My fiancée fucked her tutor
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My name is William. And this story is fiction but it is the real dream that I had last night. I have been having several of these dreams recently. The character are all real. The names have been changed though.
I’m twenty-eight years old, a geography and history teacher at a prestigious English boarding prep school just outside Oxford. In front of my pupils I’m confident, energetic, even commanding. On the rugby pitch or cricket field I’m fast and competitive. But put me in a room full of new people and that confidence evaporates. I’m only five-foot-seven, and years of well-meaning but cutting comments from past girlfriends have left me quietly insecure about my height and, more privately, about what I bring to the bedroom.
That all changed—or at least I thought it had—when I met Eliza.Eliza is twenty-four, doing her PhD in Archaeology. She has long, golden-blonde hair that catches the light, sparkling green eyes, and the sweetest, most trusting smile I’ve ever seen. She’s only ever been with me. I’m the only man she’s ever kissed, the only one she’s ever let touch her. She’s shy like me in many ways, but there’s a quiet joy in her that makes everything feel possible. We’re engaged. I still catch myself staring at her sometimes, wondering how on earth I landed the most beautiful woman in the world.
Her younger sister Flora is twenty-two, a striking brunette with flowing dark hair and an effortless sense of style. Where Eliza is sweet and innocent, Flora is outgoing, fashionable, and outspoken. She believes a modern woman should experience life fully—sex included. “Sex is just sex,” she’s said more than once, with a casual shrug that always makes Eliza blush.
We were driving to a village pub called the Dog and Gun to meet Eliza’s new PhD supervisor, Rob. Eliza was behind the wheel—honestly, she’s the better driver, and I’m comfortable admitting it. Flora sat in the back, teasing us both. The plan was simple: meet Rob, let Eliza talk through her project with him (her previous supervisor had to step away because of cancer), and then Flora and I would give them space while we grabbed our own table.
We parked a little way down the lane and walked up. Eliza looked stunning in her light-blue halter-neck dress that hugged her athletic figure, the short flirty skirt swaying with every step and showing off her toned tennis-player legs. She wore matching blue strappy heels. Flora was equally eye-catching in a navy-blue halter dress with a high neckline and a short, flared skirt that accentuated her confident posture and equally fit legs, finished with bright blue platform heels. Both dresses were elegant yet playfully short, perfect for a warm day out.
“How on earth have I landed the most beautiful woman in the world?” I murmured.
She giggled, cheeks flushing. “What’s on your mind, Will?”
I told her. Flora made exaggerated retching noises behind us. I laughed, but the warmth in my chest stayed.
The pub was perfect—old Tudor beams, flagstone floors, wooden tables with red cushions, and a warm, rustic glow. Standing by the bar was a tall man, easily six-foot-three, with a light beard, glasses, and a casual white t-shirt stretched over an obviously athletic frame. He spotted us and strolled over with easy confidence.
“Rob,” he said, smiling. Eliza’s face lit up instantly. She gave him a warm hug. He shook my hand firmly and hugged Flora too. I felt a flicker of intimidation—he had that natural presence—but he was immediately likeable. He asked questions, listened intently, and made us all feel interesting. By the time we sat at the big bay-window table, even I had relaxed.
I noticed how both Eliza and Flora hung on his words. Eliza even had a shandy—something she almost never does.
After a while, Flora and I moved to another table so Rob and Eliza could talk properly about the PhD. I sat with my back to them. Flora could see. We chatted about her ambitions in art and auctions. She kept glancing over my shoulder, her eyes bright. I teased her about fancying him. She giggled and didn’t deny it.
When she went to the loo, an elderly couple at the next table struck up a conversation. The woman leaned in conspiratorially. “We couldn’t help but notice the romance brewing between you two.”
I laughed. “Oh no, there’s nothing like that. She’s my sis—”
“Sister!” the woman interrupted excitedly. “That explains it! You two don’t have that spark. Not like the couple in the bay window. They look like they were made for each other.”
I turned.
Eliza and Rob were sitting close, sharing a plate, laughing softly. She was gazing at him with total attention, the kind of look she usually reserved for me. They looked… perfect together. Tall, confident Rob and radiant, blonde Eliza. I stared longer than I should have.
When Flora returned, she suggested we explore the village shops while they finished talking. Eliza texted that she and Rob were going to walk through the fields back to his house and had left the car keys at the pub for me. It felt odd—Eliza is very protective of her car—but I shrugged it off.
We wandered. In the post office the same elderly woman excitedly told me how the “handsome couple” had left holding hands. I smiled politely, but my stomach tightened.
We drove to the pin Eliza sent.
As Flora and I pulled up to the gates, we were both stunned into silence. The house that greeted us was a magnificent Tudor manor, built in warm red brick with intricate timber framing, tall ornate chimneys, multiple steeply pitched gables, and diamond-paned leaded windows that gleamed in the afternoon sun. Ancient ivy and wisteria climbed parts of the façade, while perfectly manicured hedges and vast green lawns stretched out in front of it. It looked like something out of a history book—grand, timeless, and far beyond anything I had ever imagined.
Eliza and Rob were strolling the gardens. He offered us a tour.
The place was breathtaking. Pool, swimming pond, vast grounds managed by a team of staff. Inside: oak panelling, multiple libraries, armour, family portraits spanning generations, a desk carved from a Spitfire wing. I was in heaven as a historian. Rob was gracious, knowledgeable, and genuinely warm.
I was so absorbed in the artefacts that I barely noticed the little things at first—the way Eliza and Rob kept finding reasons to stand close, the soft laughter between them, the way their hands brushed… and then stayed linked.
It was only when we reached the study—beautiful oak shelves, French windows opening onto a sunlit patio, two deep Chesterfield sofas—that everything shifted.
Rob stood by the windows, sunlight pouring over him. He spoke casually, almost dreamily. “I’ve always wanted to have sex in this room… but I’ve never found the right woman.”
I was only half-listening, examining a case of ancient Greek swords.
Then he said it.
“Eliza… will you join me?”
I turned.
He had pulled off his shirt. His torso was tanned, ripped, with a sharp V-line disappearing into half-unzipped jeans. Eliza’s face had transformed—eyes wide, lips parted, glowing with excitement. She looked at Flora, who gave her an encouraging smile, then back at Rob.
“Of course,” she said softly, almost breathlessly. “Why not?”
It felt like the world slowed down. I stood frozen, unable to speak or move, as if watching a film I’d stumbled into.
Eliza walked to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. It wasn’t the sweet, shy kisses I knew. It was passionate, hungry. His large hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing her firm bottom through the blue dress. She moaned softly into his mouth.
She kissed down his chest, over his abs, and slowly sank to her knees. With trembling fingers she pulled down his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, nine inches—and slapped against her cheek. Eliza giggled, delighted.
“Oh my god… it’s so heavy,” she whispered, wrapping both hands around it. “And so big…”
She kissed the tip sweetly, looked up at him with pure adoration, and said, “This is going to be amazing.”
She worshipped him eagerly, then kissed her way back up his body—pressing her lips to his thighs, hips, abs, and chest—until she reached his ear. Breathing heavily, she whispered, “Rob… can Flora join us? Please?”
He nodded with a hungry smile. Flora walked over and they both sank to their knees, worshipping his cock together in their pretty dresses.
I remained rooted to the spot, heart hammering, unable to look away.
After ten intense minutes, Eliza stood. She performed a slow, shy-but-determined striptease for him, letting the light-blue dress pool at her feet. She stood in nothing but delicate blue lace panties and heels, pressing her toned body against his. They kissed deeply again. Flora stripped next, her darker skin and figure equally stunning.
Rob looked down at Eliza, voice low and commanding. “Beg me, Eliza. Beg me to make love to you.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Please, Rob… please make love to me. I want to feel you. I’ve never felt anything like you before. Please.”
He lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he lowered her onto his cock. The guttural moan that escaped her as he sank deep inside her was unlike anything I’d ever heard from her—raw, soul-deep ecstasy. He fucked her slowly, passionately, carrying her while they kissed, her hips rolling to meet every thrust.
He carried her to the Chesterfield, laid her down, and continued. Flora joined them. I watched in stunned silence as they moved through position after position on the sofas. First missionary, Rob thrusting deep while Eliza’s legs wrapped tightly around him, her nails digging into his back. Then he flipped Eliza onto all fours, pounding her from behind while she moaned into the cushions. Flora straddled Eliza’s face so her sister could lick her while Rob fucked her, the sisters moaning encouragement to each other.
“God, he feels so good inside you, doesn’t he?” Flora gasped.
“So deep… I’m yours, Rob,” Eliza whimpered.
Rob’s dirty talk was constant and intoxicating.
“That’s my good girl, Eliza. Take every thick inch. Your tight little pussy was made for this cock.” He switched to Flora, bending her over the arm of the sofa and slamming into her while she cried out in pleasure. Then both girls rode him together—Flora on his cock, Eliza on his face—grinding and bouncing as they kissed each other passionately. He had them side-by-side on their backs, legs spread wide, alternating deep strokes while telling them how beautiful they looked taking him, how wet and eager they were.
They came repeatedly. The room filled with the sounds of slapping skin, wet sucking, desperate moans, and passionate kisses.
They had completely forgotten I existed.
Eventually, in a daze, I slipped out of the study and wandered into the garden. I sat on a stone bench, listening. The moans and screams continued for what felt like hours—Rob’s deep grunts, the girls’ ecstatic cries, the rhythmic slap of flesh.
Then I heard it.
“I’m going to cum, Eliza.”
“Please! Cum inside me! Put a baby in me, Rob! Fill me up!”
His final groan mixed with her muffled scream of release. I could picture it perfectly: Eliza on her back, legs locked tight around his waist, pulling him as deep as possible while they kissed, his thick cock pulsing inside her, flooding her with cum.
My body convulsed. Without touching myself, I came hard in my trousers—warm, sticky, humiliating.
I stayed on the ground for a long time, breathing hard, the distant sounds of their afterglow drifting through the open windows.