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Tanya isn't two steps into her bedroom before she whips her backpack around and tears out the box containing her shiny new birthday gift—Sir Cums-a-Lot, as Delia had so lovingly named it, though from its flamboyant shade and sleek, handsome design, she wonders if The Pink Prince would have been a more fitting moniker.
"This one here got four out of five Flaming Logs on Sex Talk with Susan Johnson," explained the clerk at Vixen Video & Adult Boutique. "Perfect for beginners, but still powerful enough to go head-to-head against some of the more expensive models." Well, Tanya might be a little inexperienced when it comes to "personal massagers," and she sure as shit can't justify dropping a cool three-hundred on a triple-vibe g-spot stimulator, but she's no stranger to getting her fingers wet, and after strolling wide-eyed through aisles of silicone dicks and ribbed pocket pussies like a kid in a candy-underwear shop, she'd been more than happy to fork over a few bucks of her inheritance for the sake of popping her sex-toy cherry. Her father can't roll over in his grave as long as no one's standing at the tombstone to tell him.
Giddy, she locks the door behind her and heads straight to bed, gently setting the box atop the sheets so she can peek at its cover while she busies herself with stripping off her clothes. Mom left for work hours ago, and the barking dogs in their next-door neighbors' yard should be plenty loud enough to cover the mind-blowing screams she'll be letting out in just a few short minutes.
"You only turn eighteen once," Delia had commented somewhere between the rack of lube and the display of bondage gear. "Why not start adulthood off with a bang?"
Oh, she's going to. One orgasm for every candle on her cake. Plus an extra, for good luck.
Her bra and underwear kicked aside, and her hair pulled from its girlish pigtails, Tanya climbs into bed and lazes against the headboard like a queen on her throne, crowned by the twinkle of fairy lights overhead, and the pink scepter that awaits in the box beside her. She smiles as she drags her fingers across the picture.
Time to see what this prince can do.
It takes a good deal of restraint not to rip the package to shreds, eager as she is to make her pussy squirt. But once the plastic is off, and the top opened to reveal the treasure held inside, all Tanya can do is stare in breathless awe.
It's beautiful.
Six solid inches of velvety-soft pleasure curve against her virgin palms, with smooth skin and subtle veins, and a prominent ridge around the head just like the real thing. This one doesn't have the fancy rabbit ears that she'd seen on some of the other models, but a quick press of the button near its base sends the tip buzzing to life, masterfully quiet for something designed to make a person bite their pillow while the rest of the house is asleep. And Tanya has no intention of walking out of here with a mouth full of down.
Guess the fake dick factory gave it a good charge. She'll make sure to drop a comment on their website—"Hours of fun straight out of the box!" Or "My pussy got such a workout, they had to revoke its gym membership!" After she's taken it for a few spins around the track, of course. Best not go writing checks her clit can't cash.
Shutting the vibrator off, she sweeps the box away and scoots down the length of the bed until she's lying comfortably on her back with her head atop the pillow. Cool sheets meet burning flesh, the air hangs with the sweet scent of desire. Tanya closes her eyes and holds her dear new friend to her chest, slowly dragging its silken tip across her breast and over to one perky nipple. She circles the bud lightly, gives it a delicate tap. Purses her lips together as she listens to the hammering of her heart. Four, three, two—
One.
She hits the power button.
A wave of glorious vibrations streak throughout her body faster than Tanya can gasp, from nipple to clit, fingers to toes, the hair on her arms prickling with excitement. Teeth sunk into her bottom lip, she moves the tip up and down, around and around, until the hill becomes a mountain, and her pussy the stream at the end of the trail. She hasn't even put the thing between her legs yet, and she's already close to gushing. If low-speed feels this good, she can't imagine what kind of eruption one of the higher functions could accomplish.
Plenty of time to find that out. Right now, she's going to enjoy it until her cunt turns into a geyser.
A leisurely trip from one breast to the other follows, the vibrator towing along a trail of goosebumps on its way south. Over her stomach. Below her navel. Resting at the line of her pubes before dipping lower to graze her swollen clit. And if she thought her nipples were in heaven, then this is something straight outside the universe.
Fuck, where has this prince been all her life? The only thing that could make the night better would be a strong, warm body to go along with it. Worshiping her like the royalty she is.
Fortunately, she knows how to fix that.
Closing her eyes, she imagines being pinned beneath a hot, mucular chest, a familiar face smiling above, looking as stunning as he had on this month's cover of K-Pop Paradise. "Hello, beautiful," B-Spyce coos in his buttery-smooth Korean, and Tanya practically melts.
One hand reaches to knead her breast while the vibrator moves in circles, B-Spyce leaning closer, closer. She parts her lips to welcome his kiss, and he whispers:
"Hey, kiddo, have a good birthday?"
Tanya freezes.
Wait. That's not—
Cautiously, she cracks her eyes open. And what she sees makes her heart thunder in shock. "M-Mr. Berkman?"
The smile lines around his lips are pulled taut, the wrinkles on his cheeks creased with admiration. But it's those eyes that strike Tanya the most—silver-gray and shining brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Don't look so surprised," Mr. Berkman says. "Did you think I wasn't going to get you a present?"
No. It's not Mr. Berkman. Or, it's not the same Mr. Berkman who stands at the front of the room during History class and makes her giggle with dumb jokes about the Ottoman Empire.
This Mr. Berkman is completely naked.
Broad shoulders curve like pale hills without the cover of sweaters to hide them, wispy curls blanket the expanse of his chest—graying in odd places, like the threads she'd often glimpsed peeking out from his perpetually-unbuttoned collar. The chin bristles are there, the crow's feet and forehead creases. The long, blonde hair that he keeps captive in a ponytail now flows loose and free, daring—begging her to reach out and touch it, to prove that it's just as soft as it looks.
Swallowing hard, she lifts her trembling hand to brush a silken lock behind his ear, and Mr. Berkman leans into the touch, stubble rough on her wrist as he closes his eyes and nuzzles her open palm. "Mmm…Tanya…" He purrs in a low, seductive voice. "That feels nice."
Please, tell me this is real, Tanya prays, followed by sharp denial: Idiot. Of course it's not real. Mr. Berkman would never sleep with a student; he's too honest, too reputable. Not as immature as the boys in her class, or as aesthetically perfect as the long list of popstars she's gotten off to in the past. He's old enough to be her father. Yet he's the one always at the tips of her fingers, less than a rub away from stealing her thoughts completely.
She runs her tongue over her lips as she feels his mouth beckon.
She shouldn't be doing this. Hadn't she seen him just that afternoon? In the halls. In class. In his empty room after school, as she'd helped him sweep pencil shavings from the floor and clean the day's notes from the chalkboard?
In her bed now, gray eyes watching for her to make a move.
"Make sure you do something nice for yourself," is what he'd said, after finding out it was her birthday.
He can never know just how nice this is.
Blushing, her mouth quirks into a shy smile. "I wanted a pony."
Mr. Berkman flashes his sweet, silly grin. "Sorry, I ran out of wrapping paper."
Then, he leans closer, and Tanya surrenders to the fantasy that had been building up inside her since the day they'd met.
Most girls her age wouldn't dream of masturbating to thoughts of their middle-aged History teacher. But most girls her age have never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Roger Berkman.
His slim lips are soft and warm against her own, fresh as the spring rain, tender as the yearning that makes her breath hitch and her tongue tingle with new sensations. He tastes just like she thought he would, like pistachio macarons and chamomile tea, hot cocoa with the tiny marshmallows that melt in her mouth like ice cream. Tanya weaves her fingers through his hair and kisses him deeper, longer, unwilling to part for a second, should he suddenly drift from her arms back into the depths of what may never be.
If this is all she'll have of him, then let her have it all.
Whimpering, she pulls him down so their bodies are pressed tight, and feels something hot and hard burn against her thigh. Mr. Berkman moans.
He wants me, he needs me, he's dripping for me. Each shift and movement causes more of his slick to spread, cock throbbing like a heartbeat as it aches to claim her. His veins are thicker than the ones on her pink prince, the ridge around his head sheathed with a delicate covering of foreskin. Bushy pubes brush her skin, and his balls—those beautiful balls that Delia had accused her of fawning over—drag back and forth in a tempting dance, inviting Tanya to rut against them, until Mr. Berkman pries himself away to slide onto his side next to her.
"Ah, not too fast—" He gently scolds. "I want to take my time with you."
Oh god, he wants to take his time with her. Tanya's imagination can only run so wild, and right now it's streaking across the field and straight into the next pasture.
She pushes her lips towards him and Mr. Berkman greedily captures them again, kissing her like she's always wanted him to—with passion, with devotion, with hunger in his heart as his hand trails from her jaw down to the curve of her breast, thumb and forefinger coming together to give her nipple a playful tweak. Tanya gasps.
"Mmm…like that?" With a chuckle, he rolls it between his fingers before soothing the pad of his thumb across the center. "Do you play with your nipples a lot?" He asks. "When you think of me?"
Never, she wants to tell him. You're my teacher. A truth; a lie. He's a mentor. He's a friend. He's the one she dreams of kissing in the middle of their conversations, between smiles and jokes and moments of happiness that she carries with her wherever she goes. He's been her everything since she was a Freshman, and he'll stay that way no matter the distance and years between them.
"Please." Her voice rings hoarsely. "More."
Mr. Berkman's lips find the side of her neck and begin mouthing kisses along it, while he squeezes and kneads and pinches to his heart's content. Tanya squirms, and his teeth catch her earlobe.
"Want me to suck them?" He murmurs. "Tease you with the tip of my tongue?"
Fuck, wouldn't that feel nice? Mr. Berkman's tongue flicking all around her nipples. Getting them hard and wet. He could rub them with the tip of his cock, too, squeeze her breasts together and fuck the cleft between them. He can do whatever he wants to her, as long as Tanya can do the same to him.
Smirking, she slides her fingers across his hairy chest, and pinches him right back.
"Ohh," Mr. Berkman groans, low and rumbling. "Such a bad girl. I think I will have a taste later. Make you beg for it first. Or—"
Inch by inch, his hand crawls lower, past her navel and down to the patch of fur between her legs.
"Would you rather I kiss here—"
The instant he touches her clit, Tanya wails and rockets her hips towards the ceiling. And thank god he doesn't make her beg like he promised he would, because she doubts she'd be able to speak a single word, not when he's toying with her like this, stroking her sensitive little button with just the tip of his finger.
Her eyes flutter open long enough to catch Mr. Berkman's smug grin. "Tanya…you sound so cute when you cry for me."
"Mm—" She moans around the name caught in her throat, and Mr. Berkman turns to nuzzle behind her ear once more, his laughter hot, and his teasing relentless.
"That's it, let me hear it. Call my name like you do in the halls."
He lifts his fingertip ever so slightly, and suddenly, Tanya finds her voice.
"Ah—Mr. Berkman—don't stop."
He laughs again, and starts to rub in small circles. "You like your birthday gift?"
She likes it, she loves it, she hates how guilty she feels for wanting it in the first place. Mr. Berkman is touching her in ways she could never touch herself; he's giving her the best goddamn birthday she could have hoped for, and all she's done so far is act like a spoiled child.
She blinks, and parts her dry lips. "Do you like it?"
Mr. Berkman eases back to show her that same gentle smile he always does. "I like it so much," he says. "Kissing you and touching your soft, warm cunt. I bet it feels so tight. Bet it could make me come the second I'm inside it."
"Is that what you want?" Tanya asks. "Do you think about it, too?"
"Every day. I want to take you home and make love to you until morning."
"Mr. Berkman…"
Shivering, she pulls him into another kiss, her lips speaking what she can't: I love you, Mr. Berkman. I always have.
Their eyes lock as he draws back and says, "Open your legs. Let me make it even better."
On command, Tanya parts her thighs wide, gasping as the vibrator—Mr. Berkman's finger—slides between her lips to smear a trail of juices up and around her clit.
"God, you're soaked," he breathes, circling her slippery nub before dipping down to get his finger wetter. "Do you really want this old man that badly?"
How can she begin to answer that? Put your cock in me, Mr. Berkman? Stick your tongue between my thighs? Lick my pussy until I cry, and tell me you've never tasted something so sweet? "I—"
She doesn't get a chance to speak before Mr. Berkman is pressing the tip of his finger inside, barely an inch but still enough to make her pussy clench and her clit twitch in pleasure.
"No, I know how much you want this," he says. "I've seen the way you look at me in class. Smiling, batting those pretty gray eyes at me. Like you can't wait to get home and slip your hand into your panties."
Pulling his finger out, he starts to tickle up and down her slit, Tanya gasping, trembling, arching her hips as she edges closer.
"Does it feel good, Tanya?" Mr. Berkman's voice grows deep and rough. "Want me to make you moan?"
She rocks against his teasing finger. "Ah…yeah…"
"Want me to make you come?"
"Mmm…Mr. Berkman…"
"Want me to bend you over my desk after we've finished cleaning the classroom, and fill every inch of your cunt with thick, hot—"
Nope. No. Unh-uh.
Cheeks on fire, Tanya rips the vibrator away from her clit and quickly rolls onto her side, body curled into a tight ball as echoes of thick and come and cunt bounce around in her brain, all in Mr. Berkman's teaching voice, and each one more embarrassing than the next.
What the fuck was she thinking? She can't do this. Not if she wants to look Mr. Berkman in the eye Monday morning without having a hormone-fueled heart attack.
She stares at the opposite wall while the vibrator jiggles itself over the edge of the bed, but an army of K-Pop posters couldn't scrub the image of Mr. Berkman's nude body from her memory.
If it's any consolation, at least she can tell Delia she's figured out which one of his balls hangs lower. She'd bet her birthday cake that it's the left.