RandomlyOrganizedChaos

"You were always so sweet", was what was running through your mind as firm hands were squeezing your waist above the waistband of your slightly pleated skirt at the same time your body was making jerky back and forth movements and your psyche seemed to be getting cloudier and cloudier.

To be honest, you weren't "sweet" because you wanted to be, but rather out of a need not to be seen as rude and thus be able to be the teachers' favorite. And, well... you were. But not in the expected way.

Not in the expected way, since now your hands were leaning against one side of the bathroom cubicle smelling of cleaning products with the buttons of your white dress shirt open lazily, as if someone had tried to sexually assault you on the way home even though you didn't even step foot outside the college that day after classes that lasted until six o'clock at night; your eyes ajar as droplets of sweat dripped down your forehead as if they made a holy path to sin. Heavy breathing, breasts rising and falling rapidly to match the rhythm of his hips that slammed against hers in brutal, rapid, almost naughty movements.

However, it was not a bad situation. Actually, not at all, because when you got home you would still have to explain to your parents why you were arriving in that state if apparently your routine that day was the same as every other day of that long week, besides that, Y/N would probably still have to walk past some college students who were at the university at that time for whatever reason... and your wobbly legs would definitely wobble a little more at that humiliating hour.

And that's exactly what he wanted you to feel: humiliation, pure and poisonous humiliation, because no matter how many times he made you attend classes during the day or afternoon with your panties dripping with his cum, or how many times he silently guided you into the university library to sneak his hand under the hem of your graceful skirt to finger your most intimate parts, you always came back. And for the hundredth time that man would spit in your direction whatever degrading words his dirty little mind could think of at the time; and for the hundredth time you would end up with his cock buried deep inside you, stretching your walls the way you inevitably loved, and the way Satan might like too.

— My sweet dirty little girl. — He whispered close to your ear accompanied by a thrust a little stronger than the previous ones that made you almost unbalanced and inevitably try to grab hold of some firmer part of that bathroom cubicle. In vain, obviously. — You love being my favorite cumslut, don't you? — His teeth left a light bite on your earlobe while a light mocking laugh escaped from between his lips. — Always so willing to take my cock regardless of the time, regardless of the place. I'm so proud that my slut is so useful to me. — Again using his hands to exert a crushing pressure that would definitely leave fingerprints on your lightly clothed skin from the skirt, he resumed starting a fast rhythm against your inner walls.

And then, at a certain moment Gojo inadvertently ended up cumming inside you in a nonchalant manner that, God forbid, was no longer frightening to you. You had grown accustomed to his inconsequential actions and were deliberately tasting the poison of abyssal pleasure that man was willing to deliver to you. And the slight moan that he let escape close to your ear made an electric wave of pleasure run down your back in the form of a latent shiver.

— Oh, it's already... almost seven o'clock at night, I've used you for less time than I would have liked. — Gojo ran his tongue over hus lips, slowly withdrawing from you and resting his beautifully blue eyes on your pussy that was now letting a small amount of his cum escape, at that sight he used two of his long fingers to push the liquid deeper inside you. — You should straighten up, kitten. — He lifted your face to the side to look you straight in the eye one last time in that situation, but not that day. — You don't want to make your parents late for 8 o'clock mass, do you? — Trying to think straight, Y/N shook her head negatively from side to side. — I bet you don't. — A sideways smile appeared on his thin lips.

And then Gojo turned away to get dressed and try to fix his white hair as best he could. It didn't take long before you saw him pick up the executive briefcase where he carried almost everything that concerned him in his career as a university professor, and the backpack where he would keep his clothes when he arrived at the church where he would celebrate the 8 pm mass that you and your parents would be attending.