"The Professor's Price"

The Failure: Friday, 3:00 PM

The red mark bled across the page—63%, failing, unacceptable—and

Y/N felt her stomach drop, her vision blur, her heart hammer against her ribs.

She was eighteen—barely, her birthday just three months past—

and already drowning in university life. Shy, isolated, her nose always in books that never seemed to make sense. No friends to turn to. No support. Just her own inadequacy staring back at her from every failed test.

And this was the worst one. Professor Jeon's class—Advanced Literature, mandatory for her major—and she had failed spectacularly.

"Y/N," his voice called from the front, deep, authoritative, terrifying. "See me after class."

She waited—trembling, small, her uniform skirt feeling too short, her blouse too tight—while the other students filed out, laughing, living, passing. Until it was just her. And him.

Professor Jeon Jungkook—thirty-five, devastatingly handsome, with a reputation for strictness that bordered on cruelty—leaned against his desk, his arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

"You failed," he stated, no emotion. "Again."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible, tears already pricking her eyes. "I'll study harder. I'll do better. Please, don't—"

"Your parents," he interrupted, his smirk dark, knowing. "Strict, aren't they? The ambassador and his wife. I looked you up. Interesting background. Very... controlling."

Y/N froze—how did he know?—her parents were private, powerful, absolute in their demands. One failure and she would be gone. Sent abroad. Locked away in some foreign boarding school until she learned obedience.

"Please," she begged, her hands clasped, tears falling now. "Please, Professor. I'll do anything. Don't fail me. Don't tell them. Please."

His eyes changed—something hungry, predatory, finally unleashed—and he pushed off the desk, moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps.

"Anything?" he murmured, stopping before her, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek, his thumb wiping her tears. "Such a dangerous word, little girl. 'Anything.'"

He leaned down—close enough that she could smell his cologne, expensive, masculine—his mouth at her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that made her shiver.

"Come to my house tonight. 7 PM. For extra study. And we'll discuss... alternative arrangements. Ways you can pass. Ways you can make me happy."

He pulled back—his eyes locked on hers, dark with lust—and she saw it. What he wanted. What he expected. The price of her salvation.

"Your address," she whispered, her voice shaking.

He wrote it—on a card, pressing it into her trembling hand—his fingers lingering, his touch burning.

"Don't be late," he murmured, his smirk devastating. "And Y/N? Wear something... accessible."

The House: 7:00 PM

She came—of course she came, what choice did she have?—dressed in her plainest clothes, hoping he would change his mind, hoping this was really about tutoring, about mercy.

His house was large—professor's salary, or family money, she didn't know—isolated, surrounded by trees that blocked all view of neighbors. Private. Perfect for secrets.

He opened the door himself—dressed in black, casual, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms—and looked her up and down with a hunger that made her want to run.

"Good," he murmured, stepping aside. "Come in, little girl. Let's discuss your... options."

The door closed—click, finality—and she stood in his hallway, trembling, her books clutched to her chest like armor.

"Professor," she started, her voice shaking. "I really think I can study harder. I can retake the test. I can—"

"Strip," he interrupted, his voice flat, absolute. "The price for passing is simple. Your pussy. Your innocence. Your complete submission to me. Tonight. And whenever I want after."

Y/N froze—terror, disbelief, her mind screaming—her body locking in place.

"I... I can't," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Please. I'm a virgin. I've never... I can't. Please don't make me."

"Then fail," he shrugged, his smirk cruel. "Leave. Tell your parents. Be sent away. Or..." he stepped closer, his hand finding her hair, gripping tight, pulling her head back to look at him.

"Or be a good girl. Take off your clothes. Spread your legs. And let your professor teach you what your body is really for."

He released her—sudden, pushing her toward the stairs—and pointed up.

"Bedroom. Now. Strip. Or leave. Choose."

She stood—trembling, crying, her mind breaking—and thought of her parents' faces. Of the plane ticket to Switzerland. Of the isolation. Of the failure.

Slowly, her hands moved to her blouse.

"Good girl," he murmured, his eyes burning. "Crying makes me harder, you know. The more you cry, the more I want to hurt you. Now move. Upstairs. Before I take you right here on the floor."

She climbed—legs shaking, tears blurring her vision—to his bedroom. Spacious. Dark. A massive bed that dominated the space. Mirrors on the ceiling—oh god, she would see everything—and a bathroom door, open, revealing a tub large enough for two.

"Strip," he commanded from the doorway, his arms crossed, his arousal evident in the tightness of his trousers. "Everything. I want to see what I'm buying with your grade."

She obeyed—crying, humiliated, her fingers fumbling—removing her blouse, her skirt, her bra, her panties. Until she stood naked—eighteen, virgin, completely exposed—her hands trying to cover herself, her body shaking with sobs.

"Hands down," he ordered, moving toward her, his eyes devouring her.

"Let me see. All of you."

She dropped her hands—trembling, her small breasts exposed, her shaved pussy visible, her pale skin flushed with shame—and he circled her—predatory, slow, his fingers trailing across her skin.

"Perfect," he murmured, stopping behind her, his hands on her hips, his mouth at her ear. "So young. So innocent. So terrified. Exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I've been fantasizing about since you walked into my classroom."

"Please," she whimpered, her body rigid with fear. "Please, Professor. Don't hurt me."

"Oh, I'll hurt you," he promised, his hand moving between her legs, his fingers finding her dry, tight entrance.

"I'll hurt you, little girl. I'll tear you open. I'll make you scream. And you'll thank me for it. Because I'm going to make you pass. I'm going to save you from your parents. And all it costs is your body. Your submission. Your complete surrender."

He pushed her—sudden, hard—and she fell onto the bed, bouncing, her legs falling open involuntarily. He was on her immediately—climbing over her, still dressed, his hands rough on her breasts—squeezing, pinching, his mouth finding her nipples and sucking hard.

"Nnngh! Ahhhhh! Please, please, it hurts!" she cried, her hands pushing at his shoulders, her legs trying to close.

"Good," he growled against her breast, his hand moving between her legs, his fingers forcing her open, probing her virginity. "It's supposed to hurt. The first time. The first hundred times. You're mine now, little girl. Mine to use. Mine to train. Mine to break and rebuild."

He stood—sudden, tearing at his clothes—and she watched through tears as he stripped—shirt flying, trousers shoved down, boxers removed—revealing himself completely.

He was magnificent—thick, heavy, veined, the tip already wet with his arousal—and terrifying. Too big. Too much. He would split her open.

"Look at it," he commanded, stroking himself shamelessly, his eyes on her spread legs. "Look at what you're going to take. What you're going to worship. What you're going to milk with your tight little virgin cunt until I fill you with my cum."

"Please," she sobbed, her hands covering her face. "I can't. It's too big. I'll die. Please, Professor, please—"

"Professor," he mused, climbing onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs, his tip pressing against her entrance. "I like that. You'll scream it while I fuck you. Scream it while I tear you open. Beg me to pass you. Beg me to fill you."

He thrust—hard, brutal, no warning—and she screamed—actually screamed, her virginity tearing, the pain blinding, white-hot agony—as he forced himself inside her, stretching her unprepared body around his girth.

"Nnngh! Ahhhhh! Professor! Please! Stop! It hurts! Please!" she sobbed, her nails digging into his back, her body trying to reject him, to push him out.

"Scream," he commanded, his hips snapping, forcing himself deeper, breaking her open. "Scream for me. Beg me. Tell me you'll be my whore. My student slut. My little fucktoy. Tell me and I'll make you pass.

"I'll be your whore!" she screamed, desperate, the pain overwhelming. "I'll be anything! Just please, please, stop hurting me, please!"

He didn't stop—just laughed, dark and cruel, and began to move—pounding into her with hard, deep strokes that dragged against her torn walls, that made her see stars, that mixed pain with something else, something shameful, something her body responded to despite her terror.

Slap, slap, slap.

The sound of flesh on flesh filled the room—obscene, violent, the sound of her corruption—his groans mixing with her sobs, his dominance absolute, her submission complete.

"So tight," he groaned, his head falling back, his hips snapping faster.

"So fucking tight. Virgin pussy. Clamping on my cock. Milking me. Begging for my cum."

"Please," she whimpered, her body betraying her, responding to his thrusts despite the pain, despite the shame. "Please, Professor, please..."

"Please what?" he taunted, his hand finding her clitoris, rubbing rough circles that made her gasp. "Please make you come? Please fill you up? Please breed my little student?"

"Please make me pass!" she sobbed, her hips moving involuntarily, meeting his thrusts. "Please, Professor! I'll do anything! Just please!"

He laughed—dark, triumphant—and pounded harder—deeper, faster, his hand on her throat now, squeezing—using her completely, claiming her fully, destroying her innocence with every thrust.

"Going to come," he groaned, his body tensing, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Going to fill your virgin womb with my cum. Going to mark you inside. Going to make you mine forever."

"Nnngh! Ahhhhh!" she screamed, her body convulsing—orgasm from pain, from pressure, from the absolute surrender—her walls clamping down on him, milking him as he roared and flooded her—hot, thick, endless—pouring his release into her unprotected body, claiming her fertility, her future, her everything.

He collapsed on her—heavy, sweating, still hard inside her—his mouth at her ear, his voice rough with satisfaction.

"Passed," he whispered. "You're passed, little girl. My personal whore. My student slut. Mine to use whenever I want. Welcome to your new life."

She lay beneath him—crying, broken, his seed leaking out of her, her body aching, her mind shattered—and knew that she was ruined. That he owned her now. That this was only the beginning of her corruption.