[F25] I was supposed to tutor my professor’s son. I ended up riding him in their kitchen while she was upstairs.

This happened last fall and still feels surreal. I’m a grad student and part of my funding includes some tutoring hours. One of my professors — a brilliant, intimidating woman in her 50s — asked if I’d be willing to help her 19-year-old son with some first-year writing assignments.

She said he had ADHD, struggled with structure, and needed a little one-on-one help. I agreed — not because I had time, but because it was her asking. She told me to just come by their house a couple afternoons a week, she’d be working from home upstairs and he’d be in the kitchen.

The first time I met him, I actually thought it was her husband. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tan, and had this messy dark hair and intense stare that kind of caught me off guard. I swear I felt it in my stomach when he looked me in the eyes and said “Hi.”

The first two sessions were pretty tame. We mostly talked about his essays, but I couldn’t help noticing how flirtatious he was. He’d compliment my outfit, hold eye contact way too long, “accidentally” touch my hand when passing the laptop.

The third time I came over, he opened the door shirtless. Said, “Sorry, just got out of the shower.” He smelled like expensive soap and I literally had to stop myself from staring at his chest.

His mom was upstairs on a Zoom meeting, door closed. We were at the kitchen table, going over his writing. I leaned over to point at a paragraph on his screen and he said, “Do you always wear skirts this short when you tutor?”

I looked up, surprised, and he was biting his lip. I told him, “I didn’t think you were paying attention to my grammar.” He smirked and said, “Oh, I’m paying attention.”

I should’ve stopped it. But instead, I leaned back a little in my chair and let my legs part just a bit. His eyes dropped immediately.

Next thing I knew, he got up, pulled me to my feet, and kissed me. I could hear the murmur of his mom’s voice upstairs as he pushed me against the fridge. I was dripping wet before he even got his hand under my skirt.

We didn’t even make it to a bedroom. I climbed up onto the kitchen counter, pulled my panties to the side, and let him fuck me right there. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep quiet as he pounded into me — deep, rough, desperate. I could hear her on her call upstairs while her son was buried balls-deep inside me on her marble countertop.

When he finished inside me, I had to cover my mouth not to moan. I felt it leaking out while I helped him clean up the dishes. We heard his mom say goodbye on her Zoom call just as I slipped back into my seat and pretended to be mid-sentence about his intro paragraph.

She walked down, smiled, and asked how the session went. He just said: “I think I finally get it now.”

We fucked in that kitchen twice more over the next few weeks. Every time I see her in the hallway on campus, I feel that same warm ache between my legs and wonder if she’ll ever find out.