Keeping a Minimum Grade
Copyright© 2025 by Golden Ghost Pen
Chapter 1
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A straight college runner does whatever it takes to keep his grades up to compete.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Reluctant Gay Fiction Sports DomSub Humiliation Spanking Analingus First Masturbation
BANG. The race was on. I took off with every ounce of strength and speed I had. My legs pumped. I felt like time around me had slowed as I pushed and pushed, staring straight ahead to the finish line.
100 meters to victory. I crossed the line without any recognition of where my opponents were around me. For all I knew, I was the winner or maybe I was last. As I slowed my feet and panted to catch my breath, I looked to the large screen overlooking the stadium and saw my name flash.
1st - Miles Ford. A wide smile hit my face.
Track was everything to me. I loved the rush that came with being a champion sprinter, a division one champion across the entire country. I was only 20, a junior in college, but had already won a national championship both individually and with my college team, a dream of the Olympics the next go around.
My coach met me with a high five, hyping me up for the next big competition scheduled for next weekend. We were halfway through the semester and I was on my way to the most dominant sprinter season our school and conference had ever seen.
I returned to the locker room a winner, again, and rinsed off. I wrapped a towel around my waist, focused on the week ahead and the training I was fixated on before the big meet a week from now.
“Ford,” my coach came into the locker room, which he rarely did, and called my name before I had a chance to dress.
I walked into his office in just a towel. “Sup coach?” I asked
My coach shuffled some papers, removing his glasses and rubbing his nose, seemingly frustrated or exhausted. “Great run again today Miles,” he paused to now rub his forehead, “I don’t know how to say this but the dean called me personally...”
My breath hitched, unsure of where this was going.
“Your grades...” my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t dumb by any means, but the nonstop practices and meets, combined with my engineering major, had really taken a toll on my gpa the last two semesters.
“Yes sir?” I awaited the details.
Coach gave a large exhale, “I’m sorry Miles but your grades are below the minimum you need to compete next weekend. Unless you figure out something this week, you can’t run.”
I felt tears immediately well up in my eyes. If I lost out on next weekend, I had no chance to defend my title and could kiss any chance at the Olympics goodbye. My coaches had warned me against picking a challenging major when I decided to prioritize track and I’d fucked up thinking that I could balance everything.
I retreated to my locker in silence, my head spinning. I was completely fucked.
I got back to my room and called Jake. He had been the best sprinter our school had ever seen, at least until I got here. He graduated last Spring but he was still my go to for advice and counsel through school and running.
“Hey buddy,” he answered.
“Hey,” I was in no mood for small talk, “Jake I fucked up. My grades are off, I’m fucked.”
A long pause. “How bad?” Jake asked eventually.
“Bad. I have to get my grades up within the week. It’s impossible.” My shoulders slumped.
“Fuck.” Jake mumbled into the phone. 30 seconds of silence as I prayed he had some solution he could recommend. What he came up with, I never would’ve guessed.
“You do have one option...” my heart jumped with hope.
“Whatever it takes.”
His words came out slowly, “I had an issue last year with mine too. There’s a professor. Dawson. Josh Dawson.” I thought I’d heard of a friend or two having him, he was younger and more recent to the school.
Jake continued. “He can get you there but ... it’s ... complicated...”
“I’ll email him right now. What do I need to do?” I was alive with hope. Hope that my dream wasn’t over.
“You...” Jake was being weird. “He’s into guys Miles.”
I didn’t understand. We both had plenty of gay friends. “Okay? So what?”
“You’d need to, like ... ya know...”
Suddenly it dawned on me. “Wait...” Was he saying what I thought he was?
“Yeah...” Jake continued. “Just so know what you’re walking into. He’s a nice guy and there’s no pressure. And he can definitely help. But yeah ... just ask yourself how bad you want this...” another pause, “Miles I gotta go. Good luck man.” Click.
Fuck. I knew what I had to do. I had no option and I’d do anything to chase my dream.
Monday morning rolled around and I waited outside of Professor Dawson’s office. He was in the business school, specializing in economics, and was also deeply involved as an academic advisor. My friends had told me yesterday that he was a ‘cool guy’ and the most down to earth professor they’d had in school.
Around 8:17am, he rolled up to his office, a checkered button down, swooping brown hair, a chiseled beard, and dark glasses. He obviously went to the gym and stood out amongst other faculty I’d met. He seemed to be in his early 30s.
“Can I help you young man?” He pushed past me to into his office.
I followed him in, shutting the door behind myself. I tried to dress well, a polo and jeans, but wasn’t one for fashion so I hoped I looked appealing. This whole thing was making me unsure of myself.
“Uhh hi Professor Dawson. My name’s Miles Ford, I’m on the track team. I’m a sprinter.”
He looked at me, slightly confused, “okay. Go on mister Ford, I have a class to run at 8:30.”
I didn’t even know how to broach the topic but tried my best to dive right in without having to say the hard part out loud. “Uhhh ... my ... my grades are ... not the best ... and ... I’m friends with Jake Baxter and he said you might be able to help...”
Professor Dawson stopping fidgeting with papers & his coffee mug, and looked at me. I saw his eyes travel up and down my body. I felt uncomfortable and wondered if this was how girls normally felt. I didn’t even understand what he might be looking at as his gaze fixated on various points of my body. Seconds felt like hours.
He scribbled onto a post-it note and handed it to me. It had an address on it.
“I can help. Did Baxter explain how?”
“Not exactly,” I paused, “but in general...”
“Okay,” this time he paused again, “that address, 8:00. Only if you choose to though. No pressure.”
I nodded, understanding he wanted to ensure I knew what I might be signing up for.
He nodded in return, “okay I have class. Please come clean.”
I turned my head, slightly confused by his comment, but backed out of his office. Clean? Wasn’t I always? What did that mean?
The rest of the day it was impossible to focus. I tried my best to gut through my two classes and my gym session was useless as my mind drifted elsewhere.
I ate an early dinner and showered around 7:00, thinking of Professor Dawson’s comment. I emerged from the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. I stared at myself in the mirror.
I was 5’11” and pale, with big blonde curly hair and blue eyes. I’d had zero issues picking up girls throughout college so I assumed I was at least mildly attractive but realized in this moment that I didn’t really know what that even entailed beyond muscles and other stereotypes, especially to another man.
I looked at my body and studied my torso. I knew I had a six pack and thought that was something girls seemed to like. I had light blonde hair on my stomach leading down to my waistband and a dusting in the middle of my chest. I had no idea if more or less hair was better for what a guy would be into. Did they even care?
I hesitated, then dropped the towel. Looking at myself in the mirror. I had a patch of light pubes just below my waist that sat above what, to me, was a pretty basic dick. I thought about it. A dick’s a dick, I figured, unless it was huge or something.
Mine was maybe a few inches soft, probably between 6 and 7 hard, and my balls were covered in light hair. As I looked at my own body, I realized I didn’t have the slightest idea of what others might be interested in down there.
I turned around, looking at my ass. Smooth, ghost-white, plump. ‘Yep that’s a butt’, I thought to myself. I opened my cheeks a little and saw a bunch of hair buried in my crack, scrunching my nose at the sight of my hole. There was no way that was something others would be into so take that off the board as appealing.
I hoped my abs and face would be enough to draw him in for the grades I needed. It’d been enough for plenty of girls to fuck me at least.
I rolled up to the address in a ride share around 7:55. It seemed to be an apartment about two miles off of campus. I knocked and was quickly greeted by Professor Dawson opening the door.
“Hi Miles, come on in,” he seemed less annoyed by my presence than this morning at least. “Can I get you a drink?” He poured two glasses of a brown spirit.
I wasn’t here for pleasantries. “Okay so what’s the deal?” I chugged the glass for some liquid courage and jumped right into business. He poured me more and I downed the second one too.
“Well ... I looked into your grades,” he took a small sip, “you’re a smart man, you had a 3.5 GPA the last two years, I’m surprised you’re in this position.”
“Yeah well I missed a bunch of projects because of meets, so I’m kinda fucked.” I looked at my glass, realizing I’d probably just downed six or seven ounces in under a minute.
“I can get your grades where you need them. Temporarily.” He drank again. “Your friend Jake was very forward last year. He’s the one who made an offer to me.” I was shocked to hear Jake was the one who’d offered himself up. “I felt guilty about it in my position, but it worked out for both sides.”