Blair –

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#Tween

By Quillpen

Blair is a flirty student who finally gets the nerve to seduce he tutor after two years of waiting.

I had been a substitute teacher in a neighboring city for not quite a month before I decided that career was not for me. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoyed teaching. What I couldn’t abide was the staggeringly large percentage of disrespectful kids who were making the experience a daily hell for me and their smaller group of peers who actually wanted to learn. The final straw came one afternoon when, for no apparent reason, an unruly seventh-grade male angrily emptied an overflowing wastebasket onto the classroom floor as he departed the room. When I left the school not long afterwards, I made a detour into the office to inform the powers-that-be that I’d no longer be taking any further substitute teaching assignments. I had had enough.
This sudden career change forced me to expand my small sideline of private tutees to make up for the lost income. I had been giving private instruction to students for about five years. It was almost always done at my house, but occasionally it occurred at the student’s home, or at a public library. I was amazed how quickly my group of students expanded. Word of my service spread quickly. I established a good reputation as an “old school”-type instructor who had the gift of explaining things in math, English, geography and social studies so that most anyone could understand the concepts. If a student truly wanted to improve, I was a solid choice to be his/her tutor. What I did not expect was an occasional fringe benefit. The first one’s name was Blair.
The call came one night at about 7:30 p.m. A concerned mother needed academic help for her daughter, Blair, an eight-year-old in the third grade who lived on the other side of the city. Mom insisted Blair was not a stupid child; however, she was seemingly unmotivated. Could I tutor her for an hour per week at my home? Certainly, I said. A specific day and time slot was chosen.
I first saw Blair—a cute, petite, brunette—a few days after that initial phone call. She was a little shy at first, clinging to her mother as we chatted for the first time in person. Blair was included in the conversation too—a good stratagem to let the pupil know she is not just a third party. I told Blair’s mom she was welcome to observe any and all sessions, but she declined, and said she’d return in an hour. Blair was visibly less nervous than when she had first arrived. She eagerly followed me to a downstairs area of the house where I had set up a table specifically for tutoring. It had pens, pencils, erasers, rules, colored pencils, blank and lined paper, and an assortment of children’s literature plus a thesaurus and dictionary not too far away. One chair was positioned on each side of the table.
Blair had brought some schoolwork to do—mostly math problems and some spelling words to master. We got along splendidly. Time flew by. We got to chatting about her family. She told me she was the youngest of four girls in the family. (Blair had no brothers.) Such was the gap in age between the oldest sister and herself that Blair was already an aunt. Her niece was a mere three years younger than she was! On schedule, Blair’s mom returned. A smiling Blair happily showed her the sheets of completed homework. Mom, completely satisfied, paid my fee and said Blair would return at the same time next week and every week thereafter. I lingered near the door long enough to hear Bair gush, “Mom, he’s really nice. I like him so much!” She put a lot of emphasis on “really” and “so”, as girls her age often do. Hey, it was a very positive and flattering start.
The next week, Blair and her mom knocked on the door again. “Blair couldn’t wait to get here!” Mom informed me.
I replied, “I’m happy to see Blair, too. She had a great attitude last week. Let’s hope it stays!” Mom smiled and concurred.
This time Blair ran to her seat and produced more homework sheets from her backpack. When we finished them in under an hour, I amused Blair with some old-fashioned games I had collected over the years—the type that would have been in people’s parlors at the turn of the 20th century. We were engaged with a peg-and-board logic game when the loud knock game. It startled us both. Blair ran up the stairs to open the door. She told her Mom she did not want to go home just yet as she was having too much fun!
“I’d love for you to stay for hours, Blair,” I kindly told her. “But I have another student coming here in a few minutes. We can resume next week, okay?” She pouted and nodded.
“You have a satisfied customer,” Mom informed me, not specifying whether she meant herself or Blair.
The next week I noticed Blair had a bit of a devilish look in her eyes. We began with her homework as we had the earlier two sessions. After about ten minutes, she glanced toward the rest of the room. “Do you always do your tutoring at this table?” she asked.
I said, “Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”
“Well, there’s a big couch in the other half of the room. We could sit there together!”
I immediately understood that Blair wanted to sit beside me rather than across a table from me. I had to say this was flattering to my male ego, but I pointed out, “Blair, the only table by the couch is a very low coffee table. It would be a little bit awkward.”
“Let’s try anyway,” she insisted.
“Well, if you say so, Blair. You’re the boss tonight, I guess.”
She giggled slightly as she picked up her assignments and carried them about 15 feet away to the large couch. When we resumed the session, Blair was seated about three feet away from. By the time we were done the session, she was seated about three inches from me, occasionally—and not accidently—brushing into me from time to time. She had a smitten look in her eyes which I found endearing. She obvious had a big crush on me after just three hours of one-on-one private tutoring.
For the next two years, I’d prepare for Blair’s 60-minute session at the tutoring table, but we’d almost always end up at the couch before the session concluded. Not far from the couch and coffee table was a carpeted floor and a gas fireplace that I seldom used unless the nights got especially cold. One day when Bair was about ten years old, she asked if the fireplace worked. When I said, yes, she asked for a demonstration, so I turned it on low. She liked what she saw. “This is great. So cozy!” she gushed. Can we sit here tonight?”
“There’s no table here,” I pointed out.”
“Most of my homework tonight is just reading,” Blair noted. “We don’t really need a table for that.”
“I guess you’re right,” I conceded.
Blair hurried over to the fireplace, took a seat, and motioned where I should sit. This girl was becoming aggressive. I have to admit I liked it. She opened the novel her class had just been assigned and positioned the book between the two of us. We took turns reading paragraphs.
About four months later, when Blair arrived, I asked if she wanted the fireplace on, as was becoming the norm. Blair surprised me with a firm “no” and pointed at the couch instead. She must have some writing to do tonight, I said to myself.
“How are you feeling tonight?” she asked me with an odd tone in her voice. It was the type of question I typically got if I had been battling a cold or the flu. But I had been perfectly healthy for months, so I was little bit puzzled by Blair’s query.
“I feel wonderful,” I stated.
“Hey, so do I,” Blair responded with unusual enthusiasm. “I feel really great! Super, in fact.” She gave me a wicked smile as if she was trying to say something without really saying it. I soon found out what it was.
We were seated in our normal spots on the couch. Blair pulled out the latest reading assignment from her teacher. I opened it up to the place where the bookmark was and volunteered to read the first paragraph. I don’t think I got more than three lines finished when Blair gently took the book from my hands, set it on the table, and then suddenly launched herself at me! She wrapped her arms around my chest, rubbed her right cheek against my left one and said unabashedly, “I want you! Hold me!”
This development—two years in the making— caught me completely off guard. I was startled but not taken aback by Blair’s romantic aggression. This was not an unpleasant turn of events at all! I gently pushed her backwards a few inches just to look at her smiling, desirous face. “Well,” I managed to say. “I suspected something like this would happen someday, Blair. Let’s do it!” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Blair’s mom was due in 58 minutes.
I kissed Blair gently on the cheek, then on her forehead. Blair responded by doing the same to me, clearly copying what I did. Then we hugged more tightly. As I started to break the passionate embrace, Blair pleaded, “More hugging!” I laughed and said, “Okay…okay…more hugging.” I took the opportunity to rub Blair’s back with my hands. She was clad in a sky-blue t-shirt with some sort of fairy-and-unicorn design on its front. I felt some sort of undergarment that clearly was not a brassiere. It was unnecessary. At age 10½, Blair was not developed much in the chest area. There was just a hint of what would come—the slightest beginning of puffy mounds.
I broke up the hug and then resumed kissing her. I started with her cheeks and forehead and slowly moved to her neck and ears. These parts I kissed slowly which visibly aroused Blair. She then started kissing my cheeks. I took the lead again by kissing her on the lips over and over. The last kiss had lasted for about half a minute. I did not care this girl was a fifth-grader and 25 years my junior. I decided to take this as far I could! Blair was wholly compliant and was loving every minute of what she had started.
When I stopped the kissing, Blair, not surprisingly uttered, “More kissing!” I laughed at her order and said, “Bair, honey, we can continue kissing or take it another step further. Do you want me to make love to you?”
“Do you mean with our clothes off?” she asked me with an excited tone in her voice.
“Well…yes. Blair, it’s whatever you want to do. I just want to please you tonight.”
Blair quickly nodded and looked anxiously toward me for further instructions.
“Great!” I noted. “Just start to get undressed, Blair. Take your clothes off but leave your undershirt and panties on. I’ll strip down to my underwear.”
There was a footstool near the coach. Bair sat there and followed my instructions. She stopped disrobing when she was down to her soft pink panties and what can best be called a flimsy cotton undershirt. I was now dressed only in my briefs. I saw an odd look of concern on Blair’s face and asked her if there was a problem.
“I don’t have any boobs yet.” she sadly declared, stating the obvious.
Not wanting her to feel inadequate, I promptly dropped my underwear to the carpet to show her my fully erect penis. “Blair, sweetheart, whatever you have or don’t have—it doesn’t matter. You’ve got my dick as hard as a rock!” And she did. In all my 35 years, I had never had a stronger erection. I knew I was going to give Blair a mighty fucking! A large smile covered her face.
I gathered Blair into my arms and gently carried this seminude princess back to the couch to begin our love-making. I told her she was beautiful—and she was. I slowly lifted her undershirt over her head and tossed it cavalierly to the floor. Blair instinctively started to put her hands in front of her nipples, but I said, “No, honey. Let me have a close look at them. They are beautiful to me.” I felt my penis jerk up even more.
Blair was lying on the couch in her panties with her back slightly elevated on some pillows. I positioned myself so I could gently lean on her. I caressed both of Blair’s nipples simultaneously with my thumbs. They got hard very fast. “Ooh, I love those beautiful titties of yours, Blair,” I told her affectionately. Without saying another word, I leaned forward to suck on the right one while continuing to fondle the left one. Then I switched sides. I then did something I also enjoy doing: I stood up so I could rub my erect penis across Blair’s small breasts. Blair giggled. “You may laugh,” I told her. “But my dick enjoys this immensely. I may come all over them.” I wasn’t sure if Blair knew enough about sex to understand exactly what I had just told her, but I knew she had taken it as a compliment. She sweetly smiled.
I sat down in front of Blair and gave her a long romantic kiss. When I broke it off, I informed her, “I bet you have a gorgeous pussy, Blair. I’m going to lick it until you come.” I had to refocus our love-making to pleasuring her because I was getting the unmistakable signs that I was going to ejaculate. It was far too early for me to climax. I wanted to enjoy this absolute sweetheart for as long as possible before shooting my load of cum. I gently put my hands on Blair’s hips and slid those pink panties down her legs. I paused for a moment to kiss the crotch of the garment as I dangled her underwear between us. Blair laughed at my silliness.
Blair retook her elevated leaning position, not quite knowing what to expect. Her pussy was hairless and gorgeous. I would have been content to lick and finger it for hours. I immediately put my face directly on it and start liking it like a popsicle for a good three minutes. Blair was happily moaning. I knew she was enjoying herself as she placed her hands at the black of my head and ordered, “Keep licking!” I did, but I also took the middle finger of my right hand and slowly inserted it into her now very wet vagina. When I started sliding it in and out rhythmically, it put Blair over the top. She had a noticeable watery ejaculation—very impressive for a 10½-year-old female. “Good girl!” I exclaimed and quickly lapped up her sexual juices.
“Wow, that felt amazing,” Blair told me while panting. “So what was that?”
“Blair, you just had an orgasm. Good for you,” I explained. That was a new term and experience for her. “It means I brought you to the peak of sexual excitement just with my mouth and finger. Your beautiful, tight pussy responded by ejaculating a liquid stream. Now it’s ready for what’s coming next.”
I didn’t make small talk. I simply announced, “I’m going to slide my penis in there and make you and I both feel really good.”
Blair then surprised me with a comment out of the blue. She said, “I don’t think that’s fair.”
“What?” I asked with a concerned tone. “What do you mean it’s unfair?” What’s unfair?”
Blair pleaded, “You made me feel so good just now. Is there anything I can do by myself to make you feel good too?”
What a doll, I thought. I wasn’t going to ask Blair for oral sex or even a hand job. I wanted to simply fuck her pussy and be happy with that. But since she brought up the subject…
“Well,” I began, “every normal male on the planet loves it when his girl gives him a hand job, blowjob, or both.” I could tell by the quizzical expression on Blair’s face that both concepts were foreign to her. “Let’s start with a hand job. It’s the easiest to show you and any girl can do it to her boyfriend.”
I guided her hands to my penis and told her to explore it as much as she pleased. (“I really, really wanted to touch it when you rubbed it against my nipples,” Blair confessed.) Within a short time, she had begun rubbing my shaft with her right hand and caressing my balls with her left hand. I reached up to caress her left breast, but I stopped short when I remembered she wanted to focus solely on pleasuring me. After a few minutes I said, “That was wonderful, Blair. If you did this much longer, I’d have climaxed; I’d have come for sure. Want to try fellatio now?”
Blair had never heard of that word, so I explained it was a fancier term for a blowjob. I warned her, “I guarantee I will come if you do that to me very long.” She smiled as she sat up. I stood up and gently aimed my dick into her waiting mouth. I told Blair to be gentle and just lick the head of my penis to begin with. She did for just a few seconds—then she started to put it further into her mouth. I knew this could not go on much longer without my ejaculation happening, so I pulled out and honestly informed Blair, “I don’t want to blow my load of sperm into your mouth—yet. I want to make love to you with my dick.” Blair gave me a look that she was unsure of the next sex act on the agenda. “Blair,” I said firmly but affectionately, “I am going to fuck your brains out.”
I laid Blair back onto the couch and spread her legs open. This was going to be a classic missionary fuck on a fifth-grader. At that point, my mind ceased to function rationally. I mounted her and slid my dick into Blair’s vagina. There was no blood nor painful screams. Perhaps she had done this with a classmate or a neighbor before. (I later learned Blair decided to experiment with sex after secretly watching her second-oldest sister and her boyfriend fuck. One day Blair had curiously borrowed that same sister’s dildo and took her own virginity by accident. That was about a year before our tryst.)
Anyway, I slid my dick inside Blair and let out a soft moan of pleasure—as did Blair. As I began to slowly thrust my manhood back and forth inside her pleasure hole, I said, “Blair, you are one gorgeous sexpot.” I meant it. I kept saying to myself, “You are fucking a fifth-grader,” but the thought did not repulse me; in fact, it had the opposite effect.
I wasn’t going to last long engaging in this taboo bit of coitus. I tried to delay the inevitable by asking Blair, “Do you want me to come in your mouth, on your face, on your tittles, on your stomach…” but I never got the chance to complete the question. My orgasm came—and it came hard. It was one of the strongest cumshots I’d ever had since I began puberty. I fired three or four shots of jism into Blair’s beautiful pussy. (It even rivalled the day when I was 15 and on vacation with my family in Miami. On that occasion I blew a huge load over the perky breasts of a sexually liberated Serbian girl who was maybe 13. I met her at a hotel in Miami while my family vacationed there. It was the first time I had ever gotten a blow job—and it was a doozy.
I slowly pulled out. There was still a string of cum dangling from my penis. I figured Blair needed to experience cum in her mouth, so I ran my finger over my still hard dick and told her to open wide. I put my finger in. Blair kind of grimaced at its taste. Hey, it’s not for every girl.
I checked the clock on the wall and saw we had exactly 14 minutes to get dressed and look like we hadn’t just had a wonderful 44 minutes of carnal bliss, but instead had been dully working on grammar exercises with a few long division questions thrown in. Somehow, Blair and I combined to beat the deadline and look innocent.
I was paid as usual for my tutoring by Blair’s mom, which sort of seemed like a gigolo fee under the circumstances. Blair let her mom leave the house a few seconds before she did. She gave me a passionate kiss and whispered that she loved me. I said, just as quietly in return, “I love you too, Blair—especially that gorgeous fifth-grade pussy of yours.”

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By Quillpen
#Tween