Takumi Hayase sat on the plush couch in Nemuri Kayama's, Midnight's, apartment, the dim glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the modern, minimalist living room. The clock on the wall ticked past 8 PM, the city lights of Musutafu twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows like distant stars.
It was a far cry from the UA dorms, this private sanctuary tucked away in a high-rise, scented with lavender and a faint hint of her signature perfume, sultry, intoxicating, like the woman herself. Midnight lounged across from him in an armchair, her hero costume hugging her curves like a second skin: the sheer bodysuit, the fishnet stockings, the whip coiled neatly on the side table. Minus the heels, which she'd kicked off by the door, her bare feet tucked under her as she listened intently.
These "therapy sessions" had become a ritual, mandatory every two weeks for all UA students amid the rising tide of villain attacks, the League's chaos, the growing crime rate, the trauma etching lines into young faces.
It wasn't mandatory to be at the house of their practitioner, so for Takumi, it was more: a confessional, a sounding board with the R-rated hero who'd seen too much of life's underbelly.
He shifted, running a hand through his dark hair, his voice low and introspective. "I think I fell back on a feeling I had... and I don't know how to feel about it anymore."
Midnight tilted her head, her indigo hair cascading over one shoulder, her eyes sharp and empathetic behind those signature glasses.
"Explain, Takumi. That's what these sessions are for, unpacking the mess inside."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet as if it held answers.
"I'm certain I have no bias against mutant-type quirk users. None. But lately... I feel like I might be fetishizing them. It's this nagging thought that my attractions aren't pure, that they're tied to the 'exotic' factor. It just feels nasty, like I'm reducing people to their quirks instead of seeing them whole."
Midnight nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, not judgmental. She uncrossed her legs, leaning in to mirror his posture, creating that intimate bubble therapists were trained for.
"First off, recognizing it early like this? That's maturity, Takumi. Most people your age, or any age, don't self-reflect that deeply. Fetishes... they're complicated. In our world, where quirks have reshaped society since the dawn of the Quirk Era, they've evolved alongside us. Back in the pre-quirk days, what we'd call the 'Quirkless Age', fetishes often stemmed from psychological roots: Freudian theories on repressed desires, or cultural taboos turning the forbidden into the erotic. Think Victorian repression leading to BDSM fascination, or colonial exoticism fetishizing 'otherness' in race and body types. Translate that to here: when quirks emerged, society fractured, mutants faced discrimination, seen as 'monsters' or 'freaks' by the fearful majority. That 'othering' bred fetishes in some, a twisted attraction born from power imbalances. The types who fall into it? Often the insecure, seeking dominance over what they fear; the thrill-seekers chasing novelty; or the repressed, projecting societal shame onto their desires. In Japan especially, with our history of conformity post-WWII' era, fetishes became underground outlets, amplified by hero-villain dynamics where mutants like animal-types or elementals embody 'wildness' against the 'normal.'"
She paused, gauging his reaction, her voice softening.
"But you? You don't fit that mold. One, you're self-aware enough to question it, that's not the mark of someone dragging society backward. Two, your relationships aren't built on exploitation; from what you've shared before, they're mutual, respectful. Three, in a world where 80% have quirks, 'mutant' is just a label, Mirko's a top hero because of her traits, not despite them. If you're drawn to that strength, that's admiration, not fetish. Just communicate, Takumi. Be open with people about your feelings. Build on equality, not novelty. That's how you break the cycle."
He nodded, the weight lifting slightly from his shoulders, her words resonating like a balm. "Yeah... thanks. That's relieving."
Midnight's demeanor shifted in an instant, therapy mode off, her eyes lighting up with that signature mischief. She bounced over to the couch with giddy energy, her bodysuit whispering against the fabric as she plopped down beside him.
"Session over! Now, come here, you brooding little hero-in-training."
Internally, Takumi reflected on the mandate: these sessions, enforced by Principal Nezu after the latest string of attacks, the Kamino Incident's echoes, the rising villain syndicates preying on student trauma.
Once every two weeks, confidential check-ins to stave off breakdowns. Useful, sure, but for him, it was a double-edged sword, unloading quirks of the mind while hiding the shadows of his own.
Midnight pulled him close, caressing his arm with feather-light touches, her hands trailing up to hold him against her chest, soft, ample curves pressing through the thin material of her costume, her heartbeat steady against his ear. The lavender scent enveloped him, her fingers weaving through his hair in soothing strokes.
He looked up at her, his expression turning serious. "Something's wrong." She blinked, concern flickering. "What is it?"
"I'm fucking your students," he said bluntly, watching for the crack in her facade.
Midnight tilted her head, confusion knitting her brows, perhaps processing the dynamic, the perspective shift from mentor to something messier.
"You... what?"He repeated it, steady.
"I'm fucking your students. Momo, Jiro, Ashido so far. And I don't plan on stopping."
She backed away slightly, her breath catching, eyes widening as the words sank in. Takumi lifted his left leg to cross over his right lap, leaning back with casual arrogance.
"Last time I got my rocks off was a week ago. Wonderful day with Ashido, actually. That's why I brought up the mutant thing, got me thinking."
Midnight stuttered, her composure cracking for the first time he could recall. "Why... why are you telling me this?"
Takumi laughed, a low, amused sound that filled the room. "Just wanted to see your reaction. What you'd do."
Her gaze dropped, hands fidgeting in her lap. "Are you... jealous?" he prodded, leaning in.
She mumbled something incoherent, her head still down, breathing quickening. Takumi's laugh bubbled up again, sharper this time.
"Unnatural, isn't it? To be jealous. I'm young, it makes sense I'd be exploring with my agemates, not risking everything like you. You've been gambling more than your teaching license here."
"I know," she whispered, crumbling inward, shoulders slumping like a scolded child, her breaths coming fast and heavy.
He sighed nastily, a sound laced with exasperation and dark amusement, standing up with deliberate slowness.
"Why are you acting like that? Like a child. Your days as a little high school girl are gone, Nemuri. Act right."
Midnight didn't respond, her shuddering breaths the only sound, her body trembling with a mix of agitation and unspoken need.
The air thickened, charged with the shift from therapy to something primal, forbidden. Takumi's patience snapped like a taut wire, he reached down, grabbing a fistful of her indigo hair, yanking her up with controlled force.
She moaned in pain, a sharp, involuntary sound that echoed off the walls as he dragged her across the sitting room, her stocking-clad feet scrambling for purchase on the polished floor. The whip on the table rattled as they passed.
Into the bedroom he pulled her, skipping the king-sized bed with its silk sheets, rumpled from past encounters, and straight to the adjoining bathroom.
The towel heater gleamed innocently against the wall, but Takumi knew its secret. He lifted the mechanism with a practiced twist, a hidden door hissing open to reveal the chamber beyond.
He threw her in, her body stumbling forward onto the soft, padded floor of hot pink walls that pulsed with an embedded glow. The air hit like a wave, smoky lavender aromatics, thick and heady, designed to heighten senses and lower inhibitions. This was the room Midnight had revealed to him last year, a custom-built sanctum for her wildest fantasies: whips of varying lengths and materials lining one wall, bats and paddles in graduated sizes, dildos and vibrators arrayed like instruments of exquisite torture, restraints dangling from ceiling hooks, and mirrors everywhere to reflect every angle of surrender.
Midnight shuddered violently on the floor, her bodysuit riding up slightly to expose the curve of her thigh, it had been almost a month since he'd shown her any affection, the pent-up tension coiling in her like a spring. The thought of him with her students had agitated her, yes, but it excited her too, a twisted fuel to her desires.
Takumi's gaze landed on a glass encasing against the wall: an old UA high school uniform, preserved like a relic, her own, from her student days, crisp and nostalgic. He opened it with a click, dumping the outfit onto her along with a red ball gag from a nearby shelf.
"Put it on," he commanded, his voice low and unyielding. "Come back to me when you're ready. I'll be waiting."
Her eyes glowed with greed and eagerness, the pain from the hair-pulling morphing into anticipation as she clutched the items, rising unsteadily. She left to change, the door sealing behind her with a soft thud, leaving Takumi in the aromatic haze, the build-up complete, a storm ready to break.
___
Midnight emerged from the adjacent room, the door creaking open like a whisper of forbidden secrets, her silhouette framed in the hot pink glow that pulsed from the walls like a living heartbeat.
The old UA high school uniform clung to her body like a second skin stretched to its limits, the white blouse so tight that the buttons strained against the fabric, each one a precarious thread away from bursting free, the material pulling taut over her massive, heaving breasts, the deep valley of cleavage visible through the gaps where the shirt threatened to give way.
Her curves were a masterpiece of mature sensuality: hips flaring wide in voluptuous thickness, thighs plush and powerful, squeezed into the short plaid skirt that rode up dangerously high, barely containing the round, jiggling globes of her ass, firm yet yielding, the kind of thickness that begged to be grabbed, spanked, claimed.
Without her glasses, her indigo eyes burned with raw, unfiltered greed, mascara slightly smudged from anticipation, her full lips stretched around the red ball gag, muffling her words into incoherent mutters, "Mmph... plsh... mstr...", drool already trickling from the corners, glistening on her chin like a promise of the mess to come.
Her indigo hair cascaded wildly, untamed, framing a face flushed with desperate need, her body a testament to years of hero work: toned abs peeking through the strained blouse, thick calves flexing as she shifted on bare feet, every inch screaming dominance subdued, waiting to be broken.
Takumi walked to her slowly, his footsteps deliberate echoes on the padded floor, the lavender smoke curling around his legs like eager tendrils. He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs tracing the line of her jaw, feeling the heat radiating from her skin, the subtle tremble of her anticipation.
"Congratulations," he murmured, his voice low and domineering, laced with mock praise that made her eyes flutter. "You actually fit into it. Look at you, squeezed in like a desperate little schoolgirl, buttons ready to pop. Pathetic... but perfect."
He pulled her forward roughly, her body yielding to his grip, chains clinking as he grabbed a set from the wall, cold, heavy links that rattled with promise. Turning her around with a firm twist, he bound her wrists behind her back, the metal biting into her skin just enough to elicit a muffled gasp through the gag. His hand came down in a sharp slap on her ass, the crack echoing like thunder, her thick cheeks rippling under the skirt, a red handprint blooming on her pale skin.
She arched into it, delight evident in the way her hips bucked, a low, garbled moan vibrating from her throat.
Satisfied, Takumi reached up, pulling down a sturdy hook from the ceiling mechanism. He fastened the chains to it, watching as the winch activated with a soft whir, lifting her slowly, her toes leaving the floor, body dangling in mid-air, twisting slightly like a prize on display.
Her uniform strained even more, buttons creaking, her breasts heaving with each labored breath. He could hear her salivating through the gag, wet, desperate slurps as drool escaped, pooling on the floor below, her pussy already clenching under the skirt from the humiliation.
His cock hardened painfully in his pants, throbbing with each drip, the sight of her, powerful Midnight reduced to this writhing, gagged toy, fueling a dark, domineering fire in his veins.
He stepped closer, pulling a black silk blindfold from a nearby shelf, tying it over her eyes with deliberate slowness, plunging her into darkness. Leaning in, he kissed her neck, soft at first, then sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, leaving blooming hickeys in a trail up to her jaw, her cheek. He knew the risk: marks that might peek from her collar at school tomorrow, a scandalous whisper among students.
The thought intensified everything, the heat of her skin against his lips, the way she shivered under his touch, her muffled pleas growing louder. He felt it intensely, a rush of power and possession, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered,
"Everyone will see what a slut you are."
His hands began to fondle her body lightly, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, sliding up to cup her heavy breasts through the blouse, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into peaks straining the fabric.
She moaned through the gag, the sound raw and needy, her body squirming in the chains. The doors were closed, sealed tight, no one would hear the symphony of depravity about to unfold, the room's insulation turning every gasp into an intimate echo.
Takumi grabbed a long stick from the wall, a bendy, rubber-like rod, flexible yet firm, designed for precision pain and pleasure. He tapped her nipples with it lightly at first, sharp, teasing flicks that made her jolt, the blouse jiggling with each impact, her body twisting in the air as she struggled to move, chains rattling in futile resistance.
Her moans grew sharper, desperate. He switched to spanking, swinging the rod in measured arcs, landing on her ass with cracking thwacks that left red welts blooming under the skirt, her thick cheeks quivering, each strike eliciting a garbled cry of delight mixed with pain.
Dropping the rod momentarily, he grabbed her feet, soft soles arching as he bound them with more chains, hooking them up to spread her legs wide, exposing her fully, the skirt riding up to reveal her dripping pussy, slick and swollen. Picking up the stick again, he rubbed it against her folds, slow, teasing glides along her clit, dipping into her entrance, the rubber warming from her heat. She let out a louder moan, the gag distorting it into a guttural plea, her hips bucking wildly in the restraints.
Thanks to Blackout, Takumi knew her sweet spots intuitively, shadowy tendrils feeding him sensory whispers of her body's map, every nerve and pulse laid bare. It was his choice to exploit them or not, a godlike control that thrilled him. After rubbing her pussy relentlessly, the rod slick with her juices, circling her clit until her thighs trembled, he saw her twitching, on the brink.
He removed the gag with a pop, strings of saliva trailing as she gasped for air. "Want to cum, Nemuri?" he called out, voice commanding.
She salivated, drool dripping down her chin, nodding frantically. "Y-yes... please..."
"Say it," he demanded, his tone unyielding.
"I want to cum!" she cried, voice hoarse and desperate.
Takumi dropped the stick with a clatter, his hand diving under her skirt, fingers plunging into her pussy, the sensation incredible: warm, velvety walls enveloping him like a custom glove, incredibly comfortable and drenched, her juices soaking his hand in viscous streams that dripped onto the floor in rhythmic patters.
He felt it coming, the build-up in her core, muscles fluttering. Curling his fingers to rub that sweet spot intensely, rough, insistent circles that made her scream, he watched her shatter.
"I'm cumming!" she moaned out loud, her body convulsing as she gushed viscously and hard, clear, hot fluid arcing from her in powerful spurts, splattering against the glass encasing with wet smacks, the uniform soaking through.
Takumi withdrew his hand, shoving it into her mouth, she licked passionately, tongue swirling around his fingers, sucking greedily like a woman starved. With his free hand, he pulled out his cock, ten inches of thick, veined hardness, throbbing with need, and slapped her face with it, the heavy thwack echoing. She smiled instantly, wanting etched in her blindfolded expression.
He tapped it on her forehead, her cheeks, firm, teasing smacks that left faint precum trails. "Want it? Where?"
"My mouth... please," she begged.
He slowly fed it to her, her lips stretching wide around the girth. Midnight was good, expert, even, but couldn't take the full ten, which stirred a flicker of dominance in him, a reminder of her limits.
She swallowed a good eight inches, her tongue swirling the entirety, coating him in saliva as she bobbed with practiced hunger. Takumi held her head, thrusting into the wet heat, gasping at the sounds of her gags, wet and choking, spittle flying. Grabbing fistfuls of her hair, he went at it intensely, hips snapping, face-fucking her with relentless rhythm, until the pressure peaked.
"I'm cumming," he growled.
She tightened her throat around his shaft, tongue moving in frantic circles, and he thrust more, deeper, until he erupted, hot ropes pulsing down her throat.
He listened to the way she swallowed in her dangling position, gulps and gurgles, her body straining, and closed his eyes to savor it, the warmth, the submission, waves of pleasure crashing through him.
He plopped it out with a wet pop, watching as she stuck her tongue out desperately to follow, chasing the taste.
Lifting her head gently, he removed the blindfold, her eyes hazy with bliss, and asked, "Where next?"
She smiled widely, voice breathy.
"My pussy..."
He lightly spun her around twice, the chains twisting her body in a dizzying whirl before spinning back. Stopping it when her ass faced him, plush cheeks reddened from spanks, he dove in, licking away at her pussy with voracious hunger. His hands pried her folds apart, tongue entering deeper, swirling, lapping at her clit, tasting the tangy remnants of her release mixed with fresh arousal.Pulling back, he slapped her pussy sharply, a wet crack that made her jolt, then lined up his cock, the head nudging her entrance.
"Brace yourself,"