Marci the Chatterbox

Marci, a loquacious student, is smitten with her tutor and insists she'll marry him someday. In the meantime, she enjoys discussing personal topics with him.

Part One

Marci Dittmeyer was always one of my favorite students. I, Peter Gleason, had the pleasure of tutoring her for several years. I liked her for many reasons: She was eager to learn, a pleasure to be around, and she was always highly entertaining. I have to admit Marci was especially cute, too, with her pretty face, big brown eyes and free-flowing brown hair that seemed to go in all directions.

She was 10 years old when she first became a tutee of mine. Her mother answered my ad in the newspaper. Mom said she had a “fairly bright daughter who was underachieving in school.” That description was a common lament I’d often heard over the years. According to her, Marci needed extra help mainly in math and English, “as well as just about anything and everything else, too.”

The very next day, her mother drove her across town to my home and dropped her off at my side door. Mom stayed long enough to wish me luck. The first hour I spent working with Marci in my home was an enlightening 60 minutes. She was not the least bit shy. She talked both my ears off about any subject that popped into her head: The weather was too cool. Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza. She liked her teacher, but she was a bit strict. All the boys in her class were yucky, except for Michael Sanders who was dreamy. Two girls in her class already were wearing bras, but they were both slutty. I could listen to her ramble on for hours. Marci Dittmeyer’s monologues were more entertaining than 90 percent of the shows on television.

I quickly determined that Marci’s main academic problem was a lack of focus. Once I got her to pay attention to her work instead of chattering—which was not an easy feat—she was an above-average student. When Marci was preparing to leave after that first session, she readily declared, “I like you, Peter. I really like you! You are a good listener, and you explain things better than my teacher does. May I kiss you?”

“Of course!” I declared despite being astonished by the unusual request. “I never turn down kisses from pretty girls. You definitely fit that category, Marci. I like you a lot too.”

I leaned forward. I was expecting an insignificant little buss on my cheek, but Marci surprised me with a kiss on the lips complete with a loving embrace. It seemed like this was an everyday occurrence for her.

“That kiss was very pleasant, Marci,” I told her honestly. “It’s not often that one my students kisses me. I’ve been doing this for more than 10 years. You might be just the third of fourth student who’s ever done that.” I felt compelled to add, “None of the previous girls ever did it as well as you just did.”

Marci blushed slightly and said, “You deserve to be kissed, Peter. You’re a super nice guy. I’ve only known you an hour, but I like you a lot. By the way, how old are you?”

I informed Marci I had recently turned 36 years old.

She had no reaction to that factoid. “Are you married?” was her next question.

“Nope, I’m a bachelor and I live here alone,” I said.

“Oh! I guess that means I can still get you for a husband someday and we can have lots of children together once I develop.”

I just laughed at that outlandish statement, but I didn’t want to discourage Marci’s infectious optimism. “Yeah, sure, Marci,” I replied. “Remember, I’m 26 years older than you. That’s a huge gap. However, that age difference is not unheard of among married couples. I’ll make a deal with you: When you’re old enough to be a mother and if you still want me as a husband, I’ll happily marry you. I’d love to have you as my wife. I think you’re adorable!”

“Deal!” she announced and shook my hand as if we had just signed a business contract. Then she kissed me a second time. It was almost as good as the first one. I was starting to like this affectionate, nutty little girl! She had a wonderful, outgoing personality.

Not long afterward, her mother returned at the correct time to pay me for my services and to pick up Marci. Without being asked, Marci went into another long monologue saying that we had gotten all her homework done, that I was a superb tutor, and I was a really nice guy, too. Then she added that she wished she could marry me—and she might someday—even though I was “an old guy.”

Her mother laughed at her confession. I gave her a dirty look and said, “You should have stopped while you were ahead, Marci. You make me sound like I have one foot in the grave.” I don’t think Marci realized she had inadvertently insulted me.

“I see you got the full treatment from my talkative daughter,” Mrs. Dittmeyer correctly concluded.

“Yes, I think I did,” I said with a smile. “She’s quite a talker. I hope this was a good first session for Marci.”

“Oh, it must have been, Peter,” she responded. “If it hadn’t been a good session, Marci would have said so in no uncertain terms right in front of you without hesitating. She’s a girl who always speaks her mind.”

Part Two

When she arrived for our second session the following week, Marci greeted me with another affectionate kiss once her mother departed. It became her usual greeting—and I looked forward to it. I always tried to extend it for as long as possible. At the beginning of our sixth session, I curiously asked her, “Marci, honey, do you parents know that you always kiss me before we begin working on your school assignments?”

“No, I don’t need to tell my Mom and Dad everything about my life,” she said while slowly shaking her head.

“Smart girl!” I told her. “You are wise beyond your years, Marci. You’ll go far in life.”

Marci added, “By the way, I’ve told my mother that I’m going to marry you when I’m old enough and that we’re going to have a lot of beautiful babies together—maybe seven or eight.”

I couldn’t resist saying, “That sounds like fun! I can hardly wait—but I’ll guess I’ll have to wait for quite a few years.”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to have a large family. I just have one younger brother. I don’t think I’ve told you that, Peter.”

“No, you never told me you had a brother,” I confirmed. “But I think you misunderstood me, Marci. What I meant was making a lot of beautiful babies with you would be fun.”

It took a couple of seconds for Marci to realize the subtle but important difference. Then she got it. Marci smiled and kissed me again.

About a month after that Marci arrived at my house for a tutoring session especially excited. When she kissed me, she made a definite effort to rub her chest again mine, which I always liked. “Do you notice anything different about me today, Peter?” Marci asked.

I could tell she really hoped I had. I did, but I was too polite to say what I had noticed. Instead, I replied, “Are you wearing a new outfit?”

“No, Peter! I have my first bra. It’s just a training bra, but I hoped you could tell I had it on when I pressed my chest against yours when we kissed.”

I knew she was annoyed by my answer, so I stated, “I’ll be totally truthful now, Marci. I certainly did notice. I could feel it against me. That means your breasts are growing nicely. I’m happy for you. You’re 11 years old now, right? You might be a little bit ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, I just turned 11 two weeks ago,” Marci reminded me. “Only four other girls in my class wear bras. They’re easy to spot.”

“I’m sure they are!” I agreed.

Marci continued, “Beth Lopez is definitely the bustiest girl in the fifth grade. She wears a regular adult-type bra. She has really nice tits. I envy her.”

I laughed again. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, Marci. It can be very awkward socially for girls like Beth who develop too quickly compared to their peers.”

“Well, the boys in my class definitely stare at her.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean,” I said. “Poor Beth is probably embarrassed.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Marci stated, “but I’d like it if the boys stared at my chest. It would be flattering!”

I broke into loud laughter at that humorous remark before saying, “Marci, you are quite a girl. You are one in a million. I never know what you are going to say. It’s always priceless! Anyway, I’m very happy for you. I’m pleased that your boobs are growing.” I put my hands on her shoulders and added, “You know, Marci, I wouldn’t marry a girl unless she possessed a lovely set of big, juicy tits.”

“Really?” Marci asked. A look of concern spread across her face.

“Yes,” I said. “I absolutely love girls’ tits, Marci. I always have. They’re a real turn-on to most males. I’m no exception. I want my wife to have a great set of jugs to breastfeed our babies. That’s what nature intended. Furthermore, as her husband, I want to enjoy her breasts, too! They’re great playthings for a typical man. They can occupy my attention for hours and hours.”

Marci stared at her barely-there breasts and amusingly shouted at them, “Come on, tits! You heard Peter! Don’t let me down…and don’t let Peter down! Keep growing!”

Nature cooperated to Marci’s urgent request. Marci continued to blossom at the regular rate over the next several years. She always kept me updated whenever she needed to upgrade her brassiere size, which was frequently. After one exceptionally good kiss, she whispered in my ear, “I have B cups now, Peter! I’m getting older and better.”

I had to agree. “Your pep talks to your tits must be having a positive impact on them,” I joked.

By the time Marci was 14, she was quite a fetching young female. I found it extremely flattering that she had never wavered in the slightest regarding her affection towards me: Marci was still only interested in marrying someone she only saw once per week who was 26 years older than she was. One night I discovered that although Marci was willing to wait for marriage, her patience had run out regarding the ultimate act of intimacy. Marci wanted sexual intercourse…and she wanted it with me as soon as possible.

When our tutoring session ended, Marci said quite bluntly, “Next Tuesday, Peter, I’ll be here as usual at the regular time. I’ll bring my school assignments, but they will be secondary. I want us to spend the whole hour fucking because I can’t stand another night of celibacy with you. I must have you! I’m not even going to ask you if you’re okay with this. I don’t care. Like it or not, you are going to get laid!”

As she went out the door, I smiled broadly and gave Marci a succinct, three-word answer: “I like it!”

Part Three

Throughout the subsequent seven days, I spent much of the time fantasizing about my upcoming romp with this affectionate teenage cutie. I also planned ahead. There was a pull-out bed in the rec room, not far from table where I normally conducted all my tutoring sessions. Two hours beforehand, I had it ready for Marci and me with fresh linen and plenty of thick pillows. On a side table I had placed a bottle of champagne and two wine glasses. The table also had a roll of paper towels, a box of tissues, and a sizable container of lubricant in case Marci’s teenage pussy was as tight as I hoped it was. Finally, I made sure I was dressed in loose clothing that I could remove very quickly.

At the appointed hour, when Marci knocked on the side door to be let in, I practically ran up the stairs to open it. I was immediately going to give her a romantic kiss, but Marci was wise enough to put up her hand to stop me. When I gave her a quizzical look, she stated, “Peter, we need to wait until my mother backs her car out of the driveway and is heading down the street, so we know she is definitely leaving. We don’t want her walking in on us.”

“Good thinking, Marci. You are indeed a clever girl!” I told her.

“You’ve tutored me well over the years, Peter,” she sweetly replied.

“That comment deserves more than a kiss,” I told her. When Mrs. Dittmeyer was clearly on her way, I lifted Marci, who was only about 5’3”, into my arms and carried her down the flight of stairs. I gently set her onto the center of the bed. She sat there, utterly radiant, propped up by the stack of pillows. I took my place beside her and gave her the best kiss I had ever given anyone. It was long, passionate, and meaningful. “I can’t wait to screw you, my love!” I said.

“You know I can’t wait to be screwed by you, Peter!” Marci replied.

“We’ve got 60 minutes and only 60 minutes,” I reminded my bedmate. “Let’s not waste any further time. Let’s get undressed and get at it. My dick is already stiff.”

I was undressed and completely nude in about 15 seconds with my clothing tossed into a disorganized heap on the carpeted floor at the side of the bed. Marci was more deliberate in disrobing. She stood up, presumably to make the task easier for herself. However, I suspected Marci was putting on a show for me. Of course, I wanted to see her naked as soon as possible, but I could wait a few moments longer. When she was down to her lacy brassiere and panties, she looked up at me and said, “C cups—and now you finally get to see what they hold.” She undid the clasp and let her bra fall off in front of her. Hooray! I was finally getting to see Marci Dittmeyer’s famous breasts. They were lovely. Her nipples were more prominent than I expected. That turned me on.

Marci’s pussy, which wasn’t very hairy, was a delightful bonus to gaze upon. “Wow! That’s certainly an underrated body part of yours, Marci” I told her. “You’ve never once mentioned it in conversation in all the years I’ve known you. You really should have. Your vagina is beautiful.”

Marci made no comment, but she did grin at me. She climbed upon the bed, laid on her back, and spread her legs. It was an obvious invitation for me to mount her, but I wanted to pleasure her first—and pleasure myself. I promptly buried my face between her thighs and began licking her vaginal area. Marci appreciated it, judging by her unrestrained reaction. She moaned loudly and wriggled wildly. She experienced an orgasm within a minute—which I happily lapped up. “Enjoying sex so far?” I asked her rhetorically with a sly wink.

Still, I didn’t penetrate her. I wanted to enjoy her breasts which had so often been the topic of our conversations. I moved up her torso and eagerly cupped her goodies with both my hands. I squeezed them and caressed her nipples. I sucked on each one and eventually laid my penis between them. I could tell the idea of a titty-fuck was foreign to Marci. I took the initiative, however, by straddling her and squeezing her breasts around my erection.

“What’s that supposed to achieve?” she asked me.

“I suppose it makes me happy!” was my simple answer. “Look at how hard my dick is! Jeez, it feels like I’m wielding a steel girder.”

I couldn’t hold out any longer. I mounted Marci for a basic missionary-style screwing and discovered I didn’t need the bottle of lube. My dick, thanks to Marci’s pussy being so well stimulated, slid inside her cavity with surprising ease. I moved it in and out of her with a slow, sustained rhythm. Marci resumed her joyful moaning. I joined her. Marci wasn’t the first girl I’d ever fucked, but she was my most enjoyable lay because of her youth, enthusiasm, and my general affection for her.

After about ten minutes of delightful coitus, I could not hold back my impending orgasm any longer. I recognized the familiar sensation and pulled my rod out of Marci’s warm, inviting pussy. Seconds later, I spewed a huge load of sperm across her abdomen and torso with my first ejaculation. A few strands flew far enough to strike the underside of Marci’s chin. Two more smaller spurts followed. I made sure they covered Marci’s breasts as they had been the topic of so many of our sexy conversations over the years.

Marci seemed slightly disappointed by the outcome. “Peter,” she chided me, “if you think that’s how you make a girl pregnant—by blasting your cum all over her body—you really need to read a sex education textbook.”

“Marci,” I replied calmly, “I don’t need a pregnant, teenage girlfriend. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe marriage comes first followed by babies. This was just sex for fun—not for procreation purposes. That’s why I pulled out.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right, Peter,” she conceded. “I guess I just got carried away. But you will make a baby with me some time in the future, though, won’t you?”

“If you want me to, yeah,” I confirmed. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Marci’s tutoring session remarkably still had 40 minutes remaining in it. Our passionate sexual get-together had taken just 20 minutes. It seemed far longer to me.

I helped Marci clean herself up using the paper towels. She hadn’t felt the two dollops of cum hanging from the underside of her chin. “You may not have liked where my semen ended up, Marci, but that was one terrific cum shot,” I boasted.

“It was nothing less than I expected,” Marci said sweetly before kissing me on the cheek.

We lounged on the bed for 15 minutes while enjoying a glass of champagne—which was something new and exotic for my bedmate. I merrily fondled Marci’s breasts for about a minute for some extra fun. We then got dressed and worked on some of Marci’s math problems.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Peter! I meant to give you a blowjob!” Marci remembered about five minutes before the end of the session. “I read about that act in a sex manual I borrowed from a friend. I really wanted to orally stimulate that wonderful penis of yours.”

“Based on its stiffness and the load that came from it, I don’t think it needed any further stimulation, Marci,” I told her. “Your mere presence on this bed was stimulating enough.”

“I could make it up to you at our session next Tuesday!” she suggested.

I faked thinking about it for a moment. “Well, okay, Marci,” I said in a phony, sad voice. “But only if you insist.” I then smiled broadly at her and added, “It looks like you enjoyed the champagne. I’ll buy another bottle for next week. I guess I can put away the lube. I didn’t need that at all.”