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The Tutor: Part One (m/f) | 2016

(Note: This story has a lot of build-up, because I couldn't really do the situation justice without building up the situation the way I actually experienced it. Things also don't end in this part the way you'd expect for one of these, but I hope it's interesting in its own way and builds anticipation for Part 2. Let me know if you're interested in more! I like the teasing in this one.)

Here's Part 2: http://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/2klo1p/the_tutor_part_2_mf_for_real_this_time/


To save up for grad school as I finished up college, I took a job as a tutor in my mid-20s. I wasn't a tutor in any particular subject, but a general purpose tutor who covered a wide range of topics for new college students. As a soon-to-be graduate with a pretty wide range of knowledge as far as lower-level courses went, I pretty much knew everything that a freshman could conceivably take, and with the money I was making from these families (most of whom were pretty well-to-do and could afford to have a tutor spend five or six hours with their student once or twice a week) it wasn't that much trouble to rent the textbooks for other courses and cram the material in advance before tutoring.

This meant that I basically spent a lot of time in very nice houses, sitting at the kitchen table with young freshmen or sophomores; discussing curriculum, proofreading and editing essays, and helping them to cram for tests (seriously, those early classes all have test study guides with everything you're gonna see on the exam; it's been years since I've seen one of those for one of my classes).

I didn't have a problem with the hours, but one part of the job was a source of a lot of tension: Probably 3/4ths of the students I taught were freshman girls, and when you spend hours on end, a couple of times a week with one person in a really enclosed space, it can give you a weird sense of intimacy with that person. When you're really hitting it off, it's like that moment when you finally get an interested young lady alone in a locked room at a party or talk her into watching a "movie" with you on your bed while the roommate is away for the holiday. That wild feeling, full of possibilities, that's almost better than the sex, a really weird feeling to have without sex actually being on the table.

But a young coed isn't some party hookup, and you can't just put your hand on her leg and lean in for the kiss, then kiss and nibble and touch her until you see her giving you "fuck me" eyes. But at some level, you want to. This feeling is made far, far worse when that person is an 18- or 19-year-old gorgeous coed in her absolute sexual prime, one who you're spending hours of an afternoon alone with while the parents are off doing whatever career professionals do during the day.

So as an upperclassman trying to pay my way through my degree, my educational goals (and obviously my personal goals in not wanting to harass or creep out anybody) clashed with the biological imperative I felt in some part of my brain, hour in and hour out, to vigorously plow each young coed I worked with, a drive which grew more and more difficult as I found my social life and access to casual sex really drying up as a busy senior. Perhaps you see the struggle here.

Now look, that might sound like a really abrupt escalation of the sexual dialogue in this story, but even if your self-control is through the roof, you can't help those fantasies creeping in to your thought process when you've been leaning over some gorgeous young coed for three hours, completely alone, with her undivided attention. So basically for several hours a day, a few days a week, I'd entertain an alternating raging boner and plausibly deniable half-boner (both of which I'd hide under the table), succumbing to the fantasies just enough to keep from going crazy while trying to focus enough that I could keep teaching and responding to questions.

Which brings us to Alicia. I like to think I had a pretty good grip on things up to that point, but Alicia was just impossible. She was absolutely gorgeous, for one thing — she kept herself in shape for volleyball and it showed. She was petite but very curvy and athletic, and somehow knew exactly how tight a sweater she ought to wear to show off her medium-sized but very perky breasts, exactly how form-fitting a pair of jeans might outline her perfect thighs and ass, and hug her crotch in that way I love without being too tight. As a fit girl, she had such precise control over her body, such an amazing midriff which was visible under her t-shirt whenever she'd perform the amazing service for me of doing a long stretch backward in her chair, that I couldn't help but imagine how vibrant and energetic she'd be in bed, the bed which incidentally sat only a few feet over from her computer desk where we worked, with the door closed and the house nearly always empty no less.

But while I appreciated her body from day one, she also had one of those infectious personalities which made you feel like you were the only guy in her world, even if (for a brief few hours) you sort of were. She was nearly nineteen, and in her second semester of college, but already seemed to be entirely in her element. She had a social grasp of how to communicate and endear people to her which I wish I'd been on top of so fresh out of high school, mainly so that I could have spent time with (and hopefully shared more intense experiences with) girls like her. Everything she did seemed to spring from her personality: from the way she held the pen, to the way she'd pace the room while thinking, make unbroken and intelligent eye contact while asking a question. It was all so endearing, that mix of savvy and innocence, and I enjoyed every second with her.

As we got more comfortable with one another, the flirting started. When I'd go on too long during an explanation of some concept, she'd start looking at me seductively and flashing her eyebrows, pulling her collar down a little on one side to see if she could distract me. She'd go over flashcard definitions with a sultry voice, moaning comically when she got the answer right. She started touching me a lot: just a hand on my shoulder, or a light touch on my thigh as if she was using me for balance while leaning over a paper.

Around the last month of the semester, it became a running joke that if she did well this semester, she'd have to give me some sort of "reward," which she'd always accompany with some extremely hot eye contact and lip-rubbing with her finger. I still think she meant this purely as a joke or reference to some TV show or movie, but I found it nevertheless to be a pretty tantalizing image, albeit one I didn't really have the courage to bring up with her. Pretty soon, enough professional distance had been broken down that just being in her presence was a recipe for a hard-on. I felt more and more comfortable breaking the touch barrier in small ways as well, putting my hand on her shoulder while explaining something or patting the small of her back when her attention wandered. In a very innocent moment I weirdly came to remember frequently, she walked past me one afternoon and tussled my hair affectionately, then made only brief eye contact before blushing and retrieving the notebook she'd been going for. That seemed to be a moment where things shifted, where we started to develop almost the sort of rapport you do with somebody you're dating, little glances and tentative touches.

She always worked out after class, shortly before I came over, but as the year began to wind to a close her workouts began to end later and later. One day, after an apologetic text from her that she was a little behind schedule and to come in through the garage, I entered her bedroom to catch her still showering in the adjacent bathroom. The glass of the standing shower was lightly glazed, but that only made the sight of her gorgeous nude curves even more evocative. She was rinsing off her shampoo, ass nearly pressed against the glass on the left side as she ran her hands through her hair from scalp to end. I fought back an urge to take a picture with my phone as I walked back to the family room to wait on the couch, every sound of the water splashing against the shower wall making me harder. I hadn't had time that day yet to relieve the pressure on my own as I usually did right before tutoring Alicia, and my jeans were becoming so tight they were starting to hurt.

I heard her call my name. She knew I'd come in.

"Sorry about this! I got started a little late and lost track of time. I thought I'd be out before you got here so I didn't close the door. Would you mind throwing a couple of things for me to put on in here?"

God, she wanted me to go through her underwear drawer. While she was fully nude and half-visible in the next room, like it was nothing at all.

I entered the room with a greater sense of entitlement. Now she was covering her breasts and crotch with each arm, yet still standing right next to the front wall, her form even clearer than before. Kind of defeated the purpose, I thought, adjusting my jeans slightly to make it less obvious that my dick was uncomfortably tucked upward into the waist, continuing up into my shirt in puppylike anticipation of this young lady in the shower.

I opened the top dresser drawer, mind full of possiblities, and choosing what she'd be wearing underneath it all for our session suddenly felt like the most erotic thing in the world. Hoping she wouldn't mind, I sifted slowly and excitedly though the boyshorts and standard panties and finally picked out a pretty thin, semi-transparent pair of black panties with white lace orbiting around in horizontal stripes, and a bra to match. Seeing nothing but blouses in the drawer below and jeans in the one below that, I looked in the fourth drawer and picked out a smooth, tight pair of what might have been sweatpants or pajama bottoms, and a plain white tank top with a very low cut. I entered the bathroom, trying not to stare at her too openly, and placed what I'd found on the counter.

I hesitated for a moment. Dare I? Careful to stand between her view in the shower and my work, I took the panties back from the pile, leaving only the bra, pajama bottoms and tank top. For a moment I wanted to take the bra too, but it seemed like pushing it. I was worried about offending her already.

I closed the door to the bathroom and dropped the panties on the floor near the dresser. At least I could pretend they'd fallen by mistake if she commented on it. I waited in her office chair, trying to develop a nonchalant sitting position to underplay my arousal. It didn't work.

After a moment I heard the shower door open, and relief flooded me as she only laughed and said "Interesting choices!" Soon she came out, dressed in the clothes I'd given her, which left even less to the imagination than I'd hoped. She sat down next to me in the guest chair, towel still in her hair, and put her arm around my waist, all smiles. "I guess that's what I get for letting a boy pick my study clothes, huh?"

I tried to be nonchalant and muttered something about how a guy can only take so much, but I was no longer bothering to hide my arousal and it didn't take long for her to look down, to where I was now fully at attention, denim be damned. She seemed legitimately surprised, as if this were the first moment that she realized that all of this flirting and teasing might be more than just casual play.

Then I saw her face change, and she began to look intrigued. She paused for a moment, apparently deep in thought. Finally, she looked at me with mock pity and said "Oh, poor baby!" then tentatively lay her hand down in my lap, right on the top of the tent that I was pitching. I froze, unsure what to do or how to react as she began pressing down with more and more force, as if testing my structural stability.

"Oh, that is not fair. That is not fair," I tried to joke.

"Oh, I've been so mean to you today." She was smiling and raising her eyebrows in the usual comically seductive way. At this point she was almost petting me there the way you'd pet a housecat, alternating between back-and-forth rubbing and squeezing with all five fingers like a cat's head. It occurred to me in one of the few not-horny parts of my brain that she may not have a lot of experience in this regard.

When she gave the tip of my penis a firm squeeze and leaned in with an impish look to blow lightly into my ear, that was the last straw. I know I should have been excited, waited it out and seen how far she'd take things, but strangely at the time this never occurred to me. I really thought it was just more of the same—more playing, more idle teasing. But unlike the previous times she'd gotten me excited there would be no concentration on American Heritage or Biology coursework to get me calm again. I needed relief now, and keeping my quivering erection in the same room as that form-fitting pair of sweatpants (which I knew hid nothing at all but a perfect ass I could almost see completely) when I had no idea of her intentions or willingness felt like a really bad idea.

So blind to anything but releasing the massive pressure I was under I stood up, told her that I'd be right back, and went into the bathroom. I quickly closed the door, let my starving dick out of my jeans, grabbed the first bottle of lotion off of the counter that I could find, and went right to work, kneeling on the ground against the wall. After spending that long in that state of arousal, and weeks and weeks dealing with her clearly teasing me sexually, I couldn't care less about turning on the fan or the water to hide the sound. At this point it was all business: right hand on base duty, left hand moving with a firm grip from shaft to head.

I'd been so busy that I hadn't taken care of this need for several days, since before the last time I'd tutored Alicia. So I didn't need to think about anything to retain arousal at this point, not even bending Alicia over her computer desk, and I was so lost in my world of relieved, ecstatic pleasure that I didn't realize I was doing basically nothing to hide my low moans and breathing either, or the rhythmic smacking of the steady punishment I was giving my cock. From the shadows of her feet near the door, I knew that she knew from her side of the door exactly what I was doing. Any frustration that I'd had was well gone at this point, so once I realized that she was listening I didn't bother to deny her the show.

After a moment, I heard the door click open gently, and after a couple of hesitant seconds I saw a very flushed and excited-looking Alicia enter the room and sit across from me on the floor. My inhibitions were so gone at this point that I merely made a second of eye contact with her, breathing sharply, and then closed my eyes and picked up the pace. She was watching my penis with rapt attention, almost the way you'd approach a wild animal in the forest. She scooted closer and within a moment was kneeling only three or four feet away, watching me give the deep-tissue treatment to the biggest, hardest erection I'd had for as long as I could remember.

I'd guess that I lasted all of two minutes with Alicia watching me before I felt the end getting near. I had planned to pull her wastebasket over and finish into that, but having opened my eyes and seen her watching me like I had a bag full of presents with her name on them, I decided just to let the cards fall where they would. I arched my back, leaning heavily against the wall, and aimed my dick right in her direction before giving myself the final few strokes I needed to achieve climax. I painted her upper leg from about halfway up her waist to her knee with my relief, as well as the floor between us, in four or five thick strands. Being splashed with my semen caused her to shrink back a bit, and make a sound which was halfway between a gasp and a laugh. Relaxed at once and in a post-orgasm high, I just watched her. After a moment, she reached for the roll of toilet paper and wiped the leg of her sweatpants off, sniffing the wad tentatively before tossing it, and taking care of the rest of the cleanup almost as if that had been our arrangement. As she reached me, holding my now-shrinking cock with my head back and a calm smile on my face, she hesitated briefly before tentatively asking: "Can I touch it?"

"Maybe next time," I said with a smile.

For the rest of our study session, it was harder than usual not to watch Alicia. Not because of the pale cumspot which still sat on her leg, not because of her amazing curves being displayed to me more than ever before, but because of the new way she was looking at me— touching her hair absentmindedly, glancing down at my lap and then quickly looking away, reaching for her crotch briefly during moments of thought before realizing what she was doing and moving her hand away. Her mind was on me in a way that it hadn't been before, and I could see that a barrier had been broken I'd never even considered possible. I couldn't wait to see where things went from this point.