seeping into my panties. I squirmed. “What exactly... would I have to do?” I asked.

“Anything I told you to do,” he answered. “For the rest of the semester.” He paused. “Of course you would still come to every class, and you would still take the other tests. That way if you decided at any point that you wanted to end your ‘extra credit,’ I could still give you a proper grade for your efforts. However low it might be.” Here he gave me a look that could almost be construed as teasing. “If these terms sound unacceptable to you, you may withdraw your offer now. Keep in mind that when I say anything I tell you, I do mean anything.”

I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I thought about the look on my mother’s face if she could see me offering myself to this man. Then I thought about the look on her face if she found out that I would be kicked out of school for failing math. I took a deep breath and finally nodded. “Okay,” I whispered.

Professor Zimmerman nodded too. “Stand up,” he said. I stood up and dropped my hands to my sides. “Take off your shirt.” I reached up and slowly began unbuttoning the remaining buttons on my blouse. “Look at me while you do it,” he said. My eyes met his as I pulled my shirt open, then shrugged it off my shoulders. It fell to the floor, and I was standing there in my bra and jeans. My chest began to rise and fall more quickly as I got more nervous.

“Now your bra,” he commanded. He was still sitting calmly behind the big desk, his hands resting on top. His expression could have been chiseled in stone. I swallowed and continued to look him in the eye as I reached behind my back and unhooked the flimsy purple bra. I slid it down my arms and dropped it on top of my shirt. I put my shoulders back as I stood in front of him, my young breasts bared for his gaze. My nipples had hardened as soon as they touched the air.

“Good,” he said simply. “Now here are the rules. From now on you will address me only as Sir. You will respond to your first name, or anything else I choose to call you. By the way, what is your first name?”

“Jenny,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “You will not wear a bra. You will only wear skirts, and none should come to your knees or below. Do you understand me?” I nodded. “Another thing, when I ask you a question, you will respond verbally. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Sir, I understand.” I lowered my eyes as I said this.

“You will always look me in the eye, unless I tell you otherwise. You will report to my house every Friday night at 7 PM exactly, and any other time I tell you. Now repeat back everything I just said to you.” I repeated the rules to him quietly while looking into his eyes. My hands were shaking visibly. He nodded. “Now show me the rest of what I’m getting,” he said.

I slipped out of my sandals and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. I pushed them down over my hips and stepped out of them. Then I hesitated. He gave me a questioning look.

“Is the door locked?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Remove your panties.” I took a deep breath and started to push my bikini-cut purple satin panties down. They slid over my thighs and dropped noiselessly to the floor. I stepped out of them. “Come over here,” he said.

I walked around the desk and stood next to him. Being so close to my teacher and completely naked made me feel naughty in a way I had never felt before. I felt like a little girl beside this man who was so obviously in control. When I realized that it was really turning me on, I felt ashamed, but it didn’t make me want him any less.

He reached out a hand and gently stroked my short, light brown pubic hair. There wasn’t very much, but he said, “The first thing I want you to do when you get home is shave this.”

I nodded, then said, “Yes Sir,” and he smiled for the first time since we began talking.

“Turn around,” he said. I turned and faced away from him. “Spread your legs a little bit - not too much.” I did as he said, standing with my feet slightly more than shoulder-width apart. “Now I want you to bend over and use your hands to spread yourself out for me. I want to get a really good look at what’s mine now.”

I blushed hard as I bent over. Reaching my hands behind me, I placed my fingers right at the edge of my pussy lips and slowly pulled them apart. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. I knew that from his vantage point, my teacher could tell how turned on I was by the wetness slowly leaking out. He was so close I could feel his breath on my skin. Embarrassing isn’t even the word for it.

After what seemed like ages, he finally told me to stand up. He hadn’t touched me again, and I was surprised to find how disappointed I was. He told me to get dressed. I started to put my panties back on, but he stopped me, saying, “I’ll take those,” and put them in one of his desk drawers. I put my jeans and shirt and sandals back on, remembering not to wear my bra. I tucked it into my purse and gathered my books together.

Not sure if I should leave or not, I stood there waiting for him to tell me what to do next. After several minutes, he looked up from a stack of papers he had taken out of his desk and smiled at me again. He had a smile that could melt glass. I was immediately thrilled that I had made him smile twice in one day. I smiled shyly back at him.

“You may go now,” he said. “I’ll see you in about 4 hours.” I gave him a puzzled look. Four hours? And then I remembered - today was Friday. I was to be at his house at 7. I nodded and backed towards the door. “And remember the rules,” he said.

“Yes Sir.” I shut the door quietly behind me.

***

I arrived at Professor Zimmerman’s house at 6:58. After leaving his office, I had walked all the way across campus back to my dorm wearing jeans and no underwear, and the thick seam right at the crotch of the jeans had definitely given me something to think about on the way there. When I arrived at my dorm, I took a shower and shaved my pubic hair off, just as he had requested. I’d planned to masturbate when I got back to my room, but my roommate had picked this Friday as the one Friday of her life to stay in, so I didn’t have a chance, leaving me really horny as I got ready to go to Professor Zimmerman’s house. I chose a red, low-cut top and a pleated black skirt to wear. The skirt came to about mid-thigh. I wore french-cut black panties, black MaryJanes, and no bra. The outfit was very sexy, maybe a little too sexy, but I didn’t expect to be wearing it for long.

At 7:00 exactly, I rang the doorbell. When no one answered, I began to wonder if I had gotten the right house, but the address on my syllabus matched this one. I looked down at the doorknob, wondering whether I should try it, when I noticed a small sticky note directly beneath it that said, “Come in. Do NOT ring the doorbell.” My eyes widened as I realized I had already done something wrong. I sheepishly turned the knob and let myself in.

Inside, the house was dark except for a small lamp aimed at a spot on the wall near eye-level. It was highlighting another sticky note. This one said, “Kneel.” I nervously got down on my knees facing the wall, and I came face to face with another note. This last note told me how to use the objects on the floor, and to do so immediately. I looked down at the floor and noticed three items. A scarf, a pair of handcuffs, and... the last thing was unfamiliar to me. It was a thin metal bar in the shape of the letter J, with a round metal ball on each end, about an inch in diameter. I had never seen one of these before, but the note gave explicit directions on how to use it.

I looked around to make sure there was no one in the room or spying on me from a doorway, but the darkness made it hard to see clearly. Assuming no one was around, I flipped my skirt up and pushed my black panties down to my knees. Taking the J-shaped object, I gingerly touched it against my pink slit and shivered. It was cold. I ran it between my dampening cunt lips a few times to make sure both metal balls got good and wet, and then I slowly began to push the longer end into my pussy. After a couple of inches, I felt the other metal ball touch my asshole. I swallowed and continued to push on the curve of the object until it was against my skin, and both metal balls were buried inside me. I let out a long sigh. It actually didn’t feel too bad. I squirmed around a little and decided embarrassedly that I kind of liked it.

My fingers had gotten wet from touching myself down there, so after looking around again to make sure no one could see me, I licked them clean. That’s something that I had been doing since I was a little girl, but it isn’t the kind of thing you talk about, so I wasn’t sure if it was normal. Then I pulled my panties back up and flipped my skirt down again. I picked up the scarf and read the directions again carefully.

Placing the scarf over my eyes, I tied it in a bow behind my head. Then I felt around on the floor for the handcuffs. Finding them, I cuffed one hand, then put my arms behind my back and cuffed the other one. Then I waited.

Finally, I heard footsteps. A chill went through my body as I thought about how I had willingly restrained myself to be used by this man. I heard a soft thud right behind me, as though something heavy had been placed on the carpet, and suddenly there were strong hands on my body, urging me to stand up. I got shakily to my feet and faced him, trying desperately to see through the scarf, although I knew I couldn’t.

I felt the scarf being checked, then the handcuffs, to see if I had followed the instructions properly. Next I felt myself being pulled forward; I felt him sit down. I was positioned beside him, and a hand on my back told me to lie over his lap. I bent forward over him, and he wrapped an arm around me to keep me from falling off. I focused on trying to breathe normally. I could smell his cologne. He smelled so good.

Suddenly I felt a warm hand on my thigh. It slid up underneath my skirt, leaving a trail of goose bumps on my skin. The hand slid over my ass and flipped my skirt up, revealing my panties. I swallowed hard and tried to stay completely still as his hand trailed back over my butt, rubbing the silky material against me. Then I felt fingers tucked into the waistband of my panties, gently working them down and off my ass, leaving them around my knees.

The whole thing was so erotic that I couldn’t help but get even wetter. I felt his fingers spread my smooth lips apart and then tap on the metal bend that was showing. I started giving myself over to the sexiness of it all, when suddenly I felt a hard WHACK against my upturned ass.

I gasped in surprise, and the first slap was followed by a second, then a third. I gasped after each one, accidentally humping against his thigh to try to escape the blows. After six, he stopped. The sting in my rear was incredible, and I was shocked and confused. I hadn’t been spanked since I was a little girl! His hand began to make slow circles against my hot, tingling skin, massaging my asscheeks in a way that seemed almost tender.