#hoping to rally more people to the harasawa nation with this one

[lamnwar]

Come here, old man ♡ // Harasawa Katsunori x Fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

A/N: ABSOLUTELY not requested, this is ridiculously self indulgent and I got so into it that it's like... 6.3k words on how much I need that man 😭😭 @sennkawaa @chaotic-nick I did us harasawa girlies a service with this one, hope yall enjoy it <333

Context: a chance encounter with a hot old man makes you loose your sanity.

Warnings: age gap (around 20 yrs assuming reader is in university), alcohol consumption but they have sex sober, aomine being a bitch during his 2 sec of screentime, handjob, oral (f! receiving), mention of unprotected sex but they wear a condom, implied praise kink (reader), coach harasawa is kinda desperate (poor man hasn't got good pussy in months 😔)

Never in your life did you think you'd sleep with a guy old enough to be your dad, yet here you are – caged under the basketball coach's surprisingly toned body, his wavy locks falling in your face.

It's honestly nothing but the result of an unexpected chain of events. What were you, but a simple girl with too much sweetness in your voice and lust in your eyes? Nothing, absolutely not a single star in the sky, could have foreseen such event. While you do appreciate older guys, it never crossed your mind to go after someone who could easily be your senior by twenty years. The single thought of being with a man closer in age to your parents than to you is enough to draw you away from such big age gap. But all that, all that you trusted to be an unmovable preference of yours; it all went down the drain the moment you laid your eyes on Harasawa Katsunori.

It started with a simple invitation from your university friend. Ever since meeting Satsuki Momoi during orientation, you learned of Tōō High School’s basketball team in their prime – the players, their best matches, and their greatest opponents, almost as if you attended that school yourself and was on the bench during every match, witnessing the plays of Tōō’s basketball team. At some point, you got to meet Daiki Aomine, the prodigious player who was at the centre of most of the things Satsuki told you about her former team. He was quite a sight – tall, dark, and handsome, almost hot enough to make you see past his nonchalance and laziness. And in the following months, you came to meet most of the team – or at least, those who were playing during Satsuki’s time as Tōō’s manager.

A special bunch, you noticed, asking yourself how sweet and soft Satsuki got to spend almost every single one of her high school days surrounded by these guys without going insane. Yet, you couldn’t help but stare at them with softness in your eyes, the bond between these boys being endearing. Growing apart, yet never forgetting each other – their recurrent meetings for a shared meal or drink, and for some reason you’d be there because they grew to like you enough not to mind your presence. Never in your life would you have imagined being hanging out with a bunch of big dudes, fairly intimidating ones at that, only to find out that they were no less of goofballs as any other guy their age. You always watched them with a faint smile on your face, quite like an outsider that knows too much about them.

So it was not much of a surprise when they invited you, in a collective feeling of nostalgia for their high school days, to watch Tōō play at the Winter Cup’s semi-finals. You said yes, although you wished you could have witnessed the boys on the court instead of these new players, but it didn’t feel right to turn down the invitation just for this reason. But all that didn’t matter anyway, the moment you stepped foot in the court. You stood back, blown by the ambiance – the cheers, the squeaking of the shoes on the wooden floor, the balls bouncing on every surface. There you were, in Tōō’s tribune with alumni, mind blown as if you were attending some high-level sports event (wasn’t it just high school basketball?).

“Oh look! It’s us!” exclaimed your friends, as their former team walked in from the lockers.

Your interest piqued, you looked down, meeting the sight of yet another tribe of giant teenage boys, surrounded by the kind of aura that made it clear that this was serious business for them. But your eyes quickly trailed to the man leading them, as if your eyes were meant to see him, and only him. Time ceased, granting you with eternity so you could take in every feature of this gorgeous man. From his wavy locks to the way his striped shirt was so neatly tucked in his dress pants. The tall, slender figure of a man who looked mature, yet so fine that you couldn’t wish that he was younger. No, there was such a charm in the small wrinkles in the corner of his mouth, and the slight bags under his tired eyes that were looking up at you…

Wait. Was he looking at you or is it your brain seeing what it wanted?

“Coach, over here!”

Ah, that made more sense. It wasn’t about you, you were merely a member of the public like others, just standing between his former players. You watched, processing your embarrassment, while he smiled politely in the direction of your friends. You would have melted in place if that smile was aimed at you, but it wasn’t. You sat, looking anywhere but at him. Nothing would kill your soul like him catching you staring like a creep. But the minute he diverted his attention back to his actual players, you couldn’t help the urge. Something about that man, so calm yet commanding, it made your stomach churn and twist.

And so you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him the whole forty minutes of play. Eyes diverting from the court every once in a while, just to see him stare at the game intensely, eyebrows furrowed as you guessed that he was thinking about the next best strategy for his players – not that they really needed to change anything to the way they played, if you referred yourself to the score board. When the final whistle blow, a jaw-dropping 108-65 for Tōō got the whole gymnasium on fire, the first one to express their joy being your friends. Hell, even Daiki smiled, showing a bit of care for his former team. Naturally, you looked back at the gorgeous man at the head of this whole team. He had the slightest smile tugging at his lips, but you guessed that winning was no exception for him. It was impressive.

“Girl, you comin’? We’re going to the lockers.”

You jolted at Daiki’s voice. Not just because he wouldn’t usually talk to you, but mainly because it made you realise how much you’d cut off from reality just to stare at your new crush – if you could only call it that.

“Can I come?” you asked, hesitantly. You weren’t a Tōō alumni like your friends, it felt a bit out of place to meet the team in their locker room.

“If I’m telling you, dummy.”

“Daiki! Don’t talk to her like that!” Satsuki scolded the blue-haired man, before turning to you with the sweetest smile, “of course you can tag along.”

And so you did, totally unaware of were that would have led you. You followed close behind Satsuki, feeling like you would when you were just a kid, attending some function with your parents and hiding behind their frame in shyness. It wasn’t like you, but the idea that you may fall face to face with the coach had you feeling out of your habitual state, like a silly teenage girl experiencing her first crush. But that alone would not be much of an issue – no, it probably was more on the fact that he was old enough to be your dad (well, he’d be a quite young dad if it was the case, but still!). And you couldn’t bring yourself to telling Satsuki – let alone any of the boys – how you felt about their former coach.

A guilty attraction that followed you to a nearby bar you all went to after, the middle-aged man unable to refuse the invitation out of nostalgia, or maybe because he couldn’t pass the offer for a nice glass of whiskey after a championship match. You sat at one end, thinking of yourself free of any awkward interaction with him from that position; oh honey, how wrong were you. It was ridiculous, really. It turned out that a bunch of basketball players needed an awful lot of leg space, prompting them to move around so everyone could be comfortably seated. Almost as if you were the main character to a cliché story, you ended face to face to the man you were trying so hard to avoid.

“It feels weird that you’re all old enough to drink now” he contemplated, swinging the honey-coloured drink in his glass.

Ah yes, right. He knew your friends when they were young and angsty. He was probably a big part of who they were now – the young adults you befriended without thinking much about it. And here you were, a mere stranger at a table of old friends, out of place but not deigning to leave. Somewhat, the thought of him being a mentor to these boys warmed your heart. Something about men being nurturing was oddly attractive to you.

“But I haven’t introduced myself to you, have I?” you blinked, wondering who he was talking to.

It is you, idiot!

You nodded your head, gulping your drink. What were you? Some fool who didn’t know how to talk? He let out a breathy chuckle at your face (probably).

“Katsunori Harasawa, coach of Tōō Academy’s basketball club.”

You repeated the name to yourself, muttering it as you hid your lips behind your glass of liquor. You liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, like a song. He had a pretty name, almost as pretty as he was. You sat there, smiling as you introduced yourself – but there wasn’t much to say. You were a student, Satsuki’s classmate, daughter to normal parents, raised in a quiet neighbourhood. No one extraordinary, not even a fan of basketball. But strangely, it didn’t matter all that much to him.

As the glasses emptied and refilled again and again, and you were way too far gone to even care about how you could be perceived, you might have seen him smile. An ever so charming smirk painted on his rose lips, ones he’d moisture with a gulp of whiskey. He’d let the hard liquor drop down his throat without wincing, and that’s how you knew he was a man way out of your league. It didn’t matter how nice he was to you, despite having no prior ties to you; or how nice his laugh was, when his former players would talk shit. Katsunori Harasawa was a man way beyond your scope, someone you’d admire all night hiding behind your glass, while your heart would pound the minute he looked your way.

And the next morning, all that felt like a dream. A weird hallucination of your infatuation for Satsuki and Daiki’s former basketball coach. Maybe you imagined him – he was way too much to your taste to be real. And yet, your mind kept wandering all day, at the most random times. Thoughts of that dark strand of hair he’d twist around his fingers when yesterday’s match was a tad too stressful, while you brushed your teeth. Thoughts of his nicely fitted white shirt and the tie he’d tug loose when you were out for drinks, while you ate your lunch. Thoughts of his sharp eyes and the small wrinkles that would appear when he smiled, while you were sitting in your 2PM lecture. Thoughts of his fine features, the ones you could stare at for days without ever getting bored of them, while you were buying some eggs.

Just thoughts of him, all day, haunting you to the point where you were questioning your own sanity. It’s not like you, not even in the slightest. For all the people you’d been attracted to in your life, no one had occupied your mind quite like coach Harasawa. And you wondered, what could it be? Was it the fact that he was out of your reach, someone to admire from afar? Or the fact that you couldn’t process your attraction to someone easily twenty years your senior? A swarm of obsession, the kind you were breaking your mind to understand. The kind that distracted you from reality, as you aimed on your way to the station, not even realising that the sky was getting darker. Too lost in your inner turmoil of trying to rationalise your thoughts and feelings, to feel the droplets of rain fall on your skin. It took you being almost entirely soaked, bag pressed against your chest in a poor attempt of protecting its content from the water as you cursed yourself for not checking the weather app before leaving home.

“Need a ride?”

You blinked, not sure if you were hearing well. Usually, you’d walk away in a hurry at any man who would drive next to you asking if you’d want to hop in. And for a brief second, you wondered if it wasn’t just your mind hearing what it wanted to hear.

But it wasn’t. Behind the droplets of rain that fell before your eyes was the man of your thoughts.

“Coach Harasawa..?”

“Come on, you’ll get sick if you don’t get some cover.”

You silently went over to the passenger seat, settling there while you watched the drops on your skin, sliding down to the car mat and leaving a dark puddle under you. The heat of his car was somewhat comforting, till you were reminded that it was his car.

“Do you live far from here?” He asked, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Two stations away” you spoke, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

It was weird to talk to him, considering how you were thinking till just now that he might have just been a sweet creation of your imagination. But he was very real. You could see him blink, and the way the air conditioner would blow softly on the thin hair on his forearms.

“Come and dry off at my place, then I’ll drive you to the station.”

As all kinds of thoughts rushed through your mind at a speed that exceeded one of your words flow, you tried to decline the offer. It was not right, in anyways, to follow him home. At the back of your head came back the multiple times in your childhood when your parents would tell you not to follow a stranger anywhere. You grew up skittish and with fairly apparent trust issues, at this instant, it wasn’t the case anymore.

“You don’t have to but thank you.” You replied, unable to look in his direction without feeling flustered.

“I can’t let you take the train all drenched, it’s the least I can do.”

You couldn’t argue against him. He was right, in some way. And honestly, you wouldn’t mind drying off a bit. The way your wet clothes were clinging to your body was uncomfortable to say the least, but that wasn’t even the worst. It was the way your makeup was erased by the few drops that fell on your face, and the way your hair got frizzy. And you had to be seen by him in that state. Not that you’ve been the kind to care all that much about your appearance, but it didn’t feel right to look like a mess next to a man who was so well groomed.

And it didn’t feel right either when you stepped in his apartment – so neat and simple, yet homely. It matched him so well, giving the aura of something way too classy for someone who, at the end of the day, was no more than the coach of a high school basketball team. You let your drenched shoes at the door, soggy socks leaving trails behind you as you took each step hesitantly.

“Wait, I’ll give you a towel. Would you want a change of clothes, too?”

“Huh? No need, I’ll head out right after anyway, I don’t want to be a bother.” You urged, clearly out of place in his home.

Your presence felt invasive; you were no one to him. Not a friend, not even a former student. He’d only met you last night, wasn’t it absurd to ask so much from him? For all you knew, he didn’t even remember your name, maybe just your face. He was probably being nice and caring out of his habit of taking care of unhinged teenagers.

“It’s spring, y/n. Evenings are still cold.”

You sighed, a part of you warmed by his words. He sounded like a doting mother, which contrasted with his rather stern look. It was getting harder for you to say no, so eventually, you folded and took the t-shirt and sweatpants he handed you, walking to his bathroom, hoping that you were the only one hearing the thumping of your heart in the silence of his apartment.

It felt surreal, you thought to yourself as you undressed and patted your skin dry. The kind of coincidence you’d only see in a cheesy romance story, far from realistic or even logical. The materialisation before your eyes of the man of your thoughts alone was way too good to be true; but being here, at his? That was beyond your comprehension. The way his pants were barely too big for you reminded you of his small waist, the one held by the sinch pair of slacks he was wearing when you saw him yesterday. Even today, he was wearing a rather formal attire, even a tie. A purple tie that was now hanging loosely around his neck when you walked out of the bathroom, seeing him standing over some papers. It was such an ordinary sight, but every single little detail about it caught your eyes as if you were looking at an artist’s magnum opus.

“Thank you for the clothes and for lending me your bathroom” you said, with a slight polite bow.

It was weird and awkward, and somehow, it made him smile a bit.

“No problem at all.”

He was nice, too nice. Part of you hesitated to be too blunt, scared of appearing rude or too prying to him, but you had to ask, because it might just be better to be honest.

“If I may, why are you helping me out?” you asked, unable to look at him in the face. “I mean, I’m not your student or… anything, really.”

You simply saw his slim fingers on the dark wood of the table, as he put down the papers he was so seriously analysing. You felt bad for a second, heart beating in at an anxious rhythm while you longed for a reply.

“Huh? It just felt right. Besides…” he sighed, pulling a chair out for him to sit on it. “My players like you, don’t they?”

“Is that reason enough to invite a girl you barely know to your place?”

You followed your words with a short gasp, realizing that you’d spilled your thoughts with no second guessing. Crazy enough, in this situation where you had been overly cautious, this might just be the first time you were honest.

“Aren’t you a blunt one?” he raised an eyebrow, following by a quaint chuckle. “Can’t argue with you on that one, though. It isn’t quite my most rational decision, but I’d argue that I still know you a bit.”

“Is that so?” you mused, resting yourself on a chair.

“You’re quite talkative when you drink, you know?”

The flustered look on your face drew a light laugh out of the man’s lips, but to your opinion it was far from amusing. While, yes, you were well aware of the fact that you had a tendency to run your mouth when inebriated, your biggest issue was certainly the possibility of you saying something you shouldn’t have last night. And as you expected him to elaborate on that – potentially digging your grave – he simply got up, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“Care to accompany me?”

You chuckled nervously. “I mean, should I? What if I end up saying too much?”

“What do you think that is, some interview?” he clicked his tongue, a glass landing in front of you. “It’ll warm your insides, trust me on this one.”

“Talking just like a dad.”

He scoffed, the sound making you feel just as warm as the liquor that flowed down your throat. He was nice, as much as you wanted to question that, he undoubtedly was. You didn’t feel like letting your guards down yet, but maybe you were too vigilant. Maybe it was the first impression you had of him, when he walked on the court last evening, suit pressed and face stern – dark eyes scanning the court and the way he commanded a bunch of overly energetic boys. Or it was what his relationship to your friends – a mentor or a father figure, someone they trusted and loved years after last being under his care.

So how could you not be scared of him, even in the slightest? How could you not be terrified at the idea of being stupid in front of him?

Well, eventually, you weren’t. Not once you’d emptied your glass, asking him for seconds. You were getting too comfortable, but it started to feel just right the more you got accustomed to being here, alone with him. Comfortable enough to get in his kitchen, determined to give back for his kindness in some ways.

“I’ll make us snacks, can’t drink on an empty stomach my parents say” you hummed, after getting his permission to rummage his fridge.

“How many drinks do you expect to share with me?”

“Hm?” you pouted in reflection, patting yourself as if you were trying to gauge something, “till I’m fully dry, I guess. But I’m only halfway there.”

“You know what? I don’t mind the company.” He nodded, pouring the both of you another drink. “It gets boring being alone sometimes.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?” you asked as you prepared a plate of appetizers, but you were quick to answer your own question. “Ah… I guess you don’t, if I’m here alone with you.”

Your words escaped your mouth without much thought or intent behind them, leaving you both in a lingering silence. For once, he was the flustered one – almost as if your words were projectiles hitting him right where it shouldn’t. You figured you were better off not adding to it, retreating in silence as you walk back to the dining table, nervously sipping on your drink.

“Is that an issue to you?” His voice broke the streak of quiet, forcing you to glance in his direction.

“I don’t have the right to any opinion on your private life.”

He shook his head, a soft chuckle coming out of his lips, “it’s alright, you can think what you want. And by letting you in my house, I’ve kind of made you entitled to judgement, haven’t I?”

“That’s one way of seeing it.”

“So? I feel like you’re an honest one but that you’ve been holding back” he remarked, and you couldn’t argue against it in any way.

He had you figured out, which was no surprise coming from a man whose job was to strategize and read people. You suddenly felt vulnerable, a sense of loss taking over you; yet you weren’t playing any games. It was mostly you, putting things in your head and reacting at the way things unfolded in what felt right – or so you would conclude, after a long series of thoughts that with retrospective, was based on speculation.

“You want my opinion on the fact that you’re single, that’s it?” You cocked an eyebrow, for some reason embarrassed by the request.

“It’s more that I know that you want to say something but you’re not doing it.”

You let out a breathy laugh, taking a sip of liquid courage. Ah shit, I’m gonna say it.

“I’m glad that you’re single. Here, said it.”

You took your breath, heart beating like crazy that you even said it. It wasn’t even a confession, but it wasn’t nothing either. Your words travelled straight to his head, the meaning so clear that you couldn’t even lie your way out.

“I figured.”

The calm with which he expressed himself was unsettling. You were a mess, unprepared and with no exit plan. No one prepared you to this, to the humiliation of your crush, who was significantly older than you, figuring out your attraction for him.

“Ah…” You groaned, slumping on your chair, “this is humiliating.”

“It isn’t. Not at all.”

You didn’t dare look up, but he was there. He was standing, leaning towards your chair. His voice was soft, like a feather that caressed your ears.

“I don’t understand.” You let out, in clear confusion.

“It’s frankly flattering that I caught your eyes. I’m overworked and I dress fancy to tell a bunch of teenage boys how to play with balls. I’m not really a prized bachelor by standards.”

You chuckled, genuinely amused by his words. In some ways, it made you feel better, more at ease in this instant. But you’d argue that he was wrong in multiple way. Katsunori Harasawa was a suave man, one that had such delicacy in his self that you wouldn’t even care about any of the defaults he found for himself.

“Don’t ask me why I like you, I just do.” You looked up at him, meeting his sharp dark pupils, and it made your heart jump.

You couldn’t tell why, but it felt right in that moment to lean in to leave a soft kiss on his mouth. You could cry at how soft his lips were – the taste of honey and cinnamon from the whiskey you were both drinking, and the scent of his perfume coming to you from the proximity of your bodies. And to your surprise, he kissed you back. He did, cupping your face gently and tilting it to the right angle so he could get a better taste of your sweet mouth.

And now, here you are. You can’t even make a sensical thought, not when his warm hands are travelling down your body, lifting your shirt up with urgency. His touch gets you dizzy – too far gone to even question what you are doing. All you’re able to do is tug on his hair, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you cover his face with kisses of all sorts. He laughs softly – how sweet are you, an adorable little thing in his hold. He stands back, taking in the sight of you. Your messy hair, his t-shirt rolled up above your gorgeous breasts, those pretty eyes that look up at him with the kind of need that he hasn’t seen in years.

“Pretty…” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck to your chest, leaving traces in their wake.

You blush – you feel silly, all flustered by the words of a man, when you are the one who initiated all this with a kiss. But you can’t deny the way his hands and lips touch you, proof of the years of experience he has on you. He is smooth in his transitions, the wet kisses you were feeling on your neck mere seconds ago now marking your chest. His breath is hot against your hardened nipples; he is so close, but he still doesn’t get to your sensitive buds, no matter how much they beg for his attention. No, coach Harasawa vows to take his sweet time with you. Your desperate sounds are nothing but a nice song to his ears, the soundtrack to his ministrations that exalts his senses and his cock. You can feel him hard against your thigh, the simple sensation driving you insane.

You squirm, desperately kissing him as your own hands slide down his torso, untucking his shirt from his pants and clumsily unbutton them. His skin is pale and warm, like a tropical beach, and it makes you melt, the way he feels under the pad of your fingers. You trace the outline of his muscles, proof of the carrier as a professional player that he mentioned yesterday. You had no reason to doubt him, but you were far from imagining that his body would have still been toned. It is a delicious mix of softness and firmness, one that you want to cling to.

“Can I touch you, coach?” you ask, tone too innocent for the kind of demand you’re making.

He stands back, unbuckling his belt as he clicks his tongue.

“Don’t call me that, it’s what the boys call me.”

“Are we on first name basis, then?” you question him, helping him out of his pants.

Your palms rest over his bulge, taking in the size of it. Akin a sun, it is a life beating in your hold. He hisses, sensitive – your touch is delicate and curious, and he could melt at the way you look at him with so much need.

“I think it’s totally appropriate given that your hands are on my penis” he replies, following his words with a soft laugh.

You would never peg him for a jokester, but apparently, he has some humour. You giggle – although flustered by the bluntness of his words. He is, indeed, in the hold of your hands, as you stroke him gently. He is a man of composure, but your touch could easily make his resolve waver.

“Katsunori… aah! It’s weird calling you that” you groan, looking away. The way his name rolls out your tongue feels weird, but he couldn’t disagree more.

Every word that falls of your lips is the prettiest sound to be in the man’s opinion, especially his name. It feels intimate, the way you say it. He shivers, grabbing your chin to kiss your lips softly.

“You’re doing a great job pretty, keep going and I might fuck you right away.”

“Ah? I thought you were more of gentleman.”

He chuckles, fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back, planting an eager kiss on your lips. The honey and cinnamon taste of whiskey on his tongue melts you, reducing your entire self to a simple being of pleasure. You’re so cute like that, he thinks, a nice girl that wants him, simply. He’s found himself warmed every night by the arms of solitude for so long, that your presence – your body, so close to him – feels like a breath of fresh air. Here you are, the first ray of sun after a cold winter, with your eyes sparkling with admiration and lust, and your hands, soft and warm as they stroke his cock.

“I am a gentleman, but you do make it hard for me to behave like one.” He smiles, fingers delicately angling your face towards him. “You look at me like a starved woman, how long has it been for you, hm?”

You pout, the sight of you like that making the blood course through his body to his hardened cock, throbbing in your hands. He’s right – you haven’t had sex in quite a few months, probably explaining in parts your insatiable thirst for the man; but he shouldn’t have put you in the spotlight like that! You would love to huff and puff, making a fuss for the way he’s got you figured out, but he doesn’t even give you the time to.

Once again, you can’t explain how you’ve found yourself in this predicament. He’s got you on your back, breathing heavily as he rolls your panties down your legs. You want to hide yourself at the sudden exposition, but you fail to. His hands prop your legs open, kisses trailing all over your thighs. What a sight, one of your glistening cunt begging for attention, and Katsunori Harasawa can only think of making it his. Every part of it calls for him – for his fingers, for his tongue, for his cock.

“I’m gonna taste you, is that ok with you, doll?” he asks, breath fanning over your erect clitoris.

The question is unnecessary, the answer is evident. You nod eagerly, a small hum coming out of your lips.

“Ah, ah… wanna here a clear answer.” He urges, leaving kisses on your inner thighs.

You groan, face buried in the palms of your hands as you feel yourself blush like a silly girl. He’s a man, you figure, your weak sounds are nearly not enough for him.

“Yeah... it’s ok” you finally say.

It’s all it takes for him to give you what you crave – at last. His tongue laps at your slit, tasting your sweet nectar and you writhe under his ministration. Your fingers tangling in his wavy locks, pushing them away from his face to look at him as he devours you. It makes you smile between your soft moans, the way this man eats you out with a kind of passion you’ve never experienced. Little do you know, that he hasn’t been with someone for so long. It’s more due to circumstances of life than anything else, but he is indeed a starving man. Seeking touch and warmth in ways he himself wasn’t aware of, until this very moment where he has you writhing under him, your essence on his tongue. He hums at the taste – sweet, like the rarest honey, and your fingers tangling in his hair. He rejoices in the melody of your cries, the wordless pleas for more. What a sweet thing you are, a puddle of desire in his hold.

“Fuck, gonna…”

“Yeah? Let it out, doll.” He coos, pacing his tongue like you want him too, willing to take you to a place of ecstasy.

You whimper, feeling an impending explosion coming. How long has it been, since a man last made you come so fast? It’s blinding, a mirror reflecting white as your thighs threaten to close around his head. He holds them still, watching you unfold as he gives you a last teasing lap – more for him than for you, in all honesty, just so he can get a last taste of you. Under the music of your pants, he stands back, watching you. You’re a sight like no other – naked on his bed, the hills and valleys of your body, an endless land all for him to explore. His cock hard in his hand as finds a condom in his cupboard – it expires in two months, he’s in luck. At the back of your mind, though, you have the dirty fantasy of doing it raw, feeling him in the tightness of your cunt in the most intimate manner. It’s wrong, you are aware of it, but something about the man before you makes you irrational.

“Hey, I’ll push in, alright?” He whispers in your ear while you feel his tip tease your entrance.

“I can take it” you nod, your odd confidence drawing a soft laugh out of his lips.

The flushed look on your face speaks a thousand words, but your resolve doesn’t budge. You hiss at the feeling of his head in between your walls looking at the man over you. His eyes are focused on you, but his mind can only think of the warmth of your pussy. It takes everything in him not to push in his whole length – coach Harasawa isn’t usually a patient man. But with you, he must be. Every second counts, so he can feel more of you.

“You’re doing so good f’me…” he mutters, a sense of pride at the way you take in every inch.

You struggle to keep in the noises that threaten to leave your throat, too embarrassed – who moans from just that? He hasn’t moved yet, but you feel overwhelmed. Maybe it’s that whole situation. The warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the locks of hair that tickle your forehead, his grip on your hips. You don’t know, and you don’t care to know either. All that really matters is the way he slowly fucks you, as if you were made of crystal.

“Yeah, feel good?” you mewl.

“Of course, pretty” he sighs, catching your lips in a kiss, “you feel heavenly.”

His praise sends a jolt down your body, cunt clenching in response. He grunts, not expecting your walls to hold him in such a tight grip, and it makes him dizzy.

“You like it when I compliment you, hm?”

You nod, the sparkles in your eyes making his cock twitch. He strategically holds back in his thrust – you feel way too great for him to risk ending this too soon. But that languid pace drives you mad. You buck your hips to meet his, a needy whine leaving your mouth. He laughs; the message is rather clear.

“Calm down, doll, I’ll fuck you right. Here…” he coos, pushing deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. “Shit! You were made for me, weren’t you?”

He chuckles, drunk on you. It takes a few more thrusts and more of your desperate sounds before his resolves finally breaks. You hold the sheets, mind going blank when he finally gives you what you crave. His thrusts – deep and powerful, make you twitch and squirm. He holds your body tight, in fear of you slipping away; but you aren’t going anywhere. As you sense your orgasm coming, you whine. It’s too soon, it can’t be!

But you are too far gone. Your pants and moans mix with his groans and whimpers, the symphony of your encounter sending you over the edge. Praises fall in your ears – such a pretty thing, taking me so well… good girl, come for me.

“I’m right here, make me proud.”

It’s all it really takes for you to unleash your pent-up arousal, body shaking as you’re washed over by the wave of your orgasm. He fucks you through it, relishing in the way you cling to him. It doesn’t take long till his own release approach. He stills, head buried in the crook of your neck as he lets go of all inhibitions. You gasp, overwhelmed yet head empty.

From that moment onward, Katsunori Harasawa is all you have in mind.