The Things I Do For an A

It was my fourth semester Eastern Arizona Community College, EAC as most called it. I was majoring in psychology, and I was doing rather well, except in one class. Psychology in fact, funny enough as it was.

All my classes were easy, math was no issue, science was always cool. But psychology for some reason always gave me trouble. That is, until I discovered a trick that got me through it, and had me coming back every semester.

My professor, Hank Russell, was a middle aged man. He was your average male of 5'10", scruffy graying facial hair, and trimmed hair that was beginning to thin on the scalp and was starting to go white. And beautiful green eyes. He wasn't too old, maybe late 50s or early 60s. He was a handsome guy, with a smile that could make anyone's heart swoon.

When I had started my schooling he was rather fit, with just enough of a paunch rolling over his belt. But now, two years later, he was still as handsome as ever, albeit the little extra weight that had collected on his body, especially on his glorious middle. He had put on at least 80 pounds since I first started his classes, thanks to all the baked goods and pastries I've been bringing him four times a week.

It all started when he had given me my first F in the class. I had been bringing in pastries I had made in my extra carricular, baking. I needed something to do, plus I was a college student that needed to learn how to cook for himself. Anyway, psychology followed directly after my baking class. Not wanting to let my projects go to waste, I would leave the plate on the edge of the podium for Professor Russell to see when he came in. He questioned it at first, but he always talked about how he skipped breakfast every day to be here, before long he would be snacking away as he taught. Giving his occasional compliments to whoever it was that had made the cake, or the cookies, or whatever baked good it was at the time.

He had always had a small paunch, and would give it a pat every now and then. But after the first month I started noticing him rubbing and patting his belly more, every class looking a little more bloated than the previous day. And it always got me hard, I'd have to hide my tenting pants under my desk or as I left. When I was able to make it to a restroom or my apartment, I wouldn't hesitate to rub one out as I fantasized about him getting bigger. I think that was when my grade started slipping

After our first test I was devastated. I was passing everything, except this one. I knew I needed to get some extra credit somehow. So, I decided to visit Professor Russell in his office. I don't know why I didn't knock, I should've, but it was as though all manors I had been raised up on had left my thoughts.

"Professor, can I speak with-"

"Fuck!" Was all I heard from him, a cookie cluttered to the floor from his hand, as I caught a glimpse of a picture on his computer screen of a large man being fed what looked like pudding. The screen flashed off just as fast as I had seen it. While Professor Russell fiddled with his zipper. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

He had obviously been jerking off, given away by the picture, the tent in his pants, ruffled shirt, and sweat on his brow. I didn't know what to do as he continued to glare at me. Both of us too shocked or embarrassed to say anything. I took a leap and decided to break the silence.

"So, uh, y-you're into feedings?" My face went bright red as I mentally cursed at myself for the ridiculous question.

The professor gave a heavy sigh. "Come in, close the door."

I did as he ordered. I stood there for another moment in silence before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry you saw what you did, kiddo." I never understood why I liked when he called me kiddo, I was 28, but it just made me feel good somehow. He continued, "it was very inappropriate for me to do that at school. Please do not tell the board. It would ruin me."

I shrugged, "of course I won't tell anyone. It was a mistake. My mistake. Not yours. I should've knocked, I don't know why I didn't. I honestly don't care what you do in your office. I just wanted to talk to you about my grade and ask what I could do to bring it up. I'll admit though, I'm into big guys too, honestly."

I couldn't stop myself from saying the last part. It was as though my mouth had a mind of its own. But that didn't seem to bother Professor Russell. He glanced back at the black screen and sighed again.

"I'm not into big guys," this time his face went red. "I've actually recently become fascinated by food and enjoy seeing the effect it has on the body. I'm sure you've noticed I've gained a little bit of weight recently. I don't understand why, but I find it fascinating and enjoy the feeling. Whoever is baking these treats everyday is having an impact on my waistline."

I lowered my graze slightly. "That, uh, that would be me, sir. I've been baking them. I have a baking class right before this one, and don't want the snacks to go to waste, and for some reason I thought you'd enjoy them. I'm sorry."

He gave his gut a pat. "Don't be sorry, boy. You're a talented baker." He eyed the plate on his desk with the remaining cookies, giving his bloated paunch a gentle rub as he did. "Tell me, kiddo. I told you what I'm into. Have you ever fed a man before?"

I shook my head, my cock pulsed a little in my pants. "No, sir. Never."

He then gave me a smile as he used both his hands to rub his gut. "Well then, I think I know of a way for you to earn some extra credit. A way we can both get what we want. As long as it's kept a secret between us."

I raised a brow, and couldn't help the smirk that began to cross my face. "Anything, sir."

"Excellent," he said, grinning wildly as he rubbed the bouncing tent in his jeans. "What do you say we get started now?"

That was two years ago. Now, I had Professor Russell bent over his office desk, both of us with our pants at our ankles with my cock thrusting deep inside his ass again and again, while he shoved brownie after brownie into his hungry bearded mouth.

The last two years had been spent by bringing him extra large plates of pastries every class, many of which I had stopped on my way to school to buy first. We had spent many days after class shoveling pastries into his mouth, taking him to diners and ordering him copious amounts of food, taking him to buffets and bringing him plate after plate. Every day making sure that he left campus or the restaurant with his belly tight and straining. Some nights we had even spent the night together making sure he woke up bigger the next morning. We had even started understand signs from one another. Any time he cradled his belly and sighed, or even subtly dropped his gut onto my desk while teaching, it meant he needed my dick inside him and meal in his belly. Any time that I brushed against him as I left class or passed him in the hall, it meant I had a good meal planned for him later, along with a good fucking.

So, all the time.

Now, in his office as he scarfed down the plates full of brownies, his large hairy belly hung free in the air, swollen and round, bigger than ever before, reaching for the floor as he groaned and forced more fattening pastries into his over extended gut. His own cum dripping down its solid hairy surface.

"Mmm ferck mer herdr, burry," he muffled with his mouth full.

"With pleasure, Professor," I said, having grown to understand his mumbles, and it driving me to plunge my cock in with extra force. "You're growing into such a fat porker. So greedy. Always hungry. Always stuffing your face. Squeal for me, porker. I want that belly to hurt. Squeal for me."

He began moaning loudly. His moans were joined my groans of pain as I thrust, jolting his over filled gut. Thank God his office was sound proof, because his moans always made me cry out as I emptied yet another load into my Professor.

The things I do for an A. Any day.