Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Mind Control, MaleDom, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Slow, School,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Susan hires a tutor to help with her CS homework, but gets more than she ever dreamed of.
Life-changing events ought to come with a road sign and a warning label: "This Way to New Existence. Dangerous Curves Ahead." The one I'm writing about had neither. If I'd known what was coming -- well, who knows? I probably would have done the same thing, and certainly I've got no regrets. But I might have been a little bit better prepared.
As it was, all that I knew was that I was in danger of failing computer science, and I needed help. It was my own fault. I've always been a good student, and never had any trouble learning new things. By my junior year in college I was confident that there was no subject that I couldn't figure out on my own. I juggled classes, a job, extracurriculars (mainly the theater club), athletics (intramural tennis) and a boyfriend without ever letting anything get out of control.
This brings us to spring semester of junior year. Computers, I've been told, are the way of the future, so I thought it would be a good idea to know how they work. I enrolled in the class, blithely ignoring the professor's warning that there would be heavy programming requirements. The first couple of assignments weren't too bad. The third was tough; I spent twenty hours working on it, and still got it back with a mediocre grade. This shook my self-confidence a little, but I'm also stubborn as hell. I got assignment number four and struggled with it for more than a week, emerging with the feeling that I had just lost a wrestling match with a steam roller and hadn't slept in days. The last day to drop classes was rapidly approaching, but I didn't have another class to take its place. From being completely cocky at the beginning of the semester, I had become completely desperate.
The first place I looked for help was from my boyfriend, Brad. He was a senior, and had taken the class the year before, so I expected him to have some sympathy.
"Well, what did you think would happen?" he said. "I told you it was tough, Susan, and you took it anyway."
I bit back an angry reply. I needed his help, and besides, I didn't have the energy for a fight.
"I don't mind tough," I said, "but this is impossible."
"It isn't impossible," Brad said. "I took it, and didn't have this much trouble."
"Maybe you're better at this than me," I said. I knew Brad thought himself smarter than me, which usually annoyed me, but might make flattery work. No go.
"Sure. But that doesn't mean I should do your work for you," Brad said, which made me even madder.
"I don't want you to do it for me," I said between gritted teeth. "I just want some help!"
"Sorry," Brad shrugged. "I've got a more than full load myself. Spending hours leaning over a computer isn't my idea of a fun date."
At that I blew up and told him what kind of date he could expect with me. He stormed out, and I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling and wondering if I could make up an extra class next fall.
A knock came on the door, and my roommate stuck her head in. Arlene is Chinese, very small and pretty, with a cute, pixieish look that always makes me feel like a female elephant standing next to her. I'm over five ten, and the word "dainty" would never be applied to me. I'd been a chubby kid, and while that hadn't been true for years -- thanks to lots of hard work and hours of tennis practice -- the mental image still stuck with me.
"Well, from what I overheard I'd say that didn't go so well," Arlene observed brightly.
"You can say that again," I agreed. "Brad is such a jerk. I don't know why I started dating him."
Arlene came in and sat in my chair. "At the time, I thought it was probably the rippling biceps. But no doubt there were deeper reasons."
"Thanks a lot. If you have any other helpful comments, please make them now, so I can go back to wallowing in despair."
Arlene laughed, but showed no signs of leaving. "Actually, I have three comments. First: you should take a nap. You are not attractive when you're short on sleep. Second: Jack took that class a couple of years ago, and he said they were pretty good about giving extensions on assignments."
"No can do," I protested. "If I hand this one in late, I'll have even less time for the next one. They keep getting harder. And if you think I'm unattractive now, think how I'll be after getting no sleep for weeks."
"Which brings us to my third comment: hire a tutor. Jack had trouble with this class too, and he found a brilliant guy to help him. He said that the tutor made everything much clearer than the professor and the textbooks, so by the end of the class he could write the programs on his own without trouble. I can get his phone number from Jack, if you like."
Jack is Arlene's boyfriend, and a really great guy. She's not only prettier than me, she has better taste in men. Or, anyway, she used to. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Her suggestion was a bitter pill to swallow. I sometimes tutored other people; I did not hire tutors myself. I sent Arlene away and took her first piece of advice, waking up to spend another night fruitlessly banging my head against the computer screen. No good. Swallowing my pride, which at the moment had shrunk down to a comfortable bite-size, I had her get the phone number from Jack.
For the first couple of rings I hoped that Mr. Tutor was out. Then the phone picked up on the other end, and a light tenor voice said "Hello?"
"Hi," I said, "is Richard there?"
"Speaking," he said.
"Um, hi." Brilliant conversation, this. "My name is Susan Davis. You probably don't know who I am..."
"Sure," he said. "I've seen you around campus. You act, right? And play tennis."
"Yeah," I said. "Well, I'm taking CS 110..."
A long pause. "Yes?" he prompted.
"And, um, I'm having trouble. A friend of mine... Jack Webb... said that you were really good at this sort of thing..."
"So, you want tutoring," he said.
Goodbye, pride. "Yeah."
"No problem. I'm not tutoring anyone at the moment. Why don't you come over tonight?"
"Tonight," I said fervently, "would be great. Where do you live?"
Richard gave me his address -- an apartment off-campus -- and made the appointment for eight, then rang off. Now that I'd done it, I felt relief. I had hated the idea of quitting. Hiring a tutor was not much better, but at least I had finally done it. One small step for a woman, one giant leap, et cetera.
Of course, I didn't know how giant a leap it really was.