He’d fancied her for years. He remembered how he used to sit beside her in Geography GCSE, being sure to sit to her left so that he could cast furtive glances at her, peeking between the buttons of her uniform blouse to catch even the slightest glimpse of a curve of round flesh held in white lace. He’d seen much more than that on the internet, of course; but that wasn’t real, and more importantly it wasn’t her.
Now she’d asked him round – to work, admittedly, but she could have asked anyone. Could have changed her mind and got help from anybody else. But no, she followed through, and asked him. What did it mean? Did it even mean anything?
Eventually, he gave in to the temptation, and let his hand do what it wanted. It wasn’t long before the waves of guilty pleasure flooded through him, carrying him off into sleep.
///
Her house looked like one of the ones you see on TV – detached, with several rooms each side of a front door, a double garage to one side. By English standards, it was a palace. Real people couldn’t afford to live in places like this, he thought. Maybe she’s just playing a prank on me, sending me to some toff’s house who’ll call the police on me.
Nevertheless, he rang the bell, stepped back from the door, and waited. Simon was worried that – even if it was her house – Claire’s parents would answer, and he’d have to explain himself. What are your intentions towards my daughter, they’d say, and he’d soil himself on the spot. But no, when the door opened, it was Claire standing there, welcoming him in. She was dressed quite conservatively by her standards; a dark bodysuit that was opaque enough not to reveal her underwear, and skinny pale blue jeans. Not flashing the flesh… but skin-tight, nevertheless. Her hair hung loosely, flowing over her shoulders to mid back.
They grabbed a drink from the kitchen and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Simon had been half-hoping they’d work in the dining room, or a home office, or something – yet also was secretly delighted that she was taking him up to her room. “My parents are out for the day, so it’s just us,” she said. There was no tone, nothing to hint that she’d meant anything untoward, but Simon’s mind raced nonetheless. The mere thought of being left unsupervised, in her bedroom…
“Are your parents okay with me being here, alone, with you?” he asked.
Claire looked at him like he had two heads. “Why, what are you thinking of doing?” she asked, all serious, pretending to be shocked. Then she laughed. “Don’t worry, they don’t give a shit. I’m the youngest of three daughters, they’ve seen it all before and really couldn’t care less what I get up to.” Besides, she thought – from what mum’s told me, she had a pretty wild youth of her own.
A double bed on one side, fitted wardrobes all along another. An ensuite bathroom, no less, and this wasn’t even the master bedroom of the house! Such luxury. A large desk, wide enough for the two of them to comfortably sit side by side and work, covered in books and papers.
A photo frame sat prominently on the windowsill. Claire at the bottom right-hand corner, next to her two elder sisters. Behind stood the proud parents, and in front sat their three Labradors – one gold, one brown and the other black. “Elisabeth and Imogen, you know. That’s my dad, Paul, and mum, Samantha,” she said. Simon noticed that Claire was the very image of her mother – freckled face, button nose, cute features, and a killer rack. Not that he should think that way about a woman over twice his age. Only the hair was different; Claire was blonde while her mother was brunette.
At the end of the bed there was a large heavy wooden trunk, ornately carved, presumably filled with bedding or towels or suchlike.
“That’s a nice big chest you have there,” Simon said, before he’d given his brain a chance to vet the words that were escaping his mouth. Oh god, what a faux pas, he thought. Kill me now, let the ground swallow me up.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” Claire fake-blushed, flapping her hands in the style of a Victorian lady, then curtseying and pressing her boobs together with her elbows as she did so. “I got that from my mother.”
“What’s inside?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!”
Simon laughed. “Spanish doubloons, perhaps? The lost treasures of Atlantis?”
“The bodies of my ex-boyfriends?” Claire deadpanned.
“Your porn collection?” he responded.
“Simon!” Claire exclaimed, genuinely shocked that he even knew the word, let alone dared utter it in her presence. Maybe she’d misjudged him. “I tell you what, if you can open it, you can see for yourself.”
Simon looked. There was a heavy padlock with a 6-digit combination lock. He knelt in front of it. Let’s see, he thought, her birthday was on 5th September, and she’s 18 years old, just like me, so that makes it… he span the cylinders and gave the lock a tug. No such luck.
“Oh really, Simon, is that how little you think of me? Everybody knows my birthday, what kind of protection would that be? Wouldn’t that be an… irrational… choice? Give me just a little more credit, please!”
Simon frowned. He spun the fourth cylinder back from a nine to a seven. Maybe she likes word games. Sept, seven… nope. He tried it in month-day-year too, American style, and then year-month-day just in case. No joy.
“When you’ve quite finished fiddling with my chest, maybe we can get on with some revision?” she teased, sitting at the table waiting for him and tapping a pencil on the A4 pad before her.
Chastised, he took a seat, and they got to work.
She actually wanted to learn, and Simon slowly warmed to the task of tutoring her. At the moment she was just another fellow student, and he almost managed to forget how insanely hot she was. And as he relaxed, his personality started to shine through.
As the afternoon wore on, Claire realised she was starting to enjoy herself. Simon was quite a good teacher, able to explain concepts to her without being condescending, patiently walking her through the material using a mixture of his own wit and fun videos he found on the internet. He was actually quite charming. By the end of the day, she felt so much more confident in her own abilities; she was buzzing.
“I think that’s enough for today,” she said. “My head hurts.”
“Okay sure, no problem. We’ve got time until the real exams, maybe we can do this again sometime?”
“Sure,” she agreed. She reached for a scrunchy, started sweeping her hair back off her face. Time to pay the piper. She slid off her chair onto her knees and leant over towards Simon. “Like I said, I’m most grateful for you helping me out…” She started to reach for his shorts.
“What are you doing?!” Simon was startled, not knowing how to react. Surely she wasn’t going to, you know, do that?
“Thanking you,” she said demurely, looking up at him with big puppy eyes.
Simon should have felt amazing, honoured, excited. Claire was on her knees before him, hands touching his dick, her boobs rising and falling as she breathed, her lips full and moist… yet the only thing he felt was terror. “No, please, that’s not necessary, I…” He pushed up from the chair, trying to get away from her.