How I Spent my Summer Vacation
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During my second year at the university, I never set foot in the library, not even once, a record I was kinda proud of, truth be told. I was too busy with swim practice and trying to pork as many of the betties on the campus as I possibly could to worry about grades, ferchrissake – and I did an admirable job with the betties, too, believe you me.
In fact, I left a trail of satisfied women a mile long, the face of each and every one of them glazed like a fuckin’ jelly donut with a heapin’ helping of my hardy sperm.
And I took third at the nationals in the 100-yard breaststroke.
I like to think the two are kinda related.
Of course, I didn’t exactly pass all my classes – truth is, I didn’t pass any of them – and I sure as fuck didn’t want to lose my scholarship, so when coach called me in for a meeting I knew what was coming.
When I got to his office in the basement of the athletic complex, I stood there for a minute, waiting for him to say something. Then, without looking up, he asked, “You know what your GPA was this semester?”
I started to answer.
“It was shit!” he snarled, cutting me off. “Jesus Christ on a crutch, Andrews, it was like you didn’t even try. Zero point fucking zero. That’s dangerously close to a****l House territory, you moron. Did you even show up to any of your classes?”
I started to mumble something and he cut me off again.
“Shut the fuck up … from this moment on, you are officially suspended from the team, until you get your grades back to where they need to be. Which means,“ he continued, “that you are gonna make up the classes you blew off this year, in May term and in Summer School.
“Here,” he growled, handing me a piece of paper. “Call this number and they’ll set you up with a tutor. And Andrews, I think it goes without saying that you better not fuck this up, because if you do, you’re done, you understand? Done. And not just as a member of this team. I’m talking about your academic career, such as it is at this find institution, coming to an end.”
I looked at the floor.
“You think I’m bullshitting you? I wish to Christ I was … I’ve got the A.D. so far up my ass he can taste my wife’s twat when I go down on her. I can’t protect you on this one, Bobby. You don’t pull at least a C average this summer, by September you’ll be wearing a paper hat and asking people if they wanna supersize that, quicker than shit, I shit you not.”
“I got it, coach. I got it.”
“You better fucking have it, pal. Are we clear?”
“Yeah …”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you. I said, are we clear?”
“Yes, sir. We are. Like Windex.”
“Good, now get the fuck outta here. The A.D.’s gonna be here in ten minutes and I’ve gotta explain to him why none of you little fucks are graduating on time. See you at practice.”
***
When I got home that night, I called the number on the piece of paper the coach had given me. Someone answered on the third ring – and she sounded fucking hot.
“Hi, uh … is this, uh … Alicia?”
“Yes, it is – and let me guess,” she said slowly, enunciating each word in a throaty voice that grabbed me right by the nads. I figured that she had to be at least 40. “This must be my new student, Robert, the swimmer.”
“Yes, well, umm, I’m taking some classes this summer and it’s really important that I pass so coach gave me your number and told me you’d be able to help me get through them, that you could tutor me and help me get through this summer.”
“Oh, did he?” she replied. “Well, we’ll have to see about that. I am available to tutor you, but let’s get this straight right now: it’s up to me, not you, whether or not we proceed and I’m really not interested in wasting my time with some jock who thinks he’s God’s gift to the world and can’t understand why everyone else doesn’t see that, too. There are plenty of other students that need help as well, Robert, plenty of students who are serious about their studies.”
“I understand that, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” I told her, trying to sound as sincere as I possibly could.
I couldn’t tell whether she bought it or not, but she continued: “That sounds promising, but first, we’ll need to meet so I can evaluate you and make a decision about whether or not you are worth my time. If you are, we’ll set up a schedule and go from there. If not, well, then you’re on your own. Are we clear?”
“Yeah …”
“I’m sorry, we must have a bad connection. I didn’t hear you. I said, are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like Windex.”
“Good. I’ll meet you tomorrow in the lobby of the library at 11 a.m. Don’t be late.”
“Umm … how will I recognize you?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll recognize you … oh, and Robert?”
“Yes?”
“I cannot emphasize this enough: I will not tolerate tardiness.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Yes, ma’am, indeed – bitch.
***
At 11 a.m. sharp, I walked into the library. There were a few other students there – some like me who were there because they had to be and a few Poindexters who were clearly there because they wanted to be.
I tossed my backpack on to one of the leather couches in a corner and copped a squat.
Now, let’s see … which one of these losers is her? That betty with her nose buried in that book over there? Nahh … she’s not even paying attention. If she were supposed to be meeting someone here, she’d have looked up and checked me out by now … nice tits, though …
Fifteen minutes later, she still hadn’t shown and I was starting to get more than a little pissed off.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I glanced at the text:
Robert, I apologize for my failure to reach out to you earlier, but I’m going to have to cancel our meeting. Something very important has come up. We’ll have to reschedule. Come by 188 Main St., Apt. 4, tomorrow evening at 7 p.m.
I stalked out of the building, swearing under my breath at the fucking shit-for-brains “tutor” coach had hooked me up with. I never even noticed a librarian behind the counter, a good-looking older woman with dyed red hair pulled back and pinned up in a tight bun, following me with her eyes as I headed for the door.
When I got outside, I leaned against a lamppost and texted her back:
Alisha, sorry for the confusion, but I can’t make it tomorrow evening. That’s why we agreed to meet this morning. I’ll check back with you soon about rescheduling. Thanks, Rob.
Before I could get my phone back in my pocket, it vibrated again. She’d answered:
Robert, my name is Alicia, not Alisha. Please make a note of it. Second, I would hate to have to report to your coach that you were too busy to meet with me, but your point is well taken. If you can’t make it tomorrow evening, then we’ll meet today. I’ll expect you at 2 p.m. this afternoon at the same location and please know that this meeting is not optional. Are we clear?”
I guess we are. I texted back:
Like Windex.
*****
At 2 p.m. sharp, I rang the doorbell. She lived in one of those older houses that had once been the elegant home of some faculty member or administrator back in the ‘20s or ‘30s, a big house with large rooms and high ceilings that had been carved up by some later owner into a bunch of smaller apartments and single rooms, and rented to students.
It may have been a beautiful place once, but from the outside it sure looked like a fucking dump now: a dirty, white clapboard house with some sort of green moss starting to grow on the exterior where the water hit the building when the gutters overflowed in the spring. The roof had moss growing on it, the lawn was completely overgrown and the trees were out of control. Two of the windows in the front were broken and the steps creaked under my foot as I walked up to the front door.
Before I could ring the bell, I heard her feet on the stairs behind the door. It swung open and there she was. The first thing I noticed was her hair, dyed red and pinned up into a severe and tightly wound bun on the top of her head, and the feeling that I’d seen her somewhere before.
My eyes travelled the length of her body, taking in every aspect of her countenance. She was startlingly attractive, projecting a muscular sexuality that spoke of hours in the gym – or maybe the pool – and seemed just barely restrained.
She wore a translucent white shirt with iridescent buttons that called out the lacy black bra she wore underneath and a tight, grey skirt that ended at mid-thigh, framing her firm and shapely ass up just right. I traced along her lithe and muscular legs, sheathed in black fishnet stockings, from her luscious thighs down past her gracefully powerful calfs to her pedicured feet, shod in four-inch stilettos that wrapped around her ankles in thin, black leather straps.
She had a sharp and angular face, set with piercing blue eyes and when she looked at me, I could tell she knew exactly what I was thinking as my eyes roamed over her tight, little body – and I was thinking how good it would feel to undo that hair and bury my fingers in it while I bounced my sperm off her tonsils.
“Well, Robert, are you going to come in, or are you just going stand there on my front porch gaping?”
Somehow I managed to look her in the eye. I stepped inside and she closed the door behind me.
“Right this way,” she said, starting up the stairs. “My studio is on the second floor.”
I followed her up, watching her tight, little ass swing from side to side as she took the stairs in her heels. I imagined what it would be like to bend her over right there on the stairs, spread her cheeks and bury my tongue as far up her wet slit as I could and lick her gently from clit to asshole.
At the top of the stairs, she opened a door, glanced with a smirk at the obvious bulge in my pants, and ushered me in to her studio: a large room with high ceilings, filled with tasteful, vintage furniture and two big, soft couches,; lots of art and tapestries on the walls, hand-woven carpets on the floor, a shitload of books and an audio system that included a turntable, of all things. An enormous collection of vinyl records filled a huge shelving unit that took up nearly an entire wall.
“Please, sit down,” she said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
I declined the beverage and slid into one of the couches. Jesus, it was comfortable. I felt like it was going to swallow me whole.
“Well, I’m going to have a cup of tea,” she said, disappearing through a door across the room.
She was back within two minutes and placed her cup on a marble-topped end table before she sat down next to me, a cushion between the two of us on the couch. She gracefully crossed her legs, brought the teacup to her lips, looked over the rim at me and asked, “So, Robert, what can I do for you?” before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.
“Well,” I started, “I think you know, I need some help passing some summer school classes or I’m going to lose my scholarship and …
“Yes, yes, I know all about that” she said dismissively with a wave of her hand. “You’ve got a couple of English classes, a U.S. history seminar and a relatively basic math class this summer, but that’s really not the problem, is it?”
“It isn’t?”
What the fuck kind of tutoring service is this? Who is this chick?
“No, Robert, it isn’t. I’ve read your file … “
I interjected: “Wait a minute – what? You’ve read my file? How?”
“Your coach was kind enough to share it with me; you’ll find we share many things Robert. It’s standard operating procedure in cases like yours – and as I was saying, academics are not your problem. The fact is, you’re not stupid. Your SAT scores were way above average, your high school record shows similar achievement, and the results from your first year here at the university confirm that you can not only handle college-level work, you could easily be one of the top students – if you applied yourself.
“But you don’t, Robert, you don’t apply yourself, at least not to anything that matters, and do you know why? Because, Robert, you are an asshole. You’re gifted. You’ve been blessed by God with both intelligence and athletic ability and until now, things have been easy for you. As a result, you’ve never really faced any significant obstacles; you’ve never had to deal with something you couldn’t overcome by virtue of the natural abilities with which you have been so richly endowed. In short, you feel a sense of entitlement to which you are, in fact unentitled.
“And that is a problem.”
She continued, crossing her legs hypnotically and paging through my file, which she’d suddenly produced in a manila folder from somewhere: “Instead of applying yourself to the things that do matter, you’ve wallowed in a lifestyle of nearly constant debauchery, dallying with one young girl after another and staggering through alcohol-soaked weekends that would have killed other, lesser men.”
She was right, of course, but still … I could not believe what I was hearing.
Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?
She continued: “But those days, Robert, are over. That is why your coach sent you to me. I’ve been working with him on cases like yours for quite some time now, and when he finds himself with a particularly tough nut to crack, like yourself, he calls me and I help things along.”
Leaning closer, she said with quiet authority: “And make no mistake, Robert, that is exactly the situation: We will crack that nut.”
With that, she told me to stand up.
“Good,” she said, when I was positioned where she wanted me, directly in front of her. “Now, take your shirt off, and drop your pants. Let’s see if the endowment with which you’ve been so richly blessed in other areas extends to your manhood.”
What? What kind of tutoring is this?
As if she read my mind, she told me: “As I said, Robert, your problems are not a lack of academic skills. Rather, they extend from a lack of focus that pervades virtually every area of your life. We are going to improve your focus, Robert.”
And then, almost whispering: “Now, do as I say, and drop … your … pants.”
“Good,” she said a few seconds later, gasping slightly when she saw my fat meat lozenge dangling just an arm’s length from her face.
I stepped forward, thinking she’d wrap her sexy lips around it, but instead she extended her arm and cupped my balls, rolling them in the gently in the palm of her hand and pulling on my sac. My hog started to grow, working up to its full size under her firm and knowing touch – and she hadn’t even touched my shaft yet.
Jesus, God in Heaven … she's fucking amazing.
She released my balls and looked up at me with her lips slightly apart, her pink tongue sliding slowly across her gleaming white teeth, and leaned back on the couch. She hiked skirt up over her waist, thrusting her hips up to get it past her the swell of her ass, and spread her legs.
Of course, she wore no underwear and her snatch was shaved smooth. I watched her flick one finger lightly over her clit, and I could hear her voice begin to thicken with lust as she asked me if I liked watching her play with herself.
She was, at that moment, the sexiest thing I had ever seen, displaying herself to me with utter depravity, watching me watching her with her legs spread wide so I could see her meaty cunt lips as she played with herself in front of me.
But I couldn’t respond to her question, my voice was gone, lost in a wave of pure, primal, sweaty fuck drive.
My engorged cock spoke for me.
“Stroke it,” she said in that husky voice of hers, nodding at my meat and tossing a tube of lube at me. “Show me how much you like my hot cunt, Robert, and imagine what it would feel like to slowly bury your cock in my tight hole, inch by fucking inch, until your balls slap up against my asshole. Show me, Robert … but don’t get carried away. I will instruct you and you will follow my instructions to the letter. Remember, I am in control here, not you.”
As she spoke, something about how my scholarship and my place on the team couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this perverted old bitch’s filthy instructions flitted through my mind, but it was gone before it took root. My brain was crippled with lust and I continued to pump my cock, my eyes glued to her gorgeous pussy.
As I watched, she slowly pulled a glistening finger from inside of her and slipped it into her mouth. I swear to Jesus, God and all the Saints that I almost shot my load right there, watching her tongue play over her moistened finger.
I squeezed a ribbon of the clear gel across my cock like I was slapping mustard on a brat at the ballpark. Jesus, it felt good, stroking my greasy cock for her.
“Am I doing it right?” I asked her, and I knew I was because her eyes were locked on my hand, sliding up and down my slick pole, and I could hear her breathing becoming louder as she continued to play with herself, punctuated every so often by sharp little gasps as she watched me thrust my hips and fuck my greasy fist.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes … just like that.”
She leaned back in the couch and threw her legs even further apart, spreading her pussy lips with both hands. I could smell the thick, heavy scent of her wet snatch as she slipped two fingers from each hand inside herself and worked it wide open, bracing her clit between her thumbs.
She sat up and scooted forward on the couch, sitting on edge of the sofa in front of me. Her smooth slit, slick with her juices, was just inches from my cock. u*********sly, my hand started to speed up and I could feel my nuts starting to tighten like I was gonna blow my load.
“Uh, uh, uh, Robert, don’t you come yet,” she whispered seductively into my ear. “We’re just getting started. Take your hand from your cock.”
With great and growing reluctance, I did. It stood out straight, thrusting upward, with a bead of precum glistening from the tip. She wiped it with her forefinger and brought it to her mouth. Looking me in the eye, she licked it off, leaned forward and licked my lips. Her breath smelled like sex.
“Now, Robert, get on your knees, right here between my legs, and position the head of your cock at the entrance to my cunt.”
I did as she said.
“Now, touch the head of your cock to my cunt, just the tip. Do not put in, Robert. That is not going to happen … that’s it, just keep the tip of your greasy little cock right there.”
My piss slit touched her snatch, and she grabbed my shaft in her tiny hand and rubbed the head over her clit, looking directly into my eyes as she did it. I met her gaze and when my aching cock slid down toward her hole, I instinctively thrust forward, trying to bury it inside her.
She pushed me and I almost lost my balance.
“Did I tell you to put your cock inside me, Robert?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why did you try? Concentrate, Robert: focus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Alright, let’s try it again.”
Once more, I placed the tip of my cock against the entrance to her hole. It was agony and ecstasy at the same time, and it was driving me fucking crazy. All I could think about was how fucking good it would feel to drive it home and fuck this crazy bitch.
“Now,” she said slowly, grinding her pussy against the tip of my cock without once letting it penetrate her. “We’re going to start the clock. You are going to jack off for me, Robert, right here, with the head of your cock touching my cunt, at my command. When I tell you to stroke, you stroke. When I tell you to speed up, you speed up and when I tell you to stop, you damn well better stop. If you can last ten minutes, I will let you have your orgasm. If not, well, who knows when you’ll cum again … Are we clear?”
I grunted, looking down at the head of the head of my cock wedged up against her swollen slit.
“I said, are we clear?”
“Like Windex,” I whispered, barely able to think straight.
She reached behind her and grabbed her iPhone. I watched her set the timer for 10 minutes and place it on the end table, next to her teacup.
“Alright, Robert, begin.”
I did. The clock ticked down, but it seemed as if time stood still and when I looked up there was still eight minutes left.
“Stop, and remove your hand,” she commanded.
I did.
“Now, Robert, without using your hand, place the tip of your cock inside me – just the tip, Robert, and only the tip.”
I pushed forward, feeling just a bit of my cockhead slide into her hot and holy cunt. I swear to God, it took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from burying it to the hilt in her right then and there.
But I didn’t.
Instead, she pushed forward so that the entire head of my cock slipped inside her her; she grabbed my shaft, held it in place and began squeezing the tip of my cock with the muscles of her magnificent pussy, tightening and releasing, in a slow but steady rhythm. I looked down and the room fell away until there was nothing left but the exquisite sensation of her kneading the head of my cock with her muscular twat and her hand gripping my shaft nice and tight.
I knew I could not hold out much longer. Mercifully, the timer went off and she pushed me away. My painfully erect cock slid noiselessly out of her.
She laid back on the couch and spread her legs again, holding open the lips of her tender hole with both hands as I knelt in front of her, cock rigid and balls swollen from the psychotic edging she’d just put me through.
“Congratulations, Robert. You have earned your reward. You may finish jerking off, but when you cum, I want you to shoot your sperm on my cunt, Robert. Not in it, on it. I want to see your cum.”
I did as I was told. I grabbed my turgid meat and jacked off for her. It did not take more than three or four pumps before my nuts tightened and my cock erupted, spattering thick gobs of jizz onto her swollen pussy. My cum ran down between her cunt lips and flowed into her open hole, and some of it stained the cushion beneath her.
I was still jacking my cock, coaxing the final droplets of cum out my balls, when her iPhone jittered on the table next to her. Reflexively, I looked at the thing, only to see Coach’s smiling face looking back at me from her caller ID.
What the fuck?
She picked it up: “Yes, dear? Yes, we’re just finishing up now. Yes … Robert’s done quite well this afternoon, better than I expected. Yes … Yes, he’s just about to have something to eat now and then he’ll be on his way. Yes … I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I love you, too.”
Putting the phone down on the table, she slid toward me and laced her hands around the back of my head, playing with my hair.
I gaped at her, not knowing what to say or do.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” she said, sarcastically.
She leaned back on the couch and pulled my head down toward her jizz-slathered hole.
“Now be a dear and clean up your mess so I can get home to my husband, Robert, and don’t forget to be here tomorrow at the same time. You did well today, but we have a lot of ground to cover in the coming weeks and months, my boy, a lot of ground.”
I got to work.
During my second year at the university, I never set foot in the library, not even once, a record I was kinda proud of, truth be told. I was too busy with swim practice and trying to pork as many of the betties on the campus as I possibly could to worry about grades, ferchrissake – and I did an admirable job with the betties, too, believe you me.
In fact, I left a trail of satisfied women a mile long, the face of each and every one of them glazed like a fuckin’ jelly donut with a heapin’ helping of my hardy sperm.
And I took third at the nationals in the 100-yard breaststroke.
I like to think the two are kinda related.
Of course, I didn’t exactly pass all my classes – truth is, I didn’t pass any of them – and I sure as fuck didn’t want to lose my scholarship, so when coach called me in for a meeting I knew what was coming.
When I got to his office in the basement of the athletic complex, I stood there for a minute, waiting for him to say something. Then, without looking up, he asked, “You know what your GPA was this semester?”
I started to answer.
“It was shit!” he snarled, cutting me off. “Jesus Christ on a crutch, Andrews, it was like you didn’t even try. Zero point fucking zero. That’s dangerously close to a****l House territory, you moron. Did you even show up to any of your classes?”
I started to mumble something and he cut me off again.
“Shut the fuck up … from this moment on, you are officially suspended from the team, until you get your grades back to where they need to be. Which means,“ he continued, “that you are gonna make up the classes you blew off this year, in May term and in Summer School.
“Here,” he growled, handing me a piece of paper. “Call this number and they’ll set you up with a tutor. And Andrews, I think it goes without saying that you better not fuck this up, because if you do, you’re done, you understand? Done. And not just as a member of this team. I’m talking about your academic career, such as it is at this find institution, coming to an end.”
I looked at the floor.
“You think I’m bullshitting you? I wish to Christ I was … I’ve got the A.D. so far up my ass he can taste my wife’s twat when I go down on her. I can’t protect you on this one, Bobby. You don’t pull at least a C average this summer, by September you’ll be wearing a paper hat and asking people if they wanna supersize that, quicker than shit, I shit you not.”
“I got it, coach. I got it.”
“You better fucking have it, pal. Are we clear?”
“Yeah …”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you. I said, are we clear?”
“Yes, sir. We are. Like Windex.”
“Good, now get the fuck outta here. The A.D.’s gonna be here in ten minutes and I’ve gotta explain to him why none of you little fucks are graduating on time. See you at practice.”
***
When I got home that night, I called the number on the piece of paper the coach had given me. Someone answered on the third ring – and she sounded fucking hot.
“Hi, uh … is this, uh … Alicia?”
“Yes, it is – and let me guess,” she said slowly, enunciating each word in a throaty voice that grabbed me right by the nads. I figured that she had to be at least 40. “This must be my new student, Robert, the swimmer.”
“Yes, well, umm, I’m taking some classes this summer and it’s really important that I pass so coach gave me your number and told me you’d be able to help me get through them, that you could tutor me and help me get through this summer.”
“Oh, did he?” she replied. “Well, we’ll have to see about that. I am available to tutor you, but let’s get this straight right now: it’s up to me, not you, whether or not we proceed and I’m really not interested in wasting my time with some jock who thinks he’s God’s gift to the world and can’t understand why everyone else doesn’t see that, too. There are plenty of other students that need help as well, Robert, plenty of students who are serious about their studies.”
“I understand that, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” I told her, trying to sound as sincere as I possibly could.
I couldn’t tell whether she bought it or not, but she continued: “That sounds promising, but first, we’ll need to meet so I can evaluate you and make a decision about whether or not you are worth my time. If you are, we’ll set up a schedule and go from there. If not, well, then you’re on your own. Are we clear?”
“Yeah …”
“I’m sorry, we must have a bad connection. I didn’t hear you. I said, are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like Windex.”
“Good. I’ll meet you tomorrow in the lobby of the library at 11 a.m. Don’t be late.”
“Umm … how will I recognize you?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll recognize you … oh, and Robert?”
“Yes?”
“I cannot emphasize this enough: I will not tolerate tardiness.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Yes, ma’am, indeed – bitch.
***
At 11 a.m. sharp, I walked into the library. There were a few other students there – some like me who were there because they had to be and a few Poindexters who were clearly there because they wanted to be.
I tossed my backpack on to one of the leather couches in a corner and copped a squat.
Now, let’s see … which one of these losers is her? That betty with her nose buried in that book over there? Nahh … she’s not even paying attention. If she were supposed to be meeting someone here, she’d have looked up and checked me out by now … nice tits, though …
Fifteen minutes later, she still hadn’t shown and I was starting to get more than a little pissed off.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I glanced at the text:
Robert, I apologize for my failure to reach out to you earlier, but I’m going to have to cancel our meeting. Something very important has come up. We’ll have to reschedule. Come by 188 Main St., Apt. 4, tomorrow evening at 7 p.m.
I stalked out of the building, swearing under my breath at the fucking shit-for-brains “tutor” coach had hooked me up with. I never even noticed a librarian behind the counter, a good-looking older woman with dyed red hair pulled back and pinned up in a tight bun, following me with her eyes as I headed for the door.
When I got outside, I leaned against a lamppost and texted her back:
Alisha, sorry for the confusion, but I can’t make it tomorrow evening. That’s why we agreed to meet this morning. I’ll check back with you soon about rescheduling. Thanks, Rob.
Before I could get my phone back in my pocket, it vibrated again. She’d answered:
Robert, my name is Alicia, not Alisha. Please make a note of it. Second, I would hate to have to report to your coach that you were too busy to meet with me, but your point is well taken. If you can’t make it tomorrow evening, then we’ll meet today. I’ll expect you at 2 p.m. this afternoon at the same location and please know that this meeting is not optional. Are we clear?”
I guess we are. I texted back:
Like Windex.
*****
At 2 p.m. sharp, I rang the doorbell. She lived in one of those older houses that had once been the elegant home of some faculty member or administrator back in the ‘20s or ‘30s, a big house with large rooms and high ceilings that had been carved up by some later owner into a bunch of smaller apartments and single rooms, and rented to students.
It may have been a beautiful place once, but from the outside it sure looked like a fucking dump now: a dirty, white clapboard house with some sort of green moss starting to grow on the exterior where the water hit the building when the gutters overflowed in the spring. The roof had moss growing on it, the lawn was completely overgrown and the trees were out of control. Two of the windows in the front were broken and the steps creaked under my foot as I walked up to the front door.
Before I could ring the bell, I heard her feet on the stairs behind the door. It swung open and there she was. The first thing I noticed was her hair, dyed red and pinned up into a severe and tightly wound bun on the top of her head, and the feeling that I’d seen her somewhere before.
My eyes travelled the length of her body, taking in every aspect of her countenance. She was startlingly attractive, projecting a muscular sexuality that spoke of hours in the gym – or maybe the pool – and seemed just barely restrained.
She wore a translucent white shirt with iridescent buttons that called out the lacy black bra she wore underneath and a tight, grey skirt that ended at mid-thigh, framing her firm and shapely ass up just right. I traced along her lithe and muscular legs, sheathed in black fishnet stockings, from her luscious thighs down past her gracefully powerful calfs to her pedicured feet, shod in four-inch stilettos that wrapped around her ankles in thin, black leather straps.
She had a sharp and angular face, set with piercing blue eyes and when she looked at me, I could tell she knew exactly what I was thinking as my eyes roamed over her tight, little body – and I was thinking how good it would feel to undo that hair and bury my fingers in it while I bounced my sperm off her tonsils.
“Well, Robert, are you going to come in, or are you just going stand there on my front porch gaping?”
Somehow I managed to look her in the eye. I stepped inside and she closed the door behind me.
“Right this way,” she said, starting up the stairs. “My studio is on the second floor.”
I followed her up, watching her tight, little ass swing from side to side as she took the stairs in her heels. I imagined what it would be like to bend her over right there on the stairs, spread her cheeks and bury my tongue as far up her wet slit as I could and lick her gently from clit to asshole.
At the top of the stairs, she opened a door, glanced with a smirk at the obvious bulge in my pants, and ushered me in to her studio: a large room with high ceilings, filled with tasteful, vintage furniture and two big, soft couches,; lots of art and tapestries on the walls, hand-woven carpets on the floor, a shitload of books and an audio system that included a turntable, of all things. An enormous collection of vinyl records filled a huge shelving unit that took up nearly an entire wall.
“Please, sit down,” she said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
I declined the beverage and slid into one of the couches. Jesus, it was comfortable. I felt like it was going to swallow me whole.
“Well, I’m going to have a cup of tea,” she said, disappearing through a door across the room.
She was back within two minutes and placed her cup on a marble-topped end table before she sat down next to me, a cushion between the two of us on the couch. She gracefully crossed her legs, brought the teacup to her lips, looked over the rim at me and asked, “So, Robert, what can I do for you?” before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.
“Well,” I started, “I think you know, I need some help passing some summer school classes or I’m going to lose my scholarship and …
“Yes, yes, I know all about that” she said dismissively with a wave of her hand. “You’ve got a couple of English classes, a U.S. history seminar and a relatively basic math class this summer, but that’s really not the problem, is it?”
“It isn’t?”
What the fuck kind of tutoring service is this? Who is this chick?
“No, Robert, it isn’t. I’ve read your file … “
I interjected: “Wait a minute – what? You’ve read my file? How?”
“Your coach was kind enough to share it with me; you’ll find we share many things Robert. It’s standard operating procedure in cases like yours – and as I was saying, academics are not your problem. The fact is, you’re not stupid. Your SAT scores were way above average, your high school record shows similar achievement, and the results from your first year here at the university confirm that you can not only handle college-level work, you could easily be one of the top students – if you applied yourself.
“But you don’t, Robert, you don’t apply yourself, at least not to anything that matters, and do you know why? Because, Robert, you are an asshole. You’re gifted. You’ve been blessed by God with both intelligence and athletic ability and until now, things have been easy for you. As a result, you’ve never really faced any significant obstacles; you’ve never had to deal with something you couldn’t overcome by virtue of the natural abilities with which you have been so richly endowed. In short, you feel a sense of entitlement to which you are, in fact unentitled.
“And that is a problem.”
She continued, crossing her legs hypnotically and paging through my file, which she’d suddenly produced in a manila folder from somewhere: “Instead of applying yourself to the things that do matter, you’ve wallowed in a lifestyle of nearly constant debauchery, dallying with one young girl after another and staggering through alcohol-soaked weekends that would have killed other, lesser men.”
She was right, of course, but still … I could not believe what I was hearing.
Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?
She continued: “But those days, Robert, are over. That is why your coach sent you to me. I’ve been working with him on cases like yours for quite some time now, and when he finds himself with a particularly tough nut to crack, like yourself, he calls me and I help things along.”
Leaning closer, she said with quiet authority: “And make no mistake, Robert, that is exactly the situation: We will crack that nut.”
With that, she told me to stand up.
“Good,” she said, when I was positioned where she wanted me, directly in front of her. “Now, take your shirt off, and drop your pants. Let’s see if the endowment with which you’ve been so richly blessed in other areas extends to your manhood.”
What? What kind of tutoring is this?
As if she read my mind, she told me: “As I said, Robert, your problems are not a lack of academic skills. Rather, they extend from a lack of focus that pervades virtually every area of your life. We are going to improve your focus, Robert.”
And then, almost whispering: “Now, do as I say, and drop … your … pants.”
“Good,” she said a few seconds later, gasping slightly when she saw my fat meat lozenge dangling just an arm’s length from her face.
I stepped forward, thinking she’d wrap her sexy lips around it, but instead she extended her arm and cupped my balls, rolling them in the gently in the palm of her hand and pulling on my sac. My hog started to grow, working up to its full size under her firm and knowing touch – and she hadn’t even touched my shaft yet.
Jesus, God in Heaven … she's fucking amazing.
She released my balls and looked up at me with her lips slightly apart, her pink tongue sliding slowly across her gleaming white teeth, and leaned back on the couch. She hiked skirt up over her waist, thrusting her hips up to get it past her the swell of her ass, and spread her legs.
Of course, she wore no underwear and her snatch was shaved smooth. I watched her flick one finger lightly over her clit, and I could hear her voice begin to thicken with lust as she asked me if I liked watching her play with herself.
She was, at that moment, the sexiest thing I had ever seen, displaying herself to me with utter depravity, watching me watching her with her legs spread wide so I could see her meaty cunt lips as she played with herself in front of me.
But I couldn’t respond to her question, my voice was gone, lost in a wave of pure, primal, sweaty fuck drive.
My engorged cock spoke for me.
“Stroke it,” she said in that husky voice of hers, nodding at my meat and tossing a tube of lube at me. “Show me how much you like my hot cunt, Robert, and imagine what it would feel like to slowly bury your cock in my tight hole, inch by fucking inch, until your balls slap up against my asshole. Show me, Robert … but don’t get carried away. I will instruct you and you will follow my instructions to the letter. Remember, I am in control here, not you.”
As she spoke, something about how my scholarship and my place on the team couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this perverted old bitch’s filthy instructions flitted through my mind, but it was gone before it took root. My brain was crippled with lust and I continued to pump my cock, my eyes glued to her gorgeous pussy.
As I watched, she slowly pulled a glistening finger from inside of her and slipped it into her mouth. I swear to Jesus, God and all the Saints that I almost shot my load right there, watching her tongue play over her moistened finger.
I squeezed a ribbon of the clear gel across my cock like I was slapping mustard on a brat at the ballpark. Jesus, it felt good, stroking my greasy cock for her.
“Am I doing it right?” I asked her, and I knew I was because her eyes were locked on my hand, sliding up and down my slick pole, and I could hear her breathing becoming louder as she continued to play with herself, punctuated every so often by sharp little gasps as she watched me thrust my hips and fuck my greasy fist.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes … just like that.”
She leaned back in the couch and threw her legs even further apart, spreading her pussy lips with both hands. I could smell the thick, heavy scent of her wet snatch as she slipped two fingers from each hand inside herself and worked it wide open, bracing her clit between her thumbs.
She sat up and scooted forward on the couch, sitting on edge of the sofa in front of me. Her smooth slit, slick with her juices, was just inches from my cock. u*********sly, my hand started to speed up and I could feel my nuts starting to tighten like I was gonna blow my load.
“Uh, uh, uh, Robert, don’t you come yet,” she whispered seductively into my ear. “We’re just getting started. Take your hand from your cock.”
With great and growing reluctance, I did. It stood out straight, thrusting upward, with a bead of precum glistening from the tip. She wiped it with her forefinger and brought it to her mouth. Looking me in the eye, she licked it off, leaned forward and licked my lips. Her breath smelled like sex.
“Now, Robert, get on your knees, right here between my legs, and position the head of your cock at the entrance to my cunt.”
I did as she said.
“Now, touch the head of your cock to my cunt, just the tip. Do not put in, Robert. That is not going to happen … that’s it, just keep the tip of your greasy little cock right there.”
My piss slit touched her snatch, and she grabbed my shaft in her tiny hand and rubbed the head over her clit, looking directly into my eyes as she did it. I met her gaze and when my aching cock slid down toward her hole, I instinctively thrust forward, trying to bury it inside her.
She pushed me and I almost lost my balance.
“Did I tell you to put your cock inside me, Robert?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why did you try? Concentrate, Robert: focus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Alright, let’s try it again.”
Once more, I placed the tip of my cock against the entrance to her hole. It was agony and ecstasy at the same time, and it was driving me fucking crazy. All I could think about was how fucking good it would feel to drive it home and fuck this crazy bitch.
“Now,” she said slowly, grinding her pussy against the tip of my cock without once letting it penetrate her. “We’re going to start the clock. You are going to jack off for me, Robert, right here, with the head of your cock touching my cunt, at my command. When I tell you to stroke, you stroke. When I tell you to speed up, you speed up and when I tell you to stop, you damn well better stop. If you can last ten minutes, I will let you have your orgasm. If not, well, who knows when you’ll cum again … Are we clear?”
I grunted, looking down at the head of the head of my cock wedged up against her swollen slit.
“I said, are we clear?”
“Like Windex,” I whispered, barely able to think straight.
She reached behind her and grabbed her iPhone. I watched her set the timer for 10 minutes and place it on the end table, next to her teacup.
“Alright, Robert, begin.”
I did. The clock ticked down, but it seemed as if time stood still and when I looked up there was still eight minutes left.
“Stop, and remove your hand,” she commanded.
I did.
“Now, Robert, without using your hand, place the tip of your cock inside me – just the tip, Robert, and only the tip.”
I pushed forward, feeling just a bit of my cockhead slide into her hot and holy cunt. I swear to God, it took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from burying it to the hilt in her right then and there.
But I didn’t.
Instead, she pushed forward so that the entire head of my cock slipped inside her her; she grabbed my shaft, held it in place and began squeezing the tip of my cock with the muscles of her magnificent pussy, tightening and releasing, in a slow but steady rhythm. I looked down and the room fell away until there was nothing left but the exquisite sensation of her kneading the head of my cock with her muscular twat and her hand gripping my shaft nice and tight.
I knew I could not hold out much longer. Mercifully, the timer went off and she pushed me away. My painfully erect cock slid noiselessly out of her.
She laid back on the couch and spread her legs again, holding open the lips of her tender hole with both hands as I knelt in front of her, cock rigid and balls swollen from the psychotic edging she’d just put me through.
“Congratulations, Robert. You have earned your reward. You may finish jerking off, but when you cum, I want you to shoot your sperm on my cunt, Robert. Not in it, on it. I want to see your cum.”
I did as I was told. I grabbed my turgid meat and jacked off for her. It did not take more than three or four pumps before my nuts tightened and my cock erupted, spattering thick gobs of jizz onto her swollen pussy. My cum ran down between her cunt lips and flowed into her open hole, and some of it stained the cushion beneath her.
I was still jacking my cock, coaxing the final droplets of cum out my balls, when her iPhone jittered on the table next to her. Reflexively, I looked at the thing, only to see Coach’s smiling face looking back at me from her caller ID.
What the fuck?
She picked it up: “Yes, dear? Yes, we’re just finishing up now. Yes … Robert’s done quite well this afternoon, better than I expected. Yes … Yes, he’s just about to have something to eat now and then he’ll be on his way. Yes … I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I love you, too.”
Putting the phone down on the table, she slid toward me and laced her hands around the back of my head, playing with my hair.
I gaped at her, not knowing what to say or do.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” she said, sarcastically.
She leaned back on the couch and pulled my head down toward her jizz-slathered hole.
“Now be a dear and clean up your mess so I can get home to my husband, Robert, and don’t forget to be here tomorrow at the same time. You did well today, but we have a lot of ground to cover in the coming weeks and months, my boy, a lot of ground.”
I got to work.
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