Heaven
Panting slightly, Otto groaned as he pulled you off his cock, “Not yet, yakiri,” he murmured, “I want to wait, I-”
“Did I do something wrong?” you whispered, still kneeling between his legs as he buttoned up his trousers and shakily buckled his belt in place.
“God, no, darling,” he swept his thumb over your lips, wiping away the wetness that had gathered there, a soft smile on his face, “quite the opposite. But I feel it’s time for a reward, after you were so good for me, it’s only fair that I return the favour.” Otto hoisted you to your feet, arms tangling around your waist so that you were straddling his leg, whining at the pressure of his thigh between your legs.
He paused, eyes almost onyx in the half-light of this fading afternoon as he took in your figure, drowning in the sight of you half naked before him. Otto’s breath hitched in his throat at the soft whines that escaped your lips when he shifted his thigh beneath you, his hands holding your hips in place.
“Take off your bra, yakiri, I want to see you.”
Your fingers fumbled with the clasp, swearing under your breath as the fabric caught and refused to come undone. Arching your back, you struggled with the hook and eye at the back of your bra, Otto’s hands steadying you as you fought the stubborn piece of clothing.
“Uh, it’s stuck,” you groaned, “little help here? Please?”
Otto chuckled, running a hand through your hair, “Alright, turn around darling.”
You shifted so that you were once again straddling his leg, but with your back to his chest so that he could tug your bra straps off your shoulders and fiddle with the clasp. You could hear him muttering with irritation, and suppressed a laugh at the stupidity of the situation.
Finally, the offending article was removed with a snap, and Otto took advantage instantly, running his hands up over your hips towards your chest, teasing at the soft flesh below your breasts. His mouth descended on your neck, pressing gentle kisses to the space above your collarbone, relishing the gasps and harsh breaths that he was extracting from you. His hands enveloped your chest, a callused finger brushed over your nipple, causing you to lean into his touch, spine curving as you threw your head back with a sigh of ecstasy.
“Fuck, Otto -” you gasped, “oh, fuck.”
He pinched your nipple lightly, palms rough against the swollen flesh, “Language, my dear, watch your tongue.”
A whine left your lips, Otto’s hand leaving your breast to grasp your neck, pulling your head back so his mouth could kiss and bite at the soft spots under your jaw.
“You h-had little problem with my t-tongue earlier, sir,” you moaned as his other hand continued to massage your breast, “you were actually begging for it-”
You petered off as the hand around your throat gripped tighter. “Careful, darling,” Otto shifted his thigh again, the friction delicious against your core, “don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’re in charge here.”
To prove his point, he teased open the buttons of your trousers and slipped a hand into the waistband, keeping a firm grip on your neck as he did so. His fingers ghosted over your clothed mound, lace underwear the only thing separating your skin from his, and bursts of fire sped up into your stomach as Otto’s fingertips found the bundle of nerves that was now slick with the effects of his ministrations.
Gasping for air, you clutched at Otto’s arm as his fingers deftly toyed with your underwear, grazing your sex just lightly enough to make you moan and arch into his touch, but there was nowhere near enough friction to satisfy your desperation just yet.
His teeth found your shoulder and you bit back a yelp of pain, which was soon soothed by a gentle tongue that rolled over the slight wound, cooling the bruised flesh with a kiss.
“Behave, darling,” he growled, “be patient.”
“Otto, don’t - ah - don’t make me wait -” you bucked into his hand as he teased you, “I- I need you to touch me!”
“Beg.”
“W-what?”
“Beg me, my dear, show me how much you want it,” his breath was hot on your skin, “and I shall reward you.”
You couldn’t gain any friction with his hands holding you in place. “Please, p-please, sir,” your gasps filling the room, “Otto, I need you - god - please.”
He kissed your shoulder, “Good girl.” You shook your head slightly, and he grimaced, “Apologies, sweetheart. I forget,” he corrected himself, “well done for begging, darling.”
Turning your head, hand slipping into your hair, Otto pressed a deep kiss to your lips, his tongue running over the grooves where you had been biting the flesh in an effort to keep your voice low. His chest pressed into your back, warm and comforting, as his fingers drifted lower into your underwear and teased at the tender flesh that was now slick with desire.
A single finger dipped between your folds, running up to circle the nub of nerves that sent ripples of pleasure flowing throughout your body. It was soon joined by a second finger, pressing gently at your entrance, testing your limits before Otto slipped the digits inside you, tearing a loud moan from your chest. You leaned into his touch, back arching to allow his fingers to press deeper into your core, gasping at the feeling of being stretched open at last.
“Hng, oh fuck, Otto,” he continued to softly pump his fingers in and out of you, “god, y-yes, just like that -”
You nearly broke when he kissed you again, teeth rough on your lips, hand twining in your hair and pulling your head back to meet his eager mouth. This was unlike anything you had experienced before, the raw passion that emanated from Otto’s desperate kisses alone was enough to make your heart ache with desire. Drowning in his touch, you wondered how you had ended up here with your professor holding you on his lap, fingers lost inside of you, moaning into your mouth.
“You sound so good, darling,” he groaned, “don’t hold back, let me hear you.”
Obeying him, you gasped incoherently as he added a third finger and sped up slightly, the lewd sounds of him fingering you mixing with your cries of pleasure.
“Fuck, f-fuck, professor,” he bit your lip, “oh, shit, sir, don’t s-stop, please!” You bucked into his hand, desperate for more, “Otto - oh god - Otto…”
“Yakiri,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wait anymore, I want to feel you -” he let go of your hair and slipped his hand from your trousers, “please, darling?”
You could have cried at the sudden loss, feeling emptier than you could remember, spurred on only by the bulge in his trousers and the crinkle of a plastic wrapper.
“(Y/N), sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around your waist, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck, “can I - may I - please?” He traced the soft skin of your belly, voice pleading in the dusk of the day.
“Yes,” your voice was an echo against the melody of the wind and rain, “yes, please, Otto.”
You could feel him smiling into your skin.
“Please, fuck me.”