Private Tutoring Lessons

Private Tutoring Lessons

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Tiffany summons the courage to seek help from her university professor for some private tutoring lessons in hope of improving her grade to pass his class. However, she may learn a whole lot more than she ever bargained.

Summary

Tiffany summons the courage to seek help from her university professor for some private tutoring lessons in hope of improving her grade to pass his class. However, she may learn a whole lot more than she ever bargained.

Content

Submitted: August 06, 2016

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Content

Submitted: August 05, 2016

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Outside the office, Tiffany Holiday noted that the door held a square of opaque glass.  Along the top, it spelled in black lettering:  Ron S. Write, Professor.  Although the light behind the door looked dim, she knocked and tried the doorknob anyway.  No one answered.  The door was locked.  The professor had not arrived yet then. 

The posted schedule beside the door informed that she was 30 minutes early.  The last thing Tiffany wanted to be was late with this man, and get on his bad side like poor Stephanie.  Yikes!  The girl looked like she was going to burst into tears when he kicked her out of class that last time she was late. 

Tiffany sat in one of the chairs in the hallway.  Not much activity appeared in that section of the building.  She fiddled with her car key and clicker nervously as she waited.  A debate in her mind took place on whether or not to walk back to the car and retrieve her phone.  Damnit, she left it charging, but wished that she had it now to keep her from being bored or falling asleep.  She didn’t dare risk leaving though.

Tiffany’s shift at the RV factory ended at 7 o’clock that Wednesday morning.  While she did not live far from work or school for that matter, she was dead tired.  She took a nap for about an hour and a half, showered and then threw on clean clothes she pulled from the dryer.  Her copper red hair was still wet when she touched it.  She never bothered to blow-dry it, fearing that it might make her late.  Slipping her hand between her thighs, she shivered a little feeling cold.  The air conditioner in the building felt like it was blowing directly on her wet head!

Her watch told her that it was almost time for the professor’s office hours to begin.  Tiffany hoped that he showed up.  Her friend Amy suggested that she give him a call to confirm his hours and not assume they were correct so that she didn’t waste her time.  Of course, Tiffany didn’t listen to her bestie.  She preferred to take her chances that Professor Write kept his hours as posted on her scheduled day-off.  After all, it was the best day for her to see him.

Typically, Tiffany slept in a little, did homework and ran errands.  The only other day off she had was Sundays.  Those were truly her fun days.  She typically slept ‘til noon.  Acting like a slug for the rest of Sunday, she lounged in nothing but her Victoria Secret PJs, drank wine coolers and watched Netflix until it was time for her to get ready for work.

Five ‘til the professor walked down the hall speaking on his cellphone.  By the time he reached Tiffany, he ended his call.  He replaced his phone with keys in his hand and unlocked the door.  She stood just as he opened the door and looked back at her with a smile. 

Tiffany was taken back by it.  This man never smiled.  Like ever.  What it did to his face amazed her, just like the fact he didn’t shave this morning.  Normally, he was clean-shaven, but there was an occasion when he didn’t.  Whenever that happened, Tiffany sort of melted inside.  On him, the gentle dusting of dark hairs along his jaw accentuated the softest lips on the planet.  These same lips now pulled into a sexy smile down at her. 

Tiffany shook her head at these wayward thoughts of hers.  Was she crazy?!  This was Professor Write!  The hard ass!  The blow hard!  None of that reiteration in her mind changed the reaction of her stomach fluttering with damn butterflies.  Butterflies?!  Shit!  How could she be into a guy who was meaner than a grizzly bear?  Perhaps he wasn’t?  Did she get that wrong?

“Good morning, Miss Holiday,” the professor greeted pleasantly.  He gestured before him with his small cup of hazelnut coffee by the smell.  “Won’t you come in?”

Tiffany nodded but in her continued confusion over her feelings failed to return his inviting smile.  The professor shut his door, and she stood before his desk.  She rubbed her arms of gooseflesh and looked to the ceiling because the temperature didn’t improve in his office.  Still rather cold.

Professor Write walked casually around his desk.  Settling his coffee and soft briefcase down, he sat.  He watched Tiffany sit, too.  His smile grew at the sight of her in a hunter green camisole with built in bra.  Not that she required such support.  It added more attention to her A-cups just like those hard nipples peeking through the silky material.  With it, she wore a short jean skirt where she crossed her slender legs wearing flip-flops.

“I know I don’t have an appointment,” Tiffany said with the slip of both her hands between her thighs and seemed to shiver. 

“Nor do you need one.  First come, first serve.”  He tilted his head at her.  “Are you cold?”

Tiffany nodded her wet head as she shivered.  He stood and shrugged off his blazer.  Approaching her, he ordered, “Stand up.”

Looking up at him puzzled, she obeyed.  The professor wrapped his blazer warm with his body around her.  She shivered again, but for a completely different reason.  It was the smell of him surrounding her.  Woods and spice.  Tiffany hissed and shifted on her feet because with those damn butterflies going she also felt heat gathering at the place where her thighs met.

“Thank you, sir,” Tiffany almost rasped.

The professor stared at her for a moment with his smile fading a little.  He did not move away from her and she still stood, too.

“Tell me what you want.”

Fuck me, her kit-kat purred.  Tiffany's eyes widened in shock.  A blush flooded her cheeks.  She stared precariously at his mouth longer than she should.  Tiffany imagined the softness of those lips against her breasts and her mouth. She tore her eyes away wishing she could control her thoughts of him so fresh and unwelcomed, too.  Damnit, the professor was her teacher!  Get a grip, you horny hussy!

“Wh-what?” Tiffany stammered because she knew that she didn’t hear him right.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he amended.

She cleared her throat with a nod.  “Ooh yes!  Right, uh, my grades.”

The professor rested his hands on his hips as he leaned against his desk.  “They’re not good.  My class is a mandatory one, crucial for graduation, you know.”

Tiffany glanced at him nibbling her lower lip.  The distress she felt furrowed her thin eyebrows.  “I know.  That’s why I’m here.  I’m really freaking out.  This has never happened to me before.”

“What?  Failing?”

She nodded with a long sigh.  “Yeah, and well, uh, like asking for help.  I’m trying to figure it out on my own, but it’s not working.”

“Good you came to that realization now before it’s too late.”

“Right.  So do you, uh …”  Tiffany swallowed because the smile on his face now wasn’t just friendly alone.  There was some hint of amusement.  The look in the professor’s eyes?  Not mean.  Intense.  It made her uncomfortable and so she dropped her eyes from his. 

That look?  It couldn’t mean what she thought it did, could it?  Tiffany shook her head, realizing she was imagining things.  She fiddled nervously with the ends of her long copper red hair that dried gradually.  No one ever made her feel so confused or intimidated.

“Do I what, Miss Holiday?” he asked as he reached to touch her arm since evidently her mind drifted again.  The flush of her cheeks had yet to leave and seemed to deepen when she jumped pushing the chair back that she just sat in.

“Whoa.  You’re awful jumpy, and I’m the only one with coffee this morning.”  He even took a sip of the small cup and smiled.

Tiffany stared into his eyes again and that smile did things to her.  He was very amused with her.  That was clear, but there was also something else at work.  No…he couldn’t be!  Professor Ron S. Write was not flirting with her!  She laughed nervously.

He rose his eyebrows at her.  “I’d offer you some, but you seem wired enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry.  It’s just lack of sleep,” she lied.

“Tell me how I can help?”

“With my sleep?” she asked puzzled.

The professor laughed this time, and it was a pleasant sound filling the room.  She shivered because it only brightened his smile toward her.  Tiffany felt herself stepping toward him.  She couldn’t help it.  As much as he intimidated her, he also turned her on.  The command of an older man.  The very allure of his control thrilled her, and knowing that he was experienced in so many things.  Things like how to blow the top off her head with pleasure maybe.  She had been with an older man before who did this when she was 19, and she had been hooked on them ever since. 

Tiffany wondered if the same hint of hair along his jaw, dusted his chest in a happy trail down to his pocket rocket.  While the button down shirt he wore had the top button undone she would need all unbuttoned to see.  Mmmmm.

“If anything, you need help staying awake in my class.  I’ve noticed you dozing off.”  The professor crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Oh, shit!  She knew that stance.  He’d noticed!  “I didn’t mean to!  I swear!”

Professor Write rose his hand chuckling more.  “I’m just playing with you.  Now, relax and tell me why you’re here.”

“Do you, uhmm, offer private tutoring lessons by chance?”

The professor considered her request and then his look darkened.  Tiffany’s stomach plummeted.  What the hell?  Suddenly her breath caught and her heart started ramping for a serious race.

“I think for you this can be arranged.”

Her eyes widened because she thought for sure he would say no.  “Ooh, really?”

“You seem serious about wanting to pass.  You are serious, aren’t you, Miss Holiday?”

Tiffany nodded with a brilliant smile.  “Of course!  I really need this, professor.  Please!  I would do whatever it takes.  No work is too hard.”

“Is that right?”

Tiffany nodded confidently.  “Yes.  Your work with me would not be in vain.  I would never waste your time.”

“Excellent.”  He clapped his hands.  “It’s rare to see such enthusiasm for study these days.”

“How soon can we start?”

“How about now?” he asked leaning his hands on either side of him on the desk.

“Well, uhmmm, it’s like I, uh…”

“Do you have another class?” he asked while reviewing her in the casual dress she wore.  In memory, he could not recall when he saw so much creamy freckled skin.  She normally wore her uniform from work that consisted of a light blue long-sleeved shirt, loose fitting jeans, and steel-toe boots.  Today, he could see her toes, which were painted a cute dark plum color.  Her copper red hair that was snatched into a ponytail every day he saw her, was loose today in drying waves down her back.

“No.”

“Then why not?”

“But what if you have more stu—“  Tiffany broke off what she sought to say when he pushed off the desk and stood before her. 

The professor gripped her by the shoulders as he said, “First come, first serve.  Remember?”

“Let me go get my note pad.  I don’t think I’m ready—“ she muttered, headed for the door.  Just as she opened it, she remembered she still wore his jacket.  No sooner than she handed it to him, his hands were on either side of her, shutting the door with a slam.  Startled she dropped his blazer and backed against the door.  He was so close she thought she could hear his heart beating as quickly as her own.

“Wh-what the fuck, pro—“ Tiffany gasped in fear but was cut off.

“Oh, I do think you know just what the fuck is going on here, Miss Holiday.  I thought you said that you wouldn’t waste my time and would do whatever it takes?”

That stern, controlling look she saw from class returned, and she couldn’t stop herself from trembling.  She pressed her thighs together and shocked herself at the amount of wetness soaking her panties right now! 

Professor Write saw her pulse leaping out of her neck and dove for it.  He caressed it with his tongue before sucking on the bit of her creamy skin.  He’d be damned if she didn’t taste like the cherries she smelled of.  He licked more skin.  She was too delicious to stop.

Tiffany’s pleasured gasp followed his hot lips down her throat.  Her hands cupped his head and fingers ran over the back of it.  She no longer felt cold.  Her blood boiled through her with him so near touching her as he did.

“Sir,” she panted rolling her eyes back at the hot, wet feel of his tongue running circles over her.  Tiffany’s brain still fought for reason against her body’s desire.  “Someone might see.”

“So?” he growled and pulled her slim hip against his hardness that grew painful in the restraint of his khakis. 

Tiffany moaned as she rolled her head back against the door.  She hooked her arms under his now, wanting to press closer to him.  “We can’t do this!”  Her brain still protested, but her body was ready and willing to yield.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want this.”  The professor kissed her then, and there was no question about what she wanted when she kissed him back.  Hard.

Tiffany felt like the man found some magic switch inside her body and instead of feeling intimidated by him as she usually did, she felt this overwhelming need to be fucked.  Her leg rose up his thigh.  Her hips grinded into that hardness of him making them both groan.  The professor pressed her more into the door this time snatching both her wrists in his hands and holding each beside her head.  His body pressed to hers, and his lips drew away.  His fevered eyes stared intensely at her own.

“Tell me what you want, Miss Holiday,” he demanded in a growl.

Tiffany blinked up at his heated eyes from those soft lips that she desired the taste of the sweetest bit of forbidden.  Her mind made the last effort to tell her that this was wrong.  Her body overrode that noise ultimately.  She was hungry for that scandalous mouth and hint of what he packaged below in those khakis.

“I need up-close and personal attention, professor.”

“I can deliver,” Professor Write assured and stepped away from her enough so that he roughly turned her from him and pressed her against the door once more.  His hands drew her damp hair aside, to lick the other side of her neck. Then his hands groped her titties.  A moan of pleasure escaped her.  Fingers pinched hard little nipples multiple times making her yelp at each assault.  His hand drew down her flat belly to her mound and then his hands were under her short skirt, hiking it up even more.  His teeth nipped at her shoulder.  The professor slipped by the leg band of her bikini panties seeking and finding her ready.

He hissed, “You’re gonna be my dirty girl aren’t you, Tiffany?”  He slowly slipped his finger within her overflowing honey pot.

Tiffany moaned with a tremble for he was still groping the one breast and sucking at her neck.  She failed to answer him so lost in the naughty feel of his possession.

“Lesson one:  If you wanna come, you better fucking answer me when I ask you a question.”  His fingers stopped moving and his mouth stopped tasting her.  Both withdrew from her body completely.  In response, she rubbed her backside against him and concentrated her ass right where he was hardest.  She sought to weaken his resolve, but he wouldn’t budge.  Damnit!

Tiffany heard the warning in his low tone, but felt the bulge in his khakis.  That mean, commanding tone was the same he used during class when displeased though.  Somehow, she wasn’t freaked out knowing his arousal to her.  Only feeling more turned on by the moment and apparently bold.  Tiffany questioned, “Oh, yeah?  And what are you gonna do if I don’t?”

Professor Write ripped her panties from her and slapped her twat twice with the palm of his hand.  He also gripped her by the throat as she squealed in her shock of pain but equal parts excitement.  “I’m gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours hard before I destroy this tight ass with my dick so deep you’ll taste it when I cum in you.”

Tiffany’s eyes went wide.  “Oh, no!  Please!  Not there!”  She’d only been fucked in the ass once before, and it hurt like hell.  There was no way she wanted any more of that!

The professor slapped her on the twat again.  Harder.  Tiffany squealed louder trying to wrench away from his touch.  She couldn’t free herself not that she really wanted to, because she was so very horny for him right now.  More honey gushed and leaked down her thigh.

Professor Write swore Tiffany was even wetter than ever against his lingering hand that cupped her smooth mound and lips.  “Yes, there,” he growled, “And this drippin’ bald cunt of yours before I’m done.  Lesson two:  I will not be denied any of your body.”  He slapped her twat again as if to prove it.  “Lesson three:  When you walk through this door, you are mine.”

Slapping her twat a final time, he released her and stepped away to roughly turn her to face him.  He shoved her down by her shoulders.  “Get on your knees.”

Tiffany shook her head, and he snatched down her top breaking one of the thin straps of her camisole.  She gasped in further shock but the look of disapproval on his face was frightening.  Oh, shit!  She was forgetting the rules!

The professor slapped each of her exposed little breasts with nipples like cherries.

“Ouch!  Ouch!  Shit!” Tiffany snapped and tried to cover them from further assault.  She lowered to her knees though on top of his blazer.

“Lesson four:  If you make me repeat myself, you will suffer the consequences.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tiffany whimpered and blinked up at him with her wide beautiful green eyes that looked as much aroused as confused or maybe a little frightened.

“Whatever it takes, remember?” the professor questioned and unzipped his fly.

###

Author's Note:  If you seek to read more of this story, then please check out Awoken's "The Professor and His Students" found at this link: https://www.booksiesilk.com/posting/awoken/the-professor-and-his-students-23082
Thanks for reading!

 


© Copyright 2017 Amy F. Turner. All rights reserved.

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