I teach at the exclusive Roxbury Academy, a private all-girls college in Massachusetts. Actually, "exclusive" may be a bit of an understatement for this place; the income level of the parents -- and the snobbery of the students -- is so profound that they actually look down on girls going to Harvard and Yale because they weren't good enough for Roxbury. I know for a fact there are several girls here whose fathers run some of the largest and most powerful corporations in the world, several diplomat's and senator's daughters, a few girls whose parents are either producers, singers, actors, or some other example of Hollywood rich and famous, and numerous kids of the nouveau riche from all over the world. I think there may even be a Saudi princess or two here.
So let's suffice it to say, it is beyond exclusive.
You might think that for a college that clearly earns so much money, pay for the staff would be at a fairly comfortable level. You'd be wrong. Simple fact of the matter is the board chooses to take its unbelievable amount from tuition and endowments and put it back into pet projects that keep the girls as pampered as possible rather than paying us teachers what we deserve. For example, the college recently took some of its money and built a brand new fitness studio -- complete with juice and natural spring water bar, of course -- and a "student relaxation center, " even though there was a perfectly acceptable gym and recreation center for the girls that were but a few years old. In that same year, we teachers had an additional ten per cent taken from our pay for health care.
In fact, about the only way in which the board is not utterly tripping over itself to keep the girls and the girls' parents happy is when it comes to grading. At least in that respect we teachers have the ultimate say, and neither dean nor president nor parent can sway a grading decision once it's been made. This is a tradition that goes back the 1831 when Dorothea Roxbury founded the old place as a finishing school for the female elite of her society. As the daughter of a rich industrialist herself, she knew being raised in such pompous luxury could make a girl have certain unrealistic expectations out of life. When these young ladies would then marry equally arrogant and indolent young men of their class, they would soon find their wishes became secondary to those of their husbands, and Dorothea wanted her girls to have the wherewithal to suffer through hearing the occasional "no," especially when it was because she failed to work hard enough at her studies. So the primacy of the teacher's grades has been a cherished and long-respected tradition at the Academy to this very day.
Although Dorothea developed this rule to instill a little humility in those girls, she unknowingly allowed me to have the greatest fuck in my entire life.
It was late one night towards the end of the spring semester and I was working in my office finishing grades. I had the windows opened and the cool, fresh breeze of the New England spring was blowing in my office, yet despite that my mood was rather foul. Many of my girls were either flunking outright or just barely passing. I understand literature, especially British literature, can at times be a boring subject for these young ladies, but I also knew full well my students were capable of passing my class. The fact that so many of them were doing so poorly was a reflection of the degree to which they have grown accustomed to having others pick up the pieces for them. Well, thanks to Mrs. Roxbury's rule, at least in this case they will find what happens when one doesn't apply themselves.
It was in this mood that I first heard the sniffling in the hallway approaching my office door, then the light rap on the doorframe, coupled with a distraught "Uh...Mr. Wills?"
I looked up and saw on of my students, Carleigh Simms. As I recalled she was the daughter of some immensely powerful and successful lawyer from LA who wanted his daughter to have a proper New England education. It was clear she had been crying for a while, because this girl, who was normally exquisitely put together in class -- even with the limitations forced by the approved school uniform of wool skirt, knee-high socks, white blouse and cardigan sweater -- came to me now with wet mascara streaks running down her face, her hair a mess, and blouse pulled out from her skirt. I had to admit that, in a strange way, she looked even more alluring like this than she normally did in class.
"Yes, Carleigh? What's wrong?"
"Mr. Wills...uh...uh...," she was having trouble speaking as the tears welled up in her eyes and she began to stutter, "I...I...I need your help..." She was crying and stuttering so badly I gently guided her to the other chair in my office and offered her some tissues, then sat back down at my desk.
"Oh?" I said, knowing full well she was here because of her grades. Carleigh was a very bright young woman, but the very worst example of what having the very best for one's entire youth can do to a person. She rarely studied, and even more rarely did assignments given to the class. I believe she assumed she would be able to have Daddy make a phone call on her behalf or donate a library to the school or something and she'd get straight A's. She assumed wrong.
"I told my Dad about my grades," she paused, wept loudly, and whined a little, "and he said if I failed he'd take the Benz away."
Oh, that snotty rich brat, I thought, She's getting this worked up about a car?!
"Oh, well, that's unfortunate Carleigh. But you do have to know that this is your own fault. You were very lax this semester, and really never took this class seriously. I'm sorry, but if you lose your car it's your responsibility."
This forced Carleigh into absolute paroxysms of loud weeping, and she literally threw herself on her knees before and clasped her hands together, as if actually begging for her life. "Please, Mr. Willis?! Pleeeeeease?!! You don't understand, I love that car; I can't live without that car! I'll do anything I have to make up the difference, any amount of extra credit to get my grade up! Please, Mr. Wills, I'll do anything!"
Now, I'd be lying if I said I never had any sexual thoughts of my students. Here I am, an eligible bachelor surrounded by several hundred young college women, all of which are in these sexy little uniforms, and almost all of which are Playboy Playmate hot. But I have truly never acted on these thoughts before simply because I know girls like these will not be interested in a 40-year-old professor of literature, no matter how fit and trim I am.
This, however, was a different situation. Between the site of Carleigh disheveled and begging on her knees before me, the cool spring breeze, and my own erotic thoughts, I quickly felt my cock grown thick and hard.
"So, Carleigh. You'd do anything to get your grade up?"
"Yes, Mr. Wills, anything at all."
