In high school math wasn’t my strong suit. At one point, I had a tutor who was an elderly British woman, but she retired to Florida to live out her years and recommended a woman named Nicole.
“You’ll just love Nicole,” she said with a wink.
I knew what she meant the moment Nicole walked in. She had curly blonde hair, large breasts, a tight stomach, toned legs, a firm ass. She looked like Julie Bowen from Modern Family. But even the best tutors, like Nicole, had trouble reaching me. I just wasn’t interested in math. One afternoon, Nicole had one of those “lightbulb moments” when she caught me staring down her blouse. She was wearing a lace bra—black—her cleavage was hard to ignore.
“Oh,” she said, a hush falling over the room. I was 100% certain that would be the end of that. I blushed, stammered, struggled to come up with a lie, but instead Nicole just winked at me and said, “I think I know how to motivate you.”
Even the tease of more to come made me do better. One the exam a week later, I went from a D- to a C+. Might not seem like much, but even I was excited. I couldn’t wait for our session later in the week. I emailed Nicole the great news. I’m sure she wasn’t so thrilled with the low grade, but I bet my enthusiasm was enough to put a smile on her face.
When she came over that week for our session, she was wearing her typical outfit, pencil skirt. Blouse. She sat down and we got to work. Halfway through the session, she unhooked one of her buttons and leaned over to show me some, uh, “equations.”
I dared not breath a word of this to anyone. A teacher at my school had just gotten fired for sleeping with a student. I liked Nicole and didn’t want to take any chances implicating her in a damn thing.
Over the course of the year, my grades went from a C- to a solid A. And every week, Nicole unbuttoned her blouse a little lower. Every week, the bra changed. Sometimes black, sometimes lace white, sometimes leopard print, sometimes hearts. But when I came home with my first A, she arrived wearing her typical blouse. I couldn’t wait to see what was underneath.
About halfway through the session, she unbuttoned her blouse almost all the way to her stomach. Her blouse dangled open, revealing a see-through bra. Her nipples were pink. Hard. Pierced! A bead of sweat formed on my forehead.
“Christ,” I whispered.
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10 YEARS LATER
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Dating apps weren’t big when I got into my first long term relationship, so five years later, we broke up, the dust settled, I moved into my own place, and downloaded Tinder. It became my go to “i’m bored” hobby, swiping left, swiping right. Chatting. Going on dates. I was experiencing my mid-20s in my early 30s. And I was having the best time ever.
And then one day, as I was on a scrolling binge, I stopped short and looked at the screen. My eyes could not process what I was seeing. It … it couldn’t be. Was it Nicole? My old math tutor?
“Nooo,” I whispered as I clicked on her bio.
“Recently divorced. Looking for fun. Something casual with someone sweet.”
I closed my eyes and hit her with a Super Like. And then I realized something: She might not recognize me. I had a beard now. I was bigger—more muscular. I looked entirely different. I scrambled for the Facebook app, found and saved the photo of me at my senior prom and added that photo as my second photo with the caption, “Me, 2003.”
“I don’t believe it,” the message read that was sent to me by Nicole two hours later. “Look at you! All grown up!”
We decided to meet for coffee instead of drinks because drinks seemed “inappropriate.”
I texted her when I arrived and said, “Let me get your drink. What are you having?”
When she arrived, she was wearing her usual sexy pencil skirt and blouse. She sat down and we started chatting, laughing, talking, having a good time. Halfway through, she bit her bottom lip and unbuttoned her top button. My eyes grew wide.
“Just like old times,” I said with a chuckle.
She turned bright red.
“I cannot even believe I did that stuff. So embarrassing.”
“Not embarrassing at all. If not for you, I might not have graduated. Or ended up doing what I do now,” I said.
“What DO you do, Mr. Jeffries?”
“I’m in finance,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, blushing and fanning her face with her hand. “Well, that is a turn on.”
“I think this goes without saying that I had the BIGGEST crush on you.”
“You know what? I had a little crush on you, too. I mean, I was 22. Right out of college. You were 17. Wrong because obviously, but I mean today … you’re 33? I’m 38. Doesn’t seem so bad now, hm?”
“Not at all …”
This is the point in the story in which one thing leads to another. We went back to my place. I gave her the tour. As she walked around, eyeing my top of the line kitchen appliances, the great view of the city, the high end furnishings, she couldn’t help but smirk.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Well, you’re obviously doing all right for yourself. In finance, no less. I’ll go ahead and take a little credit.”
“Ah,” I said, pulling her in, my hand on her hip. “Just a little, though?”
“I should tell you,” she said pushing me away. “I’m going through a hard time. I don’t … want anything serious. I just …”
“Need a release?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm,” she said with a cute frown.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”
What happened next was a whirlwind of intensity. It started off as PG-13 as you’d expect, kissing, removing of clothes, admiring of her hot body. But it quickly deteriorated into the most raunchy, hardcore sex you could imagine. Nicole was pent up. Every dark, twisted thing she’d ever wanted to do was explored in what boiled down to a five hour sex marathon.
It started off pretty tame. Oral, fingering, mutual masturbation, kissing, grunting, groaning, moaning. But thirty minutes into play time, Nicole tried to excuse herself.
“I have to pee,” she whispered.
“Do it here,” Jacob whispered back.
“*Here* here?”
“Right here.”
“You … want me to pee on you?”
“Yes,” Jacob said.
A switch got turned on in Nicole. A “let your freak flag fly” switch. Suddenly, she went from slightly nervous to incredibly aroused and almost dominant.
“Get on your back,” she commanded.
Jacob did, getting on the floor. Nicole stood over him and released a small stream. She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t giggling. She was turned the fuck on.
“Open your fucking mouth,” she whispered.
Jacob opened. She squatted down over him, treating him like a toilet, urinating into his mouth until it was full of warm, crystal clear piss.
“Swallow,” she said as he gulped it down. “Good boy. Get up. Fuck me.”
She bent over the side of his bed. He guided his cock into her cunt, wet from excitement and piss, and began pumping away. Raw. No condom. He fucked her harder and harder. She was so creamy. His cock was slippery wet with grool.
“Look,” he whispered, turned on. She turned around and saw her creamy mess all over his cock. “Lick it up,” he ordered.
She slid to her knees and deep throated him. He fucked her mouth, holding the sides of her head until she gagged and spit up a buckets worth of saliva, which gushed from her throat all over his cock and her breasts. He scooped the saliva from her and spread it over her face as she giggled and grunted.
“Yes,” she roared. “More! Fuck my slut face!”
He hoisted her onto the bed, spinning her around, her head dangling over the side and with no warning, no prep, no thought for her well being, he shoved his cock directly down her throat. She gagged, squirmed, reached for the sheets. Saliva spilled forth, running down her face and into her hair.
“Good girl,” he said as he fucked her face relentlessly. She gagged and spat and coughed and squirmed, but she never tapped his thigh or fought him off. She LIKED it.
“You like this?” He asked as he pulled his cock from her throat.
She nodded.
“The last two years of my marriage were utterly sexless. All I had was porn. It … started off sappy, the romantic shit for women. Hand holding, cuddling. All that shit. But I was frustrated. I needed something harder. It just … got raunchier and raunchier.”
“I see,” he said with a smirk.
“You have ideas?” She asked.
“I’ve got LOTS of ideas,” he said.
“I’ve seen it all, at this point nothing grosses me out. I want to feel everything. I want to DO everything.”
“I want to stretch your asshole open. Gape it. Fist it.”
“Fucking do it,” Nicole shouted.
Jacob rushed to the closet and pulled out a jar of lube and threw it at her. She got on her hands and knees and spread her cheeks, resting her head on the mattress as he poured lube all over her pristine pink tight asshole. He put a finger in first and then a second one from the opposite hand. He pried them apart, stretching her asshole open. She moaned in discomfort and gripped the sheets. But she never asked him to stop and he never offered to until her anus was wide open. Gaping.
“Fuck,” he said with joy.
“I want to see it,” she said.
“Hold on,” he said as he went to the closet and pulled out a small hand mirror. He propped it up against his thigh so she could see in between her legs as he slowly gaped her asshole.
“Fuuuuck,” she said with delight. “That’s my fucking asshole. Oh my goddd,”
He put three fingers in and then four and pretty soon, with enough lube, her anus was totally gaped. He put his fist inside. She reached between her thighs and rubbed her cunt, orgasming while his fist was inside of her. The pressure was immense and a trickle of piss dripped from her pussy.
“Godddd,” she groaned.
He pulled his fist from her asshole and watched it close up. And then he fucked it. Fucked it harder and harder until he needed to take a break.
“On your knees,” he barked.
She crawled off the bed and onto the floor, exhausted, moaning as she looked up at him. Without warning, he pissed on her face and hair and into her mouth. She shrieked with delight as hot piss sprayed all over her. She howled, giggled, ran her hands through her piss soaked hair.
“YES!” she screamed. “Yessss!”
When he emptied his bladder all over her, he pushed her face to the floor and commanded her to slurp up what was now a mixture of her piss and his from the floor. She did so eagerly and without question until the puddle was gone.
He stood her up and pushed her back into the bed and entered her pussy, fucking her harder and harder, choking her, pulling her hair, slapping her face. She moaned when he hit her.
“Again!” She grunted.
He slapped her face a second time.
“Again! Don’t be a fucking pussy!”
He whacked her harder this time. Her eyes grew wider. He pulled back, anxious that it might have been to much, but then she winked at him and spat in his face and slapped him back.
He growled and began pumping. They spat in each others faces until they were soaked in saliva.
He pulled his cock from her cunt and crawled over her face and sat down.
“Eat it,” he barked. “Eat my asshole.”
She rimmed him, sucking, spitting, fingering his ass while he stroked himself. He leaned back and slapped her face with his massive erection.
She giggled while she masturbated.
“Cum on my face,” she requested.
Jacob crawled forward and jerked off while she watched. He came buckets, saturating her entire face with sperm. He’d never blown a load so massive in all of his life. It was like a one man bukkake. Her eyes were sealed shut. Her hair was matted down. Thick ropes of sperm dripped from her face.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Fuck,” he said back as they watched in awe.
“Get me the mirror,” she said.
He handed her the mirror and she looked, prying her eyes open, looking at herself buried in cum.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she whispered.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/a82q7t/my_old_high_school_tutor_mf_oral_anal_gape_spit
Changed from first to third person, why?