Work Text:
"Hey, Mr. Berkman!"
The sound of his name in the empty hallway startles Roger so much, he drops his keys.
It was nearly half past five by the clock on the wall when he finished grading his quizzes. Ten minutes to tidy up and another ten to collect his things and fiddle with the old lock on the even older classroom door. Anyone with a drop of enthusiasm in them would have been gone the second the final bell rang. But Roger has no social life or family obligations to rush home to. And apparently neither does his companion, because when he spins around, there she is, brandishing that same cheerful smile he sees every day of the week. "Tanya!" He grins back. "Did you stay to help clean the classroom again? Or are you just here to watch me win my daily boxing match with the door?"
Courteous as always, Tanya bends to pick his keyring off the floor, handing it back with a tilt of her head to the side. "You mean you haven't won the championship title yet?" She teases.
"Are you kidding? I think the field hockey team has a better chance of winning a single game this season. But who knows, maybe some rich philanthropist will donate to the 'Make Roger Berkman's Life Easier' fund. At the very least, the History wing could use a fresh coat of paint, maybe a few motivational kitten posters."
"Pawlexander the Great?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of George Meowshington Clawver." Her heart-shaped earrings jingle when she giggles, and Roger finds his smile growing wider. "But what are you still doing here, kiddo? Bright spring day, shouldn't you be out with your friends?"
"I had Art Club after school," Tanya replies. "Mrs. Schumacher said I could stay a little late and work on a few things for class next week."
Ah, Art Club. The extracurricular activity most likely to get him stuffed into a locker back in '85. "I get it," he chuckles. "You're elbow-deep in a clay sculpture of your favorite teacher, right?"
Whatever the answer, Tanya seems to blush, though Roger tells himself it's merely a trick of the warm white lights on her tawny cheeks. "N-No. I mean—" She stumbles, smile quivering, and twists the end of one high-set pigtail around her finger. "Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Berkman?"
A thick lump congeals in Roger's throat, and without thinking he tugs at his own ponytail, hanging in a cascade over his left shoulder. "Shoot."
"I'm not doing so well in class. My sketches are too stiff, and my anatomy is crap compared to the other students. I signed up for it 'cause it sounded like fun, and I wanna get better at my RPG drawings, but now my mom says if I get anything below a B-minus she won't let me go to senior prom."
B-minus? Hell, he would've been happy if his son had pulled straight Cs at Tanya's age. "That's a lot of pressure to deal with when you've already got SATs and college applications to worry about."
"I know, right? My mom's obsessed with the idea of me following in her footsteps so I can work twelve-hour night shifts as an ER nurse. She hates the fact that I wanna go to college to write fantasy novels."
"Well if you ask me, I'm glad you want to major in creative writing," Roger smiles. "I'm dying to be the first in line to buy your book."
Tanya beams brighter than the sun. "Really? But I haven't even told you what it's about yet."
Maybe not, but he's seen the doodles in her test margins—sharp-toothed beasts and horned sorcerers, knights with their swords raised to fend off the dreaded marks of a red pen. Roger is no critic, but if it were up to him, he'd dedicate an entire gallery to the works of Tanya Martinez, Artist Extraordinaire. "Whatever it's about, I'll be here to support you. And if you need a review for the school paper, I'll write one so good, you'll shoot straight to the top of the bestseller's list. Just say the word, and I'll help any way I can."
The light reflecting off of Tanya's face grows dim, the cheerfulness in her voice turns to a stutter. "Actually—I—now that you mention it—" She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, and gives him a pleading look. "Would you help me out with something?"
"Sure thing, kiddo," Roger says. "Do you need writing tips?"
"I need a model."
His brow creases in confusion. "A…model?"
"Yeah," Tanya answers. "For my drawings. I have a sketchbook assignment due Monday and I need to practice. I think you'd be perfect for it."
Perfect? Roger's cheeks haven't felt this hot since the day he met his ex-wife. "You mean model, like the kind that stands in the middle of a room while people paint them?"
"It'd only be for, like, twenty minutes," she explains. "I'll just do a few quick sketches. You won't even have to hold still that long."
He scratches the tuft of fur on his chin. "I dunno…" He'd be lying if he said the thought of someone sizing him up like a frog on a dissection tray doesn't twist his nerves into the world's largest knot.
"Please, Mr. Berkman." She flashes her gray eyes at him sweetly, and Roger has no option but to crack.
"Alright," he grins sheepishly. "Anything for one of my top ten favorite students."
Tanya wrinkles her nose. "One of?"
"Yeah, one through ten." Chuckling, he turns to jiggle his keys in the lock, pleased when it surrenders with a sharp click. "After you, kiddo," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. "Just don't make me look like a Picasso painting. I like my eyes right where they are, thank you."
He smiles over at Tanya as they walk off together, and swears he sees her blushing again.
By the time they make the climb to the third floor, Roger's tired old legs are begging for the kind of comfort only a shitty desk chair can provide.
They have chaise lounges in these studios, right? Sure, the Art department is way underfunded, and he's no beautiful woman looking to be drawn like someone's French girl, but he can't help feeling a little disappointed when he steps through the double doors to find a heart-wrenching lack of finely-upholstered furniture. But, hey, he's got tables. Lots and lots of tables.
They stretch for miles across the left half of the room, leaving enough space for students to slip by as they grab their aprons and brushes and file into their seats. Late afternoon sunlight shines through windows three times as large as the ones in his class, rendering the overhead fluorescents practically obsolete. The remaining walls are plastered with charcoal and pastel drawings—flowers here, faces there. A stained utility sink shares its living space with several rows of well-stocked shelves, and a human skeleton made of twisted newspaper leans against a central column, presiding over it all.
Finally, just off to the right, is a wide, circular arrangement of easels, situated around a square platform about six inches or so from the ground. His stage, he assumes. Though the simplicity of it doesn't tame the waves currently kicking up a storm in his stomach.
"This is where you want me to stand?" He asks, pointing at the platform.
Tanya smiles and nods her head. "Yep. You're the center of the universe."
Well, when you put it that way… Roger hopes she's brought a red pencil with her, to capture the blush on his cheeks. "OK, then. I think I can live with that." What he can't live with, however, is the thought of the school custodian strolling past the room to catch him flailing like a clumsy cherub on a chapel ceiling. "Would you mind shutting the door? It'd make me feel more comfortable if we kept this just between the two of us."
"Sure thing." She pivots on her heels and closes the creaking doors, Roger watching with a twinge of excitement as she turns the lock and gives the handles a tug before spinning around to face him. "All set," she says.
Here, away from the dull lights of the basement hall, Tanya seems to shine like dew on a blade of grass, fresh and vibrant, and bursting with life. She's a painted canvas, a mural in the sun. A masterpiece in her pink tee and matching pleated skirt, the red heart choker that gleams around her slender neck a fine complement to those pale eyes that bear the same gray color as his own.
They smile at each other for what feels like ages, before Roger sweeps a strand of blonde hair behind his ear and eagerly asks, "Ready to start?"
With a nod and a cute "Mmm-hmm," she prances over to one of the tables and returns with a large, weathered sketchpad, flipping to the page that will memorialize his form for generations to come. Or until she realizes how silly he looks, and throws it in the trash. Either way, Roger is flattered.
"Alright," Tanya says, setting up on one of the easels, then quickly rifling through her backpack for a pencil case. "We'll do ten poses, two minutes each. Sound good?"
He drops his bag by the door, tugs on the cuffs of his sleeves to straighten them on his forearms. "Any pose I want?"
"Any one you want."
"Good, because I'm a few years too old for gymnastics. OK, maybe thirty years too old."
She giggles at his stupid joke, and Roger makes his way to the platform.
Let's see…should I be an opera singer? A ballerina? If he tries hard enough, he might be able to lift his leg a few inches without falling on his ass. Or maybe Tanya wants him to fall on his ass—art in motion, right? They say it imitates life, and Roger's life does feel like a kick in the pants sometimes.
OK, then. Opera singer it is.
Pointing one foot towards the edge of the platform, he stretches his arm outwards and angles his head to the sky, as though delivering a grand aria before a captivated crowd. And Tanya must be captivated, because she doesn't speak a word. Not even the scratch of a pencil reaches his ears. Until—
"Um, Mr. Berkman?"
Roger relaxes slowly, and turns his gaze at the soft-spoken question. "Sorry, do you want me to stick my hand out more?"
"I need you to take your clothes off."
She says it without a shred of apprehension, and Roger feels his heart leap into his throat. "What?"
"When you do life drawing, the models are supposed to be nude," Tanya explains. "The clothes get in the way of the action."
The only thing they're getting in the way of now are the beads of sweat attempting to trickle down his spine.
Funny joke, kiddo. You almost got me with that one. They'll be laughing about it any second now, and Roger will be able to swallow without choking on his words. "I—I don't think I can just— expose myself to a student like that."
But the look in her eyes tells him this is no prank. "It's not exposing yourself," she says. "It's for artistic purposes. There's nothing inappropriate about it."
Nothing? He's her teacher, for fuck's sake. "I-I'm sorry, Tanya. I can't."
"It won't be for long, Mr. Berkman. I promise. You said you'd help me, didn't you?" She pouts then, batting her long lashes, and Roger's resolve splinters into pieces.
He casts his frown to the floor. "Give me a minute. Please."
The world falls quiet as he steps off the platform and turns his back to her, the sky outside pale orange, dusk creeping in to urge his hands along. Ten poses, two minutes each. Naked as the day he was born. People have nightmares about showing up to class in their underwear, but Roger's dreams could only hope to be so lucky.
He's going to put his body on display for his favorite student; no one in their right mind would be prepared for something as twisted as this.
He starts slow, untucking his shirt and lifting his trembling fingers to pop each button. It falls from his shoulders almost too willingly, resigned to its fate in a heap on the floor. His belt is unbuckled next, his zipper opened one tooth at a time. He nearly forgets about his shoes until he finds himself tripping to remove his pants, pulse racing faster with each inch of skin revealed, until nothing remains but his briefs.
Swallowing, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband and quickly shoves them to the floor.
The kiss of cool air on his bare flesh sends an unwelcome chill down Roger's spine. His hands shake, his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Stubborn fingers dig into his outer thigh and give it a pinch, hoping he'll wake to the sight of his bedroom ceiling, the comfort of eye crust and the bitter taste of morning breath. But when he blinks, the scenery never changes. If this is purgatory, Roger can't imagine what hell would be like.
He has an idea, though, when he lowers his head and looks himself over.
Tanya is going to see all of this. She'll see his flabby stomach and graying chest hairs. The wrinkles on his thighs and the dry skin on his feet. Most of all, she'll see his sagging balls and flaccid cock, uncircumcised and shrunken in fear.
It's now or never.
Shyly, Roger turns around, resisting the urge to cover himself with his hands. "What—What do you want me to do?"
Tanya's eyes creep over his body from head to toe, cautious, never lingering on one spot for too long. "Um—you can stand on the platform again, and just pick up where you left off."
Easier said than done. His legs fight him every step of the way, his mind trying its best not to focus on how uncomfortably his cock seems to sway at the slightest movement. He gets into place and mimics the opera singer again, happy that he'd picked a pose where he doesn't need to make eye contact.
Off in the distance, he hears Tanya start to sketch.
Seconds tick by like minutes, Roger unable to count past ten. His body feels frozen in place, a living statue. It's a miracle he's able to move at all when Tanya finally speaks:
"OK, change poses now."
The next one finds him turned to the side with his hands behind his back and his chin touching his chest, eyes closed so as not to look at his crotch. It's already beginning to warm, veins pulsing to the scritch of Tanya's pencil.
"Change."
He turns his body to the front now, one knee bent slightly and a hand on his hip, staring at the tables off to his right. His heart is pounding, head full of vivid images. Of Tanya's eyes, of her fingers stroking the paper as if it were living, breathing flesh. Goosebumps prickle his skin, and, stupidly, he chances a look in her direction.
She pauses her sketching every few seconds to peek out from behind the easel, but even the briefest of glances can't hide the shadows in her eyes, the way her lips part like they were meant for things more salacious than smiles. Roger feels a heat coiling in his belly, and swiftly averts his gaze.
How long has he been standing here? Two minutes? Ten? Is Tanya still counting?
No; she's not. She's not even drawing anymore. She's just staring. At him. At his cock. Swelling inappropriately under her attention.
She wets her lips, her voice thick as paste. "Change."
There's no denying he's fully erect now, standing with his hands behind his back again, to resist the temptation of touching himself. Wouldn't that be a spectacle? Roger Berkman, esteemed History teacher, jerking off before a girl he greets in class each morning, who always sits in the front row and raises her hand to answer his questions, who turns in every assignment on time and has never has a grade less than a B-plus.
Whose eyes burn dark as night, clouded with a hunger he can feel in his bones.
"Change."
Roger splays his feet wide and stretches his arms behind his head as though reaching to scratch his shoulder blades. He can't look at her, but he can't stop. He watches her slip behind the easel again and imagines the pencil moving over his body, tracing his neck and tickling his armpits, gliding through the soft fur on his chest before moving to tease circles around his nipples. One stroke, two. A trail that leads below his navel, a crosshatch of bristly pubes. Lines that caress his curves with as much care and detail as her dainty hands would. And, god, what he wouldn't give to be a mound of clay, to feel her mold him into the shape they both want, her fingers sweeping across parts that Roger had long forgotten could hold pleasure.
He looks downwards just in time to watch a fat bead of precome drip from the tip of his cock onto the floor, and his eyes widen in terror.
"I-I'm sorry," he says, stumbling off of the platform. "I can't do this anymore."
Hands burning with shame, he snatches up his shirt and hurries away, the panicked thud of footsteps close behind.
"Mr. Berkman—wait—"
A sharp tug on the fabric sends Roger reeling to face her, but before he can open his mouth to speak, Tanya pushes herself onto her tiptoes and kisses him hard, one hand cradling the back of his head so he can't escape.
The dream turns to sweet reality in less than a heartbeat.
Without hesitation, he lets his eyes fall shut and parts his lips for her tongue—soft, warm, gentle as he's always known her to be. Claiming his mouth as though it had never belonged to him in the first place. The shirt slips from his grasp and falls softly to the floor, forgotten in their dance, insignificant compared to the way Roger's body melts within her embrace. His palm settles on her waist, his conscience telling him that he shouldn't—he can't—You'll lose your job, you'll lose everything. Everything but Tanya, her fingers laced with his as if to say she'll stand by his side no matter what.
He squeezes tight, and murmurs his devotion against her lips.
It feels like the first time all over again. Like timid pecks on the playground, awkward makeout sessions after the school dance. Roger's heart thundering in his ears for a girl who will surely break it. Tanya is kissing him so tenderly, it hurts; she's stroking his cheek with such care and admiration, he doesn't notice her fingers sliding out from between his own until he feels their delicate tips press against the length of his cock, a sensation enticing and terrifying all at once.
He puts a stop to it with a firm grip on her wrist. "Tanya—" He gasps. "We shouldn't be doing this. I'm your teacher."
Stubborn, Tanya presses her hips forward. "So?"
"What if someone catches us?"
"The door's locked."
"Tanya…"
"Please, Mr. Berkman," she begs, in that convincingly sweet tone. "I've wanted this for so long. Please tell me you feel the same."
An all-too familiar loneliness throbs inside Roger's chest, a desperate need for comfort, to embrace what he'd lost so long ago. The divorce was hard, the twelve years estranged from his son an ongoing nightmare. Days turned to nights, months passed like eons. Always trying to tell himself that he's alright, that he doesn't yearn to wake next to someone whose smile shines a light on his heart, whose laughter warms his existence, and whose kindness soothes even the sharpest of pains. Someone who cares for him like no one else. Someone who fills him with joy whenever he hears her say:
"Good morning, Mr. Berkman."
With eyes as bright and beautiful as her words.
He gazes into them now, and softly asks, "It doesn't bother you? That I'm old enough to be your father?"
Tanya reaches to sweep a strand of hair behind his ear. "You're gorgeous. Why do you think I asked you to model for me?"
"Not a lot of people would say the same."
"I would," she sighs, thumbing the wrinkles on his cheek. "I love everything about you."
Her eyes shimmer like stars, and as he stares at his reflection within them, Roger finally finds the courage to free what had long been trapped inside his heart. "Tanya…I love you, too."
He pulls her closer and kisses her again.
They slip effortlessly into each other's arms, breathing, beating, bleeding their want together. Tanya's hands caress his face, her tongue makes sweet love to his mouth. His hands roam her body with an air of innocence at first, from the small of her back to the space between her shoulders and down again, eager to explore, to capture this moment in his memory forever. But with each nip, each flick of her tongue across his lips, they grow hungry, until he's groping her cheeks through her skirt and sliding his fingers under her t-shirt, to fumble with the clasp of her bra. It snaps open after a few impatient tugs, and Roger doesn't waste a second getting a hand on one of her breasts, firm and deliciously pliant. Tanya moans.
Her nipple is already hard, ready to cut his palm like glass. Roger teases it with the pad of his thumb, gives it a little pinch. Feels his mouth water as he imagines how scrumptious it will taste once he draws it between his lips, licking her until she squirms. Turning her cunt into a river. Begging him to touch it.
Slowly, he slides his hand downwards and drags it back up along her thigh, under her skirt, where he traces the waistband of her panties with his fingertips. A little push is all it takes, and soon he's dipping inside them, tempted by smooth skin, and a heat that seeps into his core the instant he brushes her clit.
This time, Tanya is the one to catch his wrist.
He yanks his hand out, drawing back. "I'm sorry," he says. "I got carried away."
But Tanya only smiles, her cheeks flushed and her voice tantalizingly coy. "It's OK, Mr. Berkman. I just wanna take my time and taste you first."
Roger blushes. "I—"
The rest is lost in the warmth of her kiss.
Now, his hands know exactly where to go, holding her loosely, so she can touch, taste, explore wherever she wants. Moist kisses on his lips, little pecks along his jaw and flicks of her tongue against his earlobe. A chaste trail that leads below his chin and down the arc of his throat. She's not stupid; she knows they can't stroll into class tomorrow covered in each other's marks. Roger knows it, too, but that doesn't erase the thrill he feels when he pictures himself standing at the front of the room, all eyes focused on his casually unbuttoned collar.
"Are those hickeys?" "Did Berkman get laid last night?" "Who the hell is kissing him?" "Who would want to fuck that old fart?"
Roger smirks at their stunned voices, drops his head back further as soft lips press into his Adam's apple.
"Mmm, Tanya," he purrs. "That feels nice. I like it there."
He cradles the back of her head and gently strokes it, encouraging more kisses, more licks, the point of her tongue dragging down to his collarbones and off to one side, where she folds her lips around a patch of skin and begins sucking. Roger moans deep in his throat.
This is perfect; this is bliss. He'll go home tonight and strip down before his bathroom mirror, run his fingers from one darkened spot to the next. Crawl into bed and pleasure himself while the memories are fresh in his mind, and his thoughts linger on what more they could do to each other. One of Tanya's hands has made its way to his chest now, stroking his graying curls as it strolls down a path to his nipple. Teasingly, she traces a fingertip around it, before flicking it with the pad of her thumb.
"Fuck—don't stop. God, I love when you touch me."
He hears a soft murmur, and then Tanya is rubbing gently, playing with the tiny nub until it's harder than it's ever been. He's always enjoyed being teased like this, forever surprised at how sensitive they are. His cock must be dripping all over, by the way it seems to twitch with every brush of her fingers. Hoping to spare her the damp spot, he takes a step backwards, and Tanya quickly fills the space between them with hot, open-mouthed kisses that creep lower, until she's nuzzling the fur between his pecs with the tip of her nose.
Please, he begs, feeling his cock ache. Let this be where she's headed.
But her lips take a sharp turn, and the second she curls her tongue around his nipple, Roger's back arches in a spark of electricity.
Her kiss has never felt so soft, her mouth so wonderfully hot. With a quiet hum, Tanya suckles lightly, determined to make it throb, unbothered by the hair that coils around it. Roger can't remember the last time he's shivered like this, as though caught in a storm with nothing on but his underwear, and even those are gone now. But how can he complain when Tanya is taking his cock in hand, stroking him more lovingly than all the others ever could.
Trapped between her lips and fingers, all Roger can do is groan.
"Fuck…Tanya—please—"
The words tangle in his throat, but the message is loud and clear: I'm greedy. I'm desperate. I need all of you and more.
Please, drink me to the last drop.
Tanya releases his nipple with a smack of her lips, the cool air making it even harder, desire turning his goosebumps to a minefield. He presses his palm against her head—a plea, a suggestion—and slowly, she begins to sink downwards, until she's on her knees, staring up at him with eyes as dark and lustful as before.
They never break contact. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft, Tanya parts her plump lips and leans in, until the bottom grazes his leaking tip.
"You're big."
Roger can barely catch his breath through the ripples in his cock. "So I've been told." He's never been with a woman who could take his full seven-plus inches in her mouth. He's never been boastful about it, either, but looking into Tanya's awe-struck eyes, he can't help but smirk. "Are you surprised?"
She smiles then, and kisses the ridge of his foreskin seductively. Roger gasps.
"How long have you wanted this?" He asks, mesmerized by the way her lips move. "Tell me."
"I thought about it a lot," Tanya answers, her sentences punctuated by damp kisses. "When I was in bed. Whenever I took a shower. While touching myself."
The shamelessness of it has his cock twitching. "Yeah? What else did you think about?"
"I'd sit in class sometimes and daydream about sucking you off under your desk after school. I wanted to go home with the taste of your cock in my mouth."
He swallows. "How does it taste now?"
Tanya flashes another smile, and drags her tongue across his head.
There are no walls in existence thick enough to stifle Roger's moan. He's soldiered his way through hell; now, he's found himself standing at the gates of heaven.
His eyelids flutter as Tanya lavishes his cock with long licks and toe-curling kisses, from the tip down the length of his shaft, lips tracing his veins without the need for paper and pencil. Her tongue glides like a brush through paint, over a canvas of flesh, a work of art too breathtaking for Roger to blink. Globs of precome ooze from his slit, but she laps them up with fervor—hungry as she is, eager to raise her hand and answer his call for pleasure. If only he could speak more than just her name.
"Tanya…Tanya."
Tanya peels his foreskin back to take him into her mouth—one inch, two, four. By the time her lips meet her fist, all Roger can think of is how badly he wants to come. Inside her. If she'll let him.
He feels her gag, and strokes the back of her head to soothe her.
"Careful—don't push yourself." The last thing he wants is for her to get hurt. Not now, not ever. He'll make sure she enjoys every second of this. And when the time comes to fuck her, he'll tease and finger and lick her virgin cunt so all she'll feel is delight. He doesn't care if they end up getting locked inside until the morning bell.
He's not as young as he used to be, but he's got a few rounds in him.
He moans again as she swirls her tongue in circles, everything hot, throbbing, aching with desire. She sucks him almost too skillfully, tightening her lips and lapping at the underside. Reaching between his legs to fondle his balls, as if she knows just how he likes it. One delicate finger slips behind them to stroke his taint—farther, farther, until it brushes up against his furl, the lightest tease enough to draw a sharp gasp from Roger's lips.
"Where did you learn how to do that?"
His rim flutters in disappointment as she pulls back and gazes up at him shyly. "I…I've been with other boys before," she says. "Just two. They told me they liked it like this."
A lump forms in Roger's throat, a tinge of jealousy. "Did you have sex with them?"
Tanya looks away, and quietly answers. "I'm sorry."
But Roger is the one who's sorry. For asking. For making her feel ashamed of herself. As if it's any of his business. God knows he's fucked a lot more than two people, and that doesn't seem to bother her.
Gently, he slips two fingers under her jaw and lifts her head so she can see him smile. "Don't apologize," he says. "I'm not upset. It just means I need to do it better."
Tanya smiles back, sweet and innocent as the girl he loves so much. "I want you to make me yours, Mr. Berkman," she blushes. "I never want to be with anyone else."
He runs his tongue across his lips. "Stand up and go bend over one of the tables. I'll take care of the rest."
She moves quickly, springing up and over to the nearest table, where she folds her arms beneath her head and stands with her legs shoulder-width apart, her ass pointed towards him in a tempting display. And if Roger didn't possess the patience and restraint befitting a teacher, he might have rushed over just as fast, torn her panties off and stuffed her full of his cock before either of them could gasp.
No, not yet, he reminds himself. He's going to milk this night for all its worth.
He crosses the floor at a leisurely pace, past the tall windows with their indigo skies, through the ring of easels, and up to where Tanya is, lying in wait with her back arched. Her cute pigtails pool on either side of her head, and Roger reaches to curl one around his index finger, like he'd sometimes catch her doing during tests, as though contemplating a particularly tough question.
He feels his hand tremble, and leans down to press a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Are you nervous?"
"No," Tanya answers. "Are you?"
"A little." About destroying his career. About fucking a teenager. About the fact that he hasn't done this in what must be years, too old for dating by his own standards. It's funny how lust works sometimes, building up and breaking down a person in the blink of an eye. "It…doesn't feel real," he says. "You were in my class just this morning, and I was giving a lecture on the Roman Empire."
Tanya giggles and shifts beneath him. "It was a good lecture."
"Do you think—" Roger swallows, grazing her hairline with quivering lips. "Can things be the same between us? After this?"
He hears her sigh. "Can't they be better?"
"I don't want to lose your smile. I want us to be able to talk without it feeling awkward. I worry—"
"Don't," Tanya says, in a commanding tone. "I'm always gonna smile for you. And I'll always laugh at your dad jokes. No matter how corny they are."
Roger chuckles, and places another kiss on her neck. "I won't forget that, you know."
"I won't let you forget."
He swears he can see her smile even with his head bowed.
His kisses grow heated as his fingers start to crawl the length of her spine, skipping stones down to the band of her skirt and farther still. Tanya whimpers, pushing her hips back, and Roger slips his hand under the pleats, two fingers coming to rest against her clothed cunt.
"Tanya—" He groans. "You're soaked." He can feel it leaking through her panties as he strokes her, damp from her slit down to where her clit hides beneath the cotton. "You want this old man that bad?"
Tanya gives a tiny moan. "You always make me wet."
"Even when you're in class?"
"Especially when I'm in class."
If his heart were a few years older, they might be calling an ambulance right now. Roger Berkman, age fifty-two; cause of death: his student's dirty mouth. He'll be lucky if his cock can make it past foreplay at this rate.
He rubs faster, feeling her juices sink through his flesh. It would be so easy to push her panties aside, slip his fingers in. Use her come to jerk off into his hand and spare Tanya the shame of riding the bus home with a sticky crotch. Or he could pump her full and let his tongue handle the rest.
He needs to get these panties off. Now.
With one last stroke, he settles onto his knees behind her and pushes the skirt up high around her waist.
Of course they would be pink; Roger doesn't know why he'd expect otherwise. They're cute, too, with white, horizontal stripes that end in a lacy trim. Cut in a way that offers a peek of her firm, smooth cheeks. She's a perfect peach, and he can't wait to sink his teeth in.
She's also drenched to the very fibers. He'd felt it earlier, had pictured the sight in his mind, turned it over on his tongue. But now, kneeling face-to-face with her cunt, he can smell her arousal like perfume, flooding his nostrils until his mouth waters and his stomach growls in anticipation.
He digs his fingers under the elastic and carefully peels them down.
Tanya's legs tremble as she steps out to allow Roger to toss the pair aside, her voice every bit as shaky when she says, "I—I shaved for you. Do you like it?"
Like? Roger's eyes can only go so wide.
"Fuck, Tanya—" He murmurs, stroking her inner thigh. "You're gorgeous." He's never seen something that could make his breath hitch and his tongue tingle at the same time—plush and juicy, and without a hair in sight. His eyes devour every inch twice over, as if it were a three-star meal and he hasn't eaten in weeks. There are her silken lips, glistening under the lights. Her tiny clit peeking out from beneath its hood. Her cute pucker drawing his thumb closer, just for the pleasure of feeling it twitch.
She purrs at the contact, and Roger slips his hand between her legs, to feel how soft she is without her panties.
If he thought her pussy looked good, then this is paradise.
His fingers glide through creamy wetness, over delicate folds and along satin-smooth lips, Tanya blooming like a flower under his touch. He dips two inside, spreads the juices around her clit. Pulls back to find her clinging to their tips by a slim, delicious thread.
He can't suck them clean fast enough.
She's like this because of me, he thinks, mouthing kisses along her cheeks while his fingertips dance and play. These are my fingers that she dreams of when she's teasing her cunt. It's my cock she wants inside her. My name she cries out when she comes.
"Mr. Berkman—"
Thumbs slipping into her crease, Roger dives down and drags the flat of his tongue from her clit all the way to her pretty little pucker.
The cry that Tanya gives is pure ecstasy.
He does it again and again—gentle licks, hungry licks. Kisses pressed to her clit and tongue tickling her lips apart. She tastes sour and sweet, decadent as caramel on cake and the icing inside his favorite flavor macaron. He wants to drink it all, to scrape her flavor from the backs of his teeth and breathe her scent on every exhale. He wants her in his lungs, on his skin, running through his mind at every waking hour, so he never has to be alone again.
He'd sooner die than live without her.
He shoves in deeper, wriggles his face back and forth. Laps at her cunt from top to bottom while sweet juices cling to his chin. He's been told on occasion how his stiff bristles can be…less than pleasant against such sensitive skin. But Tanya doesn't seem to mind, rocking against him as she moans:
"Mmm…right there. Feels so good when you stick your tongue in me."
Is this another of her fantasies? Does she dream of sitting on top of his desk after school, legs spread while he licks and fingers her until she's gushing like a waterfall? He might just be crazy enough to let it happen, so he can sit back and watch her cute button twitch, press his thumb to it as she shudders through yet another orgasm. He wants too many things he can't have, his desire simmering, building up so slowly he never noticed until he had her within reach of his lips.
He pulls her open with his thumbs and flicks his tongue around her clit, and Tanya all but wails.
"Mr. Berkman—ah—fuck me."
His ears have never heard such sweet music.
Wiping the mess from his chin, Roger pulls himself up and stands back to admire his work. It doesn't seem possible, but Tanya's lips are more stunning than ever, swollen and parted to welcome him home. He can't resist teasing them a little, stroking her slit with his tip before pushing forward and splitting her open in one long slide that sucks the air clean out of his lungs.
"Tanya…" He wiggles his hips. "You feel amazing." She's hot, slick, tighter than he hoped she'd be. Descriptions that escape his mind as his cock aches to give them both what they so desperately want.
He'll make her dream come true; he'll fuck her better than any of those boys can.
He starts at a leisurely pace, slow and steady, savoring every inch. Reveling in the sight of her stretched around him, how flushed and wet his cock has become. Tanya moans.
"Ah—mmm…so good…"
But, oh, she's so bad— clenching her cunt and grinding her ass against his pubes, meeting him thrust for heavenly thrust. Roger can't help but love it, as much as he longs to last, to pass the night buried inside her, still unsure of what will greet him come morning. This could be his only chance; if he's going out, it might as well be with a bang.
He eases back until just the head of his cock remains, and all at once, Tanya tries to suck the rest of him inside, crying, fighting to move her hips despite Roger's firm hold.
"You want this?" He asks, throat like sandpaper. "Beg for it."
She whimpers shamelessly. "P-Please, Mr. Berkman. Don't stop."
"You like how I fuck your pussy?"
"Yeah."
"Want me to make you come?"
"I want it," Tanya pleads. "I want it so bad."
"Good."
With that, he slams forward, their bodies connecting so hard, the table screeches from the impact. Tanya squeals.
Has he ever been this filthy before? He asks himself as he begins to rock into her again. A fiftysomething man fucking eighteen-year-old pussy—the idea is scandalous even without him being her teacher. But every thrust kicks up more outrageous ideas in his head, more words that push at his lips until he has to bite his tongue to keep them from breaking free. Eating her cunt in the stairwell. Railing her in a bathroom stall. Having her drink his come in the faculty lounge while the morning coffee is still brewing. Just looking at her now—eyes screwed shut and face twisted in pleasure—is enough to bring his conscience to its knees.
"Fuck, you're so good for me," he sighs. "Bet I could pin you up against your locker and you wouldn't complain."
Tanya moans again, stuttering as she's knocked into the table by another sharp thrust. "Mmm…Mr. Berkman. Love you. Love your big cock."
"Such a dirty mouth. Maybe I should make you stay after class, suck me off under my desk while I grade tests. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Faster, slower, lazy slides peppered with piercing stabs. Tanya's gasps and Roger's hands dug into her flesh, his lips bone-dry.
"I've got a better idea. I'll call you up to the front of the room during one of my lessons, have you sit in my chair and spread your legs, and let the entire class watch while I finger your cunt until it squirts. Tanya—fuck—you make me want to do things I've never done with anyone else.
"Turn around," he commands. "I want to see your pretty face."
This time, Roger pulls out completely, and steps back to give them both a moment to breathe. It's astounding that he's managed to last this long, or that Tanya can even stand, given his best attempts to turn her legs into jelly. They shake still, but she powers through, turning so her ass is pressed to the edge of the table, her skirt having fallen back into place. She doesn't need to worry; Roger will fix that soon.
Feverishly, he gets his hands under her cheeks and heaves her up onto the table. Tanya doesn't need any further instruction to open her legs for him, and with a quick rub, he's pushing inside again, one sweaty hand braced on the surface for leverage. Their lips meet in fervent kisses, Tanya's arms tug him closer. Roger presses a palm to her back and begins thrusting with such passion, even the table legs groan along with him.
He's slipping, tumbling to the edge. Here in this room, with Tanya in his arms and her cunt wrapped around his cock. Everything as it should be. From now until what he prays is forever.
Panting, Roger buries his face in her neck. "Tanya—I'm almost there. I can make a mess on your clothes, or—" He licks his parched lips. "I can make a mess inside your pussy."
"Please—" Tanya gasps as she arches against him. "Come in my pussy. Promise me you won't stop."
"I promise," Roger tells her. "I won't ever stop."
He kisses her again, then gently lays her down on the table, pushing one of her knees back so he can bury himself as deep as he desires. The pad of his thumb finds her clit, and Roger rubs it in quick circles, faster and faster with every thrust. He wants to hear his name, cute whimpers of "Please, Mr. Berkman, pound my cunt. Fill me with your come. Fuck me until I can't speak." She's already reached that last part, unable to do anything but moan while he hits her sweet spot over and over.
"How's that, Tanya?" His voice breaks as his pace increases. "Want me to go deeper? Wreck your tight little cunt with my cock?"
Her glazed eyes flutter shut; her lips part in a gorgeous O. Trembling, she pushes up her shirt and bra, and kneads her perfect breasts, scissoring tiny brown nipples between her fingers. Roger feels his cock start to twitch.
"God, you're so beautiful," he says. "Can't wait to feel you come. Can't wait to get you in my bed and make love to you for hours. Oh, Tanya…"
One sharp thrust becomes another, ten, twenty. Knocking the words from Tanya's throat.
"Mr. Berkman—faster—more—"
Roger is grunting like an animal at this point, ponytail bouncing over his shoulder, balls slapping against Tanya's ass while her body shakes and her earrings jingle their cute, familiar tune, echoing among gasps and creaks and long, lovely moans.
"That's it," he growls. "Show me how much you love it. How you love being fucked by your favorite teacher."
"Ah— Mr. Berkman—" Tanya gasps. "I wanna—I'm gonna—"
She doesn't have the chance to finish before her back arches off the table and she comes with a mewling cry, hands tight on her breasts as they heave beneath every labored breath. And Roger is gone, so blinded by her beauty, the feel of her cunt contracting around him, that he has no choice but to surrender.
"Fuck—Tanya—your pussy—I can't—"
The orgasm crests in waves throughout his entire body, from the tips of his fingers to his toes, the pounding in his chest and the stars that burst like fireworks behind his eyelids. The heart that beats just for her. Never to be the same again.
He bites his lip as his thrusts stutter to a stop.
I…I came inside my student's pussy. I fucked her. On school property. But there are no judgments that scare him as much as the one that comes next.
I love her. I always have.
Boneless, he slumps forward, catching himself just before his body can come crashing down on top of her. He's already fallen enough tonight; why should they both feel the pain?
This is a dream. It's nothing more than a fantasy. To love someone who wants to love him back. To hold them in his arms without fear of losing. It can't be real; fate would never show him so much favor.
And yet, the hands on his face are warm and soft, the voice too gentle to be an illusion. "Are you OK, Mr. Berkman?"
Braced for heartbreak, Roger cracks his eyes open. And there, lying under him, is no one but Tanya, a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes as brilliant as the stars above. He blinks slowly. "Tanya…"
Without warning, Tanya throws her arms around his neck and pulls, hugging herself so tight to his chest, Roger can't help but feel treasured.
"Tanya—" He laughs, one hand sliding to her back to keep them both afloat. "You're gonna squeeze all the air out of me."
Tanya giggles and hugs him even tighter. "I'm sorry, Mr. Berkman," she says. "But now that I found my muse, I'm never letting go."
Their hearts beat gently against one another, and, sighing, Roger presses his lips to her ear. "Me neither," he whispers. "I promise."
"It's still kinda stiff, isn't it?"
"No, it's good," Roger says. "I was just…expecting a little more detail." His eyes trail over the smooth triangle where his penis should be, and if he hadn't spent the past hour using it to its fullest potential, he might have doubted it existed in the first place. Though she sure managed to nail his love-handles down.
"It's a gesture drawing," explains Tanya, clearly the expert of the two. "They tend not to be too detailed. But I can go back and add stuff to it later."
Roger doesn't know what "stuff" she has in mind, but given the choice between his face and his cock, he'll happily instruct her where each vein and pubic hair should go. "Just make sure you do it in your own room. And please don't submit it for the Senior Art Show. No one needs to find out which of my balls hangs lower." It's the left; but he's sure she's figured that out by now.
Tanya giggles and tears the sheet of paper from its pad, folding it up to carefully slip into her backpack with the rest of her supplies. "I promise it's just for me. Consider it an even trade for my panties."
Does she have to bring that up? It's not like Roger had asked for them, but he didn't complain either when she stuffed the pair inside his pants pocket after they'd cleaned up and gotten dressed.
He can feel it burning against his thigh as he rolls up his shirtsleeves and double checks that everything is tucked and zipped as it had been before their little soirée. It's late, but not by custodian standards. And at least one of them will have to track him down to unlock the doors while the other climbs out an open window. Roger isn't in the mood to test his agility tonight. But a little stiffness isn't going to keep him from getting in a crack or two.
He shoots Tanya a sly grin, making a scene of looking her up and down. "Y'know, you do clean up nicely. I'd love to see what kind of finishing touches you could add to my figure."
She rolls her eyes. "C'mon, Mr. Berkman…"
"Hey, you promised you'd still laugh at my jokes."
"Yeah, the bad ones. Not the awful ones."
The joy of their laughter echoes through the night, the two of them standing in a universe all their own. Blushing, Tanya softly asks, "Remember what you promised?"
Roger's smile slowly slips away, his voice filled with quiet uncertainty. "It'll be hard, you know."
"I know," she says.
"We won't be able to see each other outside of class until after graduation."
"I know."
"And even then, we'll need to keep it a secret."
"I know."
He lowers his gaze, ignoring the pain in his heart as he says, "If you change your mind about me, I'll understand."
Gently, she reaches to stroke his cheek. "I won't."
They stay like that for the longest time, not moving, not speaking, just gazing into each other's gray eyes as if nothing matters but their beauty. With a smile, Roger takes her hand in his and gives it a kiss. "Come on," he says. "I'll drive you home now. Before the bell for homeroom rings."
"Yeah," Tanya smiles, "I think I've gotten enough practice for today. Will you model for me again?"
"Buy me a chai tea and a box of macarons and you've got yourself a deal."
She beams, "Let me frame it and hang it on my wall?"
Roger turns to look at the sketchpad sitting open on the easel, and imagines it full of sharp lines and endless drawings, not black-and-white, but the most brilliant colors the eye can see. There at the tips of her fingers, and beating deep from the bottom of his heart.
Grinning, he puts an arm around her and pulls her to his side. "Now that'll cost you two boxes."