However, he knew it to be a bad gamble, for there was ahost of problems waiting to flare up at the slightest spark, all of whichwould require his team to make an appearance. The heads up he hadreceived, before heading home, had not been one of his boss's, theoriginal asshole, nasty pranks.Not that he was affected by those pranks anymore. He had stopped being theman's victim years ago, though the period after his boss learned of hishobby had been rather hellish. It was not that his boss found itdisgusting, after all they saw worse in their job, instead it was a toolto hold over his employee's head.That had only stopped when he began to understand his boss's mischief,deciding that, just as he loved his pretty clothes, his boss enjoyedmaking people miserable. SIin order to combat being made the victim, hehad developed a second hobby, gathering his own information about theproblems that simmered. Over time he had become quite good at predictingthe likelihood of a spark, which had allowed. There was a mad rush and scramble by the students, as they headed for the door.Mr. Rocklin went to his desk and sat. He noticed that one of the students had not made a rush for the door. She had walked up to his desk instead and was standing there holding her test paper."Mr. Rocklin, I don't know what—uh—what I can do..." she trailed off.He studied the student, looking her over. Sandy Coxon, sixteen—maybe seventeen, long sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, tight silk blouse, short tight skirt, pretty pink lips, curvy—nice body ... sexy. His cock stiffened and rose."About your test score?" he asked. "Your grade." Yes, sir. I'm failing, and I just don't know what to do about it. Is there anything I could do to... ?"Mr. Rocklin stood and faced the student. "Anything you could do?" Yes, sir. You know, to raise my grade, to improve it."He looked her over, and his prick stiffened still more. He now had a stiff throbbing hard-on. "Well, I don't know, Sandy," he said. "Your grades are low, you.
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