[18+] Terry needs an A on his next math test, or he's toast. Maybe his hot teacher can do him a favor?

Today’s story is “Please Don’t Fail Me For This” by Marcus Heckinberry, who is  — who insists he is — a 19th century fox and objectively the greatest author to ever exist. His intricate, wonderful masterpieces require a careful ear, for it is crucial in his quest to make the entire world cry tears of passion and joy, so he can promptly jump into its whirlpool and return to his time period.

But for now, he is currently working on a Orwellian style utopia romance novel called “Unemployed”, which you can read for free on FurAffinity and SoFurry, along with many other erotic short stories about the woes and blows of exhibitionism. Follow him on Twitter, SoFurry or FurAffinity.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Today I'm reading an adult story for mature listeners.

If that's not your cup of tea,

or if there are youngsters listening,

you can skip this one and

I'll have a new story for you next time.

time.You’re listening to The Voice of Dog. I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is

“Please Don’t Fail Me For This”

by Marcus Heckinberry,

who is — who insists he is — a 19th century fox and objectively the greatest author to ever exist.

His intricate, wonderful masterpieces require a careful ear, for it is

crucial in his quest to make the entire world cry tears of passion and joy,

so he can promptly jump into its whirlpool

and return to his time period. But for now,

he is currently working on a Orwellian style utopia romance novel called

“Unemployed”, which you can read for free on FurAffinity and SoFurry,

along with many other erotic short stories about the woes and blows of exhibitionism.

Follow him on Twitter,

SoFurry or FurAffinity.

“Please Don’t Fail Me For This”

by Marcus Heckinberry

Needles up, pencils down.

A subtle wooden clack on the table cracks the silence;

a signal he’s the last man standing.

Question fifty-six:

D, as in “Don’t tell me this is twenty-five percent of my grade.”

Terry could feel his confidence shaken, but not enough to break him.

Time was running short,

and so was his patience,

the stream of second guesses

and second-second guesses reaching an unsatisfying end.

It’d have to do, though,

he thought with a sigh.

Math truly is the worst school subject. His

bag knocked into the aisle as he stumbled over it,

shuffled it back;

that wave of dread flowed like a cumulus shadow

as he realized this was it.

He stared at his professor

at the bottom of the auditorium,

scribbling his red pen on a single test paper.

The crudely carpeted red walkway reflected the current state of his GPA.

Already, his grim options for the future

ran through his head,

cursing the lucky red, tan and pink sweater he wore...

wore...how foolish! Could’ve at least had a full night’s sleep before bombing his chances at sophomore year in college. As

he approached the desk, the teacher tipped his hat back and craned his head up,

his fingers dancing across the calculator a few more times without looking.

Orange patches of fur covered his eyes while splotches of white and brown

ran down like a fancy felt textbook cover.

As he saw him, his voice bounced,

perked eyebrows and sunshine dimples imbuing a flower petal swirl in Terry’s heart. “That

goes on top with all the others,”

he said, his voice light and hushed,

gesturing to the side where the stack lay. “Did

you double check everything?” “Triple

checked,” he replied. “Great

job!” he beamed.

“Feeling confident?” Terry

gulped. “Well,

we’ll see.” “You’re not the least bit nervous?”

the teacher asked,

wiggling the red pen in his fingers.

“I’m really glad to hear that. ‘Cause

last time, you took off without this.” He

leaned over and gave the pen back to Terry.

“Thanks,” Terry stopped.

“That’s funny. I thought for sure I brought it with me.” “You

left it right on my desk!”

the teacher giggled.

“Honestly, Terry, I thought you looked really distracted then.

You okay?” Terry gulped hard.

The last thing he wanted to admit was the truth.

That glimmer in his sky blue eyes was like the office meeting:

so earnest, responsible, so completely the opposite of the gutter Terry’s mind was in.

Tight skinny jeans,

square glasses, intelligent,

a chess master at life,

cooked a mean batch of cookies for the class last week;

how could a man in his mid twenties line it all up so well?

Everything lined up like planets to create not just the perfect professor,

but also the perfect... ...Oh right. The test.

Ripples of it crumpled from his clenched hand. “Terry?”

Mr. Blythe asked. “Well,

you see, Mr. Blythe,”

Terry said, “the reason why I can’t study is…” Deep

breath.... “...I can’t stop imagining you spanking my ass with that yardstick.” Mr.

Blythe’s head tilted,

ears wobbling, those

starlit eyes now filled with surprise.

He scratched his cheek,

a twitch of his eyebrows implied a hint of offense,

but it faded without a trace quicker than either of them had expected.

Terry saw the flicker;

green light. When that mouth got running, there was nothing stopping it. “And

uh,” he went on, “climbing onto the table,

putting my ass in the air while you repeatedly sodomize me with it.” “Uh huh?”

Mr. Blythe asked. “And.

“And...and, you know how they say, ‘bite down on a pillow, I’m going in dry’?” “That’s

slightly offensive, but why?” “Well

I’d want to bite down on an apple, instead.

Which is, uh...why I’ve been giving you apples ever since the year started.” Mr.

Blythe tugged at his collar

as the apple shined innocently on his desk. “Well,

to be fair,” he said,

“I’ve always thought you were pretty cute, too.” “Really?!”

said Terry’s inner school girl. “Yes,

yes, it’s true,”

Mr. Blythe tipped his hat over his eyes,

“it’s a tempting offer,

but if people start talking about it, the rest of the class might get jealous,

and the last thing I need is to be teaching a second harem.” “But

my GPA’s failing,”

Terry whined, “and you’re, like,

the hottest person I’ve ever seen, and I...”

His shoulder slumped.

“If you let me have an A on this paper,

I’ll have sex with you.

Deal?” He shook his head.

“I can’t risk my career like that.

Just pass in your test.” “But

I can’t do that, either!”

Terry begged, crumpling the papers in his fist.

“These aren’t even answers,

I just bubble sheeted the test into the shape of a dick!” He

waved the bubble sheet in front of his instructor

until the chills of cringe could be felt from hallways away from their location.

Though his breath out signaled something else,

reading those lead dots as a constellation to action

that ran fresh new blood through his veins for the fervor.

As he sighed into the desk,

he pushed his glasses up and rose to his feet. “Then

we both have no choice.”

The teacher patted the desk

as his glimmer pierced his victim.

“Put your ass up.” Terry blinked.

“Really?” “If I can make you cum without you touching yourself,” he said,

“then I’ll give you the A.

Otherwise, it’s off.

I know you’re in great danger,

so I’m only going to offer this to you once.

After that, it’s curtains.

Want to go?” No hesitation,

his jeans hit the floor, tail flicking,

pushing aside papers and objects as he scrambled onto the tabletop.

The school bell was ringing hard in his system,

but his fur was softer than his game,

so he gave that ass a shake to let him know this shit’s for real.

The boxer-briefs didn’t last much longer, either,

as the professor ran his fingers down the outside of his

yellow furred thighs,

gazing into his tight hole.

Thick, he kneaded his ass cheeks

and then kicked the chair aside. Already

rock solid, he plunged his cock straight into the student,

hushing breath out in the heat of his tight grip,

deep enough to elicit a moan.

Seven inches of pure pleasure penetrated him deep,

hearts crossing through his eyes;

it was everything he’d ever hoped for.

Mr. Blythe put the red pen between his ear and skull,

cracked his fingers,

and grabbed his love handles, studying the notches in his back.

Terry was in awe,

slamming his eyes shut as he gripped the end of the table,

cute whimpers from his jaw,

begging for more, and by god,

he’d get it, if it’s the last thing he’d do.

The white-hot intensity only rose the longer they went at it,

fingers sifting through his fur as his asshole rang with pleasure.

Mr. Blythe really fucked him like he meant it,

but still he kept his pace,

the pressure points:

the oblique, the right hip,

just under, while that dick grinded thick like an eraser on a sharpie.

Second by second, it was clear he was learning fast,

and it only became more apparent as time went on.

Hissing through his teeth,

Terry whimpered as his ass hurt good,

heating up, his hard cock threatening an incredible orgasm in mere seconds.

And in no time at all,

he felt his teacher’s cock reach that

heavenly bullseye;

a hiss of satisfaction from his lips

before he filled up Terry’s body

with the pleasure of his life.

Tensing up in all the right ways,

he could hardly keep up,

limbs jittering, knocking pencil cases and erasers off the table

until nothing left was there to disrupt his balance.

Twice, still, his shins slipped, but he recovered quickly,

smiling back at him to cover it up.

A hip shake and a thrust backwards

told him how badly he wanted more of that dick,

threatening him like he wasn’t doing enough.

But just as he thought this was it,

Mr. Blythe slowed down

and gripped his hips tight,

fingers pressed deep in a calculated format,

the breath of his sub

like honey to his sugar. “Your

body is so easy to problem solve,” he cackled.

“You want this A, don’t you?” “Yes!

Oh god, yes! Please!” He

moaned out his plea as he gave him a lustful side eye,

pushing his hips further against the big dick,

timing it with the thrusts

until he was balls deep for a moment,

then out just as quickly.

But even he knew that the answer wasn’t satisfying. “You’ll

remember to bring your own pencils, right?” “Yes!

I’ll remember them!” “And

you won’t talk back when I tell you to study harder?” “Never

again!” “And you won’t complain about how calculus has no intrinsic value in society?” “I

won’t ever again!”

Mr. Blythe grunted, and just for a moment,

he began to slowly pull out,

millimeter by millimeter, until the tip was just poking the outside of his- “I

need this A, Mr. Blythe!”

Terry breathed, high pitched.

“Please don’t stop!” Mr.

Blythe giggled

like a king beneath his throat. “Then

why don’t you take that sweater off?”

he announced, slapping the fabric. Terry

wriggled like a snake;

the second he slipped it off,

his professor bucked harder,

faster, the ripples of Terry’s ass reverberating through the room,

their yowls of pure,

primal sex like recess in the after-hours.

And every time he bucked forward,

his body heated up,

another cogent thought slipping,

another blood pump to the dick,

another second closer to that blissful moment of total pleasure.... “I

-I’m cumming!” Terry yelled, and the thick stream splashed onto the desk,

nearly ruining the finish as it shot to the other side of the table

and dripped off the edge.

Seconds later, his teacher yanked the sub’s supple hips into his pelvis,

clenching his teeth while he unleashed his passion within him.

And he stayed like that

for several seconds,

mini-thrusting further into him

as his glasses went crooked and his face flushed to a furnace.

Finally, he pulled out,

and Terry could feel the cum leaking out,

undoubtedly hitting the surface just like everything else.

With that, all his muscles relaxed,

his arms hanging off the table while he fought to catch his breath. “I

gather it was good for you as it was for me,”

his professor said after he caught his breath,

then kissed him on the cheek.

“But don’t think we shouldn’t still discuss your studying habits.

See me after class!” Terry’s

face lit up

as his weak knees climbed off the table,

regaining his sweater,

indifferent to the white-out-like stains of his own cum streaking across it.

Though he put them on anyways and made his way back up to his desk,

smiling, knowing it was all incredibly worth it. And

with that, Mr. Blythe pulled up his pants,

clapped his hands together,

pursed his lips, and put a stern expression back on to address the auditorium. “Okay,

class, please turn your textbooks to page four hundred eighty-two,” he said,

paper shuffling filling the room.

This was “Please Don’t Fail Me For This”

by Marcus Heckinberry,

read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog.