I Have A 5sos Problem

Those tight skirts, the heels, the reading glasses, the slight sternness to your lecturing— it was all really doing it for him for some reason. Maybe it was some desire to reclaim all his issues with authority, take some of the power back, you know. Or, alternatively, give up all the power and let you do whatever you wanted to him… he wasn’t particularly picky in that regard.

Either way, he never learned anything in class; he was too busy staring, drooling, dreaming. You dropped the chalkboard eraser and bent over to pick it up, thank god this room had desks or someone might’ve seen him getting hard.

He wondered if you noticed him at all. Unfortunately, you probably did, but for all the wrong reasons: he was totally flunking. And whenever you asked him what part of the material was challenging for him, he couldn’t even answer— because blaming your hotness for his failure wasn’t exactly going to cut it.

Actually, he was thinking of you— of his total ineptitude in your class, of his massive crush on you, all of it— when he saw you that night. Maybe it was an amazing coincidence, or maybe it was sort of bound to happen when he spent as much time thinking about you as he did. Either way, he never expected to see you here, dressed like that.

This bar was the only metalhead spot in town, and the local talent wasn’t quite as good as Eddie remembered Corroded Coffin to be, but they were alright. Tonight was a band he’d never seen before called Gore Whore. With a name like that, they had to be pretty good.

So, yeah, he was expecting some decent music and a few drinks, not to see his professor rocking a very new vibe— black leather, messy eyeliner, but thankfully still with the same sexy glasses. Honestly, he had to fight off a semi just seeing you dressed like that…

Now he had to figure out if he should talk to you or not. He had to, right? But also, like, how?

Well, his first step was to chug down his current drink and then throw back another as quickly as he could: liquid courage, right?

His second step was to rub his clammy palms on his jeans until he decided it was the right time to approach you. He didn't want to wait until the band was playing because, if they were any good, they'd be way too loud to hold a conversation during their set. He kept putting it off out of nervousness until he saw musicians starting to plug instruments in and tune, and realized he would probably be too late if he waited any longer.

He finally convinced himself to saunter over to where you were standing, linger behind you creepily when you didn't see him, and clear his throat before breaking the silence.

“Hey, teach,” he greeted, hoping it wasn’t a terribly stupid opening line. You turned over your shoulder and took a second to recognize him before you smiled.

“Hey, Edward M…un—" you hesitated.

“Munson, yeah,” he grinned, “or just Eddie.”

“Munson!” you repeated. “For some reason I kept thinking ‘Munster’, I guess I’m showing my age a bit with that one…”

You don’t look your age at all, he wanted to say, but then he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or just some backwards way of calling you old— which you weren’t! But you were just a bit too old for him, from a societal acceptance standpoint, which was exactly what made it so tempting. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here,” he pointed out, motioning to the club.

“Well, I don’t come here a lot,” you admitted, “but I used to. You know, when I was a bit more young and rebellious like you.”

“You act like you’re a grandma or something,” he laughed, “you’re young, you know.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “I don’t come here a lot, is the point.”

“Why’d you come out tonight?” He wondered. “Is your, uh, boyfriend in the band or something?”

The way you raised your eyebrow at him made it clear his subtle probe wasn’t so subtle after all. “Gore Whore? It’s an all-female band…”

“O-oh, right…” he trailed off. “I mean, maybe your girlfriend’s in the band, I dunno, that’s cool too.”

You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “I don’t have time for any of that, Munson. Boyfriends or girlfriends.”

“What do you have time for?” he asked.

“I mean, I’ve got nowhere to be tonight,” you shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”

His heart raced. “I— I dunno, maybe you can’t do, like, dating or whatever, but maybe you’re into, perhaps… some ill-advised fooling around with your charming, boyish, young and rebellious student?”

You laughed again, but the look in your eye was promising. “Really swinging for the fences, huh?” you noticed.

“I’m, uh, pretty drunk, actually,” he admitted.

“Yeah? Me too,” you grinned. “My place or yours?”

He choked on his own throat. Did that actually just work? Or was he hallucinating somehow? "Uh, I mean, if you wanna be really ill-advised, my van's parked out back..."

The smile you gave him then was enough to make him weak in the knees. It was the same smile you were giving him as he laid back in the van and you kept going down, down, to the bulge under his belt.

"Fuck," he gasped as you got his jeans open, yanking them down his thighs enough to free his throbbing cock; your fingers were so soft on his silky, sensitive skin, and he admired the way you licked your lips as you stroked him. "You're so fuckin' hot. Fuck."

You looked at his face again, looking quite proud of yourself. "You thought about this, didn't you?" you noticed.

"This? No," he denied. "Fucking you in the classroom, or your office, in my dorm? I thought about that a lot."

You giggled slightly as you spit down onto his dick, slicking the movements of your hand which made him flex against it.

"But I never thought we'd end up in the back of my van behind the ba— oh, fuck!"

Your lips were around the head of his cock, and you'd already started bobbing your head and stroking the rest in rhythm. No teasing, no build-up, just getting right to it: it was so sexy to him, he could've melted right there. He nearly did; he tilted his head back with a groan, reaching up to hold the back of your head though he didn't push you down 'cause, you know, he's respectful and all that.

"Damn," he laughed thinly, though he knitted his eyebrows together and bit his lip a second later. "You— fuck, that's good, you're so— god, babydoll..."

You smiled slightly around him, pulling off with a gasp and stroking his spit-soaked cock in the meantime. "Better than the girls your age do it, huh?"

He nodded quickly, swallowing even though his mouth was suddenly dry. You bent back down and licked a long stripe up his cock, even lathing his balls with your tongue for a moment, before speaking again.

"What about you? Do you know how to fuck like a grown-up?" you taunted. "Or are you just an overgrown teenager like most twenty-year-old guys?"

He smiled a little, finally feeling like he knew how to handle you. "Oh, sweetheart— I can rock you better than anything you would've heard in there tonight. Promise."

"Promise?" you repeated teasingly. "Talk is cheap, big boy."

That it is; and he had a plan to shut you up. Shoving your head back down, he groaned as he slid his cock all the way to the back of your throat. "Fuck," he said again, louder, "there you go— I'll fuck you right, babydoll, but you gotta earn it first. Maybe it's my turn to teach you a few things, hm?"

When he gave you another break, you were still playing cocky with him. "Considering your grade in my class, Munson, I'm not sure I've been teaching you anything."

"Why don't you teach me what that shirt of yours looks like inside out?" he encouraged. Smiling proudly as you stripped yourself of the leather jacket and t-shirt, he palmed his own cock— slowly, careful not to get himself too worked up yet— and admired you. "Wanna show me that pussy, too? Been imagining it for a little too long, I think..."

You peeled your jeans off and he bared his teeth at the sight of your panties— black, lacy, everything he'd dreamt of since he first saw you.

"What are you wearing those for, babydoll?" he cooed, reaching out to run his fingers over the lace on your hip. "What did you come out here for tonight?"

"You know what I came here for," you challenged, "so are you gonna gimme it or not?"

Well, he was gonna do his best.

Only a little while later, he had you bent over the console with those panties around your knees, a fistful of your hair in his fingers, your ass bouncing on him with every thrust; he was fucking you hard and fast and mean, doing his best to make you regret questioning if he was old enough to do this right.

"S'that how you like it?" he taunted. "You just need to get treated like a dirty whore, don't you? Tired of all the authority, just wanna keep your legs open for somebody, be their little slut for the night?"

"Yes," you sobbed, clinging tighter onto the console with a whimper. "Yes, Eddie, fuck... fuck me like that, just like that."

He gave your ass a hard spank with his free hand, loving the way you tightened up on him and moaned so loud from the pain. "Beg me to hit you more," he instructed.

"Spank me again, please, Eddie," you whined, getting another few hits on your stinging ass as your reward. "Fuck! Fuck, so good..."

He gripped your hips to keep you still and drive himself deeper than he thought possible, and you yelped as your toes curled and your legs kicked. One of your hands reached back instinctively and tried to grab at his hip, keep him from going too far into you, but you were a little too weak to have any real impact on him. "No no," he scolded, "I'm just giving you what you wanted, babydoll. Giving you all this dick— fuck, take all this dick, whore."

Whining and hiding your face under your arms, you tried to arch your back up before he shoved it back down with his hand to keep your ass nice and on display for him, groaning with pride. "Fuck, Eddie!"

"Isn't this what you came here for?" he smirked, grinding his cock deep inside you as you squirmed. "Got all dressed up in your little black panties, took yourself out to the club so some stranger could treat you like this?"

Though your face was still hidden, you nodded.