Chapter Text
Okay. This was definitely a limit.
As in a boundary you absolutely should not cross, but somehow, you find yourself absolutely needing to.
Like, you know when you start growing up,
You start on the “ magnificent journey of womanhood” as your mom calls it.
You get zits, you don’t mind them at first- it’s a telltale sign of pubescence and they’re no worse then the ones the boys have at your school.
Everything is ALWAYS sore, never-not, as in achy, brittle bones that you swear you hear clink together as you walk.
You suddenly feel everything going on under your shirt and you find yourself in a Victoria’s Secret for not the first time, trying to dodge the glare of the smoldering models’ eyes as your mom, loudly, speaks to a sales associate about your magnificent journey of womanhood.
And things don’t ever go away, they change.
You incorporate all these things you never lived with in your routine. You do a soap at night for pesky redness, soon a cleanser, then a toner, and eventually, you toss in a moisturizer.
And just when you think it ends there, it doesn’t. Now you have to take care of your hair, like every girl in school and you can no longer get away with throwing it up in a thinly bound ponytail because every “pretty girl” in the school has their hair curled or straightened and you just need to be a pretty girl.
So, you start blowing it out. Eventually, you stop using suave and switch for something found next to the Target Makeup section, you feel a bit more mature. Your mom gets you a straightener for christmas (though you’re sure its a hand-me-down) and maybe, every now and then, you’ll use it- until one day you grow to like your hair completely flat, shiny under the sun and out of your face. It becomes mandatory to straighten your hair.
You realise in the mirror one day that once, you didn’t need any of this. When you were twelve, you would just splash some water in your face and call it a night, shower only when your mom asked you to, and ask her to do your makeup only when it was essential. But now, you can’t live without your ten-step skincare routine, or your long morning hair-only showers and your nighttime body-only showers, or your blow dryer, or your straightener, or curler, and if you ever misplaced your makeup bag you would find yourself absolutely fucked because everything in there costed at least $15.
Sky’s the limit with those things, but with this, it’s not.
It shouldn’t be, anyways, but you find yourself enthralled with breaking the boundary, pushing and exerting it until you find the soft center, like everything else, growing up, making and breaking routines; is this the same?
It shouldn’t be, you duck your head down and tune into the excited blabbering happening at the tip of the lecture hall. The voice is always high energy, completely void of malicious intent and always filled with a puppy-dog level of scientific excitement, you know now that you’re just making up the edge in their voice, that they know what you plan to do.
This is illegal, right? Not necessarily, you think, you’re both consenting adults but if anyone finds out, you’d both be in very, very deep shit.
You gulp, letting your eyes bounce off your notes to your professor, who’s scrambling to their own desk and writing some ideas down in her own notebook, loudly narrating what she’s writing down in attempts to coax their thoughts.
Professor Hange, tenured for sure, beloved by the university, head of sciences in human mutation, and extremely attractive. Tall, almost muscular (you can tell from the way their biceps bulge through their lab coat), dark brown hair always tied up in an attractive messy ponytail (one that you would’ve killed to pull off in middle school, now all you want to do is take it off of her and run your hands through that thick mane), and, oh fuck, their eyes.
Wait, they’re looking at you, oh fuck, a deep, brooding chocolate brown, surely hiding all their secrets past those thick-rimmed glasses. Why is she looking at you? Quickly, you swallow the growing ball of spit in your mouth and shuffle in your seat, running your hands down your black skirt to avoid their gaze. When you look up again, they’re continuing their long going drone about their most recent findings in the lab, you would be listening if their gaze didn’t send a splash of anxiety down the back of your shirt and a pang of heat to your center.
This is why you have to break the limit and do what you thought about late, late at night.
Well, also because you need to talk to them about your test scores. That too.
Classic porno move, you shudder, talking to your professor about your test scores and making an advancement on them to get extra credit? Did they make up this rumor out of thin air or…
No, they didn’t, you remember because this all started when you overheard Hitch, your roommate, talking to her friend about how she put the moves on Professor Nile to get reassigned in a group project. You could do it too, right?
“Professor, class ended five minutes ago- I have a doctor’s appointment to get to,” a voice resounds in the classroom, barely cutting through your thoughts and Hange’s lecture.
“Ugh! Fine, class dismissed! But if you don’t do the reading by the next class, I’m keeping you overtime!” kids packed like sardines hop the tin and rush out of the class, practically trampling you on the stairs to make it to the door.
You almost find yourself missing the desk, so worried about not getting trampled that you missed your thorough opening to get to the professor. You’re grateful, all the tension you’ve kept in all of class releases from your chest as you find yourself halfway out the door, who cares that this bad test score is bringing down your grade by a whole letter? You can get it up later, right?
“(Y/N), come speak with me, I’ll only keep you for a moment,” is a clear cut to the chest, all that old tension resurfaces and you can’t help but freeze momentarily.
Still away from them, you bob your head and backtrack your steps- barely turning around to meet her at the wooden table.
“Actually, do you mind closing the door?” oh no, Hange has to know about your plan now (you were giving them the sex eyes, weren’t you) now, they’re going to scream at you, suspend you, unsuspend you, then expel you. They can do that, right? They totally can, fuck, you’re dead. You and your sex eyes are dead.
“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble, (Y/N),” she clarifies as you walk back from the door, having shut in deep thought, now facing them but keeping your head hung. The words don’t offer any clarity but a slight lift from your head, now being able to meet their gaze.
What this meeting is about is still unknown from their dark gaze, not giving you any leeway in uncovering the truth as you stand at the front of their desk, still dark and calculatining, but the small smile on their lips saying otherwise.
They tilt their head, gesturing for you to come around and meet them on the other side of the desk where they’re sitting, leaned back and lazy, casual almost, despite being one of the best professor’s Eldia University has to offer.
“You weren’t paying as much attention in class today, (Y/N),” why do they keep saying your name like that? Are they trying to kill you? She totally knows, fuck. “I was just worried, is all.”
You stiffen as you feel her hand run down your arm. Despite being covered by the most revealing yet “intelligent” sweater you owned, their hand burned against the fabric of your tight, red sweater- so much so that you were sure it was going to leave sear marks when it left the crook of your elbow.
“Sorry,” you stutter out the words, head hanging in shame. Great, now you’ve made a bad impression and you’re never going to be able to ask for extra credit.
“Surely it’s because of the grade on your last test,” they start to explain, hand lifting from your arm to card through their own hair. Fuck, that’s hot, wait no- not hot, you hastily pick up your attention, gaze shifting to theirs, “usually, bad grades on tests give kids less incentive to pay attention, continuing this cycle of failure and resulting in, what the kids call it: ‘flunking.’ So what I’m really trying to find out is… Are you flunking me?”
You stare at them with wide eyes, quick to cover your tracks, “no! No, not at all- I’m just, um, tired! Yes, very tired- you know the uni life!” you sound like an idiot, shuddering immediately, “I was actually hoping to ask you if I could, do, uh, extra credit.”
You let your voice get low and breathy, idiotically leaning towards them to show your “assets.” You try to give them your sex eyes, maybe mixed with some faux innocence and curiosity, but that part of the plan is eradicated completely when you see the bubbling in their lips, trying to hold back a laugh.
Now that you didn’t expect, and it’s ten times worse than getting suspended, unsuspended, then expelled.
“Are you trying to sleep with your teacher?” they ask, somehow, with absolutely no malice. It was more of a light inquiry for such a question, like you didn’t just ask her to risk her entire career for a quickie and some extra credit.
Hitch was probably much better at this.
Hitch probably didn’t have to deal with Nile fucking Dawk laughing at her for what is growing to be two thousand years. Their laugh is adorable- but not when it’s pointed at you. They’re crying at this point, tears beading at their clamped-shut eyes as they double over and howl with laughter, your face is surely beet red as you attempt to run away, shuffling your feet backwards but failing due to the uncomfortable heels you chose to wear to this (also failed) event.
You have never seen a education-based porno flop as hard as this, you may just be a Sex History Legend, even though you’re absolutely failing at having sex.
“No! No! Don’t leave!” She excuses themself, wiping their mouth in an attempt to hide the giggle they were surely about to produce, “I’m sorry. I’m sure I’m not giving you more incentive to pass my class. You were just asking a question based on your own curiosity and I reacted harshly, you’re allowed to ask questions- to be honest I’m quite glad you asked, it does clear some things up. But anyways- close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”
You didn’t even notice, promptly shutting your mouth and stiffly standing. Did they just say they were glad? Why were they glad? It’s all going straight to your head, surely your thoughts are a crowd of news reporters and you are simply a martyred politician.
“You did want to have sex with me, correct?” they ask, their voice still cheery and resounding, nearly echoing in the hall- you want to bend over and clamp your hand over their mouth and ask them to never speak again.
Still, you nod- head hung in shame, not a single word being able to reach your lips. This is where you die, you’re going to die, but at least your ghost outfit will be cute.
“I have to say, I’m impressed by your confidence to even ask such a thing,” shit, she’s not even starting to suspend you, she’s turning you down- class is going to be way more awkward, “and I’m intrigued with your ability in bed, you are quite attractive, (Y/N). Sadly, like the pornographic video you surely based this interaction on, we shouldn’t do it in this classroom, as much as I would like to.”
“Uh, home office?” you try to joke but the words come out choked. She smiles softly and continues.
“I prefer beds. I like to see what’s all laid out for me,” their voice dips in tone, “do you have any more classes today?”
You shake your head.
“Great,” they rip a page from their notebook and scribble on it, “here’s my address. Be there by seven thirty. I have some grading to get to so, sadly, I can’t rip off your clothes quite yet. I have a meeting to get to in fifteenish- nope, I have to get there now- so I’ll have to ask you to leave. Oh, and wear what you’re wearing now.”
They have the fucking audacity to wink at you as they leave the lecture hall. All you can do is stand there, listening to their swift footsteps as they leave the vicinity and, only then, do you allow yourself to deflate.
You have no idea what you’re going to do for the next three hours, somehow, you’ll make do.
#
You end up getting froyo with your roommate and a few of her friends. Despite their cliquish talk on how all four of them managed to get Nile Dawk’s number (which, to be frank, seems a little worrying), you stay silent on your arrangement with Hange. Everynow and then, you tune into what they're talking about but mostly you fork at the popping boba you got with your cheesecake-tart frozen yogurt combination, which now doesn’t seem like the best of choices. A lot of the choices you made in the past five hours haven’t been entirely reasonable, infact, none of them have- one of the many pink pearls pop and spray over the loose Reese’s cup you got, gross.
You toss the cup soon after, deciding to branch off from Hitch and her friends in the name of studying (which you probably should also do right now but today just has to be National Bad Ideas day), you just end up walking around campus, and people watching on a bench as you wait for the sun to set.
Around six, you decide to go back to your room and freshen up a little bit- shaving over strand hairs you missed in the dormitory showers, redoing your makeup, and changing your underwear- which you didn’t even want to look at the damage done, you just toss it into the hamper and slip on the second best pair.
Somehow, the time slips to seven-twenty and you’re rushing out the door, sending a quick text to Hitch to let her know that you’ll be out and to not have sex in your bed again before reaching the lot where your car was collecting dust. Your mother begged you to take the old thing with you by saying that you’ll need it more than you think, she convinced you to pay for the $45 a semester and now you have a hunk of metal surely to combust as you drove to your fuck date with your teacher, jesus, what would your mother think?
This thing doesn’t even have bluetooth, you have to pick between christian prayer radio sermons or horny silence and you opt for the later, letting your thoughts coast you through the freeway and to their house. Despite the rushing thoughts about what will happen minutes from now, you feel calmer as the time approaches. If you die, you die, you consider, finally asking yourself on Hange’s past, maybe teaching is a front for murder.
“At least she’s hot,” you murmur, checking the time on the dashboard clock as you pull into the driveway, 7:43PM.
Her house is huge, bigger than you expected anyways. It’s old, seems like a fairytale of a house and all it's missing is a gargoyle. Somehow, it’s incredibly fitting. You wait a minute before walking up the steps and ringing on the doorbell.
You can hear voices and shuffling from inside, it’s quiet and muffled enough that you’re not even sure if you heard it. Hange opens the door promptly after, footsteps that aren’t theirs can be heard feet away but you don’t have much time to think on it because Hange looks like that.
Leaning against the doorway, they look down on you with a blank expression. They’re wearing the same thing from earlier today, just without the lab coat, her weird tie, and a few buttons. You can hardly keep your eyes up to her gaze, knowing that there’s skin of theirs that you haven’t seen before.
“What? No roses?” they ask, leaning in closer, joking with their usual charm.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry- I didn’t even think about it. I’ll get you some next time?” You supply awkwardly, surely not setting the mood.
“Cute of you to be thinking ahead. I’m just messing with you- come in,” the unhook themself from the door, gesturing for you to come inside and gently leading you in with a hand on the small of your back, “you seem very tense.”
“I’m fine!” you supply, voice cracking as you stand like a brick in the foyer. It’s a beautiful home, red and gold accents blend with fine wood carvings through what you can see. It’s so beautiful, you’re not even sure that you can move, frozen in place with the fantasy-aspect of it all, suspecting that the carved ceilings will swallow you whole if you take a step out of place.
“Do you drink?” they choose to ignore your state and take to the implanted mini-bar, pouring themself a glass of wine and holding the spout to another empty glass.
“Not often, but I’ll have some,” you quickly add, “please.”
They nod, a small smile on their rather indifferent face as they take you to the living room. You sit down quickly and modestly enough, just like how you would when taking Cotillion classes, wrapping your ankles together and keeping your legs uncrossed. Hange sets the glasses down on the table and plops down besides you, close enough for you to feel a sway of dizziness pass through your system, the knots in your stomach furling and unfurling as you wait for them to speak. You make no move towards your drink, waiting for them to make the first move.
“I wanted to talk a little first,” they explain casually, turning to you and placing a heated hand on your bare near, the touch alone nearly makes you see stars, you feign your attention, “get you more relaxed, too. There’s no need to be nervous.”
The expression in their eyes is earnest and endearing, you smile softly and nod your head once- they were right, there wasn’t. You let them continue.
“I just have a few questions to ask you before we start, is that alright?” You nod once more, feeling confident enough to take a sip of your wine. It’s possibly the best you’ve had and it tasted like the expensive tastes of a tenured professor. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” you answer, “but I don’t have much to base it off of- most college parties have Smirnoff or some knock-off Corona- not like I’ve even been to a party, no, not ever.”
“I know what you college kids are like,” Hange laughs, their hand giving a quick squeeze to its place on your lower thigh- you can’t help but watch the hand with a precise gaze. “I can barely say the word Smirnoff without gagging, I was like you too but it’s been awhile. Tell me, have you ever been with an older woman?”
Your mouth dries, no, was it any different? She takes your awkward silence as a response and continues.
“It’s been some time since I’ve been with anyone. Being a professor devoted to their studies excuses any thought of a social life. I’m quite… particular in bed and I need to know if there’s anything off limits.”
“You can do anything you want to me,” you quickly blurt out, not even being able to excuse yourself because you’ve imagined nearly doing everything under the damn sun with this woman, “I mean, what’s on the table?”
They grin at you, showing some teeth as they say, “sky’s the limit, love. Do you have a safeword?”
Safeword? Like something from the BDSM novel you found in your mom’s drawer when you were twelve, “no.”
“Why don’t we use colors then? Green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for stop, this applies for anytime and I don’t want you to be afraid to use them, I want you to be comfortable.”
Their hand is trailing off to your upper thigh but still remaining in the friendly territory, warm with expectation. You swallow and take another drink. Surely, she won't be too crazy in bed, right? Your throat dries at the thought of something more and you realize you wouldn’t be entirely opposed.
“What’s your color now, love?” they squeeze your leg again, coaxing a meek response from you.
“Green. Very, green,” so fucking green.
Their smile borders on carnivorous, but they don’t say anything else as they take a long sip from their own glass, drinking you in with the dark coloured wine. You can’t pull your eyes away from them, fearing that them and the room would eat you alive if you did.
You wouldn’t be opposed.
Her hand has drifted up your thigh, thumbing at the skin just below the fabric of your skirt and leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “I have to say, this outfit isn’t very school appropriate.”
“M’sorry,” you mutter, “I didn’t know our school had a dress code.”
“It doesn’t” they lean closer to you, so close that their breath is going down the front of your tight-fitted sweater. The words are breathy and restrained, a little flirtatious as they finish, “but I do. I want you to strip for me, can you do that, love?”
“Okay,” you exhale, not letting the thoughts in your head get to you as you stand.
Starting with your pumps, you set them to the side before you do your skirt. The zipper is awkward and the woman in front of you offers no help as you shimmy it off your hips and legs, letting it stay unfurled on the floor as you remove your sweater. You catch a glimpse of Hange’s gaze, once again dark and unrevealing. As much as it causes your throat to tighten, you throw your sweater aside, leaving you just in your bra and undies.
“Is this enough?” you ask shakily, she can barely look away from your chest, their face tinted red.
“For now,” they look back to you, “sit.”
You do as they say, closing your thighs together instinctually as you return to your spot. They pick up your drink and hold it to your lips, “drink.”
Your gaze flicks to her momentarily, something tells you that there's no pressure to drink if you weren't comfortable- as if her eyes are finally revealing some truth to you, the calculations more written on her face. A small smile plays on your lips and you concede.
They tip the glass back as soon as you open your mouth, nearly overflowing as you try to swallow but something interrupts you. Their hand had sneakily returned to your body, but this time, it’s right at your hip bone, pressing two testing fingers at your damp, clothed center. You nearly choke. Taking in your give of the wine, you lean back and cut them off from giving more, their fingers still on you, waiting and warm.
“You’re very good at taking orders, princess,” they compliment darkly and the praise resounds in the room, shaking you momentarily, “and you’re very cute when you’re flustered.”
“Um, thank you?” you’re not sure on what to say but you’re buzzing with an energy, unsure if you could keep it in much longer. You want to close your thighs in the name of your own safety, a floodgate about to be opened, but Hange’s fingers are pressing down on your entrance, messaging softly.
“No need, I’ve had my eyes on you for awhile,” your gaze can’t help but shift down to their chest, watching the white cloth shift and pull to see more of her chest, there’s just a hint of a black lace beneath her button-up, “you’re quite beautiful and very intelligent too, (Y/N), to be honest, I only poorly graded your test to see your reaction. I’ll give you a much higher grade after tonight, regardless of the outcome. What’s your color?”
Thinking about this ending promptly or ever has a chill running down your spine. You’re quick to respond, “still green.”
They pull themselves away from your center and you immediately wince in response, instead taking their hand to feed you some more of your wine. You feel looser, not necessarily buzzed, but relaxed enough to lean back into the plush couch and let her take care of you.
Their other hand is petting your thigh as they give you the remaining drops, quick to set it back down and come closer to you, enough so that they fully cover you and their warmth washes over you. Something about their scent of pine and citrus is enough to lull you, never being this close before, it’s intoxicating.
“All done, how are you feeling? Not drunk, are you?” they watch you with concern.
“No,” you excuse, it takes a lot to get you drunk. You smile enough to earn a smile back, beaming under the soft comfort of her grin, “I like your smile.”
“Thank you,” she chuckles, “I’m glad you’re feeling more relaxed. I would really like to kiss you, right now, if that’s all right.”
You can’t find your mouth muscles soon enough to keep yourself from sounding like a moron, instead, “I would really like that.”
A hand goes up to cup your jaw, firm and smooth simultaneously running a thumb across your bottom lip, watching it carefully, “can I get a please?”
You nearly whine, their gaze so intense on you, quick to realize your own growing desperation, “please.”
They’re quick, pulling you to their own waiting mouth and slipping their tongue past your own. You soften in their hold, strong arms you’ve thought of for so long wrap around you without a doubt in their touch.
They lick the inside of your cheek, hastily exploring as much of you as possible, running her hands down and across your body. Her hands go against your chest, groping whatever they can get, fast to squeeze you through the fabric of your bra and thumb at your nipples through the lace. A quiet moan slips through your mouth before you can stop it, you tense momentarily, trying to pull back any sound forward.
You tug yourself away from their overpowering lips, sure if you continued you would be a wreck. You hide yourself in the crook of their neck, tucking in your face beneath their chin, and your arms wrapped around their neck- but they’re quick to pull you away with just a hand on your jaw.
“You’re cute,” despite being known, their voice is entirely unfamiliar: almost beastly in the way it echoed in your bones, setting your senses on fire. You watch them with the utmost intensity in response, not sure of the energy you’re giving but it makes them chuckle darkly, “but don’t try to hide your pretty voice from me again, do you understand?”
You bob your head, unsure if you comprehended the words fully but knowing enough from the way your thighs clench together at the intensity in their tone, nearly whimpering at the growing fire it's causing in your core.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” you nod again, attempting to taste her spit and the wine in your throat to keep yourself afloat, “you’re a very good girl. Why don’t we go upstairs?”
It’s not actually a question, they’re picking you up by hooking their arms around your legs and lifting you up the stairs and holy shit, you were right, she’s strong- holding you up without straining or losing breath and taking you to the farthest room upstairs.
It’s a standard room, you assume, since this house was anything but. You don’t have much time to take note because Hange is tossing you on the bed and placing themselves between your legs. They turn on the lamp that rests beside the bed and you get to see them in all of their six-foot glory, staring at you like you are the edge of the universe.
“Can you kiss me again?” you feel like begging, “please? Pretty please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” the oblige with an airy laugh, swooping down to kiss you much slower than the first few times.
It’s chaste in the way innocence is fleeting, you barely get to revel in the touch because she’s advancing, kissing down your jaw and to your neck, eventually taking the time to leave a hickey at the juncture of your neck and collarbone.
The sensation shoots straight to your thighs, you whine and card a hand through their hair.
“Sorry,” she doesn’t mean it, you can tell, “I like to mark my lovers, is this okay?”
If I’m your lover? “More than okay, keep going.”
They smile against your skin, mouthing more kisses and marks along your collarbone. You take the time to feel the hair between your fingers, still noting every sensation Hange is handing to you, and tugging lightly to pull the rubberband from its place on the back of her head. A flash of citrus and cedar waft into your senses.
Soon, your entire chest is coated in purple and red, mottled and blooming all just above your bra. You’re both panting, somehow, you more so as she stands over you, practically pinning you to the bed with her hands at your shoulders.
“You’re beautiful,” you nearly moan, gasping lightly as they decide to fully straddle you with one leg at your center.
Despite all the senses around you begging to lose your train of thought, you realize you still haven’t gotten your fill yet. Feeling more confident than before, you run your hands up her shirt, relishing in the feeling against your fingers, crisp and flannel-like, you come back down to untuck it from her pants, pulling it up with some warning, “off.”
“Aren’t you so demanding?” they smirk, taking no more time as they swiftly pull off their shirt.
Wow. They don’t bother to check on you as they’re unbuckling their pants and pulling them down their legs but she is ripped. Her abdominal muscles crinkle as she stretches to pull off her pants, giving you a full view of her shoulder muscles and now, thick, glorious thighs and calves. You nearly start to drool, hand coming down to your underwear as you watch Hange.
“So eager,” they giggle, noticing your hand and quickly slapping it away, “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, love.”
“You should hurry up, then,” you find yourself saying, not seeing the way Hange fully tenses, looking at you with a solid glare.
“Maybe I’m not done with your chest,” they say no more, almost ignoring you as they yank off your bra, flinging it aside before they decide to latch their mouth onto one of your breasts, suckling harshly while pinching the other between two rough fingers.
“Fwuuuahh- Fuck!” comes pouring from your lips along with some other pleas and moans, coming back to clench at her hair as she creates more lovebites along your breasts- leaving you helpless as she rocks her knee against you.
Even as they surround your tits with hickeys and bruises, they find themself dissatisfied and leave more along your torso, even some on your arms, and eventually from along your knee to your upper thigh- right where you can feel the heat of their breath on your aching center.
“Please,” you swallow in air, shaking as they leave another just at your hip bone, “need you.”
“How do you need me?” they ask with near monotone, uncaring of the mess they’re making out of you.
“Fuck me. Please,” you’re whimpering, this is humiliating but it's only feeding the flame.
“Nuh uh- be specific, tell me how you want me to touch you, puppy.”
“Wanna- want to ride your fingers,” you decide after quick consideration(not like you’ve thought about it late at night with your fingers beneath your sleep shorts), deciding this was the best, you would be able to get to touch her too.
“As you wish,” they dismount you, swinging their legs to the side of the bed and gesturing for you to sit on their lap.
Still laying down, you push your soaked underwear past your hips and toss it aside, taking no more time to straddle their legs and wrap your arms around their neck- now face to face with her.
You can’t stop yourself from cupping her jaw and petting your thumb along the fair skin, “you’re so beautiful.”
She seems taken aback, mouth popping open before pecking you, holding you by the back of the head to keep you close as one of their hands wanders down your body, caressing it gingerly.
“You are just,” they breathe down your face and neck, whispering in your ear, “so gorgeous.”
You giggle in thanks, laugh hitching when you feel Hange’s fingers dance along your slit, taken by tracing circles around your clit. Slowly, your hips wind into the touch, bucking every time Hange quickened her pace, still just sticking to toying with your swollen bud.
“Hange…” you breathe, head bowing to her neck as you focus all energy on her single-finger touch, “fuck.”
“Call me your mommy,” they speak suddenly, causing you to stop moving your hips forward and stare up at them.
“What?” you nearly laugh, it coming so shockingly out of their mouth that you figured it was a joke- but still, they gave you the same dark look as before.
“Call me mommy,” they repeat, adding another finger to their cycle, rubbing your clit faster and causing you to buck forward.
“Mommy?” you say with slight confusion, continued to go answered as they slip a finger into you, taking no time to start pumping into you, “fuck!”
“Atta girl,” one hand is placed on your hips, coaxing you to move forward and leave your wetness across her thigh.
You kiss along her chest, trying to muffle the noises surely about to come out of you and realizing you’ve rarely had the chance to. Your hands hastily grope her chest, doing your best to ignore the black bra that covers them, still grinding yourself down on her fingers.
“Up,” she commands, yanking your jaw upwards to look at her and causing you to stop touching her chest, “eyes on me, baby.”
She looks at you with something unreadable.
“You’re hiding from me, still,” she sighs, pulling her fingers away from you and making you wince, clenching at the lack of contact, “you’ve given me no choice but to do this.”
Do what? You want to ask but it's too late, she’s pulling you off of her and tossing you on the bed, but not before she whispered in your ear, “face down, ass up,” and left- walking to her closet.
You oblige, laying down front and center while keeping your ass up in the air, which grew cool with this stiff anticipation that hung in the room. It felt like you were waiting for hours, just listening for any sounds of readjustment, any hints that she would be coming back soon.
But it totally blindsides you. Something rubbery comes along your slit, bumping heads with your puffy bundle of nerves and rubbing down your lips, nearly forcing you to to buckle and groan. You involuntary fist the sheets as they continue to say nothing, just fondling what they have of you and keeping their strap at your entrance, rubbing your excess wetness around teasingly.
“The more you hold back, the less I do,” Hange states simply, leaning across your arched back to yank your head up by your hair, “and, darling, you’re in for a treat.”
You realize when they said “sky’s the limit,” she meant it.
She slides it into without a second thought and you are immediately keening, feeling it hilt inside you, filling you to the brim as it sat inside you like it had already won. Tears poke at the corners of your eyes, opting to clench them shut as you feel Hange slowly pulling out.
They wait, one, and two, and push back in much harder than before. You squeal in results, biting down on your lip as the pain and pleasure register in your system, stars running behind your eyes.
Another withdrawal, out, and another heavy push, in… then out… and back in. Then in, and out, and in, in, out, and in again.
Driving you up a wall, voice now uncontrollable as Hange bounces into you, staying silent as moans and cries fall from your lips.
“Hahn- Hange!” you cry after a particularly hard thrust.
They’re unsympathetic, taking to tugging you up by your hair as the ram into you- giving you a chance to take a heave of air as it's being knocked out of you.
“Try again,” they slip out fully this time, removing the lower half of their body from yours and making you gasp from the absence of heat.
You’re quick to gasp again as a heavy hand hits your backside, flat on your right cheek. You freeze, stifling any reaction as you wait for something, anything else to happen. It’s embarrassing for you to think you might not be opposed to it.
“I’m waiting,” they tut, the hand coming back down to stroke testingly.
National Bad Ideas Day, you remember when you go, “no.”
It’s meek, you’re unsure if they actually heard it but after some time they respond with, “what did you just say?”
“I said no,” you smile like this is some epic prank, sure it comes through as pretentious from where your face is squished into on the mattress. It was a quick-trigger way to see if she was bluffing, to see what she would do next.
They take in a sharp breath, hissing between their teeth as they exhale, “color?”
“Green.”
“Good,” you can hear them mutter before more hits are dropped onto you like bombs, coming down in earnest across your bottom.
You can’t stifle the sounds that are coming out, incoherent words shifting to loud wails that’ll surely shake the house. You’re backing into her touch, feeling the assaulting energy shift to bruises on your skin, making your cunt flutter with every touch.
“I should’ve mentioned you’ll have to work for that extra credit,” they murmur, indifferent, “but that doesn’t seem to be a problem because you’re dripping from your punishment.”
You hum, feeling the offending hand stroke your burning bottom- slowly feeling you up when the strap comes back along your slit.
“Didn’t you say you were interested to see what I was like in bed? Are you disappointed?” there’s no malintent, rather shaky playfulness, unsure where you stand with them but not minding to take a risk.
“Not at all,” they say with a grin, toy dick finally slipping back in- making you clench just around the tip, “are you finally going to be a good girl?”
“Mhm, your good girl,” no time to catch your words as you let out a loud, loud moan, “I’ll be good for mommy.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” they drag their cock back and thrust back in curtly, forcing a whine from you.
You’re not going to last much longer, you can feel yourself buckling and your legs shaking, your eyes can barely stay open, rolling up to the back of your head if they weren’t trying to focus on Hange, who’s view was mostly obscured besides her strong legs and part of her hips.
“How’s it feel, babygirl?” they grunt as they ram into you, refusing to slow down despite their inquiry, knowing you wouldn’t be able to answer.
You tried anyways, “so- so good. So full, fuck- gonna cum soon.”
You can feel them beaming, coming to wrap around your leg to rub at your clit. That’s when you feel it, all of it. You’ve been on this planet for twenty one years and you swore you’ve felt things before, your first kiss, the burn from the straightener planted on your neck, your first rejection, your first romantic “I love you,” but nothing in your life can ever make it up to this. This is everything and nothing, this is a first of million, this is the silence before the kill, this is the explosion bound to kill us all.
You can’t hear yourself, or anything really, as you float back down. Hange must have moved you because now you’re laying on your back, staring up at the ceiling that you just now noticed had our solar system painted on it.
You feel the bed creak and divot, you roll slightly to the side as a warm form rests besides you. You want to turn to your side to meet them but the soreness throughout your body and your fear of confrontation say otherwise, so, you wait a moment to collect your thoughts.
“That was… wow,” you muster, “I’m not sure I’m ever gonna be able to move again, I think this is my deathbed.”
You hear them laugh lowly, “you’re too nice.”
“Seriously- I thought I was going to die, but like, in a poetic way,” you say slowly, trying to find a train of thought and being unable to stop the words that came out. You realize, “wait. What about you? I need to repay you.”
“There’s no need,” she responds quickly, “unless you have some idea in your little head, I’m content with laying here with you. Never been one for being touched.”
That makes sense, you recall when she quickly pulled you away when you tried to make a move, but you still find yourself asking, “did you clean the strap?”
“...No,” they say sheepishly, out of the corner of your eye you can see a tent made of the duvet, you flush as they explain, “just in case you wanted to go again.”
“Does it have a seat for your clit?”
“What do you have going on in the little head of yours?”
You flush, “I- uh- if it worked for you… I could clean your strap with my… mouth.”
“Really know how to dirty talk, don’t you, (Y/N)? Am I the only teacher you’ve done this with?”
“YES!” you nearly scream, cringing at the hoarseness in your voice, “just… let me help you out.”
“You can barely move.”
You roll your eyes, “come over here and I’ll sit up.”
They huff but oblige, taking all the time in the damn world to make it to your side of the bed- giving you enough time to stifle the wince that comes out as you attempt to sit up.
“So dramatic with you,” they tease as you hobble your way in a sitting position, then standing above you with their strap right at mouth level.
You look up at them and back to their strap, seeing the glint in their eyes in the withheld moonlight, the moonbeams shining down on their shoulders and crown.
You give a quick jerk to the strap, watching for a reaction on Hange’s face, there isn’t one. But you see a twitch in a few of their muscles as you place your mouth on the tip.
“Sky’s the limit, right?” you mutter, mostly to yourself as you wrap your mouth around the silicone head.
Your first few takes are experimental, unsure how much Hange could feel with just the seat, so you’re quick and jagged with your twists and strokes. You barely pay attention to the taste of yourself on the thing, but it’s strangely erotic to think about. Hange lets out a few soft grunts and you take it as a sign to slow down, resulting in softer touches.
She’s quick to react, combing her hand through your hair and pushing you forward and hilting the whole damn thing in your mouth. You gag, spit sputtering from your throat and past your lips, and dribbling down your chin and chest. There’s this twinkle in her eyes when you look up again, clearly unsympathetic to the untimely demise of your throat, thank god you have some sort of gag reflex.
“There we go,” they coo, keeping a warning pressure at the back of your head as you suck them off, “you’re taking mommy’s cock so well, good girl.”
The asphyxiation and praise is going straight to your head and you really don't want to go again but your fingers are slipping down to your lap and sliding under, finding new moistness easily and stroking a finger up and down your slit.
“You’re insatiable, aren’t you, princess?” she gives a more impressive tug to your hair, causing you to look up, “poor thing. I’ll let you touch yourself, just this time.”
There’s going to be another time? Is all your clouded brain can supply. Nonetheless, you bob your head, applying more pressure on their cock. You continue to touch yourself, gaining some relief as you touch yourself, a hand coming up to knead at your boobs, pinching to gain some quick-trigger sensation.
They seem to like the way your moans come out freely yet muffled past their dick because, soon, you’re violently being bobbed back and forth, being used for their pleasure in a way you don’t mind at all because their moaning out your name and slurring praises. Their thighs are trembling and buckling, you can’t help just pet down one with your hand and squeeze lightly.
You both seem to crescendo at the same time. Their thighs squeezing together as a telltale sign that they’re over their peak, just as all the tiny prickly sensations in your body rush to your head and leave through your ears. It isn’t as rewarding as the first one, it never is on your own, but being able to watch them groan out your name was enough fuel to last you months.
You whine as they pull away, the spit trail between you and their strap being disconnected as they pull themself down to kiss you, and you become more fine with it as they lean in enough to push you down to the bed again, covering you completely.
“You are truly,” they kiss you again and you try to keep their mouth on yours, “a star student. Getting a gold star first thing monday.”
You giggle, it’s a little awkward with them crushing you but it’s warm and comforting. You knew your teacher was like a puppy, but you had no idea of this other side of her. You wrap your arms around her and kiss her back when she offers.
“This has been fun,” they peck your cheek, rolling off to you and onto your side, sighing, “sleep now?”
It’s adorable, even after all that domineering, it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You have no choice but to nod your head and accept their invitation to curl into them, quickly finding your head in between their breasts, listening to the soft pitter patter of her slowing heartbeat as you slip into slumber.
Before you find yourself asleep, you have the quick, awakening thought that tomorrow, and possibly for a long while, you are absolutely fucked.
Sky’s the limit, right?