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FIRST RUNNER-UP
Getting the "A"
by Josephine Ferorelli, David Holzman, and Dan
"Excuse me, do you have office hours now? I want to talk about my grade,"
said Randy Mason, as he towered over his professor.
Brooke Coldwell held her own with an imposing stance
and angular profile, replying, "Yes, come in — and shut the door." Thinking
of Randy's awful paper, Brooke sighed. He was one of those helmeted athletes
recruited for physical prowess who thought they could waltz through college.
But Brooke's Women's Studies 101 required long, hard work.
"Randy, your paper clearly demonstrates your blindness to the significance of phallic imagery."
Randy blushed. Unlike Randy, Brooke wasn't so blind to phallic imagery; she noticed his surging thunderbolt in his football pants. He had clearly come straight from practice. "Professor," he whined, "I really need to pass this class to keep playing ball with the guys."
"Are guys the only ones you play ball with?" Brooke asked with a throaty chuckle as she grabbed his manhood. Surprised, Randy said, "I like this game plan, why don't you bend over and say 'hut'."
"I think you have the wrong idea, Tiger," Brooke replied. "I'm the one going long. You're going to have to take one for the team — all ten, hard inches of it." Brooke reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the biggest strap-on Randy had ever seen. Randy looked dumbfounded.
"You see, Randy, you have to give a little 'A'
to get an 'A'," Brooke mused."Strap it on over my pants."
Randy obeyed, thinking that he was about to learn
more from a teacher than ever before. Brooke ripped off Randy's mesh jersey.
His abs were undulating hills, with heavy underbrush around his navel. She
then fumbled with the laces at his crotch, as if they were ribbons on a
long-awaited present. Randy's sex marmot yearned to escape. Taking a breath,
Professor Coldwell composed herself and deftly undid the laces. Randy's
pants fell to his ankles. Not able to resist, she pulled his jockstrap
down around his thighs. Her nostrils were greeted with the musky scent of
his sex and youth. His mancock was long and impressive, but no match for
his teacher's silicone masterpiece. Though his hardness yearned to be stroked,
that wasn't in the lesson plan. Brooke pulled the jock strap back up and
spun him around. With his pants around his ankles, Randy lost balance and
fell forward, exposing his hole, palms slapping down on the desk. Positioning
herself, Brooke pushed in a few inches with her silicone rod, but Randy's
greedy asshole wanted more. He let out a high-pitched sigh as Brooke continued
forward, hitting his prostate. Waves of pleasure coursed through his body.
Randy thought he had all he could take, but realized that she hadn't even
begun to fuck him. As she rammed in the last two inches, Randy felt enormous
pain and pleasure. Professor Coldwell cruelly snapped the elastic bands
on his ass cheeks and began thrusting into him with unrelenting vehemence.
"Are you going to study harder now?" panted Brooke. Randy could only grunt through gritted teeth as she shoved into him. He couldn't take any more. Muscles clenching involuntarily, he let out a cry as an ocean of cum shot forth from his tortured tool, volley after volley drenching his jockstrap. As quickly as she had entered, Brooke withdrew. His juice escaped from his jock, creating rivulets down his thigh that dripped onto his already soiled football tights.
Randy began, " . . . about that 'A'? I . . . "
Brooke cut him off. "I don't know. Come back next week, and I'll see what I can do."
©2003 Nerve.com
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