A black high school senior in need of tuition

As you hit another red light, you mentally curse the afternoon traffic for about the 20th time. You look at your watch. Damn! 3:30pm. You had intended to be back half an hour ago. You are supposed to be taking delivery of your fantasy woman right about now.

As you pull up outside your home, you see a figure waiting outside. Your heart begins to race. Could this be her, you wonder?

Exiting your car, you approach figure cautiously. Sitting there patiently is a tall black teenage girl. She is dressed in the creamy white sweater and short pleated skirt of a Catholic High School Senior. She must have come straight from school, you decide… and then realise the absurdity of that thought. Factory, you think, factory. She has just been delivered. She has not just come from school.

Even so, The pale uniform contrasts nicely with the dark African skin and she matches your fantasy precisely. She has a small stack of books resting on her knee, as if she is embarrassed about showing her long graceful legs. By her feet sits a school bag. White ankle socks and trainers, you are pleased to note, rather than tights.

“Can I help you, miss?” you ask, clearing your throat.

Her head swings round in alarm. Her frizzy hair you note is tied back in a scrunchie.

“Oh,” she says in surprise, “no its alright. I’m just waiting for my tutor.”

“You must be Doe,” you say with what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m John. I’m to be your tutor.”

“O-oh, there must be some mistake,” Doe says, looking confused, “they said you would be a woman. My daddy doesn't like me being alone with boys.”

“Well, I’m hardly a boy,” you answer with a smile. “How old are you my dear?” you add.

“E-eighteen,” she answers shyly… “Just.”

“Well then, I think that you are old enough to make your own decisions, don’t you?”

“I-I guess.”

“So, why don’t we go inside and then we can begin our lesson?” you say, unlocking the front door.

“I suppose it would be alright,” Doe answers, uncertainly.

To your great relief the black teenager gets to her feet and enters the house ahead of you. You smile as she brushes down the back of her short skirt, where it has stuck to her hips.

“That’s a nice skirt,” you say conversationally.

“Oh, I hate it,” says the tall girl in embarrassment. “They make me wear it for school, but its far too short. If I bend over it shows off my panties and everything. I prefer long skirts and baggy jeans, y’know?”

“I think it’s a shame to cover up such lovely long legs and I bet all the boys would agree,” you say with a smile.

Doe blushes and looks away.

“Where would you like me to sit Mr… uh?” she says, changing the subject.

“Just call me John.”

“Okay, er… John. Where should I sit?”

You would really like her to sit on your lap, but you are afraid of frightening her off. Can you frighten off a fantasy woman, you wonder?

Eventually, you direct her to a desk that you had prepared earlier. As you lean over Doe to explain the questions that you would like her to answer, you find yourself breathing in her heady teenage scent and staring hypnotised by her dark thighs, which are almost entirely unconcealed by her school skirt. Your cock hardens, painfully constricted by your pants.

“Mr… uh… John,” Doe says, looking slightly freaked, “are you okay?”

You begin to regret choosing shy and demure as settings for this girl. She is so gorgeous. Why didn’t you choose slutty and horny? Then she could have done all the running.

But, hey, she’s only a factory creation. Why don’t you just knock her on her back and fuck her senseless? No one would ever know. She’s just a sex toy, after all. Hell, She might even enjoy it.

You step back and take a deep breath, forcing down your baser instincts. Consensual sex you remember. Consensual sex only.

Calmly, you return to the desk and begin to explain what you would like her to do. Unfortunately, no matter how you explain it, the pretty dark girl doesn’t seem able to grasp the subject. She really is dumb as a post and you can see why her daddy sent her to you (except, you remind yourself, she doesn’t really have a daddy).

“Would you like to thrash my butt?” Doe says at last.

“Wha..?” you ask.

“That’s what my daddy says I need. He says I should tell you to give a me a good thrashing to make me concentrate. Look, I’ve got a permission slip.”

She fishes in her school bag for the bit of paper that tells you that you are allowed to bend her over your knee, flip her little pleated skirt over her gorgeous black ass and spank her till your hand hurts.

You consider…