#tw.sir

The shower water is hot, running in thick, gentle beads down the shape of Nanami’s body. He stares at the drain, watching the water swirl as it pours down, shampoo running off his form to join the liquid on the floor. It catches on the ridges of his body, dipping down and over the hard lines of his abs and he watches his chest heave. 

Nanami has never particularly wanted anything, never wanted something so bad that he throws his entire person behind it. He’s by the books, a good man who, at nearly 30, is still unmarried. Nanami works as a professor at your university teaching a class on ancient Sanskrit. It’s technically a linguistics course, but Nanami has a Doctorate in Ancient World Societies and as a result, is well-qualified to teach it. 

He has never thought about a student in any manner outside of academics until he met you. He’s not exactly sure what it is about you, but you stay after to ask him questions that are meant to be answered by your TA and Nanami never has the willpower to turn you away. You’re studious, well-immersed in your studies, and from the quality of your assignments, he can tell you work hard. He admires that about you. How, despite your numerous questions, you’re always eager to do better, apologizing to him when you don’t. 

You’re pretty, really pretty, with a glittering smile to boot and wide, innocent eyes. You’re a bit frazzled, but what college student isn’t, especially taking a course like Sanskrit. And you’re popular with your classmates. Nanami can see the way they drool over you, offering a little more help than is necessary. It makes you all the more tempting. Everything about you is tempting to Nanami, your clothes, the way you clutch your books to your chest, and the innocent way you drawl out professor like it’s a term of endearment. 

Over the course of the quarter, you and Nanami have formed an uneasy friendship. It’s something between pleasure and profession but never crosses the boundary into one or the other. It’s simply you, Nanami, your studies, and the tension that consistently lays thick between you both. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe Nanami is simply a secret pervert pining after his young, 20-something student. 

Either way, he definitely feels like a pervert now, watching the way his heavy cock begins to stir between his legs as soon as you cross his mind. Everything is wet and slippery, shampoo and body wash still clinging to the skin he hasn’t scrubbed it free of and his chest heaves with the rising feeling of his desire. Nanami’s skin burns hot thinking about you, about how soft your fingers feel when they brush by his or the way your saccharine-sweet voice chimes out his surname along with the powerful prefix of doctor. 

Yeah, Nanami is a doctor of history. He’s worked hard to get where he is and currently, Nanami is a doctor of history with a cock that throbs for his student. It makes him feel disgusting, shameful almost, and he tries to ignore it as he runs his hands over his soaked blonde hair, hot water hitting his face. 

He can feel the steam of the shower in his lungs and even the sound of the faucet running doesn’t drown out the way he can still hear you calling him in his mind. Professor, mind if I stay behind a moment to go over this? Dr. Nanami, I need some help. Teach me. 

Nanami wonders what other words sound good coming out of your mouth, if your voice sounds just as sweet when it’s muffled by his cock or fingers. He tries not to let his mind wander, but it’s futile. You are so enticing to him. Nanami wonders if you’d call him daddy or sir. If you’d spread your legs to reveal a pretty pussy that’s soaking wet all for him. He wonders if, under your skirts, you’re hiding slick that collects between your thighs. 

Slowly, his hand finds his cock, wrapping thick fingers around the twitching length. Nanami stifles a groan. God, he’s 28 years old and you’ve got him groaning into his fist while he touches himself in the shower. Fucking pitiful. 

His chest heaves as he debates what he’s doing, abs moving up and down with each shaky breath. In his fist, he can see the angry red tip of his cock, twitching against his palm before he slides his hand up and then down. 

Everything is heightened when he’s thinking of you, he’s already reeling from the sensation, head spinning as you flood his thoughts, as his cock grows harder under his slow and steady ministrations. Nanami swipes his thumb over the tip, the water that’s running off his arm trickling onto it. He gasps, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

He goes slow like this for a while, long and languid strokes of his cock in a semi-tight grip, just trying to imagine that, with the hot water, it’s finding refuge in the warmth of your sweet cunt. Nanami imagines that you’re there with him, on your knees in front of him, kissing his feet and working your way up his leg. 

In his mind’s eye, he sees and feels your lips against his legs, biting at the flesh as you work your way up. He wants to watch you like this, biting at him, trembling with desire as he fists his cock. Nanami can feel the press of your hands on his thighs, imagining that you’re kissing your way up his body, biting at the skin and licking along the ridges of his muscles. He wants to feel you walk behind him, running your hands down the expanse of his chest, mumbling about how you want him to cum into his hand. Asking him if it feels good into the taut muscle of his shoulder. 

Nanami tightens his grip on his cock, grunting as he closes his eyes. 

Does it feel good, professor? He imagines your lips on his neck. 

“Yeah.” He sighs out, tilting his head back to feel the water hit his forehead. 

Nanami reaches down with his other hand and cups his balls, fingers rolling on the underside of them as he lets out a slightly strangled moan, hand moving faster up and down his length. He can hear it now, the way his hand squelches over his cock, the sound of his balls muffled by his palm. His body hums with the feeling of it, toes flexing against the shower floor. 

He’s not particularly quiet, not that he could be when he’s imagining you, groaning and grunting in heavy breaths as he picks up the pace of his fist. Nanami removes his hand from his balls with a grunt, too close to cumming as he stills. He wants to enjoy whatever moment this is. One where he can abandon his guilt over imagining his student and instead feel the burn of his almost-orgasm slipping away from him. 

He braces himself against the wall with one arm, hand still fisted around his cock, unmoving as he tries to picture what it would look like if he spread you out on his desk. How would your cunt look with Nanami’s fingers stuffed in it? Would they make you cry? Would you beg your professor—no, your daddy—for more? Nanami begins to move his fist again. 

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes out, his pace faster this time than before. 

Nanami’s fingers curl against the shower tile that he braces himself against, twitching each time he rolls his fist over the throbbing head of his cock. He wants to make you writhe, make you cry for your professor. 

He imagines that he’s got you pinned up against the shower wall, cock buried to the hilt in your pretty pussy while he presses a large palm to your forehead, holding your head against the tile. Look at me while I fuck you, he wants to tell you, and he wants you to whine his name between your sweet moans. 

Nanami’s blonde hair falls in wet strings in front of his face now, head angled towards his fist as he goes between closed eyes and ones open with the desire to see what he does to himself, what you do to him. It’s filthy, the things he imagines doing to you. Making you cry from overstimulation. Would he fit inside of you? Would you bleed? Are you a virgin? These are all questions that go in and out of his mind and between them all, he imagines you’re still behind him, moaning in time with him. 

In his mind, when he moans, you moan, eager to see the pleasure he gives himself to the thought of you. Nanami wants to be watched, he wants you to see your professor touch himself to you, wants to feel you bite his neck and then mumble me next, sir. 

He’s getting close again, muscles of his back flexing each time he pumps his length with a tightly gripped fist. Nanami’s going to cum. He’s going to cum so fucking hard for you right now, deep moans emanating from the back of his throat. 

He can hardly feel the shower water now, instead focused on the way his lower gut burns, on the way his balls begin to tighten with his imminent release. Nanami wants to find it in your cunt, but instead, he imagines you begging from behind him to finish, begging to let you lick it off his hand after. 

It’s building, coil winding tight in his body. He feels his muscles growing tense, desperate heaves of his chest as he climbs higher and higher. 

“Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. Shit.” He doesn’t know who he’s talking to, but he moans out the words nonetheless. 

When Nanami cums, he throws his head back with a guttural groan, deep and raspy as he fucks his hips into his fist. It comes out in spurts, thick and white, mixing with the water on his hand. He’s seeing white, body tense as he spills into his palm, spreading it down his cock because he doesn’t need to worry about the mess. He can make one if he wants. Though it will take more than his dove bar soap to wash him of his perverseness. 

Nanami stays there like that for a moment, relishing in the aftershock of his orgasm. He watches the way cum coats his finger, how his cock twitches when he lets it go. His chest heaves and his head spins, taking in a deep breath before turning to rinse his hand under the water, watching his cum fall away and wishing you were there to give it to. 

He’s not sure how he’s going to face you in your next class. You always sit upfront and it’s never been a problem, but he’s sure now that this perversion won’t go away. As a turns off the water, he worries that the next time you come to ask for help, eyes wide and curious, he’ll give away just how much he wants you. 

How unprofessional.

“c’mon baby, give me another one.” suna commands, reaching down to toy with your puffy, overstimulated clit. the contact makes you writhe underneath him, your thighs quiver and tears start to fill your eyes

“c-can’t, daddy. s’too much” you whine, tears slipping down your temples. he coos when he sees your furrowed brows and glossy eyes looking up at him

“aw yes you can baby, I know you can. don’t you want to be a good girl for daddy on his birthday?” your only response is a pathetic little whimper. of course you do, you always do, but after four orgasms you could hardly feel your body anymore. the force or his thrusts jostling you around only adding to your exhaustion

“hm?” he persists, wanting a verbal answer. he wraps a large hand around your throat, slender fingers squeezing lightly.

“yes sir, I’ll be your good girl.” you mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I’m daddy’s good girl.”

your submission drives him wild. he leans further into you, large frame engulfing you as his muscular biceps cage in your head

“yes you are, baby.” he mumbles against your ear, “my good little slut.”

whimpering at his words, you can feel yourself being pushed towards yet another mind numbing orgasm. you wrap your arms around his neck and cling on for dear life as it hits you in full force

all you can muster as a warning is a meek, drawn out little whimper of “daddy-”

your walls clamp down around him as he follows you over the edge, burying his cock deep inside you. thick ropes of his cum paint the walls of your fluttering cunt

he gives a couple more lazy thrusts before planting a sweet kiss on your lips and rolling over onto his back

not caring about the mixture of your cum running down your thighs and onto the bed sheets, you roll onto your side and wrap your arm around him, lying your head on his chest

“happy birthday, rin” you look up at him with lidded eyes and a soft smile. you’re greeted with the same expression looking back at you

It never takes much to get him to bend to your will. Whether unknowingly or not, there’s something undeniably easy about setting Kageyama Tobio alight. On normal days, that is. Clearly it is not, because where you’d normally be kneeled between his legs with his cock in your mouth, he’s still wearing his shorts now. Still sweaty from practice, he rests his back against the wall and lifts his thigh enough to have you moaning, the solid muscles being brushed up against your exposed pussy. You have one hand fisted in your skirt as you rock on his thick thigh, the other swung around his wide shoulders.

Tobio grunts when you get a little too comfortable with your sucking on his neck, pulling your head back for him to look down at. “Are you going to apologize or what, slut?” he hisses, eyes on the way your mouth drops open a sliver and you moan.

“Tobio, please touch me,” you whine, trying to reach up so you can press kisses to his lips. But he holds you in place, his free hand holding onto your thigh so tight you’ll definitely bruise. “Aw, ah-hng, come on, please.” The slick of your pussy rubbing rhythmically over his thigh leaving his shorts with a dark patch. And your mouth drops open wider when he holds you down onto him to angle his leg right against your clit. “Fuck, g- okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sir, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time. Don’t think you’re getting out of this one so easy.” He lets go of his grip on your hair to squeeze your tits through your flimsy top, then dropping his leg from you. “On the couch, on your hands and knees.” You hurry to follow his order, whimpering when he uses the exposed position to slide two fingers over your leaking pussy, not wasting any time pushing and curling them inside. “Always so fucking naughty when I have to leave. And pressing those pretty tits all up against Ushijima like I wouldn’t notice how much you were begging for it, huh?” He pulls his long fingers out and stuffs them back in rapidly, curling them perfectly into your soft walls to have you whining.

“I wasn’t, I was—mnhm,” you choke when he uses his free hand to push his shorts down his legs and rubs his hard cock between your legs, brushing over your puffy nub just enough to drive you crazy. “I was just hugging him goodbye, Sir, I wasn’t- trying to- be bad.” Tobio only huffs as he slips another finger inside, pushing your upper half to the couch. The change in angle makes you whine, cunny fluttering around the stretch of his fingers. “Please fuck me, Tobio, I want to be filled with your fat cock.”

The buzzing of the stream of water just feels so good. It’s warm and just enough stimulation to have you letting out little gasps, pushing your hips forward as much as you can to hover your body over it. The continuous vibrations making your belly pull together. You were specifically instructed not to touch your pussy while he was away, but he didn’t say anything about getting off. So with the bathroom all steamy and the soap slowly disappearing from atop the water, you rest your head against the cold side and moan out. It feels good, and you’re close, but you can’t help but think how much easier it’d be if Taichi was here to stuff his long, slender fingers into you.

It’s only when a soft chuckle from your side that you open your eyes and jump away from the jet to tumble back into the water, heat rushing to your face. “Taichi,” you pout, waving around your arms in the warm water as you tuck your knees to your chest, “when did you get back? H-how long have you been in here?”

“Couple of minutes,” he smirks, shoving his sleeves up around his biceps to pry your legs back down. “Why’d you stop,  you looked like you were enjoying yourself.” Though the small grin on his lips is still in place you can tell by the darkness in his eyes and the way his chest rises a bit too rapidly that what you were doing, while a technicality, still very much counts as misbehaving. And you get onto your knees as you look down, trying to ignore the way his fingers dig into the soft skin of your thigh. He grunts when you don’t look at him again, instead eyeing the jets in shame. “Make yourself cum.”

The small order is enough to have a cold shiver running up your spine despite the warm water, because you know that tone. And things never end well for you when he’s mad. You shake your head side to side a few times, before blinking up and him and letting your lip jut out. “No, I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again.” Despite your soft tone his lips drag down into a thin line, and suddenly he’s grabbing your neck and squeezing, letting out a little grunt.

“I said— use your useless, slutty cunt to rub yourself on our furniture and make yourself cum.” The low, gravelly tone of his voice makes you whimper, thighs shaking as you feel your high die down slowly but surely.

“‘M sorry,” you sniffle, gasping when his fingers tighten around your throat more to give you that delicious floaty feeling, your eyes bulging a little before you close them. “Sir, I wanna obey,” you beg, whining out when he pushes you forward and pulls your legs from under you so that you’re back on your belly and sputtering when the water splashes in your face because of the harsh movement. You blink away the wetness as your hands come up to hold yourself up above the bottom of the tub, feeling tingly all over. “Taichi, I’ll be good now, I promise.”

“Last fucking chance, my pretty cumslut bitch. Get yourself off or you won’t be coming at all for the next two weeks.” The soft stable tone is always so in contrast with the filth of his words, and even more with the harshness of his actions. He’s always so merciless when punishing you. So you shift your body a little and moan when he paws between your legs to slot his long fingers just pressed up against your needy folds. Not moving, just squeezing and letting go again over and over while you cry into your hand. When you clench your thighs around his hand he hisses, pulling back. “Legs open,” he mumbles, staring through the water to watch you. “I want to watch my baby while she whores herself out, go on.”

So you do as he says, tilting your head back to give him better access to your tender, bruising throat and a nice view of your tits. You press your hips back over the jet and shudder, suddenly so much more sensitive and still wound so tight. It doesn’t help that his embarrassing words and foul attitude are giving you so much pleasure. “Did you see this and think you’d get away with it?” he huffs, holding you down onto the jet to make you fight for the right to shy away from the constant stimulation. “Don’t even need anyone to touch your sad little excuse of a pussy to cum all over yourself, huh?” The whines and soft cries you let out only make him harder, and soon he can’t just sit still. It’s taking too fucking long, he already wants to fuck you now. He grabs your center and squeezes again, rubbing two fingers over your clit with hard, relentless circles as your back arches and you shake. “Can’t do anything yourself.”

You cries get more high-pitched by the second, and the heat in your belly becomes overwhelming. “Sir, I’m— gonna- hmh-ah, gonna cum,” is all you manage to whisper before you’re cumming around nothing, walls clenching desperately and legs jerking as he still keeps you down, overstimulating you through your orgasm. The spots covering your vision only fade when he stops rubbing your puffy clit, turning you onto your back and brushing your wet hair away from your cheeks. Your tears cling to your lashes as you let him rub your face a few seconds, then humming.