#coffeecasecasey

A private lesson. Something that you would spend your hard earned money on without a doubt have been given to you free of charge on one condition.

His apartment. At night. Don’t tell no one.

The secret you were forced to carry for weeks have been burning low in your gut like a forbidden spell. He didn’t name a date, the bastard. Seemed to be caring less and less about your presence in his classroom, didn’t even flinch when you would stare so hard at his back in white coat you could swear you would burn a hole through it.

But professor Lake was the epitome of patience. He carried himself through the sea of white robes like a ship through water, his accent so noticeable that everyone payed attention, no matter how dull the lecture was. When he was in a good mood (which, frankly, was almost always like that) he was showing videos, too; operations, movies, TV shows, pointing the mistakes and making jokes to wake up this sea of sleeping whites.

All of this was before you started studying anatomy and your own body - it’s flaws and imperfections was a dungeon of mystery. You needed a guide – more than that, you needed someone to carve you open, show everything that is beautiful in you, make you see with your own eyes what made you you.

After class, when you passed your finished homework, professor’s hands brushed yours. A silent invitation, his eyes crinkling behind thick glasses, that small, knowing smile being so sincere, you knew it was just for you. The address was whispered between rustling of pages. He asked you to dress casually; the way it would make you the most comfortable. You appreciated him caring for you so much.

It was so, so easy to trust him. It was more than knowing he would not hurt you or make you do something that you didn’t want to. Something about him captivated you and if he would ask you to strip yourself off your clothes in front of the entire class you would do that without a second thought.

You had expected him to taste of coffee he seemed to be always drinking. He was. But there was something else, something more sweet and dark in it, too. You kissed him like you were coming home to him for the million times already. Maybe it was the case. The winter stretched on and on for months and you’ve lost count of days when you last saw the sun. It didn’t matter, as long as between white snow and dark skies he would always find you.

“Lips,” he suddenly whispered, breaking the spell and weaving another one. “Labia oris.”

“Tongue… lingua. Kieli.”

He continued to name the parts of your body. Mapping them with his lingua, his hands, mixing suomi, english, latin, even bits of russian. You were dizzy with his voice alone, with how he effortlessly placed you on large, soft bed, didn’t ask, but rather suggested that you pull off your clothes for him.

And you did.

“Cavea thoracis,” his warm hands cupped the underside of your chest, where your poor heart was beating like a bird in cage. “12 ribs. Two broken and bad healed in my case. The heart… so strong. So young. Pumping blood, every day and every second from the moment it grew in you to you last breath.”

“P-professor…”

“Take notes, rakas opiskelijani. This will be on your exam.”

His lips found your stomach, teeth grazing the rolls and dips, kissing every stretch mark new and old. Sam was savoring you, you realized, your thighs pressing together when he groaned against your skin, not hungry, but reverent.

"Vatsa. Abdomen."

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, and he chuckled against your skin - a low, pleased sound that vibrated through you.

"Impatient," he mused, switching to English, though his accent curled around the word like a caress.

"But I know you can be good for me."

You swallowed, nodding, because what else could you do? He had a way of unraveling you, of making you want to obey just to hear the approval in his voice. His hands slid lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your last remaining clothing.

"Reisi. Femur. Ja tämä..."

His breath was hot against your inner thigh. You gasped as his tongue found you, slow and deliberate, mapping you in a way that had your back arching off the bed. He hummed in satisfaction, the sound reverberating through you like a second touch. You whimpered, fingers twisting in the sheets as his mouth moved with devastating precision. Every flick of his tongue was a word, every slow drag a sentence - some secret, ancient language written only in pleasure. You were wetting his face, the collar of his shirt, the sheets, everything, but he didn’t care. His fingers joined in your unraveling, so long and thing, burrowing themselves in your pulsation.

Through frantic beating of your heart in your ears, you heard professor speaking again – term after term, his fingers pressing from the inside out, remember, remember how good it feels, it’s your body, your body doing such a good job… You clenched around his fingers.

"Yes, just like that," and he rewarded you with a slow curl inside, pressing up into that sweet, secret place that made your vision blur, hips jerking, choked cry tearing from your throat as pleasure coiled tigher, hotter, yes, there, right there, please!

"Uterus," he continued, lips brushing your trembling stomach.

"Kohtu. Матка. Where life is. Where the light is. So much pain. So much pleasure."

You arched, gasping, as his free hand palmed your breast, rolling your hard nipple between his fingers in time with the thrust of his hand.

"You're perfect like this," he growled, switching to Finnish, the words rough and honeyed. "Niin täydellinen. So wet for me, your hole eager to be filled. Look at you, so responsive. Vagus nerve lighting up like a storm. S-skin warm and red. Pupils dilated. Heart rate - ah, yes, there it is – are you gonna come, my sweetheart? Gonna come for your professor?”

The way he said it – professor - low and possessive, with just a hint of that academic authority still clinging to his voice, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. His fingers worked you with cruel precision, his dark eyes locked on yours, watching every twitch of your lashes, every gasp you couldn’t swallow down. And then Sam’s mouth was on you again, his tongue dragging over your clit just as his fingers crooked there, and you shattered - vision whiting out, back arching off the bed as you came with a cry he swallowed greedily. When the last tremor faded, he pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling.

"You’re the sweetest," he whispered. "To study. To know. I want to know every way your body works. I want you to know it with me.’”

Talks. You. Through. It! You love the sound of his voice, the warm accent, the broken syllables, and he knows you love it too. Expect him to be very talkative and vocal during the deed. That does include moaning. And he loves when you don't hold back, too. All those sweet sounds escaping your lips, the whimpers and groans and chanting his name like a prayer... Yeah <3

Very specific but... fully clothed sex. On his part, of course. You, darling, will be completly naked. There is just something so intoxicating about this for him, when he doesn't even need to undress for you to want to fuck him. And it's very convinient when he wants to have sex in places... rather public.

Has a bit of... how shall I say... stalker quality to him? Besides watching the 1979 movie (this joke sounded better in my head), he just makes sure he knows EVERYTHING about you. Very attentive to your likes and needs. You mention in a hushed tone, more to yourself that you'd really want to check out a movie? The next day it's a cinema date for you two. He looks through your books and knows how fast you read them so when you just finish them, a new one is already waiting for you at the doorstep. Just in time for lunch, too - a delivery with your favorite take out. And of course, he knows all about your desires and kinks - even if you specifically never mentioned them. He is just good at reading people.

Caring so much about you it can come off as... controlling. And it feels good to be controlled by him. Both in bed and outside of it.

I feel like a fucking creep by say it BY AGE DIFFERENCE? Of course you are younger than him. And. He. Loves. It! Look above about the whole control thing. He is so lucky that such a young sweet thing like you is looking up at him.

I'm not the biggest fan FAN of medical fetishes but I do have a certain... hmm, fascination with it. I mean surely it would be just lovely to wear a nurse/doctor costume for him if he ask? Flap your eyelashes, ask him to get nice and comfortable for a simple exam, maybe snap a glove on, if you're feeling frisky...

Goodness, it's just a lot of trust involved, you know? ʕ≧㉨≦ʔ If I may add a few cents of me being weirdo...

Teeth.

Yeah.

Might be the consequences of me working solely in dental my whole life, but I just love the feeling of exploring someones teeth or if it's done for me... You know, the whole 'open nice and wide for me?' Just imagine his finger slipping inside your warm mouth, the thumb resting heavy on your tongue, then moving to feel your teeth around, praising you for taking such good care of them for him... The saliva gathering and dripping down your chin and he just tsked and asks you to not bite the good doctor. Good. Lord.

There could be certain... intimate exams. And while the thought of it can be quite arousing, I'm afraid I'm not the best person to be asked about that since I have quite the trauma from visits to gynecologist. That and other things which inlove down there.