Extra Credit

Anson turned the knob slightly and frowned at the locked door. He could see a dark shape through the heavy frosted glass.

Professor Ingersol had given him an assignment that would be his last chance to pass the adult writing course he was taking to earn the credit needed to graduate that year. Failing would mean another full year of high school and enduring is parent's relentless badgering. If he hadn't fucked around all year he wouldn't be in this mess and now he was about to screw up this up.

He didn't even know this course was available until his guidance counselor had recommended it. It wasn't open to just everyone and each student had undergo a gruesome interview with the instructor. The class was called Enlightened Adult Writing and didn't sound remotely interesting until he arrived the first day for orientation.

The class was restricted to students at least eighteen years old and consisted of six women and one undecided, the latter sitting in the back to his/herself and never looking at or speaking to anyone else. Professor Ingersol was sixtyish with white hair and black round glasses that gave him the appearance of a wise owl. He smiled rarely and had a deep baritone voice that reverberated off the walls of the small classroom. He announced that the class was dedicated to erotic writing only and that each week a paper was due on whatever subject aroused the author's passions. Those passions were to be put on paper and shared with the class orally, after which suggestions and opinions would be openly shared. Grades on each would be by unanimous consent and so far Anson had failed to empress his fellow bards. With the term ending in only a few weeks Ingersol had given him one reprieve. Anson was to write a story so erotic that it would cause the Professor to get an erection. No erection, no passing grade.

He had worked all night for a week writing the most erotic story he could think of and now was the time to present it. Ingersol had told him to come by his office at 1:30 the following Saturday to present it and receive his final grade.

He pecked lightly on the glass and after waiting for a response, wrapped harder until he saw the shape rise from the desk and walk to the door.

Professor Ingersol was dressed in his customary blue blazer and khaki pants but today his blue button down was open collared and the light scent of his Stetson after shave drifted out the door as he looked at Anson, who had worn his school blazer and tie.

"Right on time. Good!" Ingersol said and opened the door wider. Anson walked in thanking him and jerked back around when the older man closed and locked the door behind him.

"Let's see what you came up with."

Anson placed his backpack on the edge of the large desk and unzipped the flap. "I hope this is up to your standards, sir." he said handing the bound paper to his teacher.

"We'll see." Ingersol replied and gestured to a chair across from his desk.

Anson retrieved his backpack and placed it on the floor beside the chair and waited for the Professor to sit. Ingersol leaned back and opened the folder and began to read:

One Weird Morning

by Anson Weatherby

Glen opened the bathroom door and gasped. His sister Kristy was standing naked at the bathroom vanity applying eye makeup in the mirror. He looked at the reflection of her and stared at her petite breasts with cherry red nipples poking straight out in the sudden chill of the open door. Below, at sink level was the blond pubic hair, above which, obscured a magic place he'd thought about so many times.

He said "Sorry!" and awkwardly started to back out, closing the door.

"My fault, bro. I lost track of time," she said and indifferently began putting her make-up back in the open drawer then shutting it. She slowly reached for her towel and somewhat made a show of draping it around her as though he couldn't have seen her nudity seconds before.

She sashayed across the tile floor towards her bedroom door on the opposite side of the bathroom they shared. Glen watched and she walked into her room and closed the door behind her. His morning wood was now elevated to a complete erection straining the front of his plaid boxer shorts and he cursed to himself as he stripped them off, dropping them into the hamper on this way to the toilet. He awkwardly bent over the bowl bracing himself against the wall with his right arm while bending his penis as far down as he could until at last the relieving stream of piss came.

He flushed, opened the shower door and turned on the water adjusting until it suited him. He stepped in under the steaming water and shampooed and rinsed his hair, then grabbed the soap and began to lather his arms and chest working his way down to the erection still sticking straight up.

'Weird,' he thought as he began stroking himself. This wasn't the first time he'd walked in on Kristy, who had just turned eighteen six months after he had. If fact for the last couple of weeks there had been at least four times he had walked in through the unlocked door on her while she was naked. They had always had a standing schedule for the bathroom in the mornings and she had always been finished and gone by the time his turn came. The first time it happened she had grabbed a towel and covered herself before he could see anything, but each time since she acted less alarmed. It was almost as though she were waiting for him to see her.

He stroked faster as her wondered if she was purposely waiting for him to see her naked. Why? They had never shown the least interest in each other sexually (although he had to admit to himself he sometimes pictured her while jerking off ). Did she maybe fantasize about him too? Why not? He worked out and was on the swim team and they were both attractive with blond hair and brown eyes.

He squeezed himself harder, cupping his balls as he replayed the morning in his mind, this time instead of backing out, he walked up and put his arms around her, cupping those perky tits in his hands. He pinched her hard nipples with his thumbs and forefingers making her moan while he nuzzled her neck with his nose, smelling the freshly applied perfume behind her ears.

She reached around and slid her hands down his slim waist, sliding her fingers inside the elastic of his boxers pushing them down, causing his rock-hard dick to spring up against her ass and he began rubbing against her, sliding it up and down her crack. She leaned forward on the vanity, her long blond hair spilling down along the sides of her face as Glen slid his left hand down her tight stomach across her rib cage and over her pelvis running his fingers through the curly triangle of hair. He alternated kneading her breasts with his right hand while he probed the warm slit with his left, gently running his forefinger back and forth and when she whimpered, he slowly inserted his first two fingers probing lightly until she pushed her ass harder against his cock and then he inserted the third. Her warm, wet pussy acted like a vacuum, sucking his fingers deeper inside her.

Glen pinched her right nipple hard and when she breathed deeply at the sudden pain, he pushed his fingers inside her as far as he could. Kristy bowed her back in pushing her ass out. Glen felt the tip of his dick with his pinky and guided it inside her retracting his fingers. He grabbed her hips with both hands and pushed in as far as he could. Kristy spread her legs wider as he entered her and she jerked her head, flinging her hair over her right shoulder. She looked at Glen's reflection in the mirror and said, "Fuck me hard, bro."

He slid his hands up her back and spread his fingers over her thin shoulders. He adjusted his stance by shifting his feet while pulling back, then pushed in again repeatedly until he gathered a steady momentum. He watched his sister's face in the mirror as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth in a sign of ecstacy. After a few minutes of steady rocking fucking Kristy lifted her left hand from her grip on the vanity and placed it against the mirror. She reached around and grabbed Glen's ass with her right hand, squeezing tight and then slid her fingers over and down his sweaty crack until felt his balls. She fingered his hairy, tight sack and he could feel her becoming wetter, hotter as he fucked faster, watching in the mirror as her tits jerked with every thrust.

Kristy suddenly slammed her hands on the counter, locking her arms straight, threw her head back and moaned as the orgasm rushed through her. When Glen felt her tighten around his cock, engulfing it her warm juices, he shot his load emptying his full balls inside his sister while pulling her into a hug with both arms.

Glen shot stream after stream of cum against the shower doors. He opened his eyes and began rinsing off.

Ingersol refolded the paper and placed it on squarely before him on the empty desk. He slowly removed his glasses and rested them on top and then massaged his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Crossing his fingers on top of the paper below his glasses he leaned forward and looked at Anson.

Anson tensed and, although he had applied extra layers of deodorant that morning, felt the sweat dripping down his sides.

"Weatherby, what was the point of this assignment?"

"To give you an erection, sir." Anson replied nervously.

With that, Ingersol slapped his hands on the edge of the desk and rose, forcing the chair to wheel back noisily. Anson's eyes bulged as he looked at the long, pale tube of flesh hanging limply out of the professor's fly. "And does it appear that you succeeded?" he boomed.

Anson felt the front of his shirt getting wet as his heart sank. Had the man been exposed when he opened the door? He didn't remember that and in his nervousness might not have. "No, sir." he said, looking down.

The older man grabbed the arms of the chair and pulled it forward sitting again. "Certainly not. You obviously worked hard on this drivel, but it failed to accomplish the goal." He poked at the paper with his right index finger. "I have no choice to give this a failing grade."

Anson breathed deep and tried but could not stop the wetness forming in his eyes. His nose began to run as the implications of the grade ran through his head. "I..." he started in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry I failed to excite you, sir." he finally stammered out, brushing the tears away from his left cheek with the back of his left hand.

Ingersol drummed his right fingers on the edge of the desk for a solid moment then, in a softer tone said, "The story didn't succeed, Mr. Weatherby, but the opportunity isn't over."

Anson jerked his head up and met the Professor's gaze as he gently picked up his glasses and settled them back on his face. He motioned for the boy to come over to him and, after removing his own glasses and wiping his face the sleeve of his left arm, Anson rose and walked around the large desk.

Ingersol swung around in the chair and the boy's gaze immediately fell to the exposed penis.

"You can try another way to make me erect, son." the professor gently suggested as he placed hands on the arms of the chair and spread his legs.

Without hesitating, Anson dropped to his knees and took the Professor's cock in his right hand, noticing how it immediately began to harden. He fished the balls out of the fly and began to message them as he slowly stroked the increasing erection.

Ingersol leaned back the chair, resting his head on the back on closing his eyes as the boy stroked him to a full erection. Anson reacted to the encouragement by bending down and licking the swollen head, running his tongue over the slit, lubricating the hard shaft, squeezing slightly tighter.

The old man moaned in delight and the boy could feel the ball sack begin to tighten. He took the head of the cock in his mouth and began swallowing until he could feel the entire length slide down his throat, concentrating on breathing with his nose to avoid gagging.

The noise of squeezing leather erupted as Ingersol tightly gripped the arms of the chair as the boy began fucking the older man's hard cock in his mouth, his right hand tugging at the swelling balls.

It only took of few minutes for the Professor to grab the back of Anson's head with his right hand suddenly scream as be began to cum.

Anson couldn't pull back, could only swallow the exploding cum filling his throat as the cock pushed deeper down his throat.

Finally spent, Ingersol withdrew, freeing the boy's mouth. Anson resisted the urge to gag and spit, instead kept swallowing without breathing until the cum was washed down. He fell back on the floor, bracing himself on his forearms, as he watched Ingersol finally open his eyes. The old man looked down on the boy and grinned, pulling his spent cock and balls back inside his fly and zipping.

Anson wiped the spit and off his mouth and face with the back of the arm of his jacket and stood up, straightening his hair and glasses.

The professor regained his composer and opened a side desk drawer and extracted a red pen.

"I believe a I can give this paper a C+ based on the tremendous effort you gave." he said, making the appropriate mark the above left hand corner. Then he dropped the pen back in the drawer and lifted the paper back to the boy.

Anson took the paper and said "Thank you, sir."

He walked around the desk and lifted his backpack, unzipped it and pushed the paper inside. He draped the pack over his shoulder and turned back to face his teacher. "What now, sir?"

Ingersol pulled himself back up straight under his desk and said, "Well, Mr Weatherby. Given the grade you received today, you will require one more paper in order to pass this course." Anson visibly recoiled in defeat.

"If you don't return at least a B+," Ingersol continued, "you cannot pass. You definitely have the ability to please, Mr Weatherby. See if you can accomplish it on paper alone." You can let yourself out," he said gesturing to the door.

Anson said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," and dejectedly walked to the door. He turned the knob and walked through. When the door closed he stared for a moment at the dark shadow sitting behind the desk. Then he slowly walked away.

It had been an agonizing week and Anson had tried over and over to come up with some new idea to excite the Professor, but nothing materialized and he understood that he must continue with the story he had, but take it a step further.

After he was dressed the following Saturday, he smiled confidently as he slid his paper into his backpack and slung it over his right shoulder.

At school, he slid his student card through the reader and when he saw the green lights flash he let himself into the building and strode confidently down the corridor to the Professor's office, this time knocking quickly and loudly to be let in.

He looked down at his wristwatch not paying attention to the door and, when it opened, he looked up into Ingersol's big glasses and said, "Good afternoon, sir!"

Ingersol, dressed in a grey sweatshirt and jeans, merely blinked and said, "Mr. Weatherby." He stepped back as opened the door motioning with his right hand, "Please come in."

Anson straightened his back, adjusted the weight of his backpack, smiled and said, "Thank you, sir." He strode past the Professor into the office and suddenly froze.

The office chairs hand been replaced with two student desks and in the one closest to the window sat a figure he recognized. He snapped his head around when he heard the door close and looked at Ingersol. "Now that we're all here we can begin. I believe you know Miss Stiles."

Anson said, "I'm sorry, sir but I didn't know the name. Only that she was a classmate." He stammered, not sure what else to say. It was the one he regarded 'undecided' that always sat at the back of the class. She was wearing a black hoodie and jeans, her hair was colored an odd shade of black and red that hung straight down over her eyes. Her hands were flat on the desktop before her and her head was bent down at the paper in front of her.

"Miss Addison Stiles," Ingersol bellowed " please meet Mr. Anson Weatherby." he said, putting his hand against the boy's back and pushing him towards the girl. She looked up quickly and Anson adored the big blue eyes that seemed to be screaming 'I'm scared.'

"Hi," he said holding out his hand which seemed ridiculous considering they'd been in the same room for weeks, but she gingerly lifted her right and took his and said, "Hey" shyly.

Ingersol had walked back around the desk and said, "Miss Stiles is in the same predicament as you, Mr. Weatherby, so today I thought we should decide your fates in collaboration as we usually do the classroom. Each of you will read your story aloud and the rest of us will decide wether or not it is passable. Be seated."

Anson, who had now lost all his self-confidence and stood slump-shouldered, dropped his backpack to the floor and flopped into the desk. He fished out his paper and set it in front of him.

"Additionally," Ingersol boomed, "considering the importance to the outcome; to be sure we are all as open, candid, and as revealing as we can be one another, we shall now all remove our clothes."

Anson and Addison jerked their heads towards each other with equally puzzled expressions, then looked back at the Professor as he loudly pushed back from his desk and removed his sweatshirt. "Quickly, if you please." he said as he removed his undershirt and started unbuttoning his jeans.

Anson dragged himself unbelievingly out of the chair and turned from the girl while he removed his coat. He draped it across the back of the seat and pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He could hear Addison's ruffling clothing as she undressed and he kicked off his tennis shoes, then unbuttoned and pulled off his jeans and boxers together, cringing at the exposed erection he couldn't hide. He stripped off his socks and sat down as quickly as he could looking directly at Ingersol who had already seated himself, his bare torso gratefully the only thing exposed.

"Now, I think it should be ladies first," he said looking over at the girl. "Miss Stiles, please rise and begin." He leaned back in his chair and swivelled in her direction. Anson struggled to decide if he should look at her or keep his eyes on the Professor, but his obvious curiosity overruled and he turned his head left and gazed.

She was beautiful, and he hated himself for ever judging her as anything else. She stood up straight, both hands holding the paper in front of her gorgeous breasts, the nipples translucent. Her skin was pale but perfect and he admired her silhouette against the window as his eyes followed the narrow waist to the globes of her amazing ass.

She started in a shaky voice that steadied and grew louder as she started to read what she had written.

Addison's Story:

She sprinted down the sidewalk cursing as she struggled with her parcels, plastic bags, and pocketbook chasing the blasted bus. If she hadn't gotten caught in line at the grocery behind the elderly woman who insisted on writing a check for the four dollars and eighty-two cents worth of items she wouldn't have missed it at the first stop. Slowing to quick steps as the saw the bus nearing the next street corner, she adjusted her bags and fished the metro card from her handbag gripping it in her teeth. Looking up just before the door opened she saw the reflections of a young man running up behind her in a wet, grey tank top stuck to his narrow chest and navy shorts, his dark sweaty hair held out of his eyes with a red elastic headband above the wrap-around Ray Bans.

She lunged up the bus steps carefully, swiped her card and resisted the urge to scream as the looked back at the crowd of people.

"All the way to the back, please." the black, uniformed female driver droned, motioning with her thumb to the throng of humanity behind her. She lowered her head and pushed back ignoring the blank, glassy stares, screams of children, and endlessly loud cell phone chat. Every seat was taken, no one offering to vacate a prized spot to a loaded down, sweaty new arrival. At the back left corner of the bus she found a vacant hanging strap and positioned her running shoes as far out of the aisle as she could bracing herself for the ride home. In normal traffic it would be fifteen minutes, but it was rush hour and already bumper to bumper in the steamy, July humidity. She barely felt the motion of the other body sliding into the last open position behind her.