CONTENT WARNING: This story contains the following: abuse of power; the use of drugs to make someone more compliant; bdsm; genderbending. These themes may be triggering to some readers so please heed the warning if you are upset by this sort of content.
This story also has some elements that are a bit fantastical and not 100% based in reality. I realize some of my themes may be getting repetitive, so if you're bored of hearing similar descriptions I'm sorry about that (I just write what turns me on). This one is sort of long but I jerked off at least 20 times while creating it so I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. :)
All characters are above 18 years old.
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Day 1
From the moment he walked into my office I knew he would be mine. The boy who had just entered was taken straight from my fantasies. He was the prototypical waif; a nymph. This perfect creature, who was just placed directly into my lap, was soon to be mine, and mine alone forever. But he didn't know that yet.
This particular pupil, just 18 years old, is a charity case. His mother is a cook at the peculiar higher learning establishment that I head and she begged me to allow her son entry. When she first asked, I scoffed, wanting her to think her son didn't have a chance. This would be true under normal circumstances, but lucky for him I had more sinister motives.
I told the boy's mother that, 'yes, he can join our peculiar school, but I will be watching over him carefully to ensure his proper deportment'. She thanked me profusely for giving her child this otherwise unattainable opportunity and I knew my trap was set.
Before diving into this story that takes place at our higher learning establishment I must first inform you of how this institution functions.
Our school is an adult 'finishing school', so to speak. A school at which members of each gender can attain the skills and mindset needed to properly excel in their defined role. The school is split into two sections:
Girls learn the craft of homemaking, child rearing, and submission; Men are trained in maths and sciences, sport, business, and dominance. The two sides rarely mingle except at school-sanctioned, formal events. Ultimately, we hope for our students to meet their life partner at our institution, and for the two to live together in marital harmony as we believe it should be. This of course means the strict and devout submission of a wife to her Husband.
When the poor boy's mother pleaded for his acceptance I knew he would not be the correct fit. At our first meeting, when I fell in love, I deduced that his lithe, graceful features and feminine mannerisms did not fit the mold of our male student body. But my perverted, sadistic mind was working overtime and I was going to allow whatever necessary in order to spend more time with him. To understand him. To mold him. To plant my seed within him and watch it grow. And ultimately to love him.
When the boy walked into my office for a quick meeting before his first day of school he looked anxious. He was swimming in the ill-fitted suit that had been sent as his uniform. The men of our institution boast admirable frames and we run our sizes only in larges. Of course I knew this when I sent the boy his uniform, but this was all part of my plan. I wanted the boy to feel uneasy in typical men's garb. I wanted him to recognize his discomfort as a man.
"Hello, boy. I see the uniform came in. Doesn't quite fit you, does it boy?"
He shuffled nervously and looked down. "Um no, sir. It's a bit big, I guess..."
"That it is, boy. I should have known when I sent it that little waif like you can't fit into a man's suit." I needed to reinforce his masculine deficiency.
"I guess not sir..." he trailed off.
"Today is going to be a trial period, boy, do you understand? I'm still not sure this school is the correct fit for a boy like you," - I made sure to emphasize 'boy' - "but we can't be sure until we try. Here is your schedule. You are to report to all of your classes on time; you are not to be a minute late. You are to pay attention and do your work, and you are to perform with exceptional marks if you expect to remain at our establishment. Do you understand, boy?"
I was still seated at my desk and he was standing a few feet to my side, shifting nervously from one foot to the other like a ballerina. I wanted to whisk my little pixie away and lock him in my house right then, but I knew this process had to be executed in fastidious fashion to ensure I claimed a willing prize. I could take the boy now if I desired, but I wanted him to like me, too. And I had an inkling this one was a little light in his loafers.
"Yes, sir, I understand. I'll do my best, sir, I promise." He could still barely meet my eyes. He instead gazed at the floor like a virgin angel.
Finally I stood. Though I had set a precedence as a firm and authoritarian leader, I also wanted to woo my little flower. It's true, I'm a romantic at heart. Sometimes I just show it a little differently.
I walked behind the boy and placed my hands on his slim shoulders. We were located near a mirror and could see each other, my 6'6" frame towering over my little waif. I massaged him.
It wasn't a friendly massage. It was a sensual rub; a naughty rub. It was brief but by the end I watched the boy squirm and shudder while he tried to hold in moans. I saw him pitching a small tent, a mere teepee, in his oversized pants. I, too, felt my length rising, though the tent it would pitch at full mast could accommodate a small village.
The preliminary bell rang signaling 5 minutes until first period which saved me from opening my little flower right there. With one last squeeze I sent the boy on his way and told him to report to my office immediately after classes to debrief and evaluate his future.
I set the boy up with a brutal course load that he would surely fail. I had him in advanced economics and physics, as well as football and basketball. He would undoubtedly come back from the day exhausted and defeated; exactly how I wanted him.
He trudged in a few minutes after the final bell looking beaten and worn out: his hair out of order, his papers strewn about his book bag, his large overcoat slipping off his delicate shoulders. I wanted to comfort and protect him, to tell him that it would be ok, but this wasn't the time. He needed to endure a bit more humiliation to drive home the point.
"Boy, you look a mess! I take it the first day wasn't easy?" I cocked a knowing but stern brow at him.
He looked close to tears.
"No, sir, it was ok... some of the classes were kind of hard, though..."
"Your professors told me you were late to almost every class and that your marks were abysmal." His shoulders dropped even lower.
"How will you ever succeed at this university if you cannot even complete basic calculus!" I was faking anger so he understood the severity.
"Sir it's just so hard," he was quietly crying now. "I don't understand any of the classes, and during sports I was so afraid to play. The men were so much bigger than me and none of them wanted to pick me for their team." He looked ashamed. I savored every second.
"Well, boy, is it surprising that someone like you, someone as soft and sweet," - I emphasized 'sweet' to make him feel a little better - "as you wouldn't do well in those hard classes?"
"No I guess it's not, sir..." he replied sheepishly. He must have known he wasn't quite like the other boys.
"I'm very disappointed in you, boy. I had high expectations of you and you let me down. You've been a very bad boy. As your counselor at this university it's my job to keep you on the right path, but it seems like you aren't even trying!"
