Teacher and I

Original Work

（1）
I first met him in the men's bathroom.

In theory, running into a teacher in the restroom is quite an awkward thing. But fortunately, I didn't know at the time that he was going to be the lecturer for my next class. Back then, I was just washing my hands as usual, and happened to casually look over at the other man standing at the sink.

He looked quite delicate, a bit short, with soft hair.

I didn't look closely at the stranger's face, since class was starting in a minute. The next class had a new teacher, and I didn't know what kind of temperament he would have. As I shook my hands dry and left, that man was still slowly but forcefully washing his hands. I faintly sensed a feeling of fatigue coming from him, but more directly, another kind of signal that we were the same kind: he probably also liked men.

Unless I'm mistaken.

Even though I was almost late, I still managed to get to the classroom before the teaching professor—as for that new teacher—clearly, the lecturer who was late by a minute standing at the podium was the stranger I'd run into in the bathroom.

He gently apologized to the students first, then smilingly introduced himself. A Swede, not sure why he was teaching academic writing, looking like a college student but actually eight years older than me, his voice a bit too sweet, indeed quite delicate-looking.

I had no interest in this class, and listlessly endured until the bell rang to end class.

This was my second time meeting Professor Ike.

（2）
......This was the third time I saw Professor Ike, still in the restroom.

This bar gets packed every weekend night with people squished together. A friend called me here, but as soon as he finished one drink he went off to chat up the black-haired server across the way. The new and old faces around didn't look very attractive, and the stuffy air was heating up, so I squeezed into the bathroom planning to have a smoke.

But the bathroom was occupied.

In this dump, it wasn't anything new for people to hook up in the stalls, but leaving the door open while going at it was a first for me.

As soon as I heard the faint panting, I sensed trouble. Looking up, the stall right in front of the entrance was wide open. The man was being pressed down by a tall, young guy dressed like a bartender behind him, barely able to stand, his suit pants messy and yanked down to his thighs.

He weakly braced himself against the wall with both hands, his snowy white butt stuffed with a brutal cock, crying and panting as he pleaded "go gentle, please". That bartender completely ignored his moans, hooking one sleeve around his slender waist and steadily shoving his butt back to penetrate him, smugly asking if being so tight meant he was craving this fucking, if leaking so much meant it felt amazing, if leaving the door open while having sex meant he really wanted people to surround him and watch as he climaxed until he was dripping wet.

As he said this, the bartender grabbed the man's delicate chin and forced him to turn his head. Just then, the two finally noticed me standing innocently at the door.

I dropped the cigarette in my hand, wanting to curse but when I saw the refined yet familiar face of the man being fucked, the profanity suddenly stuck in my throat.

I don't know what possessed me, but I really did walk straight over to the man now half-kneeling on the ground, his body still trembling with each breath.

I crouched down and greeted his dazed yet tense expression: we meet again, Professor Ike.

（3）
I forgot what we talked about afterwards, but the situation now was Professor Ike taking me in his mouth, while the bartender continued fucking his ass from behind. I have to say, his blowjob skills were quite good. He would stroke with his hand while sticking out his tongue to lick slowly, as if he really loved sucking cock. As I looked down at him, I could only see his fogged up glasses and drooping eyelashes, his mouth stuffed with my length, his cheeks cutely bulging out as he focused intently on sucking me off.

When the bartender came, Professor Ike was clearly about to pass out, even as he swallowed me I could feel him convulsing. I signaled for the bartender to switch with me and fuck him, and the bartender readily pulled up his pants, even dramatically kissing Professor Ike deeply as he left, saying he looked forward to next time with him.

I scoffed, continuing to pry apart Professor Ike's ass that was still smeared with someone else's cum, and shoved my hard, dripping manhood deep into his swollen hole. Despite just being fucked open, he was still so tight and eager, squeezing me so hard I almost cursed. As soon as I entered him he started moaning sweetly, his knees scraped pink against the tiles, looking utterly ravaged yet still whimpering as he sucked my cock with his soft, mushy intestines.

I pulled out until just the head caught on his rim, then slammed back in forcefully, pumping in and out as I listened to his breathy moans. I also discovered he seemed to love having his nipples played with - flicking the pale buds with my fingernails made him clench down harder and cry out more lasciviously. Or grabbing his waist and suddenly stuffing it all the way in could also make him feel amazing, more fluid flowing out of his already drenched little hole.

At the end I pulled out, stroking my meat and pressing it against his firm butt, shooting spurts over his ass. He also came in fits and starts. We both caught our breath for a while until he kicked me with his calf, signaling me to get off of him.

Then I watched as my teacher tidied up his clothes and put on his glasses properly, shakily propping himself up off the ground looking a mess. He could barely stand and his voice was fucked hoarse, yet he still stared at me coolly with his brown eyes and said, I hope you won't tell anyone about what happened today.

Looking at his eyelashes still wet with tears and his suit coat still crumpled despite his attempts to straighten it out, thinking about the mess still coating his ass underneath his pants, I couldn't help but lean in to kiss his cheek.

He frowned, seeming like he wanted to express some displeasure. I dodged his shove as expected, stepping back with a smile as I said, Professor, you're so cute.

（4）
So Ike and I became fuck buddies.

He was still the well-dressed, gentle-voiced good professor at the lectern, occasionally glancing at me sitting in the back row of the tiered classroom, his expression still normal. Who would have thought this young new professor was actually a slut who loved sex? Seeing his innocent face as he smiled and taught class, I would get hard down below thinking about this.

After class I followed him to his office, locking the door and pressing him against it, rubbing against him a few times until he quickly softened and let me freely grope him. In the beginning after the bar incident he would still coldly refuse me, but after a few times he tacitly accepted our chaotic relationship. I knew my teacher had many sides - gentle yet distant, stern-faced yet cold, and also flushed with arousal and charming when overcome by lust. He was always open in this area, otherwise he wouldn't have so casually had sex with two men at once in the bathroom.

So no matter how far I took it, although he didn't show that he welcomed or resisted it, he was enjoying it all the same - like right now, in his office, as I slowly pulled the bead anal plug out from between his fair buttocks.

Who would have thought he'd been wearing this for the entire class?

His little hole gripped the plug tightly, pushing the beads out one by one with wet popping sounds, the contractions obscenely audible. Deprived of the thick intrusion, his red swollen rim twitched open and closed with his breaths. I mischievously held my already swollen manhood and prodded his cleft with it, waiting until he couldn't stand it anymore and looked back at me with watery eyes glaring before letting him beg me to fuck him.

...No. He refused hazily and reluctantly.

But I deliberately bent down and stuck out my tongue to lick his meaty hole anyway. As soon as my tongue made contact, he began to cry out and writhe, trying to get away. I hooked an arm around to pull him back, continuing to tease his sensitive rim, intentionally slipping inside his contracting entrance occasionally. It was sopping wet inside, the intestinal muscles clenching even more intensely. I soon heard his moans take on a sobbing tone - he always cried easily during sex.

Fine. I gave up teasing him and replaced my tongue with my cock, shoving straight in. With no resistance, the hole used to being plugged was pierced through effortlessly. Ike squeezed me tightly, his slick passage quivering badly. I didn't expect that as soon as I entered, he screamed as he came. I took the chance while he spurted out to slam into him forcefully, hugging his limp body that collapsed against me and fiercely pulling my cock out only to stuff it back in.

His soft penis was still oozing nonstop, the viscous fluid dripping down to form a puddle where we joined. I bit his shoulder, asking in a low voice why he came so fast.

Was it so exciting being plugged during class?
Or did getting your little mouth licked down there feel that good?

Of course he wouldn't answer me, his only responses ever being his cries, pants and moans. Ike was very light, easily lifting and sitting him on the desk to spread his legs open and drive back in without any effort. I continued rocking my hips, stretching open his flesh cavern to feel the tamed soft walls eagerly embrace my cock. This position let me watch his expression writhe in bliss as I entered him inch by inch, and made him look down to see his own swollen nipples and the sticky place we were connected.

（5）
The first time I stayed over was after we had just finished at his place, lying panting on the carpet with my cock still inside him.

His phone alerted an impending blizzard in an hour, which he also saw. Ike hesitated as he looked outside at the gloomy sky, eventually softening and letting me stay.

My meat instantly hardened again in excitement, flipping him over to press him under me completely, rolling my hips to leisurely grind his soft, hot passage. The overflowing cum was churned back in, mixing into a filthy froth.

We practically did it all over his home that day. I had him on his front half draped over the sofa, rear end on the floor kneeling so I could stand and hold his hips to thrust in; or had him kneel on all fours on the dining table, funneling drinks from the fridge into his ass then pressing on his abdomen to push it out, watching as he teared up on the verge of losing control; or I sat on the toilet seat as he straddled me completely splayed open, writhing in frustration yet only able to shallowly work his hips to take in my cock.

The most intense was when we showered to clean up but went at it again. I pressed him against the glass wall, watching his nipples stiffen from the chill. His ass was already fucked open and needed no lube, yet I still gouged out some shower gel and stuffed it in anyway. I used my swollen girth to sharply spank his butt cheeks, the slapping sounds continuing until he twisted his hips to actively swallow down my cock. Just a few strokes in and Ike was wailing uncontrollably, I knew he felt amazing because his passage was full of cum, shower gel and water that he almost couldn't control squeezing out from the seams, thick and obscene. Ike tiptoed as I penetrated him deeply, his sweet spot battered by my huge head. He couldn't stand any longer and I had to grab and fuck him up. I saw his erection couldn't shoot anything out anymore, so I intentionally pumped in and out until his tender flesh was nearly pulled inside out.

I told him, Professor, I saw you in this same position at the bar bathroom that time.

As I gasped and came, his cock also leaked - pitiful spurts of pale yellow slightly fishy liquid were squeezed out.

I had fucked Ike until he pissed himself.

After fooling around we lay on the couch, I randomly put on a movie for background noise. Ike had no energy left to tidy up, so after kissing him and ruffling his soft hair I went to the kitchen to make some food.

Speaking of which, except for being a professor my teacher didn't act the part at all - except that he did behave gently and steady in front of others. He couldn't cook or take care of himself, had no common sense except for being obsessively neat; cried more than anyone; looked like a student being so soft and fair; and had a super slutty body completely unlike a teacher...

I didn't think any further. Finding the pitiful ingredients in the fridge I obediently started cooking.

When I brought ramen out to the living room he had changed into a blue set of pajamas, his face clean and innocent. Other than seeming a bit tired, he looked nothing like someone who had nearly blacked out from oxygen deprivation while being fucked.

Seeing me, Ike grudgingly made a little space for me on the couch. I snuggled in and he naturally leaned against me, his brown and blue locks gently tickling my neck.

We didn't talk, just quietly ate our noodles together. With the overcast sky and no lights on, the shifting colors on the TV screen were the only illumination. He watched the random movie I'd put on attentively while I felt his warm breath on my shoulder slowly rising and falling.

...

（6）
I don't know which part of the movie it was, probably some sad scene. In any case, Ike started sniffling softly. As I said, this guy really does cry easily, especially when getting fucked or watching cheesy emotional plots.

Ike noticed my staring, only at times like this would he not give me the cold shoulder but instead shyly hide his face, jabbing my arm signaling me to not look at him.

I smiled and averted my eyes.

I knew Ike had always been like this. Both gentle and icy, easily embarrassed in some ways yet very...open in others. Later I found out his personality had some psychological reasons, but after being with me more he rarely looked for others. I knew I wasn't anything special to him, but I guessed he had a bit of a soft spot for me compared to other bedmates, probably since I was his student.

Actually in the very beginning, I had talked to him about this. He candidly said he just had this kind of body, and if I couldn't accept it then I should stop looking for him.

I said I understood. He stared at me for a bit then laughed, saying of course, after all the second time you saw me I was fooling around with someone in the bathroom.

Actually that was the third time we met, I silently retorted in my head.

In fact I knew his messy life wasn't entirely due to that one time at the bar. Or rather, looking at his cold yet weary expression after the bathroom sex, I was suddenly reminded of the first time I saw him at the school bathroom, how he had that same exhausted and distant aura.

...Best not think too hard about it.

Why dwell on this? My thoughts drifted back and I realized I had spaced out staring out the window for a long time.

The forecasted blizzard had long arrived, howling loudly. Things were good as they were now, even better if it lasted a while longer.