Erototropía

You couldn’t breathe; not because Otto had perhaps his entire weight pressed into you as if he would drown in your skin, in your touch; not because your back was arching into his hands as if your spine would break the moment he let go; not because the wind outside was howling with equal force to the maelstrom in your stomach that burned with desire for the man holding you into this desk; but you couldn’t breathe because you couldn’t stop, and you didn’t have the strength to tell him not to touch you.

“Please, yakiri, tell me to stop.” He groaned, teeth ivory against your skin, teasing gently with the promise of more to come.

“Otto,” you whispered, “if you call me yakiri one more time, I am going to break.”

Your hands were clenched around the rim of the desk, legs inert at either side of Otto’s body, it was taking every ounce of your being not to touch him the way he was touching you, and the voice in your head was fighting a losing battle.

Softly, ever so softly, he traced a line up your neck to your jaw, kissing you slowly. Octavius’ other hand slipped under your leg, hooking you around his waist and pressing his hips deeper into your own, earning a gentle moan from you. The arm wrapped around your waist and back pushed your shirt aside and his fingers began to dance over your spine, getting dangerously close to the clasp of your bra.

“Sir,” your voice cracked in desperation, “I want to touch you, may I touch you?”

He stopped, pulled his mouth from your jaw and rested his forehead to your own. “Darling,” Otto breathed, “I fear if you don’t touch me, I- I may go mad.”

Finally, you lifted your legs around his waist and ground your core against the ever-growing bulge in his trousers. Your arms twined around his waist and back, one hand tangling desperately into his auburn hair which earned a moan from Otto as your fingers pressed his head towards your own.

Before you could kiss him, as you reached for his lips with your own, he pressed a finger to your mouth, eyes locking onto you with a piercing gaze. “Yakiri, my dear, remember what I said?”

“No, sir? What did you say,” you murmured against his hand, “Professor?”

He sighed, “Don’t call me ‘sir’, darling.”

“But,” you whispered, “I know what it does to you.” As if to prove your point, you rolled your hips into him, feeling how taught his trousers had become, relishing the soft groan that rolled off his tongue from deep in his chest.

“That, my dear,” he gripped your waist even tighter, teasing the sides of your thong and the soft skin beneath them, “is exactly why you shouldn’t say it. I don’t know if I could control myself -”

Your chest heaved with laughter, “You call this control?” Otto smiled with you, releasing your lip and brushing the hair from your face.

“Yakiri, you have no idea what I’m holding back,” his voice went lower than you thought possible, and you felt it rumble in his chest, “I have wanted you for so, so long. I never thought we could be together like this, all those times at the bar I wanted desperately to.. Oh I don’t know, I- I don’t,” he trailed off, “just don’t call me ‘sir’, or you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“Promise?”

“I.. what?”

Shifting slightly in his arms, you headbutted him softly, “You talk too much sometimes, sir. When are you going to shut up and kiss me?”

He was silent.

“Otto? When are you going to -”

There was no air in the room, no breath in your lungs, as Octavius’ lips descended onto you, any restraint or pretence was gone now, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh and side; your head was filled with his muffled moans when he shifted his hips and ground himself into you. This kiss was overwhelming, he was drowning you with lust and there was nowhere you could go. Even the roar of the rain outside became white noise in your ears as Otto bit your lip and tugged softly at your bra, the delicious friction of his hips making your vision blur.

You could feel his fingers dipping into the waistband of your trousers, teasing the soft lace of your underwear. It felt like fire on your skin, the calluses on his fingertips so soft and gentle against the burning of his touch.

“F-fuck,” there was no air, “Otto, god, I need you.”

There was a pause, his lips millimetres away from your neck where he had sucked gentle bruises in a line up to your jaw. “Darling,” his voice was serious, level, not like your own, “are you sure?”

“I want you inside me,” he bucked against your pelvis suddenly, “fuck, sir, please.”

With an almost animalistic growl, Otto hoisted you from the desk and pulled you onto his lap on the leather chair as you helped him yank the sweater over his head, tugging gently at his t-shirt. His hands enveloped yours and his mouth was upon you again, teeth teasing at the skin of your collarbone, sucking a blue bruise into the pale flesh, extracting a whine of pleasure at the gentle pain.

“Is this something you enjoy,” he whispered, as he traced the line of your bra under your shirt, “do you like to be hurt?”

Lifting your arms over your head to allow Otto to remove your top, you let the silence hang for a moment.

“I suppose,” your voice was rough, “a little bit, yes.” You grew bold, “Sir.”

Otto’s gaze lifted from your chest, pupils blown wide with lust to meet your own equally darkened eyes. “Careful, yakiri,” the rain howled, “I have you on my lap, topless, desperate for my touch. Do you want to push me further?”

Your breath came in short bursts, “I think, sir, that I have you beneath me, desperate for my touch, trousers not quite fitting the way they should.” Your gaze drifted lower, and for the first time realised just how huge the professor must be, judging from the immense tightness of his corduroys. Shifting in his lap, you straddled the scientist, lowering yourself onto him with a soft sigh of contentment. You were so, so close, thin fabric the only thing between you both.

He tightened his grip around your waist, lifting his hips slightly to extract another moan from your swollen lips. “Hmm, (Y/N), in that case, would you be able to help me out with my tailoring problem?” Otto pressed your hips downwards, the friction between the two of you sending sparks flying deep into your core.

“If you ask me nicely -” you managed to gasp out a reply.

“I’m not asking. Get on your damn knees, yakiri.”

More turned on than you thought was physically possible, you obeyed, slipping off Otto’s lap and kneeling at his feet once more, only this time you were there by his design, not your own.

He opened his legs to allow you to crawl closer to his lap, and your fingers found the buckle of his belt, metal clinking gently as you slid the leather apart. His hands found your hair and caressed you softly, murmuring words of encouragement as you undid his trousers and teased the waistband of his underwear, not quite touching him yet.

“You wanna play games?” he growled, “Don’t test me -”

The air flew from his lungs as you slipped a hand into his boxers and began to run your fingers up and down his length, exacting moans and gasps of air from the man before you. His hand was once again soft on your face, thumb pressing against your lower lip as he gazed at the sight before him, but it still wasn’t enough for the scientist.

You made a show of taking his thumb into your mouth, tongue circling the digit in the way he wished you would treat his member. “Hngg, (Y/N), please..” he trailed off, desperate for more. The hand in your hair tugged again, a clear indication of what he wanted, “Darling, don’t- uhng, don’t make me wait.”

Finally bending to his request, you let his hands tangle in your hair and lower your head to his crotch, licking a long strip up the underside of his cock, using your tongue to circle the head before taking him entirely into your mouth. Otto’s back arched and he threw his head back with a hiss of pleasure, pressing himself further into your mouth and down your throat. You choked slightly, before relaxing and allowing him to take control of the pace, thankful for the minimal gag reflex that was so useful in these situations.

Your professor moaned, using his hands to hold your hair back and move your head up and down his length, mouth open in ecstasy as he watched you gag slightly around his cock. Feeling him hit the back of your throat, you gripped his thighs tightly, eyes rolling back in your head in pleasure - you loved being on your knees before him, the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach a testament to how desperate you were for his touch. Eager to please, you swallowed, taking him deeper still while your nose rubbed against the haze of hair at the base of his cock.

“Oh god, (Y/N),” he groaned, cock twitching as he pressed his hips upwards, “yes, fuck, like that.”

Moaning at the praise, you rubbed your thighs together, feeling the slickness of your underwear and the burning heat between your legs grow with every gasp and groan that left Otto’s lips.

As he continued to gently fuck your mouth, the grip on your hair became tighter and tighter; Otto was clearly losing control, moans spilling into the soft quiet of his office.

“Fuck, yakiri, I-I’m not sure,” he gasped in pleasure, “I don’t think I can -”

You scraped your teeth along the underside of his cock, tonguing the head softly, humming as you did so.

“So.. so good, baby,” he bucked his hips slightly, head rolling back as he groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” He looked down at you, sweat beading on his forehead, “Letting me fuck your mouth like this, such a good -” you teased him with your teeth again, his moaning grew louder, “yes, you take my cock so well, darling…”

The rain pattered down, filling the room with condensation and muffling the gasps and wet pops that the two of you were making. Otto gripped your hair, the slight pain making you moan around his cock.

“I- I’m gonna -”