Tuesday's Tutorial

(This is a new story but one which visits Anne's past, just as 'Dirty Country Girl' did. I hope you enjoy it but please be aware that, in common with my other stories, it includes references to bodily functions. If you're offended by that sort of thing, please give it a miss.)

With hurried but nervous purpose, Anne made her way towards King's. She considered herself fortunate to be a student at King's which, by any standard, was an impressive place with a regal looking gatehouse, spacious court and a college chapel of cathedral-like proportions.

On first arriving she'd thrown herself wholeheartedly into into her work and been determined to make the most of her time in Cambridge. During Michaelmas term it had produced nothing but glowing reports and high praise from the tutorial staff. Since Christmas, however, there had been distractions and she'd failed to maintain the proper balance between working hard and playing hard. Being allowed to take her own lodgings outside college on the strength of special pleading, a privilege not ordinarily granted to students during their first year, had unwittingly played a part in the downfall of a nineteen year old girl who'd never been away from home before. Wendy, her flatmate, was something of a party animal but, unlike Anne, was well used to alcohol and could hold her drink well. She'd also introduced Anne to Brian, an attractive, athletic young man who was well endowed where it mattered. The attraction had at once been mutual and matters had quickly become physical. Too much sex and too much to drink – a combination which if she'd nothing else to do would have been of little consequence – had begun to play havoc with her studies.

Today, however, was judgement day. She was due to see her tutor, Professor Snowden, at ten o'clock and knew that there was work undone to confess. As she crossed the neatly manicured court, the clock struck ten and a sense of foreboding overcame her as she approached his rooms. Oversleeping and a late start had robbed her of any opportunity to relieve herself and her already overfull bowels were in a state of turmoil as she made her way to Professor Snowden's study. Unable to stop it if she'd tried, Anne was mortified as an odious fart, smelling not unlike rotten eggs, escaped from her pert bottom. She didn't normally smell like that and attributed it, correctly enough, to nervousness plus her consumption of lager the previous evening, an experience which still left her feeling somewhat hungover.

It was with some trepidation that Anne knocked on the door of Professor Snowden's study.

"Come in!"

Anne nervously opened the door, clenching her buttocks tightly as she did so. The aged professor looked up from his desk and motioned to a seat.

"Take a seat, Anne. I see you're keeping Oxford time as usual, always five minutes behind GMT."

Anne smarted at the mention of 'the other place' as well as his criticism of her timekeeping.

"I'm sorry, Professor. According to my watch it's only just gone ten."

Professor Snowden frowned.

"Perhaps your watch requires a new battery, young lady. Anyhow, let's get down to business. I trust you've brought the outstanding assignment with you, duly completed."

"Assignment?" Although she knew full well what he was referring to, Anne decided to act dumb, if only to buy herself a little thinking time.

"The assignment you were supposed to hand in last week, Anne Glenning, and the one you promised me would be completed for today."

"Oh that assignment."

"Yes, that assignment."

Anne trembled, clenching her buttocks even more tightly. Her mouth felt dry as she struggled to find the right words.

"I'm sorry. I've not got round to it yet."

Professor Snowden scowled.

"Not got round to it! You've had a fortnight to get round to it. It's only five thousand words for goodness sake."

"I'm really sorry, Professor."

"So you should be. Anne, this frankly isn't good enough. During your first term you worked so hard and I had every reason to believe you were a promising student but your work has really gone downhill since Christmas. I would mind less if this were your first late assignment but it's not. In fact this is becoming something of a habit, isn't it?"

"Yes, Professor Snowden."

"Well it stops here and now. If you don't complete the required number of assignments - on time – the university won't award you a degree at the end of the course. What's more we can't afford to carry you if you've no intention of doing the work that's expected as your presence here deprives someone else more deserving of a place. It's not often that I have to recommend a student's sent down and I don't want to do it in your case if I can possibly help it. You've got ability and I know you're easily bright enough to get a first or at least a two one if only you're prepared to put the work in."

Anne looked up at the professor, knowing he was right. She'd not had a dressing down like it since leaving school and her expectation of university had been of a liberal regime once she'd settled in. Although close to tears she'd managed to bite her lip and control the emotions welling up within her. What proved much harder though was controlling the urge to fart in the professor's presence. It was two days since she'd last moved her bowels which felt every bit as full as they were. She knew that her nervousness, coupled with the previous evening's alcohol consumption, conspired to make their contents much more foul smelling than usual. Hoping he knew nothing of the battle raging in her guts, Anne found words to answer the professor.

"I'll try to do better from now on. It's just that I've been a little distracted just lately."

The professor raised his eyebrows.

"Distracted?"

"Yes. I've met someone and...."

Before she could continue, the professor cut her short.

"I thought as much. Anne, the college doesn't discourage students from socialising and 'girl meets boy' is all part and parcel of the university experience as, indeed, it is of growing up. We don't mind if students have a drink or two either so long as it's within reason. You're adults, if only just, and the law of the land allows you to do that. However all of that must come in your free time. Your first priority absolutely must be your work. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor Snowden."

"Very well. Let's see. Today's Tuesday. I want to see you on Friday at ten - with the completed assignment. Maybe then we can have a meaningful tutorial."

"Thank you, Professor."

Anne stood up to leave and, as she did so, lost control of the urge to fart. It wasn't particularly loud or noisy but it stank. This was 'rotten eggs supreme' and Anne, feeling mortified, tried hard not to blush.

His patience had already been sorely tried and the professor made no attempt to conceal his disgust.

"What on earth is that dreadful smell?"

Anne went crimson.

"Sorry professor. I didn't have time to make it to the loo this morning."

"Well in future you must make time. You're an adult, albeit only just, and we expect you to behave like one. It's up to you to make sure you've 'been' before tutorials and lectures. Oh, and less lager would be advisable on your next night out – not that you'll be having one before Friday!"

She'd done enough grovelling for one morning and Anne didn't bother to answer the professor. Making her way to the door she left and was glad to find herself in the fresh air of the open grassy court. As she made her way out of the college precincts, Anne's relief at the outcome of her grilling was short lived. Unable to stop herself, she cut a more powerful fart than the one she'd done in the professor's presence. This time it was more than a fart though and she felt a warm stickiness as her panties filled with warm, brown shit which smelt like rotten eggs. There was no way she could return to her digs the way she'd come. This time it would have to be a quiet walk along the Backs, well away from the town centre. Once back, her priorities would be clear. She'd need to get cleaned up, showered, changed and to work on that assignment! Her one hope was that she'd not bump into Wendy or, worse still, Brian.

The End