The Tyler Takedown pt. 1

Tyler Kingston is a hotshot jock at the University of Minnesota. With a killer smile, great body, and the king-of-the-world Alpha attitude to match, he thinks he’s got what it takes to rule the school. Especially when daddy dearest has enough money to make the administrators drool. Unfortunately for him, things are changing around campus, and the handsome Chemistry professor from Hierarch Industries isn’t going to tolerate his shit.

Tyler Kingston was born to rule. It was right there in the name. He had the money and the influence to back it up—or at least daddy dearest did. He certainly had the arrogance and the good looks to match.

If there was ever a jackpot winner on the genetics lottery, Tyler was it. Most of his peers had to look up to speak to him, and he liked literally talking down to all the ants that swarmed around him, craving his approval.

Daddy’s money paid the way for a lot of Tyler’s wants and needs, but daddy was also pretty tight-fisted. Whenever he needed any more party funds, the handsome cut of Tyler’s jaw, his bright blue eyes, killer smile, and golden hair made modeling for an extra buck way too easy.

It didn’t matter that Tyler spent most of his time focusing on sports and other things "manly." He was rich enough that he got away with it and good enough at sports that his coaches enabled him.

If that wasn’t enough, then it didn’t matter anyway. Tyler had the money to pay people to do the things he didn’t want to do. By the time he reached his junior year of high school, he was jacked enough that he had no problem making other people do the shit he didn’t want to without spending a dime.

Tyler was no fag, and he didn’t hate them, but he sure did find them useful. All it took was a little white lie about how he was going to let them taste his dick or touch his body and they would fall over themselves to do his homework for him.

Of course, Tyler would never actually let that happen. If the fag ever got uppity about it, he’d just threaten to expose the little queer. He didn’t hate fags, but he certainly knew a lot of people who did.

Sometimes, Tyler hoped that the fags would get mouthy with him because he loved watching people squirm. Especially other guys who thought they were all that when in reality they were all just beneath Tyler.

Tyler’s favorite thing to do was seduce girls that either belonged to someone else or girls that were another guy’s crush. His list of conquests was as long as his muscular arms and could probably wrap a few times around his 19-inch biceps. There wasn’t a girl in high school that didn’t want to sleep with him, and university was no different.

Truth was, Tyler could get any bitch he wanted, in university. Just last night, he’d had one of the best lays of his life. She’d been a bit gross and clingy, and honestly a bit of a dead lay, but goddamn had she been fucking tight, with the biggest tits he’d seen in his life.

Tyler couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. He was in the middle of a lecture for one of his required courses and he didn’t give a fuck. He just rubbed his thick piece through his pants while ignoring the professor’s droning on organic compounds or some shit.

Anyone else would have paid close attention to the lecture. Midterms were coming up, and the professor had mentioned that the lecture was going to contain relevant material.

Tyler didn’t care. He was the star of the football team. His dad was one of the university’s biggest donors. He was untouchable, and the professors knew it. He was the reason the entire football team was exempted from midterms, and why they didn’t have to take final exams if they had a passing grade before the final exam.

All Tyler had to do was show up to class and turn in homework, but he had a fag to do that for him, anyway. He didn’t have to worry about a single thing.


Tyler reached over and tapped his teammate Mac’s arm with the back of his hand.

"What?" said Mac, glancing up at Tyler before looking back down at his phone. The guy wasn’t paying attention, either, which was part of why Tyler liked him so much.

Tyler shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "You think that bitch is gonna wanna come back for another ride since I threw her out?" At the back of the lecture hall, the two of them were far enough away from anyone who would pitch a fit about the way they were talking about women.

Mac frowned as soon as Tyler had finished. It was weird. Tyler expected his friend to laugh, but that wasn’t what he got. The look of annoyance went away so quickly, though, that Tyler couldn’t help but think he’d imagined it.

"Did you do her good?" said Mac, not looking up from his phone for even a moment.

Tyler chuckled. "What do you think, bro?" he said, reaching down, grabbing his crotch, and giving it a shake.

Mac glanced at Tyler, then back at his phone, and rolled his eyes. "Then she’d be fucking stupid not to, bro," he said, but it didn’t sound like his heart was in it.

Tyler shrugged. Mac probably just struck out with one of those chicks he was always trying to bang, but that wasn’t his problem. "You’re right, man. Bitches like that can’t resist a good dicking," he said, with a laugh.

Rubbing his cock through his sweatpants, Tyler took his phone out and snapped a picture of the obscene outline pressing up against his thigh. He sent it off to the girl from last night, who he’d named "Melons" on his phone. He didn’t actually remember her name.

TylerTheKing: Want more, baby girl?

Tyler didn’t expect a response so quickly, but it came in after a few seconds. He couldn’t help but laugh. She had probably been waiting for a text all night long just so she could reply quickly.

Melons: Go fuck yourself
Melons: Lose my fucking number
Melons: I never want to see you again!

What Tyler got back was about what he expected. He didn’t care. Now that she’d gotten a look at what she would be missing if she declined, he knew it would only be a matter of time before she came crawling back to him.

TylerTheKing: LOL
TylerTheKing: Alright
TylerTheKing: You know where to find me
TylerTheKing: If you change your mind

"I do hope that whatever it is you find so compelling on your cellular phone is more interesting than my class, Mr. Kingston, or I will be very hurt," said the professor, startling Tyler who’d not noticed that his approach.

Tyler put his phone down and shot a glare at Mac for not warning him, but Mac just averted his gaze as if to feign innocence. "Don’t worry about it, prof," said Tyler, leaning back in his seat as he looked up at middle-aged British man standing by the side of his aisle seat. "What can I do for you?"

"You could take this class more seriously for starters, Mr. Kingston," said the professor, flashing a small, thin smile at Tyler. "And if you find that beneath you, then find some other way to prove to me that it’s worth my time to have you in my lecture hall when there are other students who would love to take your spot in my class."

Tyler blinked. He was so taken aback by the professor’s refusal to back down that he was struck speechless for a moment. He couldn’t believe how the professor had just spoken to him. He had to wonder if the guy knew what he could do with a single word. He had destroyed careers before. He had the faculty eating out of the palm of his hand.

Shoulders trembling with barely-suppressed rage, Tyler rose to his full height. He stared the professor down as he seethed, "Do you have any idea who—!"

The professor didn’t react at all in the way that he was supposed to. Even people older than Tyler, who were ostensibly in positions of authority over him, were instinctively intimidated when he faced them down like this. Not this professor, though.

The professor met Tyler’s glare with a cool, unfazed gaze of his own. "Mr. Kingston, I find it offensive that you think you need to use such cliché line on me as if to suggest that I do not know the identities of my students," said the professor, cutting Tyler off.

Tyler opened his mouth. No one had dared speak to him like this before. No one had dared cut him off before.

Before Tyler could even say anything else, the professor shook his head, rolled his eyes, and said, "Mr. Kingston, I know that you are the darling child of this institution’s biggest individual donor and that you are the rising star of our football program. I know that you, supposedly, have straight-A’s in all your subjects despite apparently having no interest in your professors’ lectures and I know that the dean is quite fond of you."

The corner of the professor’s lips curled into a little smile. "So, let me ask you this, Mr. Big-Man-On-Campus," he said, reaching up to adjust his glasses, "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Tyler looked around, wide-eyed. This wasn’t how anything was supposed to go. A couple of his classmates were whispering among themselves, some openly snickering. He had to get a handle on things or else this would undermine his reputation.

"Who the fuck cares?" said Tyler, plastering a cocky grin back onto his face. He laughed. "I mean, come on. You’re going against me. Everyone knows I’m untouchable. I doubt anyone’s going to remember you fondly when you get fired."

The whispers went quiet. Tyler let his self-satisfied smirk show. Everyone knew that he could and would get people fired if he didn’t like them. Hell, he could even get students expelled. A quick little reminder like this was probably all that he needed to get this stupid professor back in line.

"I can assure you, Mr. Kingston, my position at this university is very secure," said the professor, with a quiet laugh.

Tyler was stunned. His classmates were stunned. The threat he’d made was no idle threat. Everyone remembered the bitch of an English professor he’d gotten fired during his first year and yet, somehow, this Chemistry professor didn’t give a shit about his threat.

"But in any case, you’re right. I’m sure no one cares who I am. I’m just a silly old Chemistry professor who approached you to give you back your most recent assignment because you didn’t answer when I called your name three times," said the professor.

Tyler didn’t have the words to say as the professor handed him a sheaf of papers. His assignment. He didn’t even look at it. He just stared at the professor who, somehow, was completely unflappable.

All things considered, the biggest surprise was what followed.

The professor turned to Mac and handed out another sheaf of papers. Mac’s assignment, probably. The professor smiled. "Good work on the assignment, Mr. Levin. I really liked your insights. See what you can accomplish when you apply yourself? I’m sure your mentor will be proud. Keep it up."

Tyler blinked and sat down as the professor walked away. After a few seconds, he turned to his friend and said, "What the fuck?"

"What?" said Mac, with a shrug. He’d fished his phone out again and was riveted to the screen. "I thought the last unit was interesting so I looked at the assignment."

Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed. "Jesus Christ you’re not even looking at me. What’s so important on your phone, anyway?"

"Nothing, it’s just work!" said Mac. "Hey, wait—!"

Tyler grabbed the phone out of Mac’s hands and looked at the screen.

Boss: Have you finished the task I assigned to you?

BigMac: No, sir
BigMac: I haven’t had the opportunity, sir

Boss: Why is that?

BigMac: I’ve been in class, sir
BigMac: I’ll do it as soon as I can

Boss: Make sure of it
Boss: You wouldn’t want to disappoint me
Boss: Would you?

BigMac: I will, sir
BigMac: And no, sir, I wouldn’t

Boss: Good
Boss: I have high expectations of you
Boss: Call me as soon as your out

BigMac: Yes, sir
BigMac: Thank you, sir
BigMac: I will, sir

Mac snatched his phone back before Tyler could scroll any further up. "I told you, it’s just work, man," he said.

Tyler had to admit, it was surprisingly tame. That being said, it was pretty weird seeing his friend act so deferential. Mac didn’t seem the type.

Then again, even if Tyler did deign to grace Mac with his friendship, Mac didn’t have the same abundance of resources and opportunities that Tyler had.

In Tyler’s mind, it wasn’t all that strange to see people sucking up to their superiors for advancement. Maybe he was a little ticked that Mac wasn’t begging him instead, but there was time for that later.

"Chill, bro, you don’t have to be so fucking defensive," said Tyler, shaking his head. Mac just scoffed and continued typing away at his phone.

"Alright, let’s see how well the fag did, this time," Tyler murmured, under his breath. It was the first big assignment of the semester, so he’d made sure the fag knew that he needed to get high marks on it. He’d even promised topless pics.

Tyler turned the sheaf of papers over. The soundtrack of his life ground to a halt. He could have sworn he heard a record scratch. Scrawled across the top of the page was a big, red F.

This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to Tyler. Even if the fag had turned in complete drivel, no professor would have the guts to give him a fucking F.

"Are you fucking with me?" Tyler yelled, jumping up from his seat. His loud voice startled several of the nearest students, who all looked at him with wide eyes. His outburst silenced the rest of the class, too. "This is a joke, right, prof? You’re not really this fucking stupid, right?" he demanded, shaking the paper at the professor.

"Mr. Kingston, calm down and sit down. If you have questions about the grade that you were given, I am more than happy to discuss it with you at the end of class." said the professor.

"Like fucking hell I’m going to wait until the end of class! You’re going to fix this right now or I swear to God I’ll—!"

The professor turned to the rest of the class, leaving Tyler sputtering. "If any of you have questions, please don’t hesitate to come by after class. I’ll answer them to the best of my abilities."

Before Tyler could say anything else, the professor continued. "Oh, and that reminds me, I’m letting you all out a few minutes early today. I don’t want to start on a new chapter of the unit when we only have a little time left."

Whatever else Tyler wanted to say was drowned out by the cacophony of chairs being pulled out, backpacks being picked up, and notebooks and laptops being put away. Beside him, Mac had already gotten up, bag slung over one shoulder.

"Where are you going?" said Tyler, surprised that Mac had gotten up before him.

"To my next class… Duh?" said Mac, raising an eyebrow at Tyler.

"You’re not going to stay while I beat some sense into this fucker?" Tyler said, gesturing at the professor down by the front of the lecture hall.

"Nah. Sorry, bro, I really gotta jet. My boss wanted me to call him, remember? I don’t wanna disappoint the man," said Mac, waving his phone.

Tyler took a deep breath. It was fine. He didn’t need backup. "Alright. Fine. But you owe me for later, man. Dinner!" he said.

Mac cracked a small grin. "Don’t worry about it, man. I’ll fix you up something good."

It was weird. Mac sounded a bit too excited about the prospect, but Tyler wasn’t about to complain. Mac’s real name wasn’t even Mac. It was Joseph. Mac just cooked the best damn mac and cheese in the frat. People had been laid out for a Tupperware of the stuff.

Once Mac was gone, Tyler got up from his chair. He elbowed his way past the garbage to the front of the class. The professor was talking to someone else, but he didn’t care. He slammed the assignment down and said, "fix it."

"As you can see, Mr. Kingston, I am currently helping one of your classmates. You should have come down faster if you wanted to get in front of the line," said the professor.

"It’s fine. He’ll let me go first, isn’t that right?" said Tyler, glaring at the cowering shrimp.

"Now, Mr. Morris, you shouldn’t let yourself get intimidated by Mr. Kingston’s barbarism. You earned this place fair and square. If Mr. Kingston wants to discuss the grade he earned, he can go to the back of the line and wait. Otherwise, he can leave the lecture hall," said the professor.

Tyler fumed. He was this close to decking the fucker, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if maybe that was what the guy wanted. He wasn’t going to let this stand, but he wasn’t also going to fall for the obvious provocation.

"You’re going to pay for this," said Tyler, under his breath, but the professor didn’t even respond. It was almost as if he wasn’t even there.

Tyler was going to let the rest of the trash talk with the professor, but he wasn’t going to go back to the line. He stayed where he was, silently seething as the professor took his damn time addressing the other students’ concerns.

The few minutes that it took to get to Tyler’s turn felt like an eternity.

When no one else was left, Tyler started. He wasn’t a cruel guy. He could be magnanimous if he had to be. This professor was clearly new. He glanced at the folder sticking halfway out of the professor’s bag, labeled with "Dr. Robin Nielsen" along the spine. He certainly hadn’t heard that name around the university before, and he’d made sure to be intimately acquainted with the names of the professors in his program.

"Look, I think that this has all been a big misunderstanding," said Tyler. "I get it. You’re new. You don’t know how things are done here. So let me spell it out for you: I don’t get F’s."

Robin raised an eyebrow at Tyler but said nothing. Instead, he pursed his lips, as if waiting for Tyler to finish.

"Now, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I think that if we can’t be friends, then we can at least be civil to one another," said Tyler.

Tyler felt better about the way things were going this time around. He felt more in control. He had his hands firmly on the reins of the conversation.

"So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to change this grade to an A because, let’s face it, that’s the grade that I deserve, and as long as you make a public apology about the way you treated me today, I won’t get you fired," said Tyler, rising to his full height as he tried to impose his presence on Robin.

"I’m afraid that you’ve made a fundamental misapprehension about me, Mr. Kingston," said Robin. He reached up and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I am given to understand that in these past two years of your education at this fine institution, you have been something of a tyrant," Robin continued.

If that was meant to make Tyler feel bad, it didn’t. If anything, he liked being characterized as a tyrant. The little people started getting weird ideas about equality and shit when they were allowed to go about doing whatever they wanted. They needed to be reminded that there were people above them now and again. People like Tyler.

"I regret to inform you, Mr. Kingston, that your usual tricks won’t work on me. You cannot intimidate me. How could you when you are but a stripling that has forgotten his place? No. If you wish to deal with me, Mr. Kingston, you will need more than your father’s money and power," said Robin.

Robin stood and even though he was half Tyler’s size, his presence seemed to tower over the footballer. So much so that Tyler couldn’t help but take a step back, feeling a pang of genuine fear for the first time in his life.

"So allow me to tell you what you are going to do, Mr. Kingston," said Robin. "You asked me if I had any idea who you were. I do. In fact, it is out of consideration of your importance to this community that I have not gone directly to the office of academic discipline to report you for academic dishonesty."

Tyler shook his head. He couldn’t let himself get pushed around by this professor. He controlled the school, and the disciplinary committee couldn’t do shit to him. "Like that’s going to work," he said, with a laugh. "They won’t do shit! My dad’s money is too important to them."

"Trust me when I say this, Mr. Kingston. If I wanted to, I could easily triple the monetary donation that your father is making to this university," said Robin.

Tyler blinked. It was an audacious statement. The amount his father donated to the school was, quite frankly, obscene. A lowly professor like this Dr. Robin shithead couldn’t possibly hope to even match it, much less outstrip it.

"You’re clearly bluffing," Tyler scoffed, folding his arms over his chest.

"Whether you believe me or not is of no consequence to me, Mr. Kingston, only know that if I so desired, I could own your father’s company with a single phone call and have you escorted from the premises by campus security," said Robin.

Tyler had to laugh. Surely Robin knew that he wasn’t stupid enough to believe such obvious lies.

"I see you’re still skeptical," said Robin. "Let me be of some assistance. Would you like me to demonstrate how much power I hold in this university?"

"Go ahead," said Tyler. Like he was ever not going to call the bluff.

Robin reached into his bag and pulled out his phone. He made a call. "Hello. Yes, this is Dr. Nielsen. Yes, I would like the dean to bring me a green apple in exactly five minutes. Yes, that is the room I am still in."

It was absurd. "I’m gonna fucking laugh when the old bastard doesn’t show up after five minutes," said Tyler. No one would believe such a thing. The dean wasn’t going to come rushing to give a green apple to a mere professor.

"Let’s find out, shall we?" said Robin, showing Tyler the timer counting down to five minutes on his phone.

With twelve seconds left on the clock, the door to the classroom burst open. The dean leaned against the doorframe, panting, as he held a green apple out toward Robin. "D-Dr. Nielsen. H-here’s that apple you asked for," he wheezed.

Robin clicked his tongue in disapproval. "That’s disappointing. I said exactly five minutes and you arrived with 12 seconds to spare," he said.

Tyler expected the dean to ream Robin out for his impertinence. The old man was known for having a tongue like a whip, but instead he was uncharacteristically silent.

The dean caught his breath. "My deepest apologies, Dr. Nielsen. Please, let me make it up to you," he said, with a deference that Tyler had never heard directed even to his dad.

Tyler couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

"Never you mind," said Robin. "I was merely proving a point to our young friend here. I trust that I didn’t place too much stress on your constitution?"

The dean, still struggling somewhat to breathe, waved a hand in front of his face. "Oh, don’t you worry about me, Dr. Nielsen. I may be old, but it’ll take more than this to kill me."

"W-what? Why are you doing dumb shit for this guy?" said Tyler, unable to contain the outburst.

The dean, who Tyler had always thought liked him, looked at him with a stormy expression. "Shut your mouth, boy. Maybe it’s time you learned how to properly treat your betters," said the dean.

Robin cleared his throat. "I’ll take it from here, my friend," he said.

The dean nodded, resolutely, toward Robin. "I’ll leave you two to it," he said, shooting a glare at Tyler. He closed the door behind him as he left.

Once they were alone again, Robin turned to Tyler, lips pressing into a thin smile. "So, have I sufficiently demonstrated my ‘power’ to you?" he said.

Tyler gulped. This was uncharted waters, even more so than Robin talking back to him. He had always been the one with all the cards.

"Dealing with your type is easier than most people think," said Robin, reaching into his bag to retrieve another folder. This one had Tyler’s name on it. "Power is the only language you understand. One needs only learn how to speak it."

Robin laughed. Tyler took a step back as he approached. He backed up until he felt the sharp corner of one of the front row of desks. Robin stepped into his personal space, his mere presence almost suffocating.

"You don’t get to dictate anything in this classroom, Mr. Kingston," said Robin, gently slapping the folder on Tyler’s chest and pinning it there with his splayed fingers.

Robin was so close that Tyler could almost feel the heat radiating off Robin’s skin. He could also smell the man, but it was strange. Robin didn’t smell like anyone Tyler had ever met.

Tyler was sure the professor wasn’t wearing any perfume or cologne of any sort. And yet the air around the two of them was filled with a strange, slightly-musky scent with a sweet, somewhat-bright undercurrent that reminded him of lime zest. He didn’t have the faintest idea why but it made his chest feel hot.

"Here is an assignment that you can do to make up for this one. Submit your own work this time, Mr. Kingston. You could make so much of your life if you applied yourself like your friend Mr. Levin," said Robin.

Tyler tried to find the words to tell Robin to go to hell but the professor’s presence, proximity, and the overwhelming scent made it difficult to think coherently. Perhaps more concerning, Tyler was starting to get turned on by it, too.

Robin let go of the folder that he was holding against Tyler’s chest. Acting on instinct, Tyler caught it.

"Nice reflexes. I can see why you’re a cornerstone of our athletics program, Mr. Kingston," said Robin. "Now, if only you could approach your academics with the same enthusiasm. No worries. We shall make a good man out of you yet."

Tyler desperately wanted to say something, anything, but words failed him in a way that they had never done before.

"After all, what rebellious boys like you really need, Mr. Kingston, is big, strong man telling them what to do. You’re dismissed. Have your work at my desk by the end of our next class and we’ll put this F of yours behind us, yes?" said Robin with a laugh.

Tyler could only nod. His feet took him faster out of that lecture hall than he could even comprehend. His mind was spinning. His heart was thumping. His cock, damn traitorous thing that it was, was pressing up against his pants leg, achingly hard.

Tyler had never been so humiliated in his life.

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