This story contains scenes of a sexual nature involving an adult male and a boy under the age of eighteen. If you are offended by this subject matter, or if it is illegal for you to read it for any reason, please leave now.
This is a work of fiction. All events and characters come from the warped imagination of the author and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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The nameplate on the open door says `Professor James Beattie,' I knock and walk through into the outer office. To my right, by the window, a rather plain secretary is sitting behind a desk, typing on her computer keyboard. She looks up and smiles as I enter, "You must be Michael, please take a seat." She points to my left where a two seat couch, which has definitely seen better days, stands against the wall. This wall, like the other three, is painted in a bland, beige colour; it looks like a doctor's waiting room.
"My friends call me Mike," I reply, giving her one of my trademark smiles. "I hope that's what we're going to be."
"So do I Mike," she responds. "Please call me Helen." She finishes with a girlish giggle that doesn't seem to fit the initial impression I've just gained of her; I'm not too surprised though, I have that effect on women.
I sit on the couch, sink into the upholstery and take in my surroundings. Helen is in her mid-thirties with light brown, shoulder length hair to which she has added blonde highlights in an unsuccessful attempt to look younger. She is dressed in an ordinary grey skirt and white blouse and is wearing glasses that are too large to be fashionable and don't suit her; she is definitely not my type. I fully intend to use my charm on her, however, because keeping-in with the professor's secretary won't do me any harm at all. Apart from the couch and Helen's desk and chair, the only other contents in the room are a row of four filing cabinets between the door through which I entered and the window. Directly opposite this door is another, this one closed, which I assume leads to the professor's own office.
The reason I'm sitting here waiting to see Professor Beattie, is because I've been asked to appear personally to receive the result of the interview for my application to attend St Luke's College, Camford. Camford is the finest university in the country and St Luke's is one of its oldest and most prestigious colleges. Normally the results are posted to prospective candidates but for some reason the professor wants to give me the good news personally, even though he didn't actually carry out the interview himself. I say `good news' because I'm certain that the result of my application will be positive. You probably think that makes me cocky and possibly even a bit arrogant, so I suppose I better tell you something about myself.
* * *
I'm seventeen years old; five feet, eleven inches tall; one hundred and eighty pounds, give or take the odd pound; and, according to everyone who knows me, extremely good looking. My hair is dark brown and tousled in that, `dragged through the hedge backwards' sort of way that women seem to like. Years of orthodontic treatment have given me a perfect smile which is enhanced by the dimples in my cheeks. It's my eyes that really seem to get the girls interested though; deep brown irises framed by almost perfect whiteness, with hardly a blood vessel to be seen; when I look at a girl and smile, she's mine. Once my eight inch long, six inch circumference cock is buried in her pussy she'll do anything I ask; and I've got a pretty vivid imagination!
My father is a brilliant academic; he attended St Luke's college himself and after graduation became a tutor and then a professor. Despite a minor scandal when he was thirty five, he went on to become Master of the college; a post that he still holds today at fifty four. The scandal was that he divorced his first wife and married one of his former students – my mother; she graduated with honours and is now a research fellow. My half-brother and sister, dad's children from his first marriage, are also graduates of St Luke's; attendance at this college is very much a family tradition.
Now you're probably thinking that I'm only getting into this college because of my family connections –wrong! My parents sent me to the local state school rather than a private one and, despite that, I achieved twelve GCSE passes (all A or A*) and am currently studying five A levels all of which I'm expecting to pass at grade A. My family did help with preparation for the interview though, which I know I passed with flying colours.
Despite my excellent academic record, I'm not a nerd; I play many sports but rugby is my passion. I play outside half for my school and have also represented the county. Sport is an important part of both college and university life; my brother was a rowing blue and I fully intend to emulate this feat at rugby.
With my academic and sporting ability, family connections and the fact that I aced the interview, I am very relaxed about this meeting with Professor Beattie. A rejection would have been notified by letter; a personal meeting can only be to discuss my collegiate future.
* * *
The door to the professor's office opens and a young man, obviously a student, walks out. He is skinny, with a pale complexion; straight, black hair which reaches almost to his shoulders; and several piercings in his ears, nose and lip. As he passes he glances at me and gives a shy smile; I just glare back at him and he blushes and looks away; fucking queer! That's the downside of good looks; I don't just attract women, I also seem to attract gay guys. Dad says that there are a lot of queers at the university, so I suppose I'll have to get used to it; but they'll just have to accept that I'm straight and not available.
Now despite what I've just related, I'm not totally homophobic; in fact when I was younger I even experimented with a friend. When I was twelve I discovered masturbation and told another boy who was a neighbour; pretty soon we were wanking together and then jerking each other off. Eventually we progressed to sucking one another but that was as far as we went; he wanted me to fuck him but the idea didn't appeal to me. When I was fourteen I discovered pussy and my interest in my neighbour waned. He was devastated when I told him that I didn't want to do it with him anymore; bursting into tears and declaring his love for me; but I just laughed and told him to fuck off. We never spoke again after that; the last I heard, he had left school at sixteen and moved in with an older guy who apparently treats him like some kind of slave; pretty weird don't you think?
The buzzer on Helen's intercom sounds, she presses a button and the professor's thin voice comes through, "Is Mr Robertson here, Helen?"
"Yes professor, he's waiting to see you."
"Please send him in. I won't need you again today; I'll see you in the morning."
"Thank you, sir; good afternoon. Ok Mike, you can go in now."
As I struggle out of the clinging couch I notice that Helen has wasted no time in shutting down her computer and is already donning her jacket in preparation to leave. I walk over to the inner door and knock; "Come in," I hear from the other side.
I open the door and walk into Professor Beattie's office; it is considerably larger than the outer office but somehow feels cosier and more intimate. The professor is not a large man, about five foot seven and a hundred and fifty pounds; he is in his early forties but with his greying hair and rumpled, old fashioned suit he looks older. Like his secretary the professor has his desk by the window; it is a large, leather topped, Edwardian antique with drawers either side of the leg space. The chair on which he is sitting complements the desk but the computer on his left looks somewhat out of place. Opposite the door there is a large fireplace but no fire burns in the grate; the building may be hundreds of years old but it is centrally heated. Above the fireplace hangs a large painting of the college; other pictures fill the gaps between the bookcases which line the walls and seem contain a wide range of books both old and new; I think I would enjoy a few hours alone in this room. To my left is a coffee table surrounded by an odd assortment of chairs; obviously where the professor holds his tutorials.
"Good afternoon, Mr Robertson," the professor greets me, "please take a seat." He gestures towards the single, hard backed chair that sits in front of his desk. I sit down on the chair and try to relax; it's every bit as uncomfortable as it looks and, despite my confidence, I find myself squirming uneasily. "I'm not the sort of person to beat about the bush, so I'll get straight down to business," he says. "I'm afraid that despite your academic achievements to date and your other accomplishments, the interview revealed that you are not quite what we are looking for in a St Luke's student."
His words explode in my brain like a bomb. He can't possibly be serious, I prepared for weeks and was coached by both my parents as to what was required; I know I gave a perfect interview. My head is buzzing and I find myself struggling to think coherently. I realise that the professor is still speaking but I only hear a few random words and phrases; "cocky" "arrogant" "over confident" "lack of effort" "think you have a place by right" "not prepared to go the extra mile."
At that last comment my brain clears and I interrupt vehemently, "That's not true! I've been planning to attend St Luke's for as long as I can remember, I'll do anything to get into this college!"
The professor stops and looks at me with a strange smile on his face. "Do you really mean that? Are you willing to do anything to gain admission to this college or are those just words?"
I don't stop to think, I know that my whole life up to now has been preparation for St Luke's, I'll most definitely do whatever it takes to make that happen. "Those aren't just words," I reply, "I'll do whatever you ask if it'll change your decision and get me into this college."
The professor rises, walks around the desk and stands in front of me. "Kneel on the floor," he says. I hesitate, unsure where this is leading. "I said kneel," he repeats, "or don't you want a place here?"
I realise that he is deadly serious and drop to my knees in front of him. He unbuttons his fly, pulls out his semi-hard cock and thrusts it towards my face. "Suck it," he orders.
All sorts of thoughts are flying around inside my head but if this is what he wants me to do and it's going to get me into St Luke's then so be it; let's be honest, it's not as if I haven't done this before. I grasp his cock in my right hand and pull back his foreskin to reveal his glans. Taking his cockhead into my mouth I start to suck it while jerking his shaft with my right hand and fondling his balls with my left. His cock stiffens quickly, growing to about seven and a half inches; not far off my own length but lacking my girth. I continue sucking the first few inches while jacking the rest; every now and then I pull off, lick his glans and drop lower to suckle first one and then the other of his nuts. Licking up the length of his shaft I return to sucking his cockhead but now he pushes further into my mouth and into my throat. This is a new experience for me; I have only ever sucked the cock of a pubescent boy before and I could take all of him into my mouth without any trouble. Now I'm having to take seven and a half inches of man-cock and it's making me gag. I pull back, spluttering but he grabs the back of my head and pushes back into my throat. I fight off the panic, breathe through my nose and desperately try to relax my throat muscles. Suddenly he slips into me fully and I find my nose pressed against his trimmed bush of pubic hair. He pulls out, allowing me to take a breath and then pushes back in, repeating this action with increasing speed as he face fucks me.
This seems to have lasted hours but in reality has only been a couple of minutes; his thrusting stops and he groans as he unloads his first spurt directly into my stomach. He pulls back until just his glans remains in my mouth and the rest of his cum sprays into my mouth. My initial instinct is to spit out the thick, salty gunge but I have enough of my wits about me to realise that he won't like that; instead I swallow everything he produces, gulping it down to ensure that I don't spill a drop.
When he has finished he pulls out of my mouth and wipes his cock over my face. "What do you say, boy?" he asks.
I pause, unsure of what to reply. Then I realise what he wants to hear, "Thank you, Sir," I say.
"Good boy," he responds. "Perhaps when we've finished I will be able to recommend that you should be admitted to St Luke's after all."
"When we're finished?" I ask, with some trepidation. "Do you mean you want me to do more?"
"Of course," he replies. "That was just the hors d'oeuvre; the entrée is still to come."
"I've done what you asked," I complain. "I've sucked your cock, what more can I do?"
He reaches down, grips both my upper arms and pulls me to my feet. His hands move to my waist and loosen my belt before unfastening my trousers which slide to the floor. I'm still stunned and am unable to respond; I feel like a spectator, watching this happen to someone else and just stand like a statue as he strips me. My underpants follow my trousers and I find myself standing, naked from the waist down, with the professor's right hand fondling my buttocks. His other hand pushes up inside the front of my shirt and starts to rub my right nipple causing me to moan involuntarily. Unbelievably my cock is hardening; I suppose it must be some kind of basic biological response to physical stimulus; it certainly isn't due to sexual arousal. I'm not gay and even if I was, there is no way in the world I would ever find the professor attractive.
While my mind has been on my cock, the professor has unbuttoned and removed my shirt. He is now sucking my left nipple, his left hand is rubbing my right nipple and his right hand is caressing my arse; the middle finger rubbing up and down my cleft and across the entrance to my anus. I moan again; fuck, why does that keep happening?
"Turn round and lean on the desk," the professor commands. I want to protest, to tell him that I don't want to do this; but I'm in a daze and just blindly obey. He kneels behind me, removes my trousers and underpants from around my ankles and spreads my legs. I can feel a hand grasp each of my buttocks firmly and pull them apart; his tongue licks from my scrotum, across my perineum and up the crack of my arse; as it passes over my pucker I can't help but moan yet again. His mouth is now attached to my anus and he is sucking on it; I can feel his tongue pushing at my entrance; I am almost moaning constantly now; how can something so wrong feel so good? His tongue continues to probe until, finally, my defences give up and it makes its way inside me; I shudder and let out yet another loud moan as feelings of pure pleasure course through me. Just as I think that I might actually enjoy the experience he withdraws his tongue and stands up.
"Stay where you are." Another command and I obey without question; no-one has ever accused me of being stupid. He moves around the desk, opens a drawer and removes something from it. He returns to stand behind me and now I can feel a cold, slicked finger probing at my hole. I tighten up instinctively and get a slap on my arse for my trouble, "Relax boy, it'll only hurt more if you don't."
I relax as best I can, his finger slides into my tight orifice and I breathe a sigh of relief; it feels slightly uncomfortable but it doesn't hurt. He moves his finger in and out, twisting it at the same time as he lubricates my hole. The finger withdraws but soon two replace it; there is more discomfort now and I let out a groan as the two digits push their way into my chute. As before he pushes in and out with the same twisting motion, readying me for what I know and dread is to come. Two fingers become three and for the first time I experience some pain; I bury my head in my forearm and try to remain silent but despite my best efforts another loud groan escapes my lips. I feel a huge relief when he withdraws his fingers but it is short lived; what comes next makes me long for those three digits.
There is a rustling as he divests himself of his clothing; I keep my eyes closed and my head on my arm, hoping against hope that somehow I will get a last second reprieve and be spared the painful indignity that awaits me. No such luck; his lubricated cockhead presses against my pucker; I tense instinctively and then relax, I don't need to be told twice. I feel an intense, stabbing pain as his glans pushes through my sphincter which naturally clamps down on the intruder. He pauses for a few seconds, the pain dissipates slightly and my arse relaxes again; the pause doesn't last long, he pushes further in and the burning pain returns with a vengeance. He pulls out until just his cockhead remains inside me and then pushes back in, gaining an extra inch; he repeats this several times until I feel him pressed up against my buttocks.
Now that he has me fully impaled, he starts to fuck me. I have never felt pain like this; I think he must have sandpaper wrapped round his cock as I'm in complete agony; tears are streaming down my face and I'm squealing like a little girl. The erection I had while he rimmed me is long gone; my cock is now shrivelled and hanging limply between my legs.
I'm starting to regain control; I'm still in agony but no longer embarrassing myself with my vocal outbursts. Now that I'm quiet I can hear the other sounds in the room; the slap, slap of the professor's loins against my buttocks; the animalistic grunts emanating from him with each thrust he makes into my tight, no longer virgin, arsehole. OK, this isn't good; in fact it's fucking awful; but it isn't going to kill me; and if it's going to get me into St Luke's it will be worth every, agonising second.
Without warning the professor pulls out and I feel an overwhelming sense of relief; my ordeal is over. "Turn round and sit on the desk," he tells me. As I follow his instruction, he grabs my legs and pushes me onto my back; he puts my feet over his shoulders, pulls my arse to the edge of the desk and rams his cock back into my hole. So much for the ordeal being over.
I'm not sure whether I'm becoming used to being fucked, or if this new position is just less painful but the burning agony has disappeared. It still hurts but it's a deep, throbbing ache that actually feels rather good. With less pain in my hole, I'm now aware that I'm uncomfortable on the desk and adjust my position to compensate; this involves raising my arse so that more of my weight is being taken on the top half of my back. That's better, now I definitely feel more comf . . . holy shit! What the fuck was that?
The professor's cock has just rubbed something inside my arse which has caused a burst of electricity to pass through my body; the most intense, pleasurable feeling I've ever experienced. With each thrust he makes he rubs against that spot and the feelings of pleasure increase. It is similar to having my glans sucked but ten times better; it almost feels like my cock is being stimulated from the inside. On the subject of my cock, I now have an erection again; a full, eight inch, pre-cum leaking, hard-on which is bouncing up and down on my belly. It must be my prostate gland that is causing these amazing feelings. I've heard that it's the male `g-spot' but always thought it was a bit of a myth; I certainly know better now!
I want to cum and reach for my cock in order to masturbate; but the professor grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. He has already cum once, so I don't imagine he is going to finish anytime soon. My need for release is becoming desperate and I reach for my cock again but the professor slaps my hand away and instructs me to clasp both my hands behind my head. I'm now fucking myself on his cock just as much as he is pounding into me; thrusting my hips back and forth and squeezing muscles in my arse that I didn't even know existed until this moment.
Suddenly my control of those muscles ceases; wave after wave of intense pleasure floods my abdomen and my arse clamps down hard on the professor's cock. My own cock starts to pour forth semen in what seems like a single flood; but is in fact a rapid series of huge spurts. I can feel some land on my face and then down my chest and stomach; but I know that those weren't the first shots and that some must have gone over my head. It is by far the best orgasm of my life and I almost pass out with the intensity. I am not so far gone, however, that I miss the professor cumming; he gives one final thrust into my hole and lets out a yell as he pumps his seed into me before slumping forward onto my chest, as my legs slide down his torso to hang off the edge of the desk.
As I come down from my orgasmic high, I realise that the professor is moving his face towards mine; he obviously intends to kiss me. Given what has just occurred, this might seem strange; but the thought of being kissed by a man abhors me. I suppose sucking and fucking are purely physical actions, whereas kissing is intimate and is definitely a step too far. I raise my hands to hold him off but despite being younger, bigger and stronger than him; his lips somehow make contact with mine. My traitorous limbs have failed me; my legs have wrapped themselves around his waist, my ankles locked together above his buttocks. My arms, which should be pushing him away; have instead, moved around his neck and are pulling his face to mine. My lips open of their own accord and his tongue slips into my mouth, rubbing sensuously against my own. When he withdraws his tongue, mine follows into his mouth and the passionate kiss continues with me as a very active participant.
Finally he breaks the kiss and, as he stands up, his softening cock leaves my anus with an audible popping sound. As his cock pops out, someone in the room whimpers – fuck that was me! I feel empty inside and wish he would fuck me again; but instead he pulls me off the desk and pushes me to my knees. I have a feeling of déjà vu; I'm kneeling in front on the professor and he is pushing his semi-hard cock towards my mouth. I'm nauseous as I smell the odour of cum and anal fluids on his cock and realise that I'm expected to clean it orally. "Some crème fraiche to finish," he says.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and take his foul smelling appendage into my mouth. It isn't as bad as I feared; in fact it tastes rather good. I suck and lick his cock with more enthusiasm than I would ever have imagined until he is satisfied that it is clean and instructs me to stop. "Ok, get dressed and take a seat," he tells me.
* * *
We are now back where we started; he sitting comfortably behind his imposing desk; and I sitting uncomfortably, fidgeting on the chair in front of him. "Well, after due consideration, I think that St Luke's College will be able to offer you a place after all," he says with a smile.
"Won't you have to clear things with the tutor who did the interview?" I ask.
"Oh, don't worry about that. Your interview was one of the best we've ever had; together with your academic and sporting prowess, not to mention your family connections, you will be starting here in September; assuming, of course, that you attain the A level grades that we all expect.
"But . . . but you said that I'd failed the interview." I find that I'm stuttering with shock.
"I can't imagine where you got that idea from," the professor replies with smug smile.
Realisation hits me like a hammer blow; I've been conned. The man has forced me to suck his cock and fucked me senseless for nothing; I did ace the interview and my place at St Luke's was never in doubt. I can feel the anger rising inside; I won't let this lie. My father is Master of St Luke's and when he finds out what the professor has done he'll be in no end of shit. I pass that piece of information on to the smug bastard.
"I don't think you'll do that," he responds, "but if you do I'll be quite happy for the Master to know what transpired here today."
"But you'll be fired; and it's rape, so you'll go to prison," I snap back.
"That won't happen," he replies. "You see, twenty five years ago a very similar scenario played out in this college. On that occasion your father was the perpetrator and, if you take this any further, that will become public knowledge and he will also go to prison."
"I don't believe you!" I shout. I can't imagine my father being involved in such a sordid episode. "You can't prove that anyway, who's going to accuse him?"
"I don't need anyone else to make the accusation," he responds. "You see, the prospective student on that occasion was me and I've waited twenty five years to get my own back; revenge is a dish best served cold as they say."
I am dumbfounded. There is nothing I can do or say that won't drop my father in the shit. I realise that the professor hasn't finished.
"Fucking you was my revenge; but turning the Master's beloved, straight, rugby hero, son into a cock sucking, cum loving, bum boy was the icing on the cake."
I want to protest but I can't; he's right, that's exactly what I am now. I enjoyed today's experience so much that my life will never be the same again. Pussy is great and I'll never give it up; but cock is a hundred – no a thousand times better and that's what I'll be looking for from now on.
* * *
I descend the spiral staircase and exit into the quad, pushing my hands into the pockets of my coat and shivering in the cold blast of a January evening. A couple, with their arms around each other's waist, approach me. I realise that they are both male; the taller of the two greets me with a smile and I return his greeting in the same manner. The other, however, scowls at me and I recognise him as the student that I saw leaving the professor's office earlier that afternoon.
"Hi there," I say with the most charming smile I can muster. "Sorry I wasn't very friendly earlier but I was nervous about my meeting with Professor Beattie. I hope that won't stop us being friends."
"Are you going to be joining us then?" he asks.
"Yes, if my results are Ok I'll be starting in September."
"Great," he replies, a grin lighting up his face, "I look forward to seeing you then."
As they walk away, I think about what my father said about there being a lot of gay guys at the university. I really hope that's true; I want to meet as many of them as I can.
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