“It’s easy enough to gain some position of authority,” he began, “but what does it take to turn a meager position into a dominating empire?”
It was a selective seminar Leon had elected to teach today, with only the most ambitious of the class, and it showed in the way his students looked up at him as he took the podium—the glint in their eyes, the covert glances they shot each other. The occasional optional seminars that he held were always the most difficult—and the most exciting.
“Emma,” he called, cutting to the chase. “Would you come to the front of the class, please?”
The student in question flushed slightly, tittering, and made her way to the front of the class to Professor McGill’s warm smile. She turned to face the class, wringing her hands in front of her.
“Miss Fordbrook will be my assistant for the day,” he announced, “and will help me demonstrate some principles of authority. Emma,” he addressed her, “would you consider me to be an authority figure?”
She masked an embarrassed laugh. “Um, yes?”
“And you respect me as an authority figure?”
“Would you mind raising your left hand above your head, please?”
Somewhat confused, but still smiling, she did so.
She raised her other hand in the air. A pale strip of freckled skin peeked out from under the hem of her shirt.
She failed to cover up a giggled, “Why?” as she bounced once.
Professor Leon McGill shrugged with a grin. “Because I told you to, apparently. You may put your hands down. Now,” he addressed the rest of the class, “there is obviously a degree of power that comes with any authority position. A professor has influence over his students, a dean influence over professors, a manager over working-class employees and a CEO over managers. So long as you are respected as an authority figure, you have the power to make reasonable requests, and expect that they will be accommodated.” His voice softened as he asked gently, “Were you alright with the requests I made, Emma?”
She nodded, still quite red. “I mean, they were kind of silly, but… you’re my professor, so.”
He dipped his head in agreement, the faint smile still perched on his lip. “So, indeed. However,” he turned back to the class, voice raising once more. “There are times when it is necessary to provide incentive to comply with authority. For example, if I were to ask Miss Fordbrook to… do twenty jumping jacks, say. Would you do that in front of the class?”
Her embarrassed smile said she probably would. She was, and always had been, eager to please—in the last three years she had been at university, she’d been in four of his classes, always actively participating, always engaging with the difficult questions, always striving for a better score on her tests. Whenever he’d held open study sessions or office hours, she would without a doubt be there, in the front row, eyes bright and pen at the ready to take notes.
There had been more than one occasion during those office hours when Leon had wanted nothing more than to pin her to his desk and rail her senseless.
“Um… I guess not,” she said dutifully, since she knew that that was the answer he was looking for.
He couldn’t quite help himself. “What if I were to ask you to call me Daddy? In front of all your peers?”
This was met with startled giggles and snickers from the class. Emma’s face turned a deeper shade red. “What? No!”
He shrugged, smiling as though he’d anticipated this reaction. “It’s a crazy request, right? My position of authority isn’t enough to swing it. But what if I offered you five bonus points on your next test? That’s a guaranteed half-letter grade.”
She blinked. He could see the gears in her head turning, the rapt stares of the class on her face. Eventually she blurted, “Wait, are you serious?”
Professor McGill shrugged. “Sure, why not. Twenty jumping jacks, call me Daddy once, and I’ll boost your test score.”
A voice called out from the back of the class. “Can you even do that?”
Another lazy shrug. “No reason I can’t. I’m a professor, with a professor’s authority. That includes control over the grades.”
Another voice. “I’ll do twenty jumping jacks and call ya daddy for five points!”
He laughed. “Sure, Kyle. Come on up.”
Kyle sauntered to the front of the classroom, huffed through twenty perfect jumping jacks, and bowed to Leon with a drawled, “Daaaaaddy.” He shot Emma a wink before strutting back and reclining in his chair once more.
Emma mumbled something under her breath that her Professor only just caught. He shook his head in disbelief.
“You think Kyle should be the assistant? Come on now, kid, you’re doing great. Look, part of your right as a constituent is to say no. If the reward isn’t worth it to you, you don’t have to do what I say. There are no negative consequences at this point except maybe my disapproval.” He shot her a grin that could have been playful—but for her incessant, people-pleasing anxiety that told her otherwise. The anxiety that he was depending on.
She set her jaw and jumped into a wide ‘X’ position. “One.”
He could have pretended he was just inspecting her form, but he couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered on the way her shirt lifted, her breasts bounced. Her form was toned and lithe from years on the soccer field, her muscles coiled with a lean, raw energy.
“Twenty.” Emma puffed out an exhale and declared, “Daddy.”
He held back a twitch of a smile. “Well done. Would you say that was worth five points?”
She considered, then shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Excellent.” He sat on the corner of his desk facing the class, grinning broadly. “So we’ve established that, once a particular degree of authoritarian respect has been established, one can convince their underlings, so to speak, to take certain action based on the merit of this respect alone. We’ve also established that reward can be offered to extend the limits of such requests, within reason. Have you been okay with everything so far, Emma?”
There was a beat of silence, in which the whole class stared her down, waiting for a response. She nodded.
He clapped his hands together resolutely. “Perfect. Now, please take off your shirt.”
It took her several seconds to process the request and balk. “Excuse me?”
He spread his hands wide, addressing the class once more. “That’s a crazy request, right? I can’t imagine that there’s any amount of extra credit I could offer you to convince you to comply with something like that—the positive effects of an elevated grade couldn’t compete with the negative effects of social humiliation and potential disciplinary repercussions. So positive incentive isn’t enough. We turn to something more extreme.” Leon McGill stared down his student and said clearly, “Remove your shirt, or you fail this class.”
A passerby in the hall could have heard a pin drop in the silence.
Her voice trembled. “…No.”
He raised a single eyebrow. “No?”
She shook her head, taking a slight step back.
He nodded, leaning back in his seat upon his desk, and turned to the class. “It’s difficult sometimes, when one in a position of beloved authority who operates mostly through incentives, to shift to a fear-based tactic. Machiavelli addressed this in our most recent reading.” He fixed Emma with a steady glare. “A failed mark in this class will set your graduation back a full semester, requiring an additional semesters’ worth of tuition, room, and board. Do you refuse because the punishment of failure isn’t severe, or because you do not believe that I will follow through with it?”
Her mouth was dry. “You can’t,” she rasped.
“Why not? I can raise your grade. I can drop it. I can schedule the next exam for a time when you are unable to make it. I can guarantee you a zero.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
“B-because—“ She glanced back at the class, wetting her lips nervously. They met her desperate gaze with mere curiosity. “I’ll go to the Dean. They’ll go to the Dean.”
Leon shrugged, unfazed. “And if the Dean gave me approval for this class?”
Emma’s head snapped to face him. “Why the hell would he do that?”
“Plenty of reasons. Money. Blackmail. Respect. Mutual interest. You don’t know how far up the chain this goes—you just know the consequences you’ll face if you don’t do as I say. You have five seconds to decide.”
Red in the face and half-spluttering through some useless protest, Emma pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. “There! I—I fucking did it, okay? Have you proved some sadistic point?”
A faint smirk curled the corner of Leon’s mouth as he took her in, the buds of her nipples poking against her sports bra, the sheen of nervous sweat glistening against the pale skin of her abs. He crossed his legs to disguise the beginnings of his arousal, and kept his voice even. “Bra off.”
He shrugged. “You’ve already sunk this far. Bra off, and you pass the next test. No questions asked.”
“Don’t do it and you fail.”
Tears glittered in her eyes, beaded beautifully on her lashline. God, she was beautiful. And she flaunted it, as college girls so often did. Some niggling voice in the back of his head assured him that she deserved this. “Bra off, and put your hands on my desk.”
She was scooping up her shirt with shaking hands. “You’re sick. This is sick. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Kyle,” Leon McGill said calmly, “Ten points to you if you assist Miss Fordbrook with her task.” Before half of the sentence had left his lips, Kyle was out of his seat, eyes eager and grin borderline predatory.
“No!” Emma yelped, stumbling back. “No, just… I can do it myself, I can…” She looked over at her professor, beseeching, and all he could see was the naked skin of her torso, radiating heat and shame and sweat, all he could do was imagine his hands running along her ribs and down the curve of her hips, pinching those deliciously pink buds of her nipples.
He shrugged. “Pass. Fail. Let Kyle assist you. Or don’t. You have a choice. You always have a choice.”
Her words stuck in her throat as she clutched her shirt against her chest. Her gaze flitted from her professor’s face to Kyle’s hungry eyes, the twitch of his fingers. She slowly dropped her shirt and curled her fingers under the elastic of her bra, pulling it over her head and letting it drop as well. Feet leaden, she walked to Leon’s desk and placed her hands flat on it, exposing her naked chest to the class.
There was a low whistle, a hum of whispers and giggles. Every now and again her breasts would twitch with her jagged, stifled, almost-sobs. Leon trod a slow circle around his desk, eyes combing over her vulnerable body. She kept her gaze on some fixed point at the back of the classroom, trying to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her.
Her professor stopped somewhere behind her, out of her line of sight, and a moment later she could feel the smooth glide of his fingertips, down her neck, over her arms, along her ribs, towards her waist. They were featherlight touches that sent cruel shivers up her spine. She couldn’t bring herself to move. She didn’t know what she would have done if she could.
“Now, could someone recap for me,” she heard him saying through some tinny filter in her brain, “how we got to this point? How it is that I, with no US President’s amount of authority, am able to completely—“ his hands slid to cup her breasts, “—undo—“ she gasped as he gave her nipple a sharp pinch, “another human being? A girl—“ his hands were gliding lower, his touch firmer and more sure, “completely out of my league—“ the hands were unbuttoning her jeans, he was pushing them over her hips, she was wearing blue underwear, the air conditioning hit her naked thighs and she shuddered, “out of my age—“ his thumbs were hooking into the band of her underwear, and she made the mistake of glancing over at Kyle, who looked like he was having the time of his fucking life, “and far outside of my appropriate professional sphere?”
His fingers trailed from her navel downwards, dipping between her folds, stroking along her slit. A whimper dropped from her lips as he drew his fingertips back and forth along the wetness of her traitorous sex, sending lightning quick flares along her nerve endings. He let out a low chuckle in her ear, the fabric of his shirt pressing against the bare skin of her back. “I mean,” he said, in a voice loud enough that the whole class could hear but a tone that implied he was sharing a secret just between the two of them, “who in this room hasn’t wanted to fuck Emma Fordbrook?”
She felt the unfamiliar prod of his length against her backside as he growled, “Spread your legs.” As though controlled by some force that wasn’t her own, she felt her legs spread, her professor’s cock rub along her slit.
Someone was answering the question, something about the gradual process of leveraging trust, resources, and information, and they were doing so in a voice oddly pinched with excitement, and Emma was pretty sure she was going to hurl as she felt Professor McGill push inside of her, fill her, lace his fingers on top of hers on the wooden desk. He started to slowly thrust, releasing one of her hands to grope her chest, and responded between grunts, “That’s exactly it, Braxton. Now, what could be some possible drawbacks of this strategy?”
“Uprising?” A few of the students shared pensive nods, as though one of their peers wasn’t being raped at the front of the class to prove… what? Some sort of example? Each thrust was filling her with a wave of nauseating pleasure, McGill’s lips were warm and soft on her neck, she could feel the prickle of his stubble against her collar. “I mean,” the student was saying, “historically speaking, authoritarian ruling through fear doesn’t tend to end prettily.”
“That’s—“ Leon gasped, *god* her skin was so soft, her pussy was so tight, he had wanted this for so long—“very true, Jennifer. So what could I—fuck—do to mitigate such an outcome?”
Kyle didn’t bother raising his hand. A sharp, sadistic grin spread across his face. “You could let the rest of us have a turn.”
Emma could feel Leon smile against her neck. His hips smacked sloppily against hers. One hand tangled in her hair, shoving her head against the desk, while the other sank back between her legs and gave a harsh pinch to her clit. Her gasp subsided into a whine, and then a moan, as her core continued to tighten and tauten as Professor Leon McGill pounded relentlessly into her, twisting and rubbing her clit between his fingers, eliciting every squeak and muffled cry that he could from her as her walls tightened like a vise around his cock. He clapped a hand over her mouth as she spasmed with a choked scream, shivers churning through her body, and with a moan of his own he emptied himself inside of her, fucking his cum into her until he couldn’t anymore.
He stepped back and, with as much control and dignity as he could muster, tucked his dick back into his pants. Emma slumped to the floor, shaking. Leon McGill looked up at his class, his students staring at him with equal amounts awe and disbelief. He gestured dismissively to the half-naked girl on the ground.
(Loosely inspired by @libraryofbronze’s Classroom Pet, which I have read a total of about a million times. Sorry I don’t know how to format.)
