The room suddenly becomes hot. My lips instantly dry, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. He actually wrote it. It's not something just thrown out there. It's not one of those empty phrases you say after sex. No. It's Aizawa-sensei, the man who speaks as if every word is weighed to the gram, who moves as if every gesture is calculated. And now he's losing control... again.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my fingers shaking.
Silence. Long, tense. Then...
"You know exactly what I mean, Eri."
My nails scrape the screen as if I could tear his words away and hold them tight to my chest. My heart is completely out of rhythm.
"I'm not sure I understand this... explain it to me, sensei."
I cover my mouth with my hand, in disbelief. This isn't a conversation anymore, it's a very thin thread between us, and I feel like just one misplaced word is enough to set him completely ablaze.
"I'm thinking of you, Eri. In a…different way."
A groan escapes me…maybe I understand how. With a mischievous smile, I write.
"What are you thinking, sensei?"
I send it before reason can stop me. My breath catches in my throat. Three dots appear instantly. He's writing. God, he's writing.
"I imagine your hands on me and your eyes searching for me everywhere...."
My legs instinctively close together, the heat begins to blaze between my thighs like a fire. Then, he continues.
"I wish I had you here, naked, in front of me. On your knees."
I'm lying on the couch, imagining what we did today. His hands on me, his greedy mouth, his cock filling me mercilessly. Now it's worse. Now it's real. His words are tangible, and I'm already burning, already losing my mind.
"Sensei..." I write, my fingers light, as if I were caressing him. My muscles are tense. "It's not fair. You're...driving me crazy."
His response is immediate, almost violent, as if he'd grabbed me by the hair like today and forced me to look him straight in the eye:
"Good. I want you to go crazy. Oh, how I wish I could hear you moan again..."
"Fuck..." The word comes out in a whisper, and I can't resist any longer: my hands slide under my dress, my fingers going straight to the moist heat between my legs. I'm soaked. Just his words, just the thought of him touching himself while he texts me, and I'm already on the verge of cumming.
"I'm…I'm already doing what you told me…" I admit, brushing my clit with my index finger. "I'm touching myself. For you."
The dots flash. I wait. I wait. Then…
"Good. Now describe what it feels like. Tell me everything, though. I want to feel it, Eri."
My cheeks burn, but I don't stop. I can't anymore.
"It…it's slippery," I type, my fingers moving faster, two of them sinking in. Then I decide to send a voice message, whispering. "I'm using two fingers, moving them slowly…like you do when you prepare me. But I wish…you were here. I wish you were the one pushing inside me, I want to envelop you, sensei… completely."
Moans escape from my parted lips.
I close my eyes and there it is. Aizawa-sensei on top of me, his arm muscles tense, veins pulsing beneath his pale skin as he pins me to the bed, his thick cock pounding into me, stretching me so hard it hurts.
"I'm...I'm squeezing it," I pant, my fingers curling inside me, my thumb squeezing my clit harder.
"I feel…I feel like I'm about to cum. Aizawa-sensei, please, tell me you want me. Tell me you'll fuck me again, please."
His response is a low blow, aimed at my stomach, making my muscles contract around my own fingers.
"I'm going to fuck you, Eri. Until you cry."
I don't want to cum, though. I want to wait. I want to cum with his cock inside me. The room spins around me, the blood pounding in my ears. I type only three words.
"Come to me."
He's not answering anymore, he's not even online anymore. What will he do, then come? I get up from the couch, still with my panties wet and my pussy aroused, but he disappears for ten minutes. He doesn't answer anymore. I pace back and forth from the kitchen to the living room to try to relax, but after about 15 minutes, my phone vibrates again.
"I'm outside."
My heart sinks into my throat. I open the front door, and without even saying hello, he comes in and crashes his lips onto mine. I close the door and step away for a moment.
"Let's go upstairs quietly." I whisper. He nods.
I take his wrist, we slowly climb the stairs, and I quickly usher him into my room. I lock the door, and before I've even waited a few seconds, he's already shirtless, his black sweatpants undone, his cock already hard and sticking out, thick... his black eyes stare at me, hungry, as he slowly takes his cock in his hand.
I can't breathe. I can't think. I'm in front of him in two steps, my hands reaching out to touch him, but he stops me, grabs my wrists, and I moan.
"No," he growls, whispering, pushing me against the wall with a thrust so violent it takes my breath away. "I want to touch you."
I don't have time to react. His mouth is on mine again in an instant, his tongue invading me as if he wanted to devour me from the inside. One hand peels off my dress, the other grasps a breast through my bra, crushing the nipple between his fingers. We both moan, our bodies colliding, his hips pushing against mine, I feel his hard cock pressing against my belly, warm even through my clothes.
"Fuck, Eri," he gasps, barely pulling away. "I came all this way...to make you cum like never before."
"Yes, please, Aizawa-sensei…"
The words come out spontaneously, without thinking. My body arches on its own.
He laughs as he twists me around forcefully, pressing me against the wall with his chest. His hands slide my dress down to my ankles, and he tugs my panties aside. The cold air caresses my buttocks, but I don't have time to really feel it, because his fingers are already there, spreading me, caressing my soaking pussy, grazing my swollen clit.
"My God, Eri..."
He doesn't keep me waiting any longer. He's not the type. One hand grabs my hair, pulling my head back slightly, while with the other he guides his cock between my legs, rubbing it against my wet slit, up and down, until I can't think anymore, until all that exists is his cock brushing against me, threatening me.
Then, he enters me in one long thrust, without warning or gentleness.
"AAH!" A whispered cry escapes me, my nails scraping the wall in my bedroom as he fills me, stretches me, and rams me in one fell swoop. Pain mingles with pleasure, making me dizzy, my legs trembling, threatening to give out.
"God, Eri, your pussy…it's squeezing me like it won't…let me go…"
He bites my shoulder with his teeth as he begins to move, his hips slamming into my ass with sharp, brutal thrusts.
I don't respond, I can't. I'm already cumming, the pleasure washes over me in violent waves, the walls of my pussy contracting around him, seeking him, begging him not to stop. Never.
"Don't…don't stop." I stammer, but the words are lost in the moans, the sobs, the wet sound of our bodies colliding, of his skin slamming against mine, of his breathing becoming more labored, more animalistic.
He doesn't stop. Ever.
He holds me down by my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he lifts me almost off the ground, changing angles, pushing him deeper, deeper inside, until I'm breathless.
"Take it," he commands, his growl whispering, making my muscles clench around his cock. "Take it all, Eri. I want every step you take tomorrow to remind you of me. Of how I broke you."
"Yes," I say, tears welling up in my eyes, the pleasure mingling with the pain, the burning, the feeling that I'm finally his, completely, irrevocably his.
"I'm yours, sensei. I'm yours, Shouta!"
He grunts, his fingers digging into my flesh as his rhythm becomes wild, uncontrolled, as if he's trying to merge with me, to destroy me and then remake me in his image.
"And I…I'm yours…" He growls, and those words make me cum again, my body contracting around him, squeezing him, begging him not to stop, not to finish…
But he's already cumming. I can feel his cock swollen and throbbing.
"Oh my..."
After a few more thrusts, he pulls out. I kneel before him and take him in my face.
I collapse forward when he finally stops, my knees aching, my breath coming out in ragged sobs. I look at him, he looks at me.
"Take some. Lick it. Taste it." He orders.
I begin to collect the cum from my face, which was already slowly dripping onto the carpet.
"Good girl. Now…lick it."
I bring his fingers to my mouth. My cheeks are on fire. I lick my fingers, one at a time, savoring the combination of us… it's salty, sweet… perfect. He looks at me with those black eyes shining with something that makes me want to cry, scream, run away. But I don't. I can't. I'm trapped in his gaze like a spider's web, and I don't want to escape.
"Now," he says, in that low, tender voice. "Now, kneel down."
And I already know I won't say no.
***
When I wake, the morning light makes me squint more than I should, still wrapped in the silk sheet that caresses my skin. The warmth of the sun caresses my bare back, awakening my muscles still sore from last night, from the hours spent in Aizawa-sensei's arms, who isn't here right now. I think of his hands, closing my eyes for a moment, and of those fingers of his that held me as if they wanted to melt into my skin.
I stretch slowly, feeling every inch of my body respond to the memory of him. I'm wearing only an oversized T-shirt, completely naked underneath, and my sheets still smell of him… Ah, my love, I think, as I sit on the bed and let my hair fall over my shoulders. I look around: my posters (All Might with his triumphant smile, Hawks-sensei with his wings spread in defiance, and then… Eraser Head, Aizawa-sensei), with that scar over his right eye that I've touched countless times with my lips… they seem to be watching me, judging me.
I stand up, my legs still a little shaky and sore, and approach the mirror leaning against the wall. My blue eyes, identical to my mother Tara's, stare at me, bright and full of unanswered questions. My lips are slightly swollen, marks from Sensei's hungry kisses, and there's a purple bruise on my shoulder where his teeth sank in with a passion that made me moan. I should cover myself, I think, but then I shrug. I can always say I hurt myself during training.
I walk over to the window and pull the curtains aside slightly, gazing out at our garden below. Mom's aromatic herbs sway in the morning breeze, the scent of mint and basil wafting in with the fresh air, and farther away, near the gate, I glimpse a tall, muscular figure: Katsuki Bakugo, Ryota's dad. He stands, his arms crossed, his short-cropped blond hair glistening in the sun. What is he doing here? I wonder, feeling a knot in my stomach. Katsuki doesn't come often. And when he does, it's always for Ryota. Or for Mom.
I watch him for a moment, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles seem ready to twitch even when he's still. He's like Ryota, I think. Same anger, same inability to stay still. Then Katsuki turns slightly and his red eyes, identical to his son's, rest on my window. For a second, our gazes meet. I feel curiosity, respect, and a hint of fear send a shiver down my spine. Katsuki isn't a man who lets himself be known easily. And yet, in this moment, I have the feeling he knows. That he knows about me and Aizawa-sensei.
I move away from the window, my heart beating faster. I have to go downstairs, I tell myself. Before Ryota wakes up and starts being his usual troublemaker. But as I approach the door, I hear voices coming from the kitchen. They're not the cheerful tones of Dad Mirio or the laughter of Mom Tara. It's something harsher and more cutting. Ryota.
I pause on the steps, my foot suspended in midair, my fingers gripping the polished wooden handrail. Ryota's voice is low, but every word is laden with a frustration that makes my stomach clench.
"I don't understand why you do this, Mom. It's always the same story. You smile with her, joke with her, make her favorite dishes. With me? Nothing. Not even a glance."
I hold my breath. It's not true, I want to scream. It's not true that she's not looking at you!
"Ryota, darling, it's not like you say." Mom replies, even though her words are sweet, there's a weariness that doesn't escape me. "You are my son. I don't need to smile at you constantly to make you understand that."
"Oh no? So why is it different with her? Why are you always so…so happy with her? Every time you talk about her, you seem so proud!"
A sharp noise, perhaps a fist on the table, makes me jump. I bite my lip, unsure whether to turn back or pretend nothing happened. But it's too late. Ryota's footsteps echo heavily on the floor, approaching the kitchen door. Shit!
Instinctively, I flatten myself against the wall, as if I could become invisible. But Ryota storms out of the kitchen, his red eyes burning with rage, and he freezes as soon as he sees me. For a moment, our eyes meet: his lips pressed together, his nostrils flaring, his body tense like a spring; my cheeks already starting to flush pink, caught in the act.
"There's no need to hide, stepsister," he hisses, his voice thick with venom. "Or maybe you were eavesdropping? You like that, huh? Hearing things that don't concern you."
I raise my chin, even though inside I feel like a scolded child.
"I wasn't eavesdropping. I just came downstairs for breakfast."
Ryota makes a mocking noise, then shoves past me, making me stagger. "Yeah, sure."
And he's gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until a door slams shut. I stand there, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my shirt, my heart pounding in my chest. Hateful, always so aggressive.