Her tutor (M/F story)

I sat down and looked at the woman I was meeting today: a tall, blonde woman with a winning smile. I estimated her to be in her late twenties or early thirties. "So, Miss Miller, could you explain why you wanted to meet with me today?"

 

There was something in her eyes that seemed less joyful than her smile. She seemed nervous. Whatever she was discussing with me, it seemed to make her a little uncomfortable. "Call me Carol, please. And may I call you Stuart?" When I nodded, she continued, "The reason I'm here is that I've heard that you are the best tutor in town."

 

"That's true." I'd spent more than a few hours tutoring high school students whose work failed to meet their parents' expectations, and had developed quite a reputation for it. I looked at my client again. She didn't seem nearly old enough to have a daughter of high school age, but at the same time, she looked far too old to be in high school herself. Perhaps she had a sister or something.

 

"Well," she said, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm retaking a few high school classes – to improve my grades." She giggled a bit, trying to calm herself. "Too much goofing off the first time around, I'm afraid."

 "For employment reasons?" I guessed. She nodded.

 

"Too many paths that are closed to me for my liking." She shrugged. "Anyway, I'm a bit nervous about going back to school. I'm studying on my own – going into a classroom full of teenagers would be too embarrassing. But at the same time, I'm scared I won't study hard enough."

 

"Hence why you're here?" I offered.

 

I thought about this. Would I be comfortable playing tutor to a woman almost a decade – if not more – older than myself? It would certainly be an interesting new experience. "I'll take the job, if you want me to," I told her. I wagged my finger at her, making a mocking attempt at a strict tone. "But there will be no goofing off this time around, you hear me? I expect results."

 

She smiled. "Oh, I have no doubt you're going to be very strict with me."

 

 

A few weeks in, I realized that the job turned out to be harder than I had anticipated. Carol had forgotten most of what little she'd learned during school, and was having trouble picking it back up again. It was problematic, to be sure. But she was here of her own free will, while most of the others students I taught were forced by their parents.

 

But I don't want to make the situation sound worse than it was. I'd had worse students, and achieved a decent result. As long as she stayed motivated, there was no reason she couldn't improve her grades considerably.

 

One day, a few weeks into our studies, I was looking through her work, trying to find mistakes, when I told her to grab a few extra sheets of paper from my desk. Still looking at her work, I heard her going through the drawers, until she suddenly stopped. There was total silence for a few seconds, and I looked up to see what was wrong. She was standing at the desk, holding a strap in her hands, staring at it as if it was a snake about to strike.

 

"Ah, that thing," I said. "Some of the parents demand that I employ corporal punishment in my study sessions, in case their little angels aren't acting like little angels." I shrugged. "I don't like it, but some of them insist. So I keep that thing around. I have to admit, it seems to make even the biggest brat shut up and sit down – extremely carefully."

 

She was still standing there, staring at the strap, and didn't seem to have heard me. I walked over to her, taking the strap out of her hands and putting it back in the drawer. She blinked, and it almost looked like a spell had been broken before she sat down to continue her work. Maybe she'd been  strapped as a child, I guessed, and the sight of it had awoken some bad memories. I decided to forget about it.

 

That session didn't go very well. She seemed distracted, as if something else was on her mind. Well, it was a Friday, perhaps she had plans for the weekend.

 

 

The following Monday, I was running a little late, and Carol had arrived before me. Usually, she would take out her books and start working on some particularly difficult problem, but not this time. Instead, she was standing by my desk, holding the strap, still staring at it as if she expected it to disappear unless she kept her eyes on it at all times. I walked over to her, and once again, I took it right out of her hands without resistance. I told her to sit down, and as she turned to walk over to the table, I had a little moment of weakness.

 

As she turned her back to me, my eyes fell on the seat of her jeans. There was a firm little rear end in front of me, and I was holding a strap. Not a fortunate combination. Before I could stop myself, I'd lifted the strap and given her a quick slap. I'd meant for it to be a light tap, but I could hear by the loud smack that I'd miscalculated. I fully expected her to turn around and yell my ears off, but she didn't. She squealed loudly, blushed redder than I'd thought any human being could, and practically ran to her chair. I raised an eyebrow. Not the reaction I'd been respecting.

 

She didn't stop blushing for the rest of the day.

 

 

I'll admit, I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to reading people, but even I get the point eventually. I'd realized that Carol was staring at the strap longingly. She wanted to be strapped.

 

Or maybe she didn't. Or, even if she did, maybe she didn't want me to do it. Making assumptions could be dangerous, and I couldn't exactly ask her. "Excuse me, but do you by any chance enjoy having your trousers taken down and your bottom smacked?" Yeah, that'd go over well...

 

A few days after the incident, I found an opening. Carol was having trouble, and even though I'd explained the concept a dozen times, she still wasn't getting it. I leaned back in my chair and shook my head, deciding to go ahead with my gamble. "Perhaps a taste of that strap will get your head working again," I said with a smile. There. If she laughed it off, or gave me an insulted jab, it could all be forgotten.

 

She blushed as she looked at the floor, before daring to glance at me. "Perhaps it would."

 

There it was. The thirty-year-old woman I was tutoring liked to be spanked. I was learning new and interesting things all the time in this job.

 

"Stand up," I told her. She rose to her feet, and I walked over to the desk, picking up the strap and putting my hand around that familiar handle. Carol was shivering, and I could see in her eyes that she was terrified. At the same time, parts of her were enjoying it.

 

"Take your jeans down," I instructed. Her hands were shaking too hard for her to get the button undone, so I decided to do it for her. I pulled her jeans down, leaving her in a black thong. At my command, she turned towards the table, bending over it. As her pale cheeks stuck out at me, and my eyes feasted on the cutest rear end I'd ever seen, I lifted the strap.

 

The first stroke rang out in the room, and Carol cried out as the leather bit into her flesh. As I raised the strap again, I realized to my shock I was enjoying it. I'd been in this job for a few years, and had used the strap on a few unruly girls, but this was the first time I spanked a woman.

 

Her hands were digging into the wood of the table, and she wriggled her rump every time the strap marked her skin. Whether she was trying to shake away the pain, or giving me a more inviting target, I didn't know, and I didn't care.

 

By the time I put the strap down, her bottom was bright red. I helped her up, and her hands flew back to rub the sting away. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but when she looked at me, the force of the desire in her eyes nearly knocked me off my feet. She kissed me passionately, and her hand moved to the bulge in my trousers.

 

We didn't get a lot of studying done that day.

 

 

That was the last time I ever strapped someone I was tutoring. Partly because it had become a sexual thing for me, and I'd therefore feel uncomfortable doing it to a high school student. In addition, Carol was adamant that hers was the only rear end I could use my talents on. Of course, since Carol decided to stop having me as a tutor and became my girlfriend instead, the strap was being used far more often than before. After a few months, it had become so worn it broke, and we had to replace it. She still keeps the pieces around.

 

Even though I wasn't her tutor, I still helped her out with her schoolwork. Once I stopped using the strap as a punishment for bad work and started using it as a reward, her studies improved greatly.