He really was such a pretty boy. Beautiful skin. Delicate features. Slight body.

I knew instantly he’d be a perfect fit for what I wanted. I also knew it would have be to a delicate touch.

He walked around his first year of college completely wide-eyed. His first time away from the safety of home. Surrounded by people he doesn’t know, unused to freedoms and responsibilities of being on his own.

He was so innocent. I knew if I came on too strong too quickly I’d scare him off. Sometimes when you hook a fish you have to reel it in slowly so it doesn’t break the line.

But 18 year olds are horny, impressionable, and dying for validation. So, I was confident I could shape him into the perfect fit for my needs.

I started real simple. He took my class three times a week, and during every lecture I’d make sure we made eye contact at least twice. I wanted to make sure he felt seen, felt noticed.

About halfway through the semester I started moving the dial just a little. As he made his way toward his seat I said, “Jason, will you stay behind a moment after class? I want to speak with you.”

I could tell he felt a little nervous by the way he said, “Yes sir.” That was good. Him feeling a little anxious all class, and then the relief that I wanted a friendly chat rather than him being in trouble, would feel euphoric for him. I wanted to capitalize on that excitement.

He approached me after class, once everyone had left.

I smiled. “Hey Jason. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, sir. Thank you.”

“Everything going well? Are you adjusting to your class schedule alright?”

“Oh, yes sir. It’s good. It’s a lot but it’s good.”

“Good, good,” I said. “I figured you’d do well. You’re a smart kid. Your reports have been well written and insightful. I figured you’d be doing just as well in your other classes.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you,” he said shyly.

“What about friends? Have you met some people? Made any connections?”

I saw his smile falter a little and he hesitated a bit before he answered. “Oh, yeah … yes sir. People here are great. I’m having a lot of fun.”

I looked at him sternly for a long moment. I wanted him to know I knew he was lying. I’d noticed how he always sat off by himself, entered and left class alone. I knew he must feel a bit isolated and lonely.

“Hmm. Well, good then.” I said dryly, letting the lie go. “Well, I just wanted to check in with you. Make sure things were going well. If you need anything, or there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, Professor.”

That was it. Our first real conversation. Fairly straightforward. Except as he walked away, I turned back to some papers I was grading and casually said, “Don’t worry about the friend situation. I’m sure things will fall into place. You’re a pretty boy.”

His steps faltered. He didn’t know how to take it. I tried not to smile as i continued looking over my papers. I wanted the casual nature of my compliment to worm its way into his head. I wanted him to ruminate on it. I wanted the idea to seep in and lay the foundation for what I had planned next.

After a moment he quietly said, “Thank you, Sir,” and left.

I gave him some space after that. I continued to make eye contact during lectures. And once a week or so I’d have him stop by my desk before he left class. We’d spend a couple minutes discussing a paper he’d written or his grade on the latest test.

Sometimes I’d lavish praise on him, compliment his creativity and insight. Sometimes I’d express disappointment that he hadn’t produced work up to my expectations.

I wanted to keep him off kilter. I wanted to begin developing in him a need to receive my praise and an intense desire to avoid my displeasure.

And it worked. By the end of the semester I could see how he hung to my every word, how his face lit up when I complimented him, and how his shoulders slumped with I withheld that praise.

The week before final exams I asked him to stay after class again. Once everyone had left he came to my desk.

“Pull up a chair, Jason. Let’s talk.”

I waited until he’d pulled a chair beside my desk and sat before I looked up at him.

“I see you haven’t signed up for my next level class next semester,” I said, letting the full measure of my disappointment seep into every word.

“Oh,” he stuttered. “No Sir, I haven’t.”

“Why is that?”

“Well … I don’t know …

I sat quietly, watching him. I let the silence fill the room until he was so uncomfortable he had to explain.

“Well, Sir. To be honest, I’m not sure if I can.”

I cocked at eyebrow at him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly. “I love your class. It’s really interesting. And you’re … you’re a great teacher. It’s just that … I’m not sure I’m smart enough for the advanced class.

“This semester was really hard for me. I’m not even entirely sure I’ll be able to pass the exam next week.”

“Hmm,” I drawled. “I see.” I leaned back in my chair and looked up at the ceiling. I wanted it to look like I was considering things, like I’d just come up with the idea, and that I hadn’t been planning it since the first day I saw him.

“Tell you what, Jason.” I said looking back down at him. “Change your schedule so you’re taking my class next semester and I’ll personally help you study for the exam.”

His eyes went wide. “What? Really?”

“I see a lot of potential in you, Jason. I think you can be really special. And I’d like to help you reach that potential.”

“Wow, thank you!” He exclaimed. “Ok, yeah! I will. I’ll get my scheduled changed.”

“Good boy,” I said with a smile. “Do it today so you don’t forget.”

“No Sir. I mean, I will sir. I won’t forget.”

“Good. Give me your number and I’ll text you my address.”

“That’s awesome. Thank you, Professor.”

We exchanged numbers and I text him my address with simple directions: “Friday. 7pm.”

“Thank you! Thank you, Sir.”

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll see you Friday night.”

————-

Friday night came, and Jason rang my doorbell at 7pm exactly. He’d actually gotten there fifteen minutes early. I saw his car park on the street in front of my house. He’d waited until 7 O’clock to come to the door.

He was so nervous it was really cute.

I opened the door and ushered him inside. “You made it,” I said. “Let me take your coat.”

He shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to me, and said, “Thank you, Professor. You have a lovely home.”

“Hm. Manners. I like that. And thank you,” I said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, water would be great.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “On a Friday night? I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

“Uh … I’m not … I mean … I’m only eighteen, Sir.”

I smiled wolfishly, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He smiled back at me, “Ok, wine would be great. Thank you.”

I poured a glass of white wine for him, and a glass of whisky for myself. We made small talk for a few minutes, but he was so nervous most of his answers to my questions were just one or two words.

Eventually I gestured to the kitchen table and said, “Let’s get started.”

We sat side by side at the table for a while, going over the material. We addressed his weak areas and I made a special effort to highlight his strengths. I could tell he really responded to my praise.

After a few hours of studying, and a couple more drinks, I leaned back in my chair to stretch.

“I think we made some real progress here,” I said. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good,” he said eagerly. “Really good. I really appreciate your help!”

I smiled wide and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I’ll pour you another glass then let’s sit in the living room.”

I poured us both more drinks and we made our way to the living room. Jason sat on the couch and I took the recliner across from him.

We talked for a little while as I probed for more information about his life. The wine had done its job and he’d loosened up enough to actually engage in a conversation.

In fact the wine was doing an excellent job on him. He was starting to slur his speech a little. He must have noticed it too because he barely touched his last glass of wine.

After some time I set my glass on the end table and moved to the ottoman in front of Jason.

“Jason,” I said. “I want to see your dick.”

The look on his face was everything I’d wanted. His mouth dropped open and his eyes went as big as saucers.

Part of the reason for the direct, tackless segue was to allow me to control the conversation before he thought of a reason to say no. I put on hand on his leg and started rubbing his thigh gently. “It’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you. Just do this for me.”

His face had turned bright red. And while there was a look of utter shock and horror on his face, I could also see a bulge growing in his pants.

“Come on,” I encouraged. “Take those pants off for me.”

Slowly, and with shaking hands, he started unbuttoning his pants. He fumbled at the zipper several times before I pushed his hands away and slid the zipper down myself.

I grabbed the sides of his pants and started to tug. He lifted his ass off the cushion enough to let me slide his pants down to his knees. I peeled off his boxer briefs next and smiled as his dick sprang free.

“Mmm,” I murmured. “You have a very pretty dick. I knew you were special.”

He stayed perfectly still as I slowly wrapped my hand around his cock. I slid my fingers up and down his shaft, gently teasing him. I ran my thumb over the head of his cock. A little bit of precum clung to my thumb, so I swirled it around his tip. He shuddered at my touch.

I took my hand off his cock and stood. He looked up at me, a mixture of disappointment, fear, and shame on his face.

I smiled down at him. “Stay right here. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

I left for my room. When I came back to the living room he still had his pants around his knees and his dick was still hard as a rock. I noticed too that hed downed his glass of wine while I was gone.

I sat back on the ottoman and held out the little bottle of lube I’d gotten from my room. I pour some into my hand and tossed the bottle away.

Again I wrapped my hand around his cock, smearing the lube up and down his shaft. I slid my hand down to his balls, up his shaft and felt his tip slide through my fingers.

I stroked his cock gently, tortuously slow. I watched his face as I stroked him. His head was leaned back against the couch, his eyes closed. He was so beautiful.

His hands clenched up, gripping tightly to the cushion of the couch. His entire body was tense.

“It’s ok,” I said. “Just relax. I want you to cum for me.”

He groaned, a long, soulful moan. I continued stroking his dick - slow, short strokes - my thumb gently rubbing his frenulum.

His entire body convulsed as he came. I stroked his cock through his entire orgasm, watching as ropes of cum covered his stomach and shirt.

I continued sliding his dick between my fingers for half a minute after he came, smiling as he flinched - he was so sensitive after he came.

“Good boy,” I murmured. “That’s a good boy.”

After a moment I let go of him and sat back upright in my seat. I watched his face intently. I think he could tell I was watching him. He didn’t open his eyes for several long minutes. I think he was worried to see what expression I had. Would I be disgusted with him? Upset he came so quickly? Maybe in his postnut clarity he was worried what I’d want from him next.

I just sat and waited. And watched. Eventually he opened his eyes and looked at me. We looked each other in the eye for a solid minute before I smiled.

“Such a pretty boy,” I said. I gestured toward the hallway behind me, “The bathroom is the first door on the right. Go clean yourself up.”

He stood, awkwardly pulling his pants to his waist. He’d taken several steps toward the hall before I called his name. He stopped and turned to look at me.

“You made some good progress here tonight. But you need to study more. Come back tomorrow night, same time, and I’ll help you some more.”

He eyes fell to the floor and his face turned beat red. Quietly he muttered, “Yes, Sir.”

I knew I had him then and my mind began to race planning out the next several weeks with him. I smiled wide, like a wolf finding a sheep caught in the brush. “Such a good boy,” I said.