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The shrill bell finally rang, indicating the end of class. In the classroom, the weary faces of the students suddenly lit up and an enthusiastic hubbub rose in the air. Rays of late-day warm sunlight streamed through the windows as Professor Rick dictated next week's assignments over the din. The more studious Mortys meticulously wrote down their homework in their notebook, while others had already packed their belongings into their bags, eager to leave.
Morty E-66 was part of the second category. He already had his bag on his back and stood up with his fellow classmates to leave the room. As always, as he made his way to the exit, the boy's eyes were glued to the floor, making himself as small as possible as he slipped between the desks. By doing so he hoped not to attract too much attention. Maybe this time he wouldn't notice him, maybe he would let him walk out like everyone else. At least that was what Morty prayed for every day. He was only a few feet from the exit door, only a few steps-
"Not so fast E-66."
Morty's shoulders instantly tensed at the sound of the deep, husky voice behind him. The teenager froze and gripped the straps of his backpack tighter. His already rapid pulse quickened even more as he slowly turned toward Professor Rick.
With a flick of his head, the teacher motioned him to approach and the boy reluctantly obeyed.
As he walked his way back to stand in front of his professor, Morty watched enviously as his classmates disappeared into the main hallway one after the other.
"Go close the door," Professor Rick finally said after a moment of silence, once the last student had finally exited.
A resigned sigh escaped the boy and he complied. He knew the routine by now. Pushing the classroom door closed slowly, he looked out vainly one last time in the hope of meeting someone's gaze, anyones. He didn't know if he was doing this as a desperate attempt to be saved , or just because simply meeting another gaze would give him courage to face what was coming. Probably both.
Morty had barely finished closing the door when Professor Rick's husky voice echoed again.
"Don't forget to lock it." he said, and the teenager could guess a sadistic smile just from his tone.
With a trembling hand, Morty turned the lock and painfully swallowed his saliva.
"Now come over here, we've got a couple of things to talk about," the teacher ordered. He sat down at his large desk and pulled some paperwork from a drawer. As the boy approached, he slid one of the sheets in front of him.
"See this, it's your grades for this trimester. I'm waiting for an explanation," the old man said, sinking into his chair and joining his hands as he waited for an answer.
Morty watched shamefully at the multitude of Fs in his grade list. "I um..." Morty swallowed, then continued, "I haven't had m-m-much time to study lately. B-but I promise to get better, I just- I need to-"
"And can we know why you haven't had time to study?" interrupted his teacher.
If he hadn't had time to study, it was simply because he spent most of his late afternoons here with him, and he was usually too exhausted after all of that to study properly. But of course Professor Rick knew that, so Morty didn't answer. Whether he apologized or not wouldn't change the situation anyway. It always ended the same way.
"Did you lose your tongue?" the teacher asked, not really expecting an answer though; his attention was now focused on something else, his eyes already wandering over the boy's body.
Morty hated this! these long minutes of silence standing there with fear in his guts, his eyes on the ground, while being ogled from head to toe.
"Come here," the old man said. Morty took a small step forward.
"Closer, right here." Professor Rick rotated with his chair and spread his legs in front of the boy, inviting him to stand between them.
Morty now stood with embarrassment between his teacher's thighs.
"Maybe I can do something about your grades, you know...but it's going to depend on you..." said Professor Rick, touching the teen's leg with his knee a few times. "What are you willing to do in exchange for good grades?"
All this crap was part of the game and it was best to go with the flow.
"Anything." said Morty in a nearly inaudible voice.
"Anything?" repeated Professor Rick.
The teenager slowly nodded his head.
" Good... very good." the old man agreed, biting his lower lip. "Then put your hands on the desk."
Morty's lower lip began to tremble uncontrollably as he turned and leaned back, hands against the cold metal of the large desk. In front of him were the empty desks of the students, reminding him of how alone he was right now.
Professor Rick rose from his chair and stood behind the boy. He wrapped his long arms around his slender hips to reach the button on his uniform pants, then unbuttoned them. Rudely, he pulled the boy's trousers down to his ankles, taking his briefs along with them.
The sudden sensation of cold air on his bare skin made Morty shiver. Then he heard the sound of the fabric of his teacher's black robe, followed by the zipper of his pants. The boy closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do but mentally prepare himself and clear his mind. It never worked, but at least he was trying.
"Spread your legs."
The boy obeyed, although with his pants around his ankles he couldn't spread them very far. The drawer to his left opened and Morty knew exactly what was in it. A pop sounded and the next thing he knew a slimy liquid flowed between his buttocks.
Two long, slender fingers rubbed his entrance and the teenager held his breath. He hated this! The way his fingers slid with ease inside him. He was so used to it now... no not him...his body was used to it, just his body.
"Mmmh yeah...Mortys are really made for Ricks." the teacher groaned as he replaced his fingers with the tip of his dick. He thrust in all in one go, both hands firmly gripping the boy's hips.
Morty grunted in pain and bit his lip. He had learned not to scream unnecessarily by now. It never did any good except give him a sore throat the next day. At this hour there was no one left to hear him anyway.
It hurt. It always hurt. He hated this, he hated this! The hot stinking breath on his neck, the way his backpack jiggled unpleasantly with each thrust, or the way his penis was painfully smashed against the edge of the desk. He hated this!
Morty turned his head toward the front door as he always did at this point, when everything was overwhelming him. He stared at the door with a blank, dissociated look, praying for it to end soon.
And so he waited painfully. He was waiting for the pounding to finally stop. He was waiting to put his pants back on and adjust his backpack. He was waiting to finally leave and forget about it all behind the closed door.
Until the next time...
THE END