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gojorgeous · 11 months ago

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"business or pleasure?"

pairing: gojo x fem!reader summary: the gojo clan decides it’s time to secure an heir… and you’re the lucky woman selected for the job… content: HEAVY breeding, arranged marriage, language, praise, dacryphilia, p->v, fingering, mating press, a lil’ blood (if you squint), pet names, implied multiple rounds, gojo just generally being a menace, no established relationship, reader and gojo literally just met, reader is literally there for the purpose of getting pregnant, positive pregnancy test at the end, ideas of women as baby incubators :x, consent king gojo. wc: 3.7k a/n: I HAVE RETURNED!!! Hey!!!!!! Long time no see, babes. I was looking at my account and I haven’t posted a fic in *cough* TWO YEARS. There is simply no way that’s real 😭 Anyway, I’ve returned with something slightly different: A Gojo fic. You’re welcome. Mwah. Also, please send messages I miss y'all. happy new year bbs. and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

It’s only your third time in Japan. The first had been to visit family friends when you were eight, the second for a girls’ trip after you graduated college. You liked it. Tokyo was bright and busy and full of shops and things to do. The countryside always offered beauty and peace. But this third time was different. No shopping, no temples, no amusement parks. You were here for business, not pleasure.

You run a finger along the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Your feet are killing you, a flick of your ankles tossing your heels across the room. Your nose wrinkles when you land on a particular title. The Art of War? Interesting choice… You scan the other books, and your brows rise when you find a strange combination of academics, young adult, manga, and high fantasy? A multi-genre reader, then…

You absentmindedly rub at the arch of your foot, pushing out the ache as best you can. A day so full of stress has left you weary. Your mother hadn’t stopped hovering until the moment you’d escaped into your car, a new husband on your arm.

You sigh. You could still hear the shower running along with said husband humming loudly to a tune you didn’t recognize. At least your groom wasn’t shy.

A glance toward the bed has your brows raising. Were those… squishmallows? One looked like a shark, the other like a… sushi? You press your lips together, avoiding a laugh he would surely hear. You make your way to the mattress, sighing when you finally get to sit. You pull the sushi into your arms, hugging the pillow to your chest, but it no longer seemed so funny anymore. You had bigger things to think about. Your legs press together in a mix of anticipation and anxiety. All the way from America you’d come to marry the Gojo heir. It had been a rushed arrangement. Apparently, the Gojo clan had finally put their foot down and decided their heir should finally get to the business of making another heir. There’d been a search far and wide for the best match and somehow, they’d settled on you. An accomplished sorcerer yourself and abilities in your blood that only strengthened those of the Gojo line, you’d been an suitable pick. It didn’t hurt that you were young, healthy, and (upon a trip to a renowned fertility clinic) proven to be very fertile.

Your parents had been oh-so eager to accept the Gojo clan’s proposition. The Gojo heir’s power hadn’t been matched in nearly 400 years. Any and every family would jump at the opportunity to be tied to them, especially through marriage and heirs. You were surprised you’d been chosen considering all of the options there must have been.

Satoru seemed… fine, you thought. You hadn’t had much time to talk with him privately. The first time you’d met had been on a phone call with both of your sets of parents present and the next had been at the altar. At one point in the night he’d asked a waiter to refill your wine glass and he’d been a rather good dancer. Other than that, you’d been pulled apart at all odds and ends until you’d come back here: his apartment.

You’d expected something a little more lavish for your wedding night, especially considering the spectacle that your wedding had been. Ice sculptures, thousand dollar bouquets, and diamond encrusted wedding rings had turned to an elegantly decorated bachelor pad. A glance around revealed a space that was obviously lived in, with odd mixes of $10,000 dollar chairs and… squishmallows.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, eyes peeling over the half-moons of your nails and the heavy gems that now sit on the fourth finger of your left hand. They are a weight you feel the pressure of. A pressure to live up to expectations, to produce a much-desired product.

A door opens down the hall and you realize the pounding of water and the lilting of a hum has ceased. Your husband is done with his shower.

A few seconds later he reveals himself, prancing down the hallway and into his bedroom like it’s just another Tuesday and not his wedding night. A plush blue towel is slung low around his waist and from the rivulets of water running all over his body you judge that he hadn’t even taken the time to properly dry off. Not that you mind.

You’d known your new husband was beautiful but you’d never imagined he’d be so… so goddamn seductive.

Washboard abs, toned arms, sculpted back, wet hair and icy eyes… he was the image of a god.

“Sorry for making you wait. I really needed that.”

Gojo prods at his temples, eyes squished shut in what looked like a moment of pain. You’d heard of this problem from the clan. He hadn’t worn his blindfold all day for the sake of the wedding. It was no wonder the effects were catching up with him.

“No problem.”

A small smile reveals just a few blinding teeth and you could swear your vision went out for just a moment.

“You hungry?”

You arch a brow. The man had eaten two full plates and practically half the cake not yet an hour ago.

“Can’t say that I am.”

“Hm.”

He nods and you watch as he plucks a stray candy off his bedside table, tossing the wrapper to the floor.

“So, uh-” You watch the butterscotch bulge in his cheek. “You really wanna do this?”

You glance at your half-naked husband who is practically a walking temptation. You take a breath. He’s standing so casually, as if this is a normal conversation to be having and not something life-altering.

“You don’t?” you ask.

All that gets you is a shit-eating grin.

“Never said that.”

You can’t help the smirk that crawls across your lips.

“Well, we might as well get it over with, no?”

Another flash of pearly whites.

“Get it over with, hm?”

You miss his meaning, pulling at a loose thread on the bedspread.

“It shouldn’t take much effort. I’m on so many fertility meds you could probably spit on me and I’d get pregnant.”

You pick at the thread a little more, biting your lip when you realize it’s one of those strands that’s infinite.

“That so?”

You jolt when a speck of wetness lands on your cheek. A quick glance reveals a fuzzy blue towel far too close for comfort. A half-naked Gojo is a whole lot closer than he’d been just seconds ago. How is he so quiet?

Blue eyes bore into yours, water dripping down white strands and onto your skin. He’s so damn tall. He has your neck craned all the way back just to meet his gaze.

“Yes.” You swallow. “It was part of our prenup.”

Dazed. You’re absolutely dazed.

“Well, we probably shouldn’t risk breaking a legally binding contract, hm?”

Closer. He’s coming closer. Too close.

You lean back, scooting yourself up the bed in a feeble attempt to get a little more space, your emotional support sushi tumbling to the floor. He follows right after you.

Something primal thrusts through your veins at the sight of a man, sopping wet and smirking, crawling after you, some mix of teasing and pure drive hidden in his eyes. Gojo doesn’t stop, not until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard and his arms cage your waist. Close. Too close.��

You’d thought he would have dried a bit by now, but water still slicks off his skin and hair, showering you lightly. You shiver and your husband notices. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you get a breath of the sweetness of butterscotch and mint toothpaste.

“You say stop,” he breathes, “and we stop.”

He leans closer, so close you can smell the eucalyptus and myrrh of his shampoo, the musk of his body wash, the candied sweetness of his breath. Those piercing blue eyes flit to your lips and back up again.

A breath, a pause.

“Stop?” he asks. His eyes are piercing.

You shake your head.

“Go.”

Lips, teeth, tongue. All of it hits you at once. For a moment you’re too shocked to respond, but then his weight is leaning on you and his hand is on your waist and his mouth tastes like candy and- and then you’re kissing him back.

A heavy hand digs into the flesh of your waist and your hands find a patch of damp white hair to tangle in.

He tastes good- too good and when a deft hand guides you down to the mattress you start to think that this whole baby-making business might not be so bad after all.

Teeth knock, tongues touch, and you are on the edge of what would have been a particularly throaty moan when he pulls away.

His attention shifts elsewhere, kisses trailing down your neck and hands straying to your hips.

“Have you-” a kiss to your collarbone. “Done this before?”

You freeze.

“What?”

Gojo raises his head a bit and the most irritating kind of smirk plays on his lips.

“Don’t know- thought maybe this was a virgin for your super rich husband kinda thing?”

You shove his head back down.

“Shut up.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your skin.

“Okay, sp no need to go slow then…”

His lips continue their assault, brushing and grazing over your skin until it lifts with goosebumps. Your breaths come a little faster, a little heavier and you gasp when his hand curls beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Oh? What’s this?” His fingers brush against the garter that rests at the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had you agreed to wear the damn thing? You reach down, hoping to quickly rid yourself of the scrap of fabric before you can become oven more mortified. You’re just about to clamp down on it when Gojo catches your wrist. “Ah, ah. No need to be so hasty.” Your hand is easily pinned down to the mattress and, for some reason, you don’t fight it.

Your breath catches when your skirt lifts only for Gojo to dive beneath it without a second thought. You feel his teeth grazing across the skin of your thigh.

“Gojo-” you breathe, squirming.

His head reappears suddenly, another one of those mischievous grins gracing his lips. “Satoru when I’m about to be inside you, baby.”

He disappears again and you gasp and wiggle when you feel his tongue laving across the inside of your thigh.

His teeth graze you again, but this time they clamp down on the garter and you feel it slowly sliding across your skin, down, down, past your knee and eventually to your ankle where Satoru finally yanks it past your foot with a final tug.

You stare at him, wide eyed and lustful. That had to have been one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen.

Satoru plucks the garter from his teeth and dangles it in front of his eyes. It’s a white, lacy little thing that matches the shade of his hair. He’s grinning again when he slides it onto his wrist like a bracelet– no, like a trophy.

“Thanks for the present.” He’s still grinning, still staring, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “How attached are you to this dress?” he asks.

You blink, swallowing nervously, unable to break away from his gaze. It’s too strong, too mesmerizing. “Not… attached at all,” you manage. It’s true. Somebody else picked it out, and you’ve only been wearing it for about an hour– and it’s not like you can’t just buy a new one now with access to the Gojo bank accounts.

His grin somehow grows even wider. “Good girl. Just what I wanted to hear.”

There’s a splitting sound and suddenly your dress is tearing straight down the middle. It’s slow and controlled and you wonder if he’s practiced at this or if his strength is just that regulated. You find yourself hoping it’s the latter.

The dress is ripped from your skin and you see it land somewhere across the room. You hear something shatter along with a thud, but Satoru seems anything but worried, so you ignore it.

You’re bare in just your undergarments, a lacy white set that you’re now half proud of and half embarrassed by.

Satoru whistles and his hands settle on your waist. “Damn, baby. Why’d you keep all this hidden for so long?”

You scoff, your confidence surging. You reach for him, grabbing a scruff of hair at the back of his neck and pulling him close. “You’re the one taking your sweet time, Toru.”

The sound of the nickname on your lips makes him shiver and you smirk triumphantly.

“Hmm…” is all he says as his fingers trail lower, lower, lower, until they’re dipping beneath the band of your panties. It’s somewhere between tortuous and ticklish and you squirm. “Ah, ah. Hold still for me, now.” He presses one hand to the valley between your breasts, holding you down as his other hand continues lower. When his thumb finds the wet spot on your panties and presses down your back arches and your breath escapes.

He chuckles. “Little needy, aren’t you?” His thumb moves a little higher, grazing your clit, and you whimper.

With one deft movement he unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. You register for just a moment that your chest is now completely bare, but soon enough his mouth is closing around your nipple and all else is forgotten.

“S-Satoru!” you whisper. Your voice feels hoarse, even if it has no reason to be.

His thumb continues its assault between your thighs. “So wet already, baby…” He sounds ecstatic. The grin on his lips makes you whine. “Let’s get these out of the way…” Before you know it, you hear more tearing and then cold air hits your cunt. You cry out when Satoru’s thumb returns to its ministrations, but this time there’s no cloth barrier to dull the sensation. Your hands push out and your nails curl into his bare shoulders. You need him closer.

“Satoru…” you breathe. “Kiss me…”

That shit-eating grin returns, but he follows your command. “As my wife wishes.”

When lips meet yours it’s hot and messy. Your nails claw down his back and you’re sure you’re leaving marks. If he minds, he certainly doesn’t show it.

His thumb continues at your clit as a finger prods at your entrance. When he slides in slowly, you gasp. He murmurs something about you being so sensitive, and proceeds to quickly find that gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Before you know it he’s adding a second finger and soon your hips are rocking against his thrusts, meeting his pace as you chase your high.

“God, you’re so wet.” he whispers against your lips. True to his word, he’s been kissing you, never letting up in his attack on your mouth. “Bet you taste like fucking heaven.”

You whine, your hips stuttering against his hand. “G-Gonna… I’m–”

He grins again, and pulls away just enough to meet your gaze. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.” Your eyes flutter shut, your head rolling back– “Nuh, uh. Keep those eyes open. Wanna see every second.”

Your breaths flutter and you whimper loudly, the sound bouncing on the walls. You’re not sure why you listen, why you fight to keep your eyes open, locked on him, but you do. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll pull away and leave you wanting… or maybe you just want to please him.

You feel your muscles clenching in your stomach, hear the sloppy sounds of Satoru’s fingers thrusting in and out of you, see the gleeful anticipation in his eyes. His thumb rubs a particularly delicious circle around your clit and you feel yourself thrown over the edge.

You can’t help but be loud. You hold his gaze the whole time, whimpering and whining his name as you gush all over his sheets. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching, holding him inside, desperate to be filled. You hear him panting above you, like watching has somehow taken his breath away.

“Good girl,” he whispers and you feel a second wave of pleasure ripple through you.

You feel weak by the time your orgasm leaves you. Your muscles are limp and your cunt is so sensitive that you flinch when Satoru removes his fingers. He brushes a tear from the corner of your eye and you watch as he brings his sopping fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices clean. He moans, a deep throaty sound, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You watch his eyes roll back in his skull, watch his throat bob as he swallows. Your lips part at the sight.

His fingers fall from his mouth with a pop and his grin returns.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “Heaven.”

He’s back on you in a second, licking a stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. His hips slot between your own and a strong hands hook around the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. You whimper. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so completely and utterly exposed.

“On to the main event, yeah?” The twinkle in his eye has your heart racing even faster. His fingers catch the towel that is somehow still wrapped snugly around his waist. With one tug, it’s gone and your mouth is watering in anticipation.

Your jaw drops lower, if it’s even possible. He’s… huge. Long and pretty with veins that you know are going to rub just right. His tip is pink and leaking, ready.

“Satoru, it won’t–”

His lips connect to your pulse, licking and sucking when you feel him prodding at your entrance. “It’ll fit, baby.”

He slides himself through your folds, gathering your juices and torturing you every time his tip bumps your clit. By the time he’s finally lining himself up, you’re practically begging.

The first push is heaven. You’re both moaning when he prods past that first tight ring of muscle and you’re gasping, crying out his name and clawing at his back. He keeps pushing, filling you inch by inch until he’s pressed snugly against your cervix. You thank him aloud when he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim. He only kisses the tears from your cheeks.

The first thrust has you seeing stars, little white spots clouding your vision. The second has your nails embedding in his skin hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it has him moving faster, grunting in your ear and whimpering your name.

“Sooo… f-ahh-ucking t-tight…” he whispers.

A hand slides between your sweaty bodies, a thumb rubbing familiar circles against your swollen clit. You cry out, clenching down like a vice.

“F-Fuck, princess.”

His thrusts rock your body and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the air. You feel that familiar coil begin to form, to heat at your core. Your muscles tighten and your legs begin to shake.

“Atta girl. Cum on my cock, baby.”

You whimper at the praise, at the incessant rubbing of your clit, at the relentless pounding of your cervix. It’s all too much, too good.

“Satoru��” you cry. Your legs burn and ache. Satoru has your knees pressed so tightly to your chest you’re afraid something might snap. It only adds to the tension beginning to unravel at your center. You feel as if you’re burning, as if you’re going to snap– and then you do. Heat unravels beneath your skin and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your legs tremble and your toes curl and you vaguely hear your husband whispering a mix of curses and praises in your ear. You’re still lost in the sensation when he starts groaning and you feel him flooding your insides with shallow thrusts close to your cervix, filling you with rope after rope of his hot cum. You’re still panting when you finally regain your mind. Satoru’s still on top of you, completely limp with his head buried in your neck. You curl a hand into his hair, silently holding him close. That was some of the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. You smirk. Yeah, maybe this baby-making business wasn’t going to be so bad.

You shiver when you feel Satoru licking and sucking at your skin. There’s a tenderness in the action that makes you pull him closer. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but you can already feel him hardening inside you, ready for another round.

“Think it stuck?” he asks. You smirk and answer with a breathy laugh.

“Don’t know.” Silently, you think that there’s no way it didn’t. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs and there’s just so much of it.

He lifts his head, eyes bright and sparkling even in the dim light. He grins. “Guess we’d better make sure.”

With the rate at which Satoru fucks you it’s no surprise when you get two positive little pink lines a few week later. You tell Satoru by unceremoniously dropping the test in front of him while he’s drinking his morning coffee. He only grins and kisses you before he bends you over the counter, whispering something about needing to show you how appreciative he is when he slides inside you. The next morning you wake to Satoru’s lips on yours, a brand new credit card, and a new car in the driveway, fitted with all of the newest safety features (only the best for his wife and baby, he says). You sigh and smile when you see it. Yeah, this whole baby-making business definitely wasn’t so bad.

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#jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #tw: breeding #bree’s fics

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chaotic-mystery · 3 months ago

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PROFESSOR’S PET

Pairing: Art Professor!Joel AU x Teacher Assistant!f!reader.

Summary: Professor Miller wants you to teach the class tomorrow morning & you need help being less nervous. What if he’s the reason you’re nervous, though?

Content Warnings: SMUT 18+ only! MDNI. Age gap but not specified, power imbalance (professor x TA, reader stutters when nervous, academic weapon, teasing, fingering, one (1) pair of panties ripped to shreds, oral (f receiving), spitting, pussy slaps, praise kink, name calling (good girl, sweetheart, baby, smart girl), dirty talk, talking you through it, spanking, condescending a little bit, cum eating, face riding, nasty freaky kisses to share your cum, no use of y/n.

Authors Note: Good morning, babies! This is for @studioghibelli & their fantastic writing challenge. This moodboard was absolutely brilliant. As someone who did not go to college & can’t retain information well, I tried to research as much as I could about art so I hope I did it justice! 🩵 || wc: 2.6k || beta’d by @wannab-urs <333 ily sm gin ||

“You want me to do what?”

It came out more as an exclamation rather than a question but you didn’t care at the moment.

He couldn’t have been serious.

“I want you to teach the class tomorrow about your two favorite artists. That’s all I’m askin’” Professor Miller says, stuffing his papers back into the desk drawer for the night.

“B-but you know I don’t talk well in front of them, I constantly stutter and they don’t respond well to me yet, I-”

“Do you need me to help you with the lesson plan for tomorrow? I can come over and help you write down some notes on what you want to talk about, but I need you to get more comfortable around them. We have a long school year ahead of us, and it’s not going to work if you’re afraid to speak up here.”

He was annoyed having to explain his reasoning, but he was right. Even if you didn’t want to hear you were doing a terrible job as a teacher's assistant. Scratching your head and turning so he can’t see the look of shame on your face, Joel shuffles towards you and hands you your coat off the coat rack.

“It’ll be fine. All you need is a push and you’ll do great. Hurry before we miss the train.”

You nod and take your coat to put it on, the tan fabric becoming darker as you step outside and rain starts to pelt off it. Mr. Miller sighs and hoists his briefcase above his head and takes his other hand to the side of him searching for yours until he finds it and grabs it, guiding you through the raindrops until you get under the stone archway to take a brief moment for the rain to calm down.

“Can’t believe I’ve had you as a TA for almost two years now and have never once seen where you live or even know about you outside of this place.” His finger wags slowly behind his head, indicating he was referring to the school.

“I don’t really like to talk about myself, but my parents made a really good name for themselves. I was put through all the good schools they could toss their money at. I was supposed to go to school to be a lawyer, but I wasn’t interested in the slightest. I told my mom I wanted to study visual arts and she wasn’t too surprised, said I always had an eye for that sort of thing. I want to become a professor here one day but for now I just want to learn everything I can, ya know?” You smile at the ground as you think about teaching here someday and hope it doesn’t come off as dorky.

He’s so much older than you and probably knows so much between art and life. You could only hope to have as much knowledge as him when you become a professor.

“I think that’s amazing honestly. I hope to one day see you as a professor here whenever you feel like you’re ready.”

His grin eases your nerves, and you hear the train coming, taking his hand once more to run to the train stop. Your shoes squeak against the vinyl flooring of the moving cabin until you get to a seat by the foggy window, plopping your bag right next to you with Joel sitting across the small white table that was tattered from all the use.

The train ride to your town wasn’t too long and Joel read almost the entire time, asking you every now and then if you were okay. Once you catch a taxi to take you home, it drops you off right at the black iron gates. He steps out of the sleek black car and is a little taken aback by the size of your house.

“What’s the matter? I told you they had money.” You giggle and push the buzzer on the stone post to the left of you, telling them to let you inside. Almost instantly, the gates push open and you walk along the pebble drive, flinging your book bag over your shoulder as he follows a few steps behind you, taking in the beauty that is your house.

Once you get inside and introduce him to the small group of staff working, they tell you your parents went out for the evening to some charity event and there’s food in the fridge if you were hungry.

The nerves about teaching tomorrow overrode the feeling of being hungry, but you still offered Joel anything he could’ve wanted. He settles with water, and you leave him in the study where he’s content with gazing at the walls covered in full bookshelves about any and everything.

You come back in and shut the rosewood pocket doors quietly, careful not to disturb him from the current book in his hand about astronomy. The way his fingers grazed over the corners of the pages made your stomach tingle just a little bit, the dim lighting from the chandelier glowing a soft yellow on his face as he was entranced by the contents.

Get it together, he’s off limits, you tell yourself.

There was no ring on his finger and he always talked about his lonely weekends, but still. You were his teacher's assistant.

You clear your throat and set his water down on the desk before you turn on the green bankers lamp sitting at the edge of the table. Joel closes the red leather book and looks up at you, noticing the water, and he puts the book back where he found it.

“Thank you.” He raises the glass to you before taking a sip, the muscles in his neck contracting as he swallows, and it brings that same feeling as before that you felt in your stomach.

So, give me two of your favorite art pieces and the artist with some facts about them. You don’t have to start from their birth or anything.”

He pinches his slacks right on the thighs to hike them up just a little before he sits down in the wooden chair at the head of the table, his hands on the back of his head as his fingers interlock against his skull.

Focus.

You pace back and forth at the other end of the table, Joel’s eyes on you intently as you fiddle with your fingers, running through the list of artists you tend to gravitate towards.

“I got it. Botticelli.”

“Nice choice. Why him?”

You continue to walk back and forth and sort out which facts about him and his artwork you love to tell people they wouldn’t normally know.

“I love the painting Birth of Venus but um- it’s not technically her birth story, it’s m-more like the story continued after her birth; when she steps off her shell and onto the island of Cyprus. S-she’s being blown onto…” you take a deep breath in and put your head in your hands.

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

You turn away from him and look out the window trying to compose yourself.

“Just take your time, I’ve got all night, kid.”

Turning to face him, he’s sitting straight up now and you can tell he’s listening to every word coming out of your mouth. His dark jacket is tight on his arms and it’s just enough to show the outline of his muscles.

“She’s being blown onto shore by the spring winds which is Zephyr, who is accompanied by his wife, Chloris, who’s also blowing Venus’ shell to shore. Her pose was most likely inspired by an ancient marble statue in the Medici’s collection, which we refer to as the Medici Venus, the first ever nude female sculpture in classical art.”

You manage to recite all of that without stuttering this time and he grins proudly.

“I knew you could do it. Good job. Now, what I want you to do is write down bullet points on this note card with a keyword that’ll spark your mind and draw the facts out of you fluently.”

Your cheeks warm at first and then your brows furrow at his instructions.

“What do you mean, professor?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He scoots his chair back enough so you can stand to the side of him and watch as he scribbles down some words on the lined piece of paper. The red ink flows effortlessly and he pushes it to you, pointing at what he did.

“It’s just a keyword that’ll spark your brain to talk about it. If you write down everything you’re gonna say, it sounds like a robot trying to read it. This way, you won’t get overwhelmed by everything you wanna say and you can sound effortless.”

You nod as the gears in your head turn, the idea making perfect sense now. Reaching out to grab another note card, you bend over to write on it, starting at the top. You feel Joel’s hand on the small of your back very lightly as he watches you write, the pen in your hand moving faster than he’s ever seen.

“The next one is gonna be the technique he used for the painting.”

You write the word ‘technique’ shakily, trying to breathe manually.

“What about his technique?” Joel asks, his hand not moving from your back.

“H-he um, he used the tempera technique, it’s when you d-dilute a raw egg with water and mix watered down p-pigment with it and um-um paint with it.” Your words get breathy and all at once you stand straight up, clearing your throat once more.

“You’re still pretty nervous. Is it me? Am I making you nervous?” The condescending tone in Professor Miller's voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, feeling like you’ve been called out.

“Partially, maybe.” You admit and turn away from him but you don’t move from next to him.

He runs his hand over his scruff and smirks slyly.

“Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation you nod yes.

“Turn around for me.” Joel’s hands grip your hips and spin you around in your spot.

“Now read your little note card for me. Come on, you’ve got this, smart girl.”

That was all you had to hear to make your stomach flip and arousal flood your body. Smart girl.

His hands never leave your hips as he holds you still, subconsciously rubbing the fabric of your skirt on the waistband while you read your notes. You manage to get through half of them before you stutter out and stop again.

“Again, from the top.” He says softly, still holding onto you. Just as you begin to speak, you feel yourself being guided backwards and you don’t stop talking, going with the flow of things.

For the purpose of learning, right?

Joel puts you right against his thighs, his head peeking over the side of your arm to see what bullet point you were on.

“Keep going, you’re doing such a good job.” He whispers as he rubs your back gently.

“Botticelli used the tempera technique, which is when you mix a r-raw egg with water a-and you dilute yo-our pigment with water and mix th-em together.”

His hand ever so slowly moves around the side of your thigh until he’s on the top of it, his thumb dangerously close to the point of no return. Your breaths were getting heavier and you were almost positive he could feel your heart rattling in your body like a caged animal.

“Joel, I-”

“Start it again, and if you stutter I’ll stop.”

His hand dips under your skirt and he nods to your index card, wanting you to restart.

“Well come on, be a good girl for me.” He grunts out and smirks before biting your arm playfully.

You didn’t know how you got here or why he wanted to touch you this way but you weren’t going to stop him. He was a good looking man and god forbid you do something out of your normal routine.

His fingertips dance over your overly excited clit and release some tension for you, and it’s like a key to a gate, your legs spreading more and more with every circle from his middle finger. You continue to talk through his efforts to make you stutter, even when he gets faster and kisses your back.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Next artist, let’s go.” He pushes you up on the desk and splits your legs apart, ripping your panties in two before he takes off his jacket and rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

“The Swing painted by Jean-Honore Fragonard. It’s said it’s a commission from a man on the court who requested Fragonard to paint him and his younger mistress being pushed on a swing while he watches and admires her-oh my god, Joel, right there, yes, yes.”

His tongue dances against your clit after he spits on it, licking every inch of you just to hear your pretty moans. His hands travel up your abdomen until he gets to your shirt, ripping the buttons apart to see your beautiful breasts. A deep groan against your overly sensitive clit makes your eyes almost roll back into your skull and he slaps your pussy firmly.

“That’s not being a good girl. Did I tell you to stop?”

“No, sir.” You whimper and try to get back on track about the painting you were talking about. His curls tickle against the soft insides of your thighs as he continues, licking feverishly at your clit.

“The brushwork is rapid and it exemplifies the Rococo style of playfulness and elegance” you whimper out and buck against his face, your hand dipping into his hair to tug firmly.

He spanks your ass as he feels your body squirm under him, tugging your legs to rest on his shoulders as he continues to lap up your arousal.

“You’re such a filthy girl, riding your professor's face in your house, naughty naughty girl. Oh, yes, cmon sweetheart, use my mouth.”

You moan his name louder and thank god your sounds are muffled from the rest of the house by all the literature covering the walls. Somehow you finish telling him about the painting and he looks at you as you cry out for more from him, your slick glossing over his mustache.

“Please make me come, Joel. Please, I need you so bad.” You kiss him roughly and try to grab his rock hard bulge but he pulls his hips away and groans loudly on your lips before grinning, going back down to your pussy and moaning against you.

“Come right on my face, right fuckin’ now. Let me taste how sweet you are. I know you can’t handle much more and you don’t wanna disappoint me, right baby?” Joel smirks and flattens his tongue against your clit once more, teasing you and enjoying this just as much as you were.

The burning sensation in your belly starts to spill over and before you can tell him, you grip both edges of the table and come against his face, crying and squirming to get away from him but it only makes Joel pin you down by your wrists and lick harder, tasting every bit you give him.

He licks you clean and kisses his way up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts to your lips, sharing the deliciousness with you. As you come down from your high, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room starts to chime, indicating it was midnight.

“That 7:30 A.M. class is gonna be here before you know it, professor.” You push the damp curls off his forehead and giggle as he stands up tiredly, holding a hand out for you. As you sit up on the table, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you deeply once more.

“You owe me sleep, so much sleep.”

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