Anything for the A

"Yes, Mrs. Moore. I really want to improve my grades."

"Very well." Mrs. Moore stood up, adjusting her long, flowery dress. Now, fully stood up, her crotch seemed to bulge out. She lifted her dress, revealing a pair of opaque pink underwear, before quickly pulling them down. Her cock slumped out; a thick, veiny, meaty member, easily 9" soft, hung down from her crotch. The foreskin went from just before the tip, getting thicker as it went up, with bits of pubic hair dotted around the base, before giving way to a very much unkempt and graying bush. Mrs. Moore let her silvery hair down from her bun, and it settled around her shoulders. She lost about 10 years in that quick transition, and you were shocked; but you had little time to think about it before she straddled you in the chair while standing, with her cock pressed against your face. A thick smell of musk assaulted your nose, and it was clear Mrs. Moore wasn't one keen on personal hygiene.

"So, Doug." she cooed. "We're going to go over some of these test questions. For every one you get right, we will move on. For every one you get wrong, well... you'll see. Are you ready to begin?"

You gulped. A cold sweat formed at the top of your forehead. You weren't ready for this. At all. Mrs. Moore had gone from a boring, monotone teacher, to a dominant and very, very engaging tutor. "S-sure."

"First question. Give a reason why the industrial process of the 19th century wasn't enough to facilitate an economic upturn."

What? You took that test a week ago, and remembered most of the questions. This was definitely not on there. "Uh... lack of workers?"

"Wrong." Mrs. Moore took one hand off of her hip and lifted up her cock before looking down at you. "Open your mouth." You hesitantly pursed your lips, before she squeezed your cheeks, making your mouth form an 'O' shape. She placed the paper on the desk for a moment before using her other hand to place her cock in your mouth. Immediately, she began a slow push into your throat, eventually getting all 9" down. Since it was still soft, it went down fully. She paused for a moment, making sure you had your nose stuffed with her pubic hair before she retreated, causing an audible 'pop' and a coughing fit from you when the tip finally exited. "As the questions get harder, so will I. You have an extraordinary throat, Doug. This is going to be difficult for the both of us. Next question.

Mrs. Moore held onto the paper with one hand, while running her other hand through your hair. Her cock was directly in your face, and was slowly getting harder. "When was the war of Futaland initiated? A) 1920 B)1925 C)1923 D)1928"

Your mind raced. You remembered this question, thank god. It was D. "D?" Mrs. Moore smiled. "Wrong again." You shut your mouth promptly right as Mrs. Moore shoved her cock at your face, causing some of the precum to spill onto your chin. "Doug. Help me help you." Mrs. Moore removed herself from her position and retrieved an odd looking device from her desk. She returned to the straddling and wrapped it around your mouth, making a similar 'O' shape by squeezing your mouth again. This time, she attached metal hooks from the device around your lips, permanently forcing your mouth open. "Now." Mrs. Moore lifted her slowly hardening cock to your mouth, before wrapping her hands around your neck and letting her weight fall forward into your throat. Your tight throat meant that her cock initially encountered some resistance, but it quickly gave way due to the weight and smell of her cock, which caused you to gasp. "You're not doing too well," Mrs. Moore said, in between small moans. "I might have to increase the frequency of our sessions." In the midst of all this, you realized you truly had to comply with her; history was one of the key subjects requiring a good grade for getting into any good university. That pit-in-your-stomach feeling hit you hard, as you now had to resign yourself to this now lust-controlled teacher.

After sinking her thick member into your throat twice, she pulled her cock all the way out, and a spindle of saliva and precum connected from the tip towards your mouth. Now fully hard, it had felt like a yard stick had been **** into your stomach. "I can't fully engage with you from this angle." Mrs. Moore said. "Hold on." Returning to her desk again, she retrieved some rope, looking at you with a sly smile. "Put your hands behind your back."