Special Tutorial

I watched as Professor Chance jogged by on the far side of the road on his daily evening run, and stopped at his gate, checking his fitbit. I checked the time on my phone and decided to wait 15 minutes before following him to his door. That would give him time for a shower and to relax before I arrived.

I was nervous, but the plan that had been growing in mind since those drinks with Mary two weeks ago still seemed good. Mary had got drunk, and confessed to me -- no, boasted was more like it -- about how she consistently got better marks than me on all our assignments, even on those where she had blatantly copied my work. She had giggled as she described the "8:00 am tutorials" before the university working day proper got started. I had been shocked when she told me that these involved her kneeling beside Professor Chance's desk, sucking his cock to orgasm. I hadn't really believed her but two days later I had gone to campus early and found a place to watch unseen. Mary had arrived, glanced round, and knocked on the Prof's office door, and was quickly ushered in. Ten minutes later, the prof opened his door, looked down the corridor, and then virtually pushed Mary out, closing the door behind him.

Mary went straight to the female students' toilet, and I followed as quickly as I could, arriving in time to see her peel off her t-shirt, her large boobs bouncing free. She turned quickly, looking guilty, and then relaxed slightly as she recognised me, then continued to wipe the t-shirt over her chin, neck and breasts. Blushing bright red, she quickly washed her face, splashing some water over her neck and breasts, and then found a dry patch on the t-shirt to dry herself with. She reached into her bag, pulling out another red t-shirt and pulled it on, looking rather shame-faced as she remarked that she always had to bring a spare t-shirt for these tutorials.

I had left her there and gone off to think. I was doing well on my other modules but was under-performing in terms of the marks I was getting in Prof Chance's modules. Unless I scored well in the term paper, I was likely to find my grade average down sharply. It wasn't wholly my fault -- I had missed part of the module through having to self-isolate twice as different flatmates had gone down with covid at different times. I had tried to make up the lost time, studying hard, but I knew that I was going to be at a disadvantage to the other students. Unless I did something about it...

Over the next week, I studied Prof Chance and learned that Mary wasn't the only one with these early morning tutorials. I saw one other girl from our year, and two from the year above make their way to his office and leave after 10 minutes, no doubt having helped take care of his "morning wood". I also watched his routine. I had often seen him on his evening runs, and knew he must live not far from my flat, and I had made it my business to see where exactly that was.

My plan was simple. I wasn't going to risk being seen to be approaching him by the others in the class, so following him home and going to his house seemed the best way forward. I also reckoned that getting an increased mark in the term paper might need more than the blowjobs Mary had been trading for good grades in the routine assignments. And that would probably need to be somewhere more private than the rather tiny office he had.

As I waited, I began to have misgivings. Was this really what I wanted to do? Was I really about to offer this guy sex so I got a good mark? I was no starry-eyed virgin, not like this time last year. I had lost (or rather, enthusiastically given) my virginity to one of the management trainees in my summer job between school and University. And, starting University, I had had a lot of fun over Freshers week, and after that I had two or three guys I could call on as friends with benefits during the year. But this was something different. That had been about fun and having a good time. This was much more calculated, not far off prostitution. Was this really me? I checked my phone. Fifteen minutes. Decision time.

I took a deep breath and walked across the street, through his gate and up to his door. I stood at the door, breathing deep. My hand hovered over the bell, and I closed my eyes and made that final decision. Yes...this is what I was going to have to do. I didn't really have much choice if I wanted that good grade. As I rang the bell, a sudden thought jumped into my mind. I had no idea whether he lived alone, whether he was married or had a girlfriend. All I really knew was he was a professor, early 40s, into keep-fit and getting his cock sucked by students half his age. What would I say if it wasn't him who answered the door, but a woman? Mrs Chance, even? I held my breath, my mouth dry as I heard footsteps, my heart pounding, the classic Fight-or-Flight response, ready to turn and flee if I had to.

The door opened, and to my relief it was him. He stood in the partially opened door, wearing only a short black towelling dressing gown that was held closed by a belt of the same material and which stopped a little above his knees. His short hair was still wet from the shower, and I got a waft of a minty smell from his body wash. He looked at me as if both surprised and puzzled, frowning as he struggled for recognition. Then his eyes cleared, and he asked, 'Jenn, isn't it?'

I nodded, not surprised it had taken him a second or two to place me. Instead of my usual loose baggy top and jeans that I normally wore to class, I was dressed for clubbing in a fairly tight-fitting white crop-top, which hugged and emphasised my smallish breasts, and showed off my flat belly with the little jewelled piercing that my Mum had complained about when she saw it at Christmas break, and a black leather skirt, which clung tightly to my arse before came down to mid-thigh. I always try for the sexy but not slutty look, the one that says to guys that they need to make a bit of an effort if they want to get me into bed, but that it will be worth it if they do.

I nodded, and though my mouth was dry, I babbled a little. 'Yes, Professor Chance. I know I should have seen you on campus, but you live near, and well it's a bit of a... private matter.' My words started to dry up as nerves hit me again

Deep breath. Calm yourself Jenn. 'I was talking with Mary, ...you know Mary.' I held my cupped hands a couple of inches in front of my breasts, and he smiled for the first time. Mary's best assets were her large breasts, and she made sure everyone around was aware of them. He nodded and I went on, 'She was telling me about your... tuition for the assignments... and I...well, I wondered....'

His face darkened and he frowned angrily. He glanced up and down the street, and then he stood back, wordlessly waving me in. I stepped into the hallway, and he swung the door closed behind us. In spite of my efforts to keep calm, my chest was heaving as I breathed, my boobs straining against the tight top. I was close to panic, and I could feel my stomach churning as I stood there in my professor's hall, basically propositioning him. If he reacted badly, he could report me to the University, get me expelled. How would I explain to my parents that I had been kicked out for offering to sleep with my Prof?

He stood in silence, looking at me. I felt his eyes slowly wander over my body and I started to blush. As his eyes returned to my face his expression softened a little and he said, 'So Mary opens her mouth in more ways than one? She shouldn't have told you about our little arrangement. And I suppose now you'd like to get in on it. Is that it, Jenn?'

I looked away, staring at the floor, my face hot. He went on, 'It's a bit late now, Jenn. The final assignments are all completed for the year, all the marks officially recorded.'

He grinned, 'If you had turned up to class looking like this, I would probably have offered you some 'tuition' without you having to ask. But there isn't anything I can do about the assignments now.'

I forced myself to look into his eyes. I swallowed, trying to wet my dry, nervous, mouth and whispered hoarsely, 'There is still the term paper.'

His eyebrows went up and he looked at me without speaking for a few seconds, his eyes moving down my body again, to my boobs, my belly, my legs, then slowly back up to look me in the eye. 'A term paper is much more than an assignment, Jenn. It requires a lot more work, a lot more... personal effort, shall we say? You do understand that Jenn?

I let out a slow breath. He wasn't going to have me expelled, he was obviously considering my unspoken offer, trying to judge whether I was serious or not, how far I would be prepared to go. I replied, 'I understand that. I know I will need to do more, maybe a lot more, than I would need for a good grade on an assignment.' Another deep breath, my voice dropped to a whisper as I said, 'But I'll do anything and everything I need to do, to get the grade I need.'

A broad slow smile was spreading across his face, and there was a definite gleam to his eye. 'A good mark in a term paper requires a lot of work Jenn, a lot of effort. It can mean maybe tackling things you aren't familiar with... going beyond the normal...curriculum. Can you do that? Are you sure you want to do that?'

I looked into his eyes, holding them with mine as I spoke firmly and clearly for the first time since pressing his doorbell, 'I'm sure. I'll do whatever is necessary for the grade I need'. I felt the nervous churning in my stomach settle as I made the commitment, and instead there was a tingle of anticipation running through me and I realised my nipples were hardening, clearly visible through my top as they pressed against the thin material.

'I can see that you are Jenn. That's good. What grade are you looking for in this paper?'

'I was hoping for an "A".'

His smile broadened even more, and I saw that a bulge was growing in his dressing gown, pushing outwards towards me. 'I was so hoping you would say that Jenn. I like ambition. An "A" takes a special effort, a bit more dedication than many girls are prepared to give. I always find it especially rewarding to work with my "A" grade students...and they seem to enjoy it too, once they get used to that special effort.'

My mouth went dry again as I wondered exactly what I had agreed to do. But it didn't matter, I had already decided that I would do whatever he asked. And the idea was exciting me, I could feel the dampness in my panties and wondered if he was picking up my pheromones.

He stepped close, his right hand cupping my left breast, his thumb pressing on my nipple through the soft material of the top, rocking it gently from side to side. I felt a tremor run through my body at the touch, and only just managed to suppress a moan. 'I think we will work well together Jenn. But my wife is due home in about ten minutes, so we will have to leave it a day or so.' He withdrew his hand and reached into the pocket of his dressing gown for his phone and asked, 'What is your number?'

I gaped at him and stammered out my number, a wave of emotion hitting me. Relief, yes, but immediately followed by a rush of disappointment. I had been so nervous, I had psyched myself up to the point where I was going to march into his bedroom and do whatever he wanted, and now, he was putting me off. All I could say was, 'When?'

I heard my phone ping as he texted something to me, and he nodded as our phones connected. 'She is out tomorrow, so I will text you when she is gone. Be ready'. He opened the door and put his hand in the small of my back, propelling me out, 'And think about what extra work you need to do for an "A".' The door closed behind me, and I stood, silent and shocked, for a few seconds then, both aroused and frustrated, I started out for home.

I had trouble getting to sleep that night, nerves and sexual excitement warring with each other inside my head. I wondered again what I was getting into. The Prof had revealed he was married, although I had never seen him wear a wedding ring on campus. He was twice my age at least. Something was telling me to walk away now. Getting involved with an older, married, man was something I hadn't really thought about. There were more than enough guys my own age interested in me, so my thoughts hadn't extended that far. But then, I never thought I would offer sex for grades, basically selling my body like the women you saw hanging round the edge of the square at night, waiting in the shadows for the lonely, the ones whose wives were no longer interested.

Somehow, the thoughts were exciting me, maybe that special thrill of going beyond the norms, stepping over the boundaries of what people thought of as normal behaviour. None of my boyfriends had been more than a few years older than me, most of them were within a few months of my own age. But in my memories of the frantic fun of Freshers week, one guy stood out, a final year student who lurked on the fringes of the celebrating Freshers, looking for easy, drunken prey. And he had found me, tipsy, horny and willing enough. He was the only one in that time who hadn't cum before I did, who had had the experience to hold back, to make sure I enjoyed it. I had wanted him again the next night, but he was already moving on, looking for the next fresh-faced teenager.

A guy in his forties. A married man. He would certainly have plenty of experience, know how to give pleasure as well as take it. Surely, he would be able to give me what the guys in my year were failing to do. Yes, he obviously planned to use me, he would be looking to his own needs first, but he had said I would enjoy it, hadn't he? Although what did he mean by 'get used to the special effort?' Perhaps he had some kink, something out of the ordinary? Although that thought should make me cautious, wary, even scared, somehow it seemed to excite me.

My pussy was wet again, thinking of what we might do together. Even dismissing anything kinky, the idea of fucking him was thrilling. The idea that he wanted me enough to cheat on his wife with me was somehow flattering, although I knew I should feel sorry for her, sisters together sort of thing. But there was a thrill in that thought too, being the other woman, a secret lover. As my fingers stroked along my pussy folds, I found myself giggling at the thought of me as some sort of femme fatale, stalking the university, preying on all my married lecturers.

Realistically, I knew he would probably just discard me after he had had me, in case his wife found out, and I was fine with that. I knew we both were using each other, me for a good grade on my term paper, him for the excitement of a doubly illicit shag; cheating on his wife and crossing the staff-student boundary. We were both crossing lines, and I had to admit that the idea that I was basically acting the whore for him, doing something I never dreamed I would ever do, gave it that extra spice. I closed my eyes, my mind trying to imagine what his cock looked like -- I should have asked Mary for details. As I drove two fingers into my soaking wet pussy, I visualised myself dropping to my knees in that hallway, opening his dressing gown, my eyes and lips opening wide as I murmured 'Oh, Professor!' Then I came hard, my whole body shaking, and I moaned out loud, not caring whether my flatmates heard or not. I lay there, smiling to myself for a couple of minutes as I came down from that high, and then withdrew my fingers, licked them, then rolled over, and, finally, slept.

I woke the next morning and checked my phone. There were two texts from a new unidentified number, the first at the time I had been at the Prof's house, a blank message, basically letting me know his number. The second had only just arrived, it was probably its message chime that had woken me. This was titled "Tutorial Today" and when I opened it said '2pm, same venue as before. Think about what is needed for an "A" grade'. He was obviously being cautious. If it came out that he was screwing his students AND trading good marks for sex, he would lose his job, so nothing that could be incriminating. No name, and the suggestion that it was a routine tutorial would make it easier to explain it away if anyone saw it. Same venue must mean where we talked last night, his home.

I spent the first part of the morning at a lecture on another module, and had an early lunch, returning to my flat at 12:30. I showered, and decided to trim my pubic hair a little, the little landing strip being a little overgrown. I touched up my nails, hands and feet, and dressed carefully. The baggy hoodie and jeans I wore to classes were discarded, but full-on clubbing gear was probably not appropriate at 2pm. I put on another crop top, pale blue, and a bit less revealing than last night's. I slipped on my skimpiest thong and pulled on a pair of sheer thigh-high stockings which made my legs look tanned and finally a blue cotton summer skirt that came down to a couple of inches above my knee, rather than the figure-hugging leather that I had worn last night. I combed my hair back and tied it in a pony-tail and then applied a little light make up round the eyes, and a bright lipstick. I looked in the mirror. Still sexy, but not out of the ordinary for daytime. Finally, I slipped a packet of condoms into a little shoulder bag, and then buckled on my 3-inch heels and set out on the 15-minute walk to his house.

I arrived at his gate, a minute early. A minute for reflection. A minute to make the decision that might affect the rest of my life. Competing thoughts raged across my mind. A part of me remembered how I was brought up, what had been instilled in me as a child. I could almost hear my mother's voice, 'Nice girls don't do that.' Well, nice girls certainly wouldn't fuck their tutors just to get good marks, but out here in the real world, niceness doesn't count for much, does it?

Another part of me was relaying the sense of excitement, the sheer horniness I felt, as I anticipated having sex with an older, experienced man, one who could probably teach me a few things outside his professional subject area.

And part of me was nervous, frightened almost. I was going into this guy's house; someone I had barely spoken to before last night. I had agreed to do anything he wanted, and God alone knows what that might mean, what kinks he might have.

And the final part of me, the pragmatic me, was saying that whatever it was, I needed this grade, my future possibly depended on it. As I rang the bell, I couldn't have told you which had won. It was a tie between the horniness and the pragmatism.

The door opened and he stood there smiling, welcoming me into the hallway where we had talked before. Again, he seemed to be wearing only the short black dressing gown, and I thought to myself that he was obviously ready and waiting. And so was I. I could feel myself start to moisten in anticipation of what was ahead. All other thoughts and reservations were receding rapidly, only the lust remaining.

I expected him to take me upstairs to a bedroom, but instead took me through to a sitting room, with a couch, a couple of armchairs, and a large TV. Perhaps he thought fucking me in the bed he shared with his wife was a step too far. As I looked round the room, I wondered if he had fucked her last night, and whether he had thought of me while they did. The room was tastefully decorated, and my eye was caught by a painting on the wall opposite the TV, which showed two naked women locked in an embrace that while not actually pornographic, was certainly highly erotic.

As I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, he asked, 'I'm glad you came Jenn, you look really good. Now, you say you want an "A" grade. Are you willing to do anything I ask, anything I suggest today? I know none of you girls are inexperienced, but well, some people aren't always comfortable with trying new things, moving outside their comfort zone.'