MARLENE

A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way you’ve imagined he would if he ever—God—if he ever let himself unravel like this.

“Mmh… gege, are you worried about me?” The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone too?”

You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like you’re fucking your own hand, like you’re chasing a ghost that wears his face.

You’ve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didn’t notice how neither moved away.

But you know.

You both know.

“C-Caleb—” His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like it’s trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it can’t reach the stain inside your chest.

You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.

Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrow—Caleb is still the only home you want to go back to.

And you’re terrified he wants to come back to you too.

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You don’t even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.

You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.

With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought you—matte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a joke— onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.

You type: “best sex toys for beginners”.

The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like “thrusting” and “suction” and “10 vibration patterns”. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh WOW…”

You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Caleb’s guilt-money transfers.

You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.

“Too broke for that… damn, I can’t even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfair—”

Ding ding.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.

Normally you’d ignore it. Today you’re desperate and dumb, so you squint, see “70% OFF FLASH SALE!!” in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.

The site that loads is… questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.

“Feel Like Someone You Love”

100% customizable hyper-realistic silicone sleeve + internal texture mapping

“Upload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock you’ve always dreamed of.”

Your mouth goes dry.

There’s a little heart icon that says “Most Wishlisted Item of the Year”.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But your finger is already over the “Customize Now” button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.

Ten minutes later you’ve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Caleb—him leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length you’ve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve you’ve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.

Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: “always hot, like he just worked out”. Internal texture: “tight but yielding, the way you bet he’d feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.

The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3–5 days, discreet packaging.

Your finger hovers over “Place Order”. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.

Order confirmed. You drop the phone like it’s on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream that’s half horror, half unbearable anticipation.

In three to five days, you’re going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person you’re never, ever supposed to want.

And you already know you’re going to call it gege while you do.

Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.

“FUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!” you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummy’s throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, “WHAT WAS I THINKING!”. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think you’re unhinged. You are unhinged.

Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.

You don’t even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.

Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.

Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock you’ve ever seen.

It’s huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.

You don’t remember setting the length slider this high.

You don’t care. Your mouth actually waters.

“Oh wow…” It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. “Oh my god.”

Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.

You haven’t even taken your sweaty training gear off and you’re already dripping down your thighs.

You pick it up with both hands—jesus, it’s warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.

Like it’s been waiting for you just as long as you’ve been waiting for him.

You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.

“Fuck, gege…” you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.

The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.

You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You don’t make it to the bed.

The second the lock clicks you’re already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.

You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. It’s too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.

You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.

“Need you inside me, gege… please—”

You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.

Then you push.

The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots you’ve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and you’re stuffed so full you can’t breathe.

“F-fuck—Caleb—”

You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like they’re slapping against his hips.

You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.

You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.

“Look what you do to me, gege,” you sob, voice wrecked. “Look how wet you make me—how empty I am without you—fuck, I’m such a slut for you—”

Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.

You don’t stop.

You can’t.

You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.

When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. You’re trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.

You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.

“…come home soon, gege,” you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. “I don’t think this is gonna be enough anymore.”

The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.

—

—

Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.

Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.

Then it starts.

A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.

Gideon elbows him from the left. “Dude, you good? You’re sweating bullets.”

Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. “Yeah, just hot in this jacket.”

The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.

He locks his knees to keep from swaying.

The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.

Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.

His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked “bathroom” to Gideon’s startled face, and bolts.

He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free it’s flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.

He doesn’t even touch himself.

He doesn’t have to.

The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.

“F-fuck—!” The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like he’s fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.

Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin he’s never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.

His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like he’s running a marathon.

“Ah—shit—stop—please—” he doesn’t even know who he’s begging.

The pace only gets rougher.

He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like it’s being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.

The orgasm doesn’t stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.

Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. “What the fuck was that…?”

Three hundred miles away, you’re still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.

Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.

Every night for the past ten days it’s the same ritual.

You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and don’t even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. You’re already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like it’s been counting the hours until you get home to it.

You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Caleb’s old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.

And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever he’s doing.

Day 4

You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.

In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.

Day 6

You’re on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.

Caleb’s in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.

Day 8

You can’t wait anymore the second you get home. You don’t even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes now—the replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.

Caleb’s in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second he’s fine, the next he’s on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.

Day 10

You’re greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like you’re riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.

“Gege—fuck—harder—please, I need—”

You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.

In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him —his ass—clenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.

When it finally fades he’s shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.

He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something else—slicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.

For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isn’t random. And it’s getting stronger every night.

Caleb hasn’t slept properly in twelve days. Every night the “ghost” comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like it’s learning exactly how to unravel him.

He’s stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice that’s haunted him since puberty.

Your voice.

He’s started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates don’t hear him whimpering “pipsqueak” like a prayer.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

So when he’s alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He googles the symptoms.

Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.

The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE — NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!

He doesn’t read the fine print. He’s too tired, too desperate, too turned on.

He uploads the clearest photo he has of you—last summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.

He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way he’s imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen —because he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: “always soaked, like she’s been thinking about you all day.” Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash you’ve used since you were fifteen.

He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.

He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy he’s ever seen.

Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. It’s warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like it’s breathing.

He exhales a broken “fuck… so pretty…” and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like it’s already wet for him.

He doesn’t make it to the bed.

He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.

Then he pushes in.

The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.

Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like they’ve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way he’s fantasized your pussy would—fluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.

He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—” he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. “Is this how you’re supposed to feel? So good—so fucking real—”

He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene sounds—soft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cock—and every noise goes straight to his spine.

He loses control fast.

Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.

“Take it—just like that—fuck, you’re so tight for me—”

He doesn’t notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesn’t notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans “good girl” under his breath.

Three hundred miles away, you’re in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cock—thick, burning hot, veiny—slides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.

Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someone’s grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isn’t there and is there all at once.

The “ghost” fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.

You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.

Back in Skyhaven, Caleb’s losing his mind in a different way.

He’s hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up, pipsqueak—take every drop—”

He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.

The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like it’s trying to drain him completely.

He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like he’s run a marathon.

The toy gives one last gentle squeeze… almost affectionate.

And somewhere far away, you’re curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didn’t make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.

You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,“What the fuck is happening to me?”

—

—

The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.

You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.

You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. It’s been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.

You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.

“Gran squeals, “Caleb, my handsome boy!”

You freeze halfway down the stairs.

He’s… bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. He’s grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile that’s been haunting your wet dreams for months.

Then his eyes flick up and find you. “Hey, pipsqueak… and Gran.”

Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.

“Yup, gege’s here. How’s my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?”

The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at once—the toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.

Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like you’ve been electrocuted.

“Huh… me? …oh… uh… good! I’m doing… good!!!”

Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.

Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.

Gran raises an eyebrow. “You two are acting mighty strange.”

He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.

That night neither of you comes down for dinner.

You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.

You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if he’s touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.

Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know they’re finally under the same roof as their match.

The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.

Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.

The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.

You’ve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshore’s cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.

He’s right there.

Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.

And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.

You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. You’re already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.

The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like it’s starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.

In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.

His cock—already half-hard from dreams of you—suddenly feels like it’s being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whatever’s fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.

He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way he’s enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toy’s slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.

The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.

It’s like a second cock slams into you alongside the first—thicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toy’s familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.

“F-fuck—gege—what—” you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like it’s being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.

Caleb’s teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.

The toy is a vice. His cock feels like it’s being crushed in the best way—walls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. It’s wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.

“Pipsqueak—shit—too tight—gonna break me—” he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense he’s terrified he’ll black out.

You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing you’re fucking each other.

For you, it’s endless—the dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesn’t stop—the sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.

“More—gege, please—fill me up—” you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.

Caleb hears something—a faint, wrecked whine through the wall—and it snaps his last thread.

He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears it’s going to cut off circulation—hot, pulsing, fluttering like it’s alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.

“Take it—fuck, just like that—my good girl—” he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way you’d look split open on him for real.

The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.

You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods you—hot, thick, endless—leaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.

Caleb comes with a guttural “fuck—pipsqueak—” bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhere—his stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around him—but the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.

You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.

The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.

But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.

Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isn’t pounding loud enough for him to hear.

Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,

Tomorrow night, he’s doing it again.

And so are you.

"we don't have to do this," fuma says, leaning back against the couch with that effortless charm he carries. he's in his usual spot, legs spread comfortably that shouldn't get you going the way it does. "i mean, it's just us. you can head back to your dorm if you want."

you settle deeper into the other end of the couch, pulling your knees up, "that's nonsense. it's tradition, isn't it? besides, when else am i gonna have senpai's undivided attention?"

he grins at that, the kind of smile that made you join this club in the first place, "you have my attention plenty. you're always asking me about team compositions."

"because you're good at it," you insist, and it's true. fuma's the kind of guy who can demonstrate competitive game strategy for hours without being boring, who remembers everyone's favourite characters and who runs the club with genuine enthusiasm instead of obligation. "and you never make me feel dumb for asking."

"that's because you're not dumb," he replies easily, reaching for the remote. "you're one of the few people here who gets the meta. plus, you actually watch the shows instead of reading wikis like some of the other guys. don't tell them i said that, though."

you laugh off how the casual praise makes warmth bloom in your chest. he's always like this — encouraging, attentive and completely unaware of how attractive it makes him. or maybe he IS aware and doesn't care. either way, you're a little gone for your nerdy senpai with his eevee hoodie and his stupidly nice arms.

"so, what are we watching?" you ask.

"well... there's this new series i've been meaning to show you guys—" he starts describing the premise, hands gesturing adorably, and you find yourself watching his face more than listening. he visibly lights up when he talks about things he loves. it makes you swoon. he's built like he should be on a sports team, but here he is geeking over animation.

you're not sure when you shifted closer and when the space between you on the couch disappeared. suddenly, you're near enough to smell fuma's cologne — a clean and subtle fragrance that you've come to associate with these weekly meetings.

the episode starts. it's good, some slice of life thing with a solid plot, yet you're hyperaware of every point of almost-contact between you. your knee nearly touching his thigh. his arm stretched across the back of the couch, near enough that you can feel the warmth.

"this part's really well done," he murmurs, twisting towards you while pointing at something. "see how they designed the—"

you turn to respond and you realise with a jolt that his face is inches from yours. you freeze. his eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second before he clears his throat and moves back a respectful amount.

"sorry," he mumbles, but his voice has gone lower. "got too excited."

"it's okay," you manage, catching your breath. "i like when you explain things."

the tension doesn't break. if anything, it gets worse as the episode continues. you're both pretending to watch, but you can see him in your peripheral vision. considering the way his jaw is clenched, you conclude that he's not faring much better than you.

finally, the episode ends. he reaches for the remote to queue up the next one, however something goes wrong. his streaming account glitches, the interface flickering, and suddenly the screen fills with something very, very different.

"oh, god—" fuma lunges for the remote but it slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor.

it's hentai. unmistakably, explicitly hentai. the kind with high production value, detailed animation and extremely pornographic content currently filling the large projector screen.

"no, no, no—" he's scrambling for the remote, face going scarlet. "i can explain, this isn't— i mean, it is. but, i wasn't... fuck—"

you're stuck, staring at the video where an animated girl is on her knees, the guy's hand fisted in her hair as he—

"i'm so sorry," fuma's still apologising, words tumbling out in a rush as he finally grabs the remote. "it's on my personal account, i don't know why it switched. i watch it for research purposes— not like that sounds any better, ugh. i'm not a creep i swear, it's just—"

"don't turn it off," you hear yourself speak.

he pauses, finger hovering over the button, "what?"

you meet his eyes and the air between you crackles with something dangerous.

"don't," you repeat, voice barely above a whisper.

his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. slowly, he sets the remote down and gauges your reaction. neither of you speaks as the scene continues, exaggerated sounds filling the quiet room.

on screen, the position shifts. the girl is between the guy's spread legs now, her back against his chest, and his hand is working between her thighs while she writhes. the animation is detailed—painfully so—showing his fingers disappear inside her, the wet shine coating him and her thighs trembling as he fucks her open.

you can't do anything. can't look away. can't stop noticing how fuma has gone completely still beside you, the tension radiating off him in waves.

the guy on screen spreads the girl's legs wider, fingers moving in deliberate circles over her swollen clit before plunging back inside. he's talking to her in japanese, firm and commanding, telling her how flawless she looks falling apart for him. the girl moans in a dramatic fashion, "senpai, please—" and the guy groans, adding another finger, the squelch obscenely loud.

your jaw practically drops and you stare at fuma. he refuses to look at you, pupils blown wide, and the bulge in his sweatpants is unmistakable — thick and straining against the fabric.

for a second, he risks glancing in your direction. you both stiffen, your gazes catching.

the girl on screen cries out as fuma flips your skirt up, your thighs spread wide to bracket his, as he makes a broken sound.

"jesus," he mutters, fingers gathering your essence, exploring the slick heat of you. "you're fucking drenched, holy shit—"

you can feel it. your arousal has soaked through your panties, allowing fuma to drag two fingers from your entrance up to your clit, coating himself in you, and the loud schlick makes you both moan.

on screen, the guy slides two fingers inside the girl and she sobs. fuma mirrors the action, pushing two thick fingers into your cunt, and the stretch makes you sigh, head falling back against his shoulder.

"fuck," he breathes, and all that nervous embarrassment is gone, burned away by something darker. "you're so tight. squeezing my fingers so good."

he starts moving, mimicking the rhythm in the hentai — slow, deep thrusts that drag against your walls. you can hear his fingers pumping in and out of you, your pussy making the most sinful sounds as he fucks you.

"listen to that," he groans against your ear. "you're dripping all over senpai's hand. been wanting this, haven't you? sitting in my club meetings, pressing your thighs together, thinking about my knuckles inside this needy little cunt?"

"yes," you cry out, hips rolling clumsily to meet his movements. "yes, senpai. i-i wanted it so bad—"

his free hand slides up to grip your jaw, forcing you to watch the screen where the couple mirrors your position. "look at her. look at how she takes it. that's you, isn't it? desperate and dripping and begging for me."

he adds a third finger and you scream at the stretch, your cunny clenching around the intrusion. it's too much — his fingers are so long and thick, reaching deeper than yours ever could, and the fullness is overwhelming.

"that's it," he coos, curling to rub against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. "take senpai's fingers like a good girl."

the guy is finger-fucking the girl relentlessly, moving fast and hard, and fuma matches the pace. his palm slaps against you as your cum coats his hand, trickling down to his wrist.

he curses, beginning to needily rut against you, "making such a fucking mess. can you feel it? we're not stopping until you ruin this couch. gonna make you clean it up with your tongue later."

you're babbling now, incoherent pleas spilling from your lips. his fingers are relentless, pumping into you deep, curling to hit that perfect spot over and over until you're shaking.

"please, please, please, senpai... nnnghh—"

"please what?" he bites down on your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin. "use your words. tell me what you need."

"need to come," you gasp. "need— need your thumb on my clit, need you to— a-ah, fuckkk—"

his thumb finds your clit immediately and the pressure makes your eyes roll back. he rubs tight, quick circles while his fingers continue their brutal pace, and you're so goddamn full, pleasure building impossibly high.

"that's my good girl," he praises, pecking your head. "taking three fingers so well. bet you could take more, couldn't you? bet i could fit my whole hand inside this greedy pussy."

the mental image makes you clench even harder around him and he chuckles in disbelief. "you like that? want senpai to fist this tight little cunt? stretch you so wide you can't walk tomorrow?"

"yesyesyes, mffnghh! fuck! yes, please—"

the girl turns her head desperately to kiss the guy, and you do the same without thinking, squirming in fuma's hold to crash your lips against his.

he kisses you like he's claiming you, tongue pushing into your mouth and fucking into you in tandem with his fingers. it's beyond filthy — all spit and teeth and urgency, drool escaping the corners of your mouth as he devours you. you can taste his hunger when he bites your bottom lip hard enough to sting.

"gonna come," you whine against his mouth. "senpai, i'm gonna— i-it feels different, something's—"

"let go," he demands, moving impossibly faster. "give it to me. come all over senpai's fingers, princess."

he abuses your sweet spot, poking it incessantly, and something inside you shatters. the orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, so intense it's almost painful, and then you're gushing — liquid spurting from your pussy, soaking his hand, wrist, everything... splashing onto the fabric of the couch and floor.

"holy fuck," fuma grunts in admiration, working you through it as you squirt all over him. "that's it, that's fucking it. keep going baby."

you're convulsing in his arms, more liquid oozing out as he continues to finger-fuck you through the most intense orgasm of your life. neither can you stop nor can you control it.

all you can do is keep coming and coming while he dotes on you like the gentleman he is.

"so perfect," he's whispering sweetly. "such a good girl. my perfect, perfect girl."

at long last, when it subsides, you're boneless and trembling, aftershocks still rolling through you. he slowly withdraws his fingers and you shiver at the loss, feeling empty.

he brings his hand up and it's undeniably drenched. "look what you did," he exhales shakily, in awe. he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, keening at the taste. "delicious. fucking addictive."

you're still trying to remember how to breathe when you feel how hard he is against your back. you take a peek and notice that there's a wet spot where he's been leaking.

you slide off his lap on unsteady legs and kneel between his thighs, mirroring the position from the beginning of the video. fuma's eyes cloud over, hands fisting in the couch cushions. "you don't have to—"

you're already reaching for his waistband, and when you pull his cock out, you actually moan. he's the biggest you've ever seen, flushed an angry red, the head weeping precum that runs down his shaft.

"my turn to make senpai messy," you giggle and lean in.

you don't remember when riku started bullying you, you barely remember the reason why or if there was a reason at all.

you only know riku because he's your older brothers friend. he would come over when your parents were out, lingering outside on the porch smoking and listening to punk rock, something you've never been fond of. when you mention how you don't like riku, how his stares make you uncomfortable your brother swear it’s just teasing. always saying boys will be boys and that when a guy is mean to you it means they like you but you highly doubt it. if riku liked you he wouldn't constantly call you names whenever your brother ran to the store, asking you to get down on your knees for him so he can act like you're some kind of pet for him to boss around.

the worst part about it is how you listen to him. sometimes you try. you really do. you tell him no and that he can't tell you what to do but her gets meaner and its better to just comply. and you couldn't say no when he told you he wanted to "study" with you.

riku shifts from his position on your bed, patting his lap with his free hand while he draws out another ring of smoke. "come here" you freeze up, eyes going wide before shaking your head no, already stumbling over your words "w—why? I'm really trying to work riku—" "does it look like I give a fuck?" his harsh tone caught you off guard. watching the way he lifts his hips up again to adjust, fingers reaching over to roughly pull you towards him by your arm "I said come here"

the familiar scent of his cologne enveloping you has your throat clogging up, fingers tightening around the hem of your sleep shorts. riku doesn't move, bringing his blunt to his lips again before inhaling and blowing the smoke in your face. he laughs when you cough, "do you have to be such a bitch all the time?" his eyes locked with yours and that familiar intensity sent a rush of warmth through your body. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—" "just shut up" you frown at his words but listen anyway.

"need you to do something for me" he hums, reaching up to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "you can do it right?" you whimper when his grip tightens ever so slightly, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout "riku—" "hey, I'm being nice today. don't you want it to stay this way?" he asked, brushing his thumb across your protruding lower lip. and you think about how he hasn't been too rough and you don't want to make this worse so you nod "I'll do anything for you" he smiles at your submission, nodding when he pressed his thumb through your parted lips and into your waiting mouth. "good girl"

"riku I—I can't take it.." you mumble into his chest, feeling his fat tip nudging against your cervix, his grip so tight you swear its leaving bruises. riku ignores you, forcing you to take more of his inches, a hiss leaving his mouth "you're so tight. m gonna break this pussy."

"no—" the word came out breathlessly as his touch traveled higher, each caress deliberate and knowing. the air between you seemed to thicken if that was even possible, charged with months of built up energy. "shut the fuck up. god you're so small" he groans softly, one hand wrapping around your throat "calm down bunny"

you gasp feeling his cold rings pressing against your skin, eyes batting innocently at him, mouth parted like you were waiting for him. "there you go.. getting relaxed for me now" riku mumbles pulling out your sore and stretched cunt just to rub the tip over your sticky folds. "tell me you want me" his fingers tightened and your eyes rolled back from the applied pressure "no—stop—it hurts—" you plea, feeling his breath warm against your lips, the world outside your bedroom door ceased to exist. "you're such a fucking brat. so annoying"

"just be good" his lips traced the sensitive spot just below your ear and you try not to react but the rumble of his voice and his hands on you made it impossible. the rapid rise and fall of your chest gave you away. "just give it away like you're supposed to. don't give me a hard time." he didn't let you respond before capturing your lips in a kiss, bottoming out completely while you're distracted.

this is only the third time you've kissed riku and you learned he always kisses in a specific way. its either slow, his tongue guiding over yours while he keeps you on the edge. giving you all and pulling back before you can feel him completely. or he kisses you fast and sloppy. spit dripping down your chin from him sucking on your tongue and then your lip. this was a mix of both. "please riku..." you whisper against his lips, experimentally rocking your hips against his. the feeling sent electricity down your spine, heightening every sensation. the press of his fingertips against your throat, the taste of him, the soft cotton of his t-shirt bunched in your fists to ground you. it was all too much.

"bunny... fuck. you're such a desperate bitch." he says slowly, a raw need in his voice. his fingers dug into your skin, guiding your movements slowly, pulling you up and down his dick as his kisses grew more demanding, hungrier. "please riku...be nice please.." your soft voice contradicted the deliberate roll of your hips, fingers threading through his soft black hair. "you're a slut. asking for this. you know you're made for me" riku groaned, pushing his hips forward under you and you gasp when you feel him deep in that mushy spot, your eyes fluttering open "oh my god—"

riku's thrusts are mean, skin slapping together, smoke clouding your face from the joint he still refuses to put out. you can feel yourself drifting in and out of focus from your air circulation being cut off, fingers scratching at his hand on your neck but it just makes him get rougher. "stupid fucking bitch" he matches each word with a thrust, "you're so good. pussy was made just for me. you were made just for me weren't you?" he asks making you nod your head, "yeah I know. just here to be fuckmeat for me aren't you bunny?" the pressure everywhere is too much. tears start spilling down your eyes when you claw at him again "can't—riku—"

you get choked up again, spit dribbling down onto his hand and he laughs finally letting go of the death grip on your throat. his thumb presses to your mouth again, smearing the spit around "stupid bunny. look at you, getting yourself all messy." riku whispers, licking his bottom lip enticingly, "knew you wanted this" the sounds of your pussy squelching makes you cry, wetness coating your thighs and his making you stick together. you struggle against him, feeling something weird building up. "st—stop! riku stop—m gonna—"

"bully it into you" yeah </3 swooning over this rn 😞 you are so right nonie :(( jaehee is so making it fit to me... loves how innocent you act telling him it won't fit inside and that you're so scared you're gonna split in half and he just laughs because he knows exactly what he's gonna do to you T__T something about how jaehee looks so unsuspecting... its not like you think your boyfriend is small !! hes so big and buff he has to be packing something but it can't be that bad !!! denying him everytime he mentions size training bcs what !! you don't need that :(( getting really confused when he keeps insisting n everytime you're grinding against him trying to take it to the next level hes always stopping you and forcing you to be still and says he can finger you instead but thats not what you want from him :( feeling like such a pervert because jaehee turns you down everytime and you just wanna see him hard pressing through his pants but he never lets you see him like that and its so frustrating !!!!!

kissing him and begging him to just put the tip in :( almost crying in his arms going "please? i'll be so good..just the tip jae" and he really says no, forcing you down on his lap and hes so strong its hard to move but you really can't hold it anymore!! kissing down his jaw, using his kinks against him n mumbling into his neck how your "pupcunt is aching" how you need someone big strong older filling you up :( and when he doesn't break down...just groaning and going "yn stop." but hes fat pressing against you how can you stop? it would be wrong to stop. almost mean to. bunching your skirt up to your hips and pressing his hand against the wet spot on your panties :( and he acts like he doesn't like it!! like hes resisting but you see the watch his breath hitches and he mouths "fuck puppy" <333 rutting into jaehees hand talking about if hes not gonna be a good boyfriend then you're gonna have to do something bad :(( fumbling with his belt n getting him out his pants and in his boxers and you swear he wants it or why else would he lift his hips for you? palming his fat bulge while rutting against his hand until you're dripping all over and asking again if he'll fuck you and hes shaking his head n saying no and !!!! its really his fault for saying no

jaehee is hung... super hung and super fat that your mouth starts watering when you see him fully out and erect in your hand <3 gasping when his grip on you tightens and hes going "no..yn stop. baby please.." and you're ignoring him bcs all you can think abt is your cunny being full !!! sinking down on him and immediately doubling back onto his chest, face flushed and hands shaking because hes so big streching you out n you feel like its gonna break you :( rutting against him and hes hissing and still going "no no" but hes already inside n pressing into your sweet little cervix <33 and jaehee loves you so much so he holds back for a while until you start whimpering like a puppy in heat and he feels so bad :( has to make it better for you !!!! holding you against his chest n flipping you around and it gives you whiplash that you have no time to process before hes bullying his fat dick in <3 screaming when he hits your cervix so hard and it feels like it's bruising.... tapping his chest n shaking your head going "jae.. no no.. gentle please.." and he doesn't listen because you didn't listen to him !!! cooing while hes cervix fucking you and asking why all of a sudden your "pupcunt isn't working" when you were just begging for it :( going "poor puppy.. poor puppy's getting dumb isn't she? can't think with nothing else but your cunt?" and crying because it hurts but you're so full and hes forcing you down :(

Taki was the kind of college student who made people shift uncomfortably in their seats whenever he laughed, which was often at the wrong times. His high-pitched giggle echoed through lecture halls like a malfunctioning alarm, drawing stares of irritation every time.

At first glance, one might assume he was just another awkward nerd, buried under textbooks and caffeine-fueled all-nighters.

And they'd be right. Mostly.

Taki was top of his class, a fact he clung to like a badge of honor, even if it earned him exactly zero respect from his peers.

No one cared about his grades when he was the guy who always stared too long at girls' chests, or who muttered to himself in the library, grinning at some perverted thought.

His dorm room was a shrine to his loneliness: dirty laundry piled in the corner, empty energy drink cans littering his desk, and a laptop permanently open to some shady tab he forgot to close.

Every night, without fail, Taki's hand found its way into his boxers, stroking himself to the mental image of whichever girl had been unfortunate enough to catch his attention that day.

The cute barista at the campus café, the TA who graded his papers, even the girls in his classes who recoiled when he sat too close…

But among all the girls on campus he jerked off to, there was none he wanted to fuck more than you.

You were the kind of girl who made professors sigh and frat boys lick their lips.

Every lecture, you'd strut in late, your too-short skirt riding up your thighs as you plopped into a seat, blinking at the PowerPoint slides like they were written in a language you didn’t understand.

Your lips, always glossy, always slightly parted, would purse in confusion as you scribbled notes that made no sense, your doodles of hearts and stars crowding the margins. Sometimes you'd raise your hand to ask a question so stupid, the entire class would snicker.

But you didn't care.

You'd just giggle, twirling a strand of hair around your finger, blissfully unaware of how many guys were imagining what your voice would sound like moaning their name.

Taki was one of them of course, but he wasn’t just fantasizing like the rest, no.

Taki's obsession with you wasn't just some passing crush-it was an all-consuming hunger, a gnawing need that followed him everywhere.

Every time you walked into class, his fingers twitched, itching to touch. And whenever you bent over to pick up a dropped pen, with your skirt barely covering anything, he'd bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, just to keep from groaning out loud.

And your voice-god, your voice. That high, airy giggle that made his cock throb. He’d give anything just to hear you say his name, just once.

Also, he hated the way other guys looked at you. Frat boys leaned a little too close when they "helped" you with your notes, and jocks always "accidentally" brushed against you in the halls.

But worst of all? You let them.

You'd giggle, twirl your hair, bat your lashes-completely clueless to the way their eyes darkened with lust.

"Omg, you're, like, so smart! Hehe, I could never get this stuff on my own…"

Taki's jaw clenched. He was the smart one. He was the one who aced every exam. So why weren't you looking at him like that?

You'd be so easy to trick. So easy to manipulate.

All it would take was one study session.

One private tutoring lesson.

That day, the lecture hall buzzed with the rustling of papers and murmured reactions as the professor handed back the graded exams.

Taki sat rigid in his seat, his fingers twitching against the edge of his desk. Perfect score, as always. Not that anyone cared.

But you-he watched, breath hitching, as the professor leaned over your desk, his voice low but sharp.

"Failed, again." The professor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you fail the next one, you're repeating the year. Do you understand?"

Your glossy lips parted in protest, but no sound came out. Instead, your shoulders slumped, and you sank into your seat, pouting like a scolded child. The sight sent a jolt through Taki's gut- pathetic but adorable.

His pulse hammered in his throat.

This was it.

The second class ended, he was moving before he could second-guess himself. His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he sidled up to your desk, clutching his own exam like a trophy.

"Uh-" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "I-I couldn't help but notice you, um... Struggling."

You blinked up at him, doe-eyed and clueless.

Taki's fingers dug into the edges of his exam paper. "I could help. Tutor you, I mean." The words tumbled out too fast. "I-l always get top marks, so-"

For a second, he thought you'd laugh. Reject him outright like everyone else. But then—

"Ohmygod, really?" Your voice was honey-sweet, dripping with relief. "You'd actually do that for me?"

Taki's mouth went dry.

You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, leaning forward just enough that your shirt gaped slightly. His gaze flickered down-just for a second-before snapping back up.

"I'd be so grateful," you sighed, fluttering your lashes. "Like, I totally don't get this stuff."

His stomach twisted. Grateful.

Taki swallowed hard, adjusting his pants subtly under the desk. "Y-yeah," he stammered. "We could start tonight. My dorm. I mean—that’s where I keep all my notes…"

You beamed, oblivious to the way his pants tightened.

"Perfect!" you chirped, scribbling your number on a corner of his paper. "You're, like, literally saving my life."

Taki's lips curled into a shaky smile.

Oh, he'd save you, alright.

Taki's heart pounded as he fumbled with his keys, nearly dropping them twice before finally shoving the door open. His dorm was a disaster-just like always.

Shit.

He had to clean. Had to make it at least somewhat presentable before you arrived.

But the moment he bent down to grab a crumpled shirt off the floor, his mind betrayed him.

You'd look so good, sitting on his bed, biting your lip in confusion as he "explained" the material.

You'd look so good, leaning over his desk, your skirt riding up just enough to tease.

Oh, and you'd look so good giggling that stupid, airy laugh, the very sound enough to make his cock twitch.

A groan escaped his lips as he palmed himself through his pants. He was already hard, just from the thought of you being here, alone with him, in his space.

"Shit… shit, shit, shit," he muttered, kicking a pile of laundry aside before frantically wiping down his desk with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He grabbed the half-empty bottle of cheap cologne from his nightstand and spritzed it recklessly around the room, as if that would mask the scent of desperation.

Turning his head around, Taki spotted his laptop. He rushed to close it, but before he could, his fingers hovered over the keyboard, his breath ragged and his mind entirely distracted.

The video was still paused-some faceless girl moaning, back arched, fingers twisting in the sheets. His throat tightened.

Fuck it.

He couldn't focus like this. Not with the image of you burned into his skull. He had to take the edge off before you got here, or he'd lose control the second you walked in.

His zipper was down before he could stop himself. A choked groan escaped him as he gripped himself, stroking roughly, his other hand slamming the spacebar to unpause the video. The girl on screen gasped, high and fake, but Taki wasn't thinking about her.

He was thinking about you.

You, sprawled across his bed, whining about how hard the material was.

You, blinking up at him with those big, dumb eyes- "I don't get it, Taki… can you explain it again?"

His hips jerked into his fist.

God, you'd be so easy. So pliant. He could already picture it-your breath hitching as his hand slid up your thigh, your lips parting in surprise when he leaned too close.

"You're so smart," you'd whimper, like it was some kind of prayer. "I need your help, Taki, please—"

Fuck, and you would be so fucking grateful for his help…

A choked gasp tore from his throat as he came, his hips jerking up into his fist.

Panting, he stared at the ceiling, his body buzzing with anticipation. He had just enough time to clean up before you arrived.

Tonight was going to be perfect. It was finally going to happen.

yn: omw up! <3 3rd floor right? 

Taki's fingers trembled as he typed back a shaky "yeah!".

He wiped his palms on his jeans, eyes darting around the room. It wasn't clean, exactly-just less of a biohazard. The energy drink cans were in the trash (mostly), the dirty clothes were shoved under the bed, and his laptop was safely closed, though still warm.

A knock.

His stomach lurched.

Taki's breath hitched as he yanked the door open and then his brain short-circuited completely.

There you stood, in a crop top that barely covered your tits and a skirt so short he could practically see the curve of your ass if you shifted just slightly wrong. Your hair was down, glossy and perfect, and your lips-fuck—were slick with that stupid pink gloss he'd imagined smearing all over his cock more times than he could count.

"Hiii," you chirped, bouncing on your toes like an overexcited puppy. "Sorry, I'm, like, super late! I got totally lost-this building is, like, so confusing!"

Taki's mouth opened. No sound came out.

You blinked at him, tilting your head.

"Helloooo?" You waved a hand in front of his face, giggling. "Earth to Taki~!"

The sound of his name in your voice sent a jolt straight to his groin. He swallowed hard, stepping aside stiffly. "Y-yeah. Uh. Come in."

You skipped past him, your sugary perfume flooding his senses as you brushed by. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to grab your waist, to yank you back against him-

But instead, he just stood there, sweating.

Your eyes scanned his room, wide with curiosity. "Omg, your dorm is, like, so cozy!"

You plopped down on his bed without hesitation, kicking your legs. "Okay, sooo, I literally don't get anything from class. Like, at all." You pouted, pulling out a notebook covered in doodles and glitter pen stains.

Taki's throat worked. He couldn't stop staring at the way your skirt rode up your thighs as you crossed your legs.

"Uh," he croaked, adjusting his glasses. "W-we can start with the basics."

You beamed. "Yay! You're the best."

Taki's fingers trembled as he grabbed his notes, trying desperately not to imagine how you'd sound if he pinned you down right here.

But then you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hands, your cleavage right there, and-

Fuck.

He was so screwed.

Taki's desk was small, too small for the two of you.

His knee bumped against yours as he pulled his chair closer, his breath hitching when you didn't move away. You just giggled.

"Okaaay," you sighed, flopping your notebook open. "So, like… what even is this?" You jabbed a manicured finger at the first equation, your brow furrowed in exaggerated confusion.

Taki's fingers trembled as he pointed at the equation, his voice cracking like a pubescent teenager's.

"S-so, uh, this part here-it's, like, the derivative of the function," he stammered, eyes darting between the paper and the way your skirt had ridden up even further, the soft flesh of your inner thigh just barely visible.

You blinked at the equation, your lips pursed. "Ooooh," you said slowly, nodding like you understood, but the glazed-over look in your eyes told him you absolutely did not. "So, it's like… math?"

Taki's eye twitched.

God, you were so fucking stupid.

And yet, his cock throbbed in his jeans just from the way you bit your lip, staring at the numbers as if, if you looked long enough, they would start to make sense.

"Y-yeah," he choked out, shifting in his seat. "It's math."

You giggled, brushing your fingers through your hair. "Hehe, I knew that." Then, without warning, you leaned forward, your chest pressing against his arm as you pointed at the paper again. "But, like… what does it mean?"

Taki's breath hitched. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, could smell that sickly-sweet perfume clinging to your skin and starting to transfer onto his. His fingers twitched against the desk, itching to grab your waist, to pull you onto his lap—

"I-It means—" His voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "It-uh-it's the rate of change."

You gasped, eyes widening. "Woah." You turned to him, lips parted in awe. "Taki, you're, like… so smart."

His stomach twisted. Say it again.

"I-I just study," he muttered, but his pulse was hammering, his skin burning where you touched him.

You hummed, kicking your legs idly, your skirt riding up another inch. "Raah," you sighed dramatically, slumping back in your chair. "I wish I was smart like youuu." You pouted, bottom lip jutting out. "But my brain's just, like… empty."

Taki's fingers dug into his thighs. Empty.

Just like the space between your legs, just waiting to be filled-

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. "L-let's try another problem," he stammered, flipping the page with shaky hands.

You groaned, flopping forward onto the desk, your arms crossed under your chest, pushing your tits together. Taki nearly choked at the sight.

"Ugh, this is sooo hard."

Not as hard as he was right now, Taki thought deliriously, his cock straining painfully against his zipper.

"I-It's not that bad," he said, voice tight. "Just… follow the steps."

You lifted your head, blinking up at him with those big, dumb eyes.

"But how?" you whined, dragging out the word. "I don't get it, Taki."

His jaw clenched. Fuck. He had to find a way to get you naked. Now.

" Taki this is so boriiing!" You threw your head back as he tried to go through the next problem more slowly, allowing him an extra minute of inadvertence for him to have a good look at your tits.

"L-let's try…" His voice cracked. He swallowed, adjusting his glasses with trembling fingers. He wasn’t here to study per say, but the more bored you were, the less chances he had of getting you in his bed. "Let's try a different approach."

You tilted your head, lips parted in that stupid, vacant way that he loved so much. "Like… hands-on learning?" you asked, blinking up at him through your lashes.

Fucking hell!

Taki's breath hitched. His knee pressed yours as he scooted closer.

"Y-yeah," he rasped. "Hands-on."

You giggled, twirling your hair again. "Okaaay~"

His pulse pounded in his ears.

This was his chance.

With a shaky exhale, Taki let his hand drop from the desk, slowly, casually, even, until his fingers brushed the bare skin of your thigh. His fingers trembled against it.

The skin was impossibly soft, warm beneath his touch.

You sighed, leaning back slightly in the chair, your eyes drifting lazily over the textbook. "Mmm, that feels kinda nice," you murmured, your voice thick with boredom. "Way better than thinking and doing math."

He had to jump on the opportunity. Such a pretty girl in his room. His hand on her thigh. Her not retaliating… He had to do something.

"Y-yeah? What about… we take a study break?" Taki heard the words escape his mouth before he even thought about them.

You looked up at him, your eyes big and your lips pursed. "Huh?"

"Yeah, you…" he gulped. "You already worked so hard…"

At that point, his hand was still on your thigh, and it took everything in him not to grab hard and knead your skin; he didn’t care about blatantly lying.

Blink.

That’s all you gave for an answer. A blink. If even you didn’t believe him when he tried to flatter your ego, there was nothing else he could do.

At least, nothing fairplay.

Slowly, he leaned in, closer to your face, and whispered with his eyes dark, "You said you would be grateful…"

Taki's whisper hung thick in the air, the cheap cologne now clashing with the sugary sweetness of your perfume. His fingers, still trembling slightly, dug infinitesimally deeper into the soft flesh of your thigh.

"You said that…" he repeated, the words a low rasp against the sudden silence of the room. His eyes were dark pools behind his smudged glasses and fixed not on your face anymore, but somewhere lower, on the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone revealed by the low cut of your top.

You blinked again, slow, like a cat stirring from a nap. The vacant curiosity didn't vanish, but a flicker of something else passed through your eyes. Confusion? A dawning awareness?

"Grateful…?" you echoed, your voice still airy, but lacking its usual chirp. You shifted slightly on the chair, your knee pressing back against his. "Like… for the tutoring?"

He swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet. His free hand clenched into a fist on the textbook.

Stupid. So stupid. But that stupidity, that complete lack of understanding, was like kerosene on the fire in his gut.

He leaned in another fraction, his breath hot on your ear now.

He could smell the waxy sweetness of your lip gloss. "For… for helping you pass," he stammered, the awkwardness warring violently with the predatory urge tightening his chest. His thumb began a slow, deliberate stroke along the sensitive inner seam of your thigh, just above the knee. "For… saving your year."

Your lips curled into a knowing smirk: the first real spark of something behind those vacant eyes of yours. Taki's breath hitched as you shifted in your chair, your knee brushing against his thigh deliberately this time.

Then, with a little wiggle of your hips, you turned to face him fully, your skirt hiking up even higher as you swung one leg over the other.

Were you—? Were you flirting with him?

No. No, that couldn't be right. A girl like you would never consider a guy like him, plus, you were probably too airheaded even to realize what you were doing to him.

And yet, you leaned in, close enough that he could count every fleck of glitter on your eyelids, and tilted your head.

"Sooo," you drawled, voice dripping with faux innocence, "what do you want, professor?"

His mouth went dry.

"W-what do I want?" he choked out, fingers twitching against your thigh.

You giggled, rolling your eyes like he was the dumb one here. "Duh! You said I should be grateful for your help, and, with you as my tutor, I will ace my exam! Sooo…"

You bit your lip, dragging your teeth over the glossy pink. "What's my thank-you gift? Pick whatever you want."

Taki's brain flatlined. For sure, he was ready to guilt-trip you into sucking his cock just a minute ago, but having you basically asking for it was something else entirely.

And now he wasn’t so sure he could handle it... Handle you.

His cock throbbed, straining against his jeans, and his mouth opened like he was ready to moan out loud, untouched.

You smirked, mischief flashing in your eyes as your tiny little brain finally seemed to grasp the power you held over him.

"C'mon," you teased, shifting closer. Taki wished you’d move even nearer, though. He longed for nothing more than to feel your breath on his lips.

Okay, maybe there were some things he wished for even more…

"Use your words, genius."

He swallowed so hard it hurt, like he was close to choking on his own saliva.

"Mmm?" You tilted your head, waiting. Then, in a swift motion, you swung a leg over his lap, plopping yourself onto him with that infuriatingly girly little giggle. Your skirt had ridden up so much higher on your hips that he almost couldn’t catch a glimpse of it anymore.

He didn’t dare to take a good look at your panties just now, though. One thing at a time. And for now, he was entirely focused on the warm feeling of your plush thighs pressing against his through the fabric of his jeans, the weight of you settling right where he needed it most.

His hands hovered uselessly above your hips, trembling. Although Taki has been spending most of the hours in a day gooning, this didn’t translate to any real experience in the real world. Hence why he struggled to match the freaky persona he created for himself in his wildest fantasies.

"Soo, Taki…?" You wiggled on his lap, and it took everything in him not to come in his pants when you did.

He was thinking of a million different ways to ask you to just have sex with him, but nothing sounded sane enough to pronounce it out loud. Words and images were mixing up in his mind, and panic was starting to submerge him.

"S-so," he stammered, voice cracking, "I-l was thinking… maybe… a F-French kiss?"

You blinked, lips parting in mock surprise before turning into a mischievous smile, with your glossy bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

"Ohhhh," you cooed, tilting your head. "Taki… have you never kissed a girl before?"

His entire face burned: enough of an answer.

Before he could stutter out a lie, he would still try to tell, your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking him forward.

And then your mouth crashed into his, messy, all wet lips and too much tongue, the kind of kiss he'd only seen in cheap porn. You devoured him, sucking on his lip, teeth grazing, tongue sliding against his in a way that made his hips jerk up instinctively.

He groaned, hands finally gripping your waist like he’s been dying to, but you just giggled into his mouth, pulling back just enough to whisper: "You're, like… really bad at this."

Taki's ego shattered. His dick was still hard as a rock, though.

You leaned in again, slower this time, guiding him with little mwah noises like he was some kind of idiot puppy.

"Mmmph, like this," you murmured, nipping at his lip before plunging your tongue back into his mouth. Your words slurring as your tongue dragged over his.

Taki had no idea how to do this. His lips moved too stiffly at first, his tongue darted out clumsily to test the waters, causing you to giggle into his mouth. 

“Relax,” you cooed, pulling back just enough to let a string of spit stretch between you two before diving back in. Your hands fisted in his hair, tilting his head to the side as you licked into his mouth with practiced ease. “You’re so tense! It’s just kissing, silly.”

Taki whimpered, his hips jerking up involuntarily beneath you.  After some time, he finally caught up to your rhythm, and when he did, it was sloppy, obscene. It was everything he'd ever fantasized about.

His tongue started to move with yours, mimicking your rhythm, his saliva smearing across your chin as he panted into your mouth. His glasses fogged up from your shared breath, he couldn’t see anything, but thankfully, he still had his hands to feel the dips and curves of your figure against his own. 

“Mmm, that’s better~” you purred, sucking his tongue between your lips. “But, like, less teeth, ‘kay?”

He nodded frantically, like he would listen to every word you had to say. After all, this was probably one of the only subjects in which you could be the one tutoring him.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, and the way his thighs shook under your weight. “Wanna try again?” you teased, taunting his lower lip with your tongue.

Taki didn’t say anything; he just went straight back in, crashing his mouth onto yours, his hands sliding up your waist quickly to grope at the sides of your tits. 

His hands trembled as they finally, finally cupped the soft weight of them through your crop top. His fingers dug in greedily, kneading the plush flesh like he was starving for it—and he was. 

Every lewd fantasy he’d ever had about you, every stolen glance in lecture halls, every frantic jerk-off session in his dingy dorm, it all crashed over him at once.

"F-fuck," he choked out against your lips, his voice strangled with disbelief.

You giggled, the sound vibrating against his mouth as you let him grope you. "You like them?" you asked, rolling your hips just enough to make him whimper.

He didn’t bother answering. He couldn’t, and the answer was pretty obvious. His brain had short-circuited the second his thumbs brushed over the stiff peaks of your nipples, which he could still feel through the fabric. 

He squeezed harder, his breath coming in ragged pants as he marveled at the way your tits spilled over his fingers.

You gasped, arching into his touch. "Ah! T-Taki!” 

You whined into his mouth, and when you finally pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips, Taki was panting the same way he did 10 minutes into PE.

He was so entranced with the sight and feeling of your tits that there was no way to get him to kiss you again. He was staring at your chest with wide eyes as he roamed his hands over the soft mounds, and he wouldn’t stop even if the fire alarm rang. 

Spurred on by the way your thighs clenched around his hips and the soft noises that came from you, he couldn’t resist the urge and pinched your nipples. 

“Ah!” You whined, squirming in his lap. “That’s–mmph!”

"S-sorry," he stammered, but didn’t stop. His thumbs flicked over your nipples again, his cock twitching painfully in his jeans when you let out a soft, airy sigh.

"Mmm, it’s okay," you hummed, tilting your head. "You’re, like, also really bad at this, but it’s kinda cute." 

Cute? Taki’s ego took a toll. He didn’t want to be cute. He wanted you to be putty in his hands. 

A frown on his face, he grit his teeth and grabbed your tits harder. You let out a surprised high-pitched moan as your hips ground on their own. 

"C-can I—" Taki’s voice cracked. "Wanna see them…"

You blinked, your cheeks flushed, and leant back just enough to give him an exaggerated once-over. "Y-you’re such a perv…"

You didn’t stop him, though, as he yanked the thin fabric up, exposing the lacy cups of your bra as well as the dreamy swell of your breasts to his hungry eyes. "There. Happy?"

Happy?

Taki was lightheaded.

“Fuck. Fuck.” He repeated over and over as his shaking hands palmed them, squeezing roughly. It was better than he’d imagined. His grip turned possessive, fingers sinking into your flesh as he groped you like a man possessed.

"Oof—hey," you giggled, squirming in his lap. "Easy. They’re not  stress balls!"

“Right, they’re so much better.” He mumbled, his hips bucking up, chasing as much friction as he could get.

“Nnn! T-Taki–!” Your back arched, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was too busy marveling at the way your skin warmed under his touch to care either way.

"Fuck, you’re—" His voice was hoarse, wrecked. "S’soft."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Uh, duh."

But then his fingers pinched a little harder, and your breath caught, before it released in a high-pitched whine. 

“Take this off,” Taki groaned, his fingers hooking under the lace of your bra. He tugged with a desperation that bordered on violence.

The fabric snapped against your skin as he yanked it down, your tits finally spilling free into his greedy hands.

You gasped, watching with half-lidded eyes as his pupils blew wide, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

“Fuck,” he choked out, voice cracking. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

And then, like a starved man at a feast, Taki buried his face between your tits, smothering himself in the soft warmth of them. His fingers kneaded roughly, squeezing your flesh together until your nipples brushed his chin, his hot, panting breaths making your skin damp.

“They’re—nngh—even better than I imagined,” he slurred, voice muffled against your cleavage. His hips jerked up beneath you, the hard line of his cock grinding against your ass as he rutted like an animal.

You whimpered, squirming in his lap, but his grip only tightened. “So perfect,” he mumbled, dragging his tongue over the swell of one breast before latching onto your nipple with a wet, sloppy suck.

“Ah!” You wailed when you felt the warmth of his tongue against your hardened nipple.

He groaned around your flesh, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before sucking harder, his free hand groping and pinching your other tit like he was trying to memorize every inch of it.

Saliva smeared across your skin as he switched sides, his lips sealing around the other with a lewd pop. His glasses were fogged beyond repair, his hair a mess from your fingers, but he didn’t care.

Not when he’d spent months imagining this—dreaming about the weight of your tits in his hands, the way you’d sound when he finally got his mouth on you.

And now here you were. Whimpering. Squirming. Letting him.

Taki's fingers fumbled at the clasp of your bra like a drunk man trying to solve a puzzle, all frantic twists and choked whimpers. The more he struggled, the more his glasses fogged from his panting, until he was essentially mouthing at your tits blind.

You let him suffer for thirty seconds more before sighing dramatically. "Ugh, let me—"

With a practiced flick of your wrist, the clasp surrendered instantly. The lace slithered down your arms before you tossed it to the side.

Taki made a sound similar to a deflating balloon.

Your bare tits were right there, free of all confines—pebbled nipples, soft curves he'd only dreamed about smearing with drool—and yet he sat frozen, hands hovering like a malfunctioning robot.

His cock visibly twitched in his jeans, a damp spot spreading near the zipper.

You rolled your eyes. "Seriously?" Reaching forward, you popped the button of his jeans with your thumb. 

The zipper hissed down, and Taki's cock sprang free, red and angry and dripping against his shirt.

A strangled noise escaped him as you wrapped your fingers around the shaft, giving an experimental squeeze.

"F-fuck!" His hips jerked off the chair, glasses sliding down his sweaty nose.

You chuckled, swirling your thumb over the leaking tip. "Ew, you're all… slippery." The way you said it—nose scrunched, voice dripping with faux disgust—made his balls tighten.

"Y-you—" Taki's brain short-circuited as you leaned forward, your tits brushing his knees. 

"Shhh." You pressed a finger to your glossy lips as you got on your knees. "Just watch."

Then, with agonizing slowness, you licked a fat stripe from base to tip, your tongue flattening against the throbbing vein underneath. His fingers dug into the armrests hard enough to leave dents.

Taki's entire body seized up as your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, your tongue swirling in slow, teasing circles.

His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as he stared down at you, at the way your lashes fluttered, the way your cheeks hollowed obscenely as you took him deeper.

"Oh, God—" His voice cracked, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

You pulled off with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting your lips to his twitching cock. "Mmm, you taste kinda salty," you giggled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before diving right back in, your tongue lapping at the underside like it was a lollipop.

Taki’s fingers tangled in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life, as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with every pass.

"’S good—s-so fucking good—" he babbled, his thighs trembling.

You hummed around him, the vibration making his toes curl. Then, without warning, you pulled off completely, your lips glistening, and gave him a slow, wicked smirk before—

"H-holy shit—!"

Your tongue dragged along his balls, licking them with the same lazy enthusiasm as an ice cream cone. Taki’s back arched off the chair, his cock jerking violently as you sucked one into your mouth, rolling it between your lips.

"Nnngh—fuck, fuck, fuck—" His voice was wrecked, his hands shaking where they gripped your hair.

You giggled around his sensitive skin before returning to his cock, swallowing him down until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

Taki’s vision whited out.

"I-I’m gonna—"

You didn’t stop. If anything, you sped up, your lips sliding up and down his shaft with obscene wet noises, your tongue pressing against the vein underneath.

"Ah! Ah!" His hips bucked wildly as he came, his cock pulsing hot ropes down your throat.

You swallowed effortlessly, milking him through every last spasm until he was whimpering, oversensitive, and twitching.

When you finally pulled off, you licked your lips with exaggerated slowness, batting your lashes up at him, looking up with doe eyes.

"Sooo," you chirped, voice hoarse but still infuriatingly cheerful, "was that, like, your first blowjob?"

Taki’s entire face burned.

You smirked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, lip gloss, saliva, and something else smearing all over your face. "Hehe. You came so fast."

Taki's hands trembled as he leaned down to grab your waist, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with a desperation that bordered on painful.

Before you could even react, he yanked you backwards onto his lap, spinning you around so your back faced his chest.

Your breath hitched as his cock, already rising back to life, slotted snugly between your ass cheeks, the heat of him smearing through the thin fabric of your thong.

"Ooh," you giggled, wiggling your hips experimentally, the movement making him groan against your neck. "Someone's eager~"

He would've protested, said something to shut you up, but the feeling of your ass pressed against him prevented him from doing so.

Still, his hands slid from your waist with sudden purpose, his breath ragged against your neck as he pushed you forward with trembling urgency.

Your elbows hit the desk, your chest pressing flat against the scattered notes and textbooks as you instinctively braced yourself. The angle forced your ass back against him, grinding his hardening length even deeper between your cheeks.

You gasped, more surprised than anything, your fingers scrambling against the papers as Taki leaned over you, his chest pressing flush against your back. His hands found your hips again, gripping tight enough to bruise as he rocked forward, grinding himself against the curve of your ass with a low, desperate groan.

"My God," he choked out, his voice strangled.

Arching your back just slightly, you wiggled your hips again, the movement making his fingers dig in harder.

Suddenly, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong.

"T-Taki—?" you started, but your voice dissolved into a gasp as he yanked the flimsy fabric aside, exposing your dripping cunt to the humid air of the dorm.

Taki’s breath came in ragged bursts against your ear as he lined himself up, the swollen head of his cock nudging against your slick folds.

"Fuck," he choked out, voice wrecked. "You’re—you’re so wet."

You giggled, rolling your hips back against him. "Mmm, yeah? Maybe 'cause someone was, like, super handsy earlier—"

Taki didn’t let you finish.

With a sharp thrust, he buried himself inside you in one brutal stroke, his cock stretching you open in a way that punched a moan from your lips.

"F-fuck!" you gasped, your nails digging into his thighs as he bottomed out.

Taki’s head fell back against the chair, his glasses askew, his mouth hanging open in silent ecstasy.

Holy shit.

You were tight. Hot and wet and perfect, clenching around him like you were made for him.

His hips jerked up instinctively, chasing the mind-numbing pleasure of your walls fluttering around his cock.

"Y-you—" he stammered, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You feel—fuck—"

You rolled your hips experimentally, your ass grinding against his pelvis, making him see stars.

The sensation was too much, too intense: a tight, wet heat he’d only ever fantasized about. For a moment, he just stayed there, buried to the hilt, trembling, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he tried to process that this was real.

You wiggled against him, a soft, impatient sound escaping your lips. “Hellooo? Taki? You gonna move or what?”

The sound of your voice jolted him back to reality. A fresh wave of angry and possessive lust washed over him. 

He was the one inside you. Not some frat bro. Not some jock. Him.

With a guttural groan, he pulled back almost all the way, savoring the way your body clung to him, before slamming back in. The chair screeched against the floor.

“Ah! Taki!” you yelped, your voice pitching higher, your fingers scrambling for purchase on the cluttered desk, knocking over an empty energy drink can he forgot to throw away.

He didn’t care about making a mess. In fact, he would prefer to. So he set a frantic, uneven rhythm, his thrusts clumsy and desperate. 

With his glasses still completely fogged, the world was a blur except for the feel of you, the sound of your skin slapping against his and your sharp little gasps.

“Sooo fucking good,” he slurred, his forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. He could smell your perfume mixed with his cheap cologne and the scent of sex. It was intoxicating.

One of his hands left your hip, sliding around your front, his fingers fumbling blindly until they found your clit.

You jolted, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. “Ah! W-what are you—?”

He rubbed rough, frantic circles, his movements uncoordinated. He’d seen it in videos, knew he was supposed to do something down there, but his execution was a mess—too much pressure, too fast.

“Nnn—too much—!” you whined, trying to squirm away, but his other arm banded around your waist, locking you in place against his relentless thrusts.

“Shut up,” he panted, his voice raw. “Just—just take it.”

He felt you clench around him, a violent, involuntary spasm, and a broken moan spilled from your lips. The sound went straight to his dick. He did it again, pinching your clit roughly between his thumb and forefinger.

Your body went taut, a high-pitched, shuddering wail escaping you as you came, your inner walls fluttering and squeezing his cock like a vice.

The sensation ripped a ragged shout from Taki’s throat. His hips stuttered, losing their rhythm entirely as he slammed into you once, twice more before burying himself deep with a final, broken groan. 

Heat flooded your core as he pulsed inside you, his entire body seizing up before going completely limp against your back, his weight pressing you harder into the desk.

The only sounds in the room were his ragged, wheezing breaths and the faint drip of something onto the floor.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Taki’s mind was blissfully, utterly empty.

Then, you shifted slightly beneath him. “Oof. You’re heavy.”

He grunted, reluctantly pulling out. The sudden emptiness made you both shudder. He collapsed back into the chair, his chest heaving, glasses still completely white.

You pushed yourself up from the desk, turning to face him. Your skirt was bunched around your waist, your makeup was smeared, and his come was already starting to trickle down your thigh. You looked utterly debauched.

And you were smiling.

“Phew!” you exhaled, fanning your face with a hand. “That was, like… a way better study break than I expected.” You reached down, pulling your thong back into place with a wince. “Ouch. You’re kinda rough, you know?”

Taki just stared, his brain struggling to reboot. 

He’d just had sex. With you. It had been awkward, messy, and probably the greatest sixty seconds of his entire life.

You leaned over, picking up your discarded crop top and bra. “So,” you said, pulling the top back on, your voice casual, like you were discussing the weather. “Same time tomorrow? ‘Cause I still, like, totally don’t get derivatives.”

Taki’s mouth fell open.

You were already gathering your glittery notebook, completely unbothered, as if you hadn’t just let the campus weirdo fuck you over his calculus homework.

He watched, dumbstruck, as you skipped toward the door, giving him a little finger wave.

“See ya, Taki! Thanks for the help! Hehe!”

The door clicked shut behind you.

Taki remained in his chair, spent, sticky, and more confused than he’d ever been in his entire life. 

The only evidence that it hadn’t been a hallucination was the lingering scent of your perfume, the ache in his hips, and the slowly drying stain on his shirt.

He had finally gotten what he wanted.