"Hands on the desk," he told the blushing student, caressing her firm ass through her neon-pink panties. "You'll do what I say or you'll have an 8am lecture every day of the week, you understand? Your academic progress has been completely unacceptable and this is the only way to stay on track."
She'd walked in that afternoon carefree and innocent, just another sophomore coming back from summer vacation. She hadn't thought it was such a big deal, failing two of her classes last spring. Her blue eyes had widened as her advisor told her she was in danger of losing her scholarships, forced to move back home in humiliation. And Walter had known then that she was in the palm of his hand.
It had only taken a few minutes to convince Ashley that he could help her, could make all her problems go away, if only she'd be a good girl for him. She'd nodded uncomprehendingly. "Of course, Mr. Warren, I just want to keep attending this school. My parents would kill me if I flunked out. What can I do?"
What indeed. For starters, she could peel off her skinny jeans and let him have a good look at her long legs. She'd stammered out an excuse, pretended to be embarrassed, but with the merest words of encouragement-- "Do you want me to take care of you, or not?"--her pants were around her ankles. Ashley had bit her lip, staring at the floor, but clearly aroused by the forced exhibitionism. If she were truly uncomfortable with this arrangement, she would have run screaming to the dean's office by now. That's what Walter told himself as his lecherous gaze moved over her slim body.
And now he had her bent over his desk. A simple prompt was all it had required. If he didn't know better, he'd suspect that this particular student had been dreaming about being stuck in this position for a very long time... that, or she was just especially pliant. Hmm. How many college girls fantasized about their academic advisors?
"Ashley, my dear," he crooned over her shoulder, bucking his hips forward to rub his clothed erection against her underwear, "that's a good girl, assuming such a nice position for me. Now, why do you think I want you like this?"
"Uh, I don't know, Mr. Warren--"
"Sir. Call me Sir." The university didn't require students to be so formal, but he wanted to hear the word coming from her lips.
She swallowed, shivering a little at his command. Did she like being so obedient? "Yes, Sir. Um--you have me over your desk because--you want to fuck me?"
The term sounded especially vulgar when a woman so much younger than Walter was saying it to him. "Yes, sweetheart, that's right," he praised. "Of course I do. You've got such a plush ass." He dug his trimmed fingernails into it as he spoke, eliciting a whimper from the girl beneath him.