The Other Sister

A teenage pupil of a private tutor achieves the excellence he knew she always had. When she turns 18, she rewards him in the best possible way!

Part One
In 1996, about two years after I began my private tutoring business, I, Wendel Stapleton, was hired sight unseen by a mother to help her 15-year-old daughter with her English and history assignments. Apparently, I had gotten very positive reviews from the mom’s friend about my services. (Word-of-mouth is always the best form of advertising.) The address of this client was a tiny hamlet about a 15-minute drive from my home.

It was arranged that I would arrive at about 6 p.m. to meet my tutee named Beverly Gibson who was in the tenth grade. The plan was to chat for about half an hour so we could get to know each other, then proceed with an hour of tutoring. I had no trouble finding the address. I was greeted warmly by both my student and her mother when I arrived there.

I was quickly escorted to a table in the family dining room where I sat at an end, with Mrs. Gibson and Beverly on each side of me. There was a plate of oatmeal cookies, mugs, and a pot of hot tea there for us to share. Hospitality such as this is always a good sign that the customer is serious about booking regular sessions.

Beverly did not make much of an impression on me to begin with. She dressed without much style in a baggy sweatshirt and faded jeans. Mrs. Gibson did most of the talking during this first meeting. Beverly mostly stayed silent as Mom explained that while her daughter got passable grades, she firmly believed they could be better. All she needed was some extra help “and a kick in the butt every once in a while for motivation.” It was nothing that I hadn’t heard a dozen times before from other frustrated parents.

About 15 minutes into our pleasant chat about Beverly’s school work and academic expectations, the telephone rang in the other room. (Everyone still had landlines back then.) Mom left the table to answer it. Seconds later I saw another female member of the family briefly enter the room. She was Beverly’s 17-year-old stepsister, Jennifer. I could not help but notice her. She was well built and stunningly attractive—and she dressed the part. Jennifer was clad in a fetching sky-blue blouse with a matching pleated skirt, panty hose, and shiny black shoes with heels that enhanced her leggy frame. Her dirty blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders. Quite frankly, Jennifer could have been on her way to pose for the cover of a teen fashion magazine. She was that good looking.

Initially, Jennifer had not realized I was seated at the table. When she finally did see a stranger in the house, I happily introduced myself as her sister’s new tutor. “Oh, that’s great,” she said just for something to say. Then she promptly headed out the front door. Out of habit, my eyes must have followed her every step as she departed.

“Hello, Wendel,” Beverly said sarcastically. “I’m your student…not Jennifer.” She gave me a bit of a dirty look. Then she smiled. “Hey, I’m used to it by now.”

I assume Beverly meant that she was used to being overshadowed in the good-looks department by her spectacular sister. I managed a small apology. “Oh, sorry about that. I was just trying to be friendly after meeting a new person,” I explained.

Beverly wasn’t buying it. She said, “Every male over the age of 11 always goes out of his way to be friendly with my stepsister. I wonder why that is…”

“Okay, guilty as charged!” I weakly said. “Jennifer is definitely a real head-turner. You can’t deny that!” Then I figured I’d better compliment Beverly, too. “Hey, I really shouldn’t talk about my tutees this way, but you are quite charming yourself, Beverly.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “I know that’s what you had to say under the circumstances. You can’t help being a normal male and noticing Jennifer’s overwhelming charms. I’m just the other sister in the Gibson family.” For someone who allegedly needed help in school, Beverly Gibson was a wise teenager.

Mrs. Gibson had finished her phone call and reentered the room. As she sat down at the table again, she innocently asked, “What have you two been talking about while I was away?”

Beverly quickly informed her mother, “Not too much, really. Wendel was distracted by Jennifer when she passed by. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. Of course, he can’t be faulted for that.”

“Now Beverly, you must stop feeling inferior to Jennifer. There’s no need for it. You are considerably brighter than your stepsister. You have a great mind. You’ll go far in life at whatever you choose.”

“It’s all quite peculiar, Mom. Wendel has not yet stared at my great mind,” Beverly commented.

“Okay, Beverly, your point is made,” Mrs. Gibson declared. Then she turned her attention to me. “As for you, Wendel,” she stated, “I work as a receptionist in an optometrist’s office. I can attest there is nothing wrong with your eyesight.” Then she laughed and continued talking. “Jennifer has been my stepdaughter for slightly more than two years now. I’m used to seeing male visitors to the house reduced to drooling, helpless fools when they encounter Jennifer for the first time. She was quite lovely at 15…and now she’s off the charts at 17. I get that. Anyway, we’re here to discuss my other daughter—Beverly, the one I gave birth to 15 years ago.”

We talked for a little while longer and it was agreed I’d tutor Beverly twice per week, focusing on her writing skills and essays. We would begin immediately. As Beverly got her English binder from her knapsack, Mrs. Gibson asked me, “How old are you, Wendel?”

When I told her I was 32 years old, she gave me a fake scowl and waved her right index finger at me accusingly. “Imagine that! A man in his thirties leering at an attractive 17-year-old girl!” Then she smiled broadly at me to show she was being sarcastic.

“I’m 32…I’m not dead.” I replied, also with a smile.

Part Two

I quickly learned that Beverly Gibson was exactly how her mother described her. She was smart, but just a little bit on the lazy side—perhaps quite a bit. She tended to do the bare minimum required to complete her assignments and get passing grades. With a bit of extra effort, some of Beverly’s papers would easily be first-rate quality.

Even after our first hour of tutoring expired, I lingered for a while just to converse with Beverly and get to know her better. I found her to be highly intelligent, witty, and very well spoken. She described her relationship with her stepsister as “not necessarily adversarial, but not especially friendly either”. Any high school student who could use the word “adversarial” correctly was clearly no dummy. She admitted being at least mildly jealous of her stepsister’s beauty because, as Beverly put it, “Jennifer has a test pattern between her ears.”

When I asked her to elaborate, Beverly told me, “She’s vapid. If you engage in any sort of adult conversation with her, you can quickly tell she knows very little beyond fashion and makeup. Jennifer probably thinks that Taco Bell is the Mexican telephone company. Yet, she gets all sorts of flattery and attention. Yes, I suppose I’m embittered.”

Before I left her house, I challenged Beverly to always do her best work. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. I want to see how excellent you can be.”

“Really?” she sincerely asked. “You seem to care more about my results in school than I do.”

“That might be true,” I replied. “That’s up to you. I can’t force you to do your best possible work, but I’d like to see you give it a try.”

That brief conversation seemed to light a fire in Beverly. Within a short time, I saw marked improvement in the quality of her responses to English and history questions. Her creative writing became much more descriptive and quite enjoyable to read. At the end of that semester, Beverly had earned a spot on the school’s honor roll. Beverly took it in stride, but her mother was overjoyed. She gave me a $100 gift card as a bonus. Even more of a surprise was that she kept our sessions going all summer long with no break. I asked her, “What does Beverly think about summer tutoring? I assume she hates the idea, right?”

“Wrong!” declared her mother. “Beverly was the one who suggested it! I was more than happy to take a recess in July and August, but Beverly insisted on continuing with more lessons. She finds them very stimulating, Wendel. She likes how you challenge her. Her stepfather and I are both very thankful for how you’ve helped her so far. You’ve got Beverly as a client until she finishes high school—and perhaps longer than that.”

Such high praise was all very flattering to me—but it was truthful. I tutored Beverly twice a week, occasionally more often, for three years. Each semester her name was on the honor roll. Each year she took more and more pride in her work. As an added bonus, each year she took more and more pride in herself, too. She started to focus on her outer self. Underneath those frumpy sweatshirts was a very attractive teenage girl. She couldn’t hope to match Jennifer’s attributes—few females could—but Beverly became more accepting that she could improve herself not only academically, but in her appearance and demeanor, too.

One day, about two weeks before her final high school semester ended, Beverly, now a lovely 18- year-old beauty in her own right, telephoned me on a Sunday morning. To my recollection, she had never phoned me before; it had always been her mother who booked appointments. “Wendel,” she said sweetly, “the semester is coming to a close soon. Chances are in September I’ll be attending a college far from home, so I might not see you for a long time. I have two thank-you presents for you. Will you be home today so I can deliver them? I said I had no plans at all to leave the house. “Great!” Beverly said. “I’ll be at your place in about 20 minutes. You’ll have to give me your address. I have no idea where you live. You’ve come to my house a few hundred times; I’ve never been to yours.”

Beverly was driving slowly down my street looking for my house number. I walked out onto the front stoop to wave her into my driveway. During the three years I tutored Beverly, she had also applied the pursuit of excellence to her driving. She had gotten perfect scores on both the written and in-car portions of her driver’s exam. I opened the front door for her. She was carrying a large box decorated with shiny red wrapping paper.

“Well, this is a wonderful Sunday surprise, Beverly!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know why I deserve this special house call and that gift. I assume that box is for me.”

“Yes, it’s one of two gifts I have for you,” she confirmed. “They are tokens of thanks—and love—for all the help I’ve gotten from you over these past three years. You pushed me to excel, and I thank you very much for it. Open it up, please.”

Beverly set the box on the kitchen table. I gently removed the bow on top and then I tore open the wrapping paper. Inside the box I found three binders full of her old writing assignments for English and history.

“You’re giving your old assignments to me, Beverly?” I asked. “Really, you should keep them so you can look back on them proudly someday. Some of them are quite excellent.”

“I am keeping the originals; these are just copies. I spend most of yesterday afternoon at a photocopying place so I could give you them too. You were a big part in my success in high school. Maybe you can use them as tutoring materials to inspire another student to be her best—or his best, as the case may be.” She then kissed me on the left cheek. That was a first time she had ever done that.

I did not quite know what to say, so I fumbled for words. “Well, thank you, Beverly, for these marvelous binders. I’ll treasure them because they are a gift from you and because you are a tremendous success story for me. Also, thanks for the kiss. I suppose that was my second gift.”

“Just a prelude,” Beverly interjected. “You have nothing to do this morning. I have nothing to do this morning. Let’s both spend the morning doing something worthwhile—fucking like alley cats! Wendel, I’ve wanted to be intimate with you since our first tutoring session back in 1996 when you cared more about my schooling than I did. I thought you were wonderful.”

To say I was surprised by what I was hearing would be a huge understatement. But I wanted to be absolutely clear with Beverly about what was about to occur. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m nearly twice your age!”

“You are 35. I am 18. That makes a difference of 17 years. Big deal,” Beverly insisted. “Remember that genealogy project you helped me with two years ago? It’s in one of those binders. I discovered that one of my great-great-grandfathers was 20 years older than his wife—and she was only 14 when they married in the 19th century. We’re both adults according to the law. We won’t be doing anything illegal.“

“Well, that’s true…” I began to say.

Beverly became slightly impatient. “Don’t you want to have sex with me, Wendel? Am I unappealing to you?"

“What? You are beautiful, Beverly. You’ve nicely matured in the time I’ve known you. I’m all for this. You are a rare beauty…and I guess I’ve always loved you on some level.”

For a moment, Beverly got just a bit mischievous. “Am I more beautiful than Jennifer?” she asked with a naughty grin on her face.

“Don’t press your luck, Beverly!” I said emphatically. “Nobody is more beautiful than your stepsister. She can stop traffic. But she is also a vapid bimbo. You are the real dream girl in your family. I could make love to you forever. I’d get tired of fucking Jennifer after about seven or eight months. Okay...maybe a year—tops!”

We both laughed for a moment…and then there was a thick silence in the room. Beverly broke it by saying, “Shall we begin, Wendel? I’ve always fantasized about having a romantic bath with you. Can you indulge my fantasy?”

I didn’t have to be asked twice. I lifted Beverly into my arms and carried her to the bathroom. She was about 5’5” tall and probably weighed about 120 pounds. We sat on the edge of the bathtub for a moment before we engaged in long passionate kisses. We stopped long enough for me to turn on the faucet. Beverly asked me, “Do you still have those sexy bath salts I gave you for Christmas last year? I had this on my mind when I bought them.”

“Yes, I do!” I exclaimed. “You are a sneaky little vixen, Beverly. I love it.”

I found the bath salts inside a cupboard. Beverly discovered one scent called Taboo Passion. She said, “You can’t get much more accurate than that!” as she dumped the contents of the package into the rising water. As the tub filled, we began to disrobe.

“I want the pleasure of removing every stitch of your clothing,” I told her. As a typical male, I started with Beverly’s blouse. It was a plain white one. After I undid the fourth button, I placed my hands inside and cupped her breasts that were still concealed in a beige brassiere.

“I just love a good set of firm tits on a beautiful girl,” I told Beverly with a sense of admiration.

“So why are you stopping then?” she asked me. “Keep unbuttoning my blouse and then remove my bra! Surely, they’re more fun to caress without the bra being in the way!”

“That’s my A-student Beverly—always the logical one!” I said.

When I finally observed Beverly topless, she was an enchanting girl. She had the perfect breasts for her height and stature. They were round and were definitely designed to be fondled and sucked. I lost myself in ecstasy for five or six minutes just enjoying Beverly’s treasures. Beverly enjoyed the attention I was giving them. “Do this all morning, if you want, Wendel! This is a total turn-on for me, too.” We only stopped when Beverly noticed the bathtub was on the verge of overflowing.

That reality check caused me to refocus my priorities. I pulled off Beverly’s slacks, followed shortly thereafter by her pristine white panties. She had a bushy vagina, which I expected. I gently fingered it for just a few seconds. I could feel my steadily growing erection trying to break free from its tight confines in my trousers. So, I stood up and quickly disrobed. This culminated with Beverly completing the task by yanking down my briefs. My stiff penis sprung to attention just inches from her face. “How can I resist that?” Beverly asked rhetorically. Then she licked it and gave it a kiss.

“Let’s get in the tub right now,” I advised Beverly. “This terrific foreplay is sexy enough to make me finish before we really start!”

To the best of my recollection, this was the first time I had shared a bathtub with anyone since I was three years old. I had a hunch this was going to be more fun than it was with my two-year-old cousin Leon in 1966. I got in first. Beverly followed. Facing the same direction I was, she sat between my legs as close as she could to my abdomen. “Comfy?” she asked.

“Yes. Horny too!” I replied.

“Me too,” she said. “Let’s fuck!”

I obliged, lifting her slightly out of the water so I could insert my penis in the exact place where nature had intended it to go—Beverly’s pussy. It was a little bit awkward, but neither of us cared. I could fuck Beverly and fondle her breasts at the same time. What could be better?

“I love this!” Beverly confessed. “If at all possible, just don’t come inside me, Wendel. Please pull out and I’ll jerk you off.”

About a minute later she did just that. I launched a long rope of semen that powerfully flew as high as Beverly’s nose. It fell sexily onto her gorgeous breasts. “Let me rub that in,” I suggested. “Some people believe it makes your tits grow bigger.”

“That’s nonsense!” Beverly said. “But do it just the same.”

We spent the next 20 minutes just doing nothing. (Okay, I was playing with Beverly’s jugs constantly.) She was reclining against me. It was the most peaceful, loving feeling I had ever experienced. We chatted about all sorts of things, including Beverly’s strained relationship with Jennifer.

“We’re never really going to be close,” she admitted. “We’re just way too different. Jennifer barely got through high school. She’s already flunked out of haircutting school and cosmetology school because even those careers require studying. She’ll eventually be a rich guy’s trophy wife someday. Then when he discovers Jennifer is as dumb as a sack of rocks, he’ll divorce her. When her looks fade, she’ll be in deep trouble.” Beverly paused for a second, then added, “At least that’s what I hope happens! Not that I’m embittered or anything like that.”

“Embittered? You? No way!” I joked. “To heck with this mindless chatter. Let’s get back to screwing!”

Beverly spun around and we tried to fuck while facing each other, but it was too awkward. I suggested we move our coitus to my unmade bed. She agreed. We dried ourselves off. Beverly seemed fixated on thoroughly toweling off my penis, which was very erotic to me. When we were reasonably dry, I carried my student to my bed and placed her in the center of it. I spread her legs, happily mounted her, and gave her a thorough riding. I ejaculated a second time. Recalling Beverly’s request, I again pulled out in time. My jism splattered into small pools near Beverly’s navel.

We were both perspiring. “I think we need another bath—or perhaps a cold shower, Beverly,” I stated. “This has been one fantastic Sunday morning.”

“I choose the bath,” Beverly answered. “One of the packets of bath salts is called No Regrets. How perfect is that?”