The crystal paperweight exploded against the wall six inches from Valentino's head, and he flinched hard enough that his wings slammed into the back of his chair.
"YOU FUCKING MOTH BASTARD!" Velvet's voice hit a pitch that made the windows rattle in their frames, her entire petite body vibrated with rage so pure it seemed to crackle in the air around her.
Valentino pressed himself deeper into his chair, all four hands coming up in a placating gesture that felt pathetically inadequate. "Cariño, if you would just—"
"DON'T YOU FUCKING CARIÑO ME!" Another object flew—his vintage whiskey decanter this time, the one Vox had given him for his last death-day. It shattered against the door frame in an explosion of glass and aged liquor. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?"
"It was just—the actress's name was already—" The words died in his throat as Velvet's hand closed around his desk lamp. The heavy brass base looked substantial enough to crack his skull if she got a good throw in.
"I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT HER ACTUAL NAME WAS!" The lamp sailed past his head—closer this time, close enough that he felt the displaced air ruffle his hair. It punched a hole through the drywall behind him with a sickening crunch. "YOU PLASTERED IT ACROSS EVERY FUCKING BILLBOARD IN PENTAGRAM CITY!"
Valentino's mouth opened and closed uselessly. His heart hammered against his ribs hard enough to hurt, and smoke poured from between his teeth in nervous streams that had nothing to do with his hypnotic abilities. This was bad. This was worse than bad. Velvet got angry plenty—her temper was legendary throughout VVV Tower—but this was different. This was the kind of rage that preceded actual murder.
"The marketing team thought—" he tried again, hating how his voice cracked slightly. "They thought the name recognition would help drive—"
"NAME RECOGNITION?!" Velvet's laugh came out sharp and jagged, more like breaking glass than humor. She grabbed a stack of promotional posters from his desk—the ones his team had just delivered that morning—and hurled them at him. Glossy paper scattered through the air, each one featuring the rabbit girl in various states of undress, each one emblazoned with "VELVET" in bold letters across the top.
One poster hit him in the face, and Valentino caught a glimpse of the image before it fluttered to the floor—the rabbit girl bound and dripping with cum, those brown ears flopped forward, expression glazed and satisfied. Above it all:
"VELVET IN BUNNY TRAP - NOW STREAMING."
"Do you see this?!" Velvet's finger jabbed at another poster she'd snatched up, her perfectly manicured nail puncturing through the glossy surface. "Do you see what every single demon in Hell is going to think when they see MY NAME attached to this depraved shit?!"
Valentino's back pressed harder against his chair, the leather creaking under the pressure. His mind raced through possible explanations, excuses, anything that might defuse the situation, but every word that formed dissolved before reaching his mouth. The rabbit girl's name had actually been Velvet. That was true. The marketing team had run with it. Also true. But explaining the technicalities to the woman currently destroying his office felt about as productive as trying to reason with a hurricane.
"I swear on my soul contract collection, the actress was already named—"
"I. DON'T. CARE." Each word came out as its own sentence, punctuated by Velvet stalking closer to his desk. Her heels clicked against the floor with the rhythm of a countdown timer. "You could have changed it. You could have called her literally ANYTHING ELSE. But no. No, you thought it would be FUNNY, didn't you?"
"It wasn't about being funny!" It was about petty revenge but the protest burst out before Valentino could stop it. "The market research showed that familiar names drive engagement by—"
A crystal ashtray exploded against the wall beside his head, close enough that shards of glass peppered his coat sleeve. Valentino's wings flared involuntarily, a defensive reflex he couldn't suppress even though he knew it made him look guilty.
Her entire face was flushed, veins visible at her temples as she grabbed the edge of his desk with both hands. The wood groaned under her grip.
"Market research," she repeated, her voice dropping to something low and dangerous that somehow felt worse than the screaming. "You used MY NAME for MARKET RESEARCH."
Valentino's throat worked, trying to produce words that wouldn't make things worse. This was the Velvet that made grown demons piss themselves. The one who'd once bankrupted a rival fashion house in seventy-two hours out of pure spite. The one who held grudges like some demons held souls—with absolute possessive certainty and zero intention of letting go.
"The projections showed a forty percent increase in—" He stopped. The look on her face made it very clear that profit margins were not going to save him.
"I have spent YEARS," Velvet hissed, her knuckles white against his desk, "YEARS building my brand. My reputation. My image. Do you know how many networking events I've attended? How many influencers I've cultivated? How many deals I've brokered to make the name 'Velvet' synonymous with class and sophistication in Hell's fashion industry?"
A monitor sailed past his head—one of the smaller ones, thank fuck—and shattered against the window behind him with a sound like a gunshot. Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass but didn't break through.
"And now—" Velvet's voice climbed back up to that window-rattling pitch, "NOW when anyone in Hell hears my name, they're going to think of some drugged-up rabbit WHORE getting FUCKED IN A DOG CAGE!"
The memory hit Valentino without warning—the rabbit girl's body arched in that cage, cum dripping from her thoroughly used holes, those brown ears pressed against the metal bars, her voice breathless and desperate as she begged for more. His cock hardened instantly in his pants, the physical response automatic and undeniable.
Velvet's eyes tracked downward. Saw the growing bulge. Saw exactly what that meant.
Her face went from red to purple.
"YOU'RE GETTING HARD?!" The shriek could have shattered glass. "YOU'RE GETTING HARD WHILE I'M TELLING YOU HOW YOU RUINED MY LIFE?!"
Valentino opened his mouth—to explain, to apologize, to say literally anything—but Velvet was already moving. Her hands grabbed the front of his coat, and despite being a foot shorter than him even in heels, she hauled him up from his chair with strength born of pure rage.
"GET OUT!" She dragged him toward the window. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
"Wait—Velvet—I can fix this—" Valentino's heels scrambled for purchase on the floor, his wings flaring as she propelled him backward. The cracked window loomed behind him, and his stomach dropped as he realized what she intended.
"YOU CAN FIX IT BY FUCKING OFF!" Her hands released his coat and slammed into his chest instead. Hard. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his shoulders hitting the already-damaged glass.
The window exploded outward.
Valentino's stomach lurched as gravity took hold. The office disappeared above him, replaced by open air and the dizzying sight of Pentagram City sprawling below. Wind rushed past his face, his coat whipping around him, and for one heart-stopping moment he was in free fall.
His wings snapped open on pure instinct, catching air with enough force to jar his shoulders. The plummet became a glide, then controlled flight as his muscles remembered what to do. He banked hard to the right, putting distance between himself and the tower as something large and heavy sailed past where his head had been—looked like his desk chair.
"AND DON'T COME BACK YOU FUCKING INSCET!" Velvet's voice echoed from the broken window, and more objects began raining down. A lamp. Several framed awards. What looked like his entire minibar. Each one missed him by increasingly smaller margins as he dodged and weaved through the air.
Valentino's heart hammered against his ribs as he flew higher, the tower falling away beneath him. His hands shook—from adrenaline, from the lingering terror of nearly having his skull cracked open by office furniture, from the realization that Velvet was serious about the murder thing.
But underneath the fear, something else stirred. The grimoire pulsed warm against his chest, and his cock was still hard despite everything. The image of the rabbit girl wouldn't leave his mind—her body bound and helpless, her expression glazed with satisfaction, the way she'd begged so prettily to be filled.
He needed more of that. Needed new talent to bury the scandal with, needed content so good it would make everyone forget about the Velvet controversy. Needed to get out of Pentagram City before his business partner actually succeeded in killing him.
Fine. Velvet wanted him gone? He'd go. He'd find the perfect acquisition, something so spectacular it would make his rabbit girl shoot look tame. He'd come back with content that would dominate Hell's entertainment industry so thoroughly that nobody would care about name controversies… and maybe he will pick something up for Velvet to help calm her down, something expensive enough to make her reconsider using his skull as her next designer handbag.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
The portal tore reality open above Musutafu's skyline, and Valentino tumbled through with all the grace of a moth hitting a windshield. He banked hard, his coat whipping around him as he steadied himself above what looked like a dense urban sprawl.
Japan. The grimoire had pulled him to Japan. Valentino could read the kanji on some of the buildings below, though the specific meaning escaped him. Didn't matter. What mattered was finding talent good enough to make everyone forget about bunny Velvet and so his Velvet can calm down and remember that all publicity is good publicity.
Valentino flew lower, keeping to the shadows between buildings. The sun had set recently—twilight painted the sky in shades of orange and purple that made his eyes ache after Hell's perpetual darkness. Below him, humans moved through the streets in their predictable patterns. Most wore ordinary clothing, but some had features that marked them as different—horns, extra limbs, animal characteristics. This dimension had its own brand of freaks.
The grimoire's pull intensified as he approached a particular building—modern architecture, lots of glass, looked expensive. Valentino circled it once, his wings beating silently as he scanned for entry points. A rooftop access door hung slightly ajar, and he angled toward it.
His heels clicked against concrete as he landed, and he folded his wings tight against his back. The rooftop was empty except for some ventilation equipment and a few folding chairs someone had left out.
Valentino pulled the door open and slipped inside. His heels echoed too loudly on the steps, so he lifted himself slightly with his wings, gliding down to the third floor landing.
The hallway beyond the stairwell door stretched long and empty, lined with doors that probably led to offices or apartments. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh white that made his eyes water. The grimoire pulled him left, and Valentino followed its guidance past three doors before stopping at the fourth.
He pressed his ear against the wood. Movement inside—footsteps, the rustle of fabric. Someone was home. Valentino's fingers wrapped around the door handle and turned slowly. Unlocked. These dimension-hopping humans had no sense of security.
The door opened silently, and Valentino slipped inside an apartment that screamed "trying too hard." Purple dominated the color scheme—purple throw pillows, purple curtains, purple accents on every surface. Expensive furniture arranged with the kind of careful aesthetic that suggested someone who cared deeply about appearances. A hallway stretched ahead, and light spilled from a partially open door at the end.
Valentino moved silently across plush carpet, his wings folded tight to avoid knocking into the various decorative objects cluttering every horizontal surface. The light grew brighter as he approached, and he could hear running water now—a shower. Steam curled from beneath the bathroom door, carrying with it the scent of expensive shampoo and body wash.
His hand pushed the door open wider. The bathroom was as over-decorated as the rest of the apartment—marble countertops, gold fixtures, a massive mirror that took up an entire wall. Through the frosted glass of the shower stall, he could make out a feminine silhouette.
The water shut off. Valentino pressed himself against the wall beside the shower, his lungs already filling with air for the conversion. The glass door slid open, and she stepped out—naked, dripping, her dark purple hair plastered to her shoulders and back.
Nemuri Kayama was even more spectacular in person. Her body was pure sin—full breasts that defied gravity, a narrow waist that flared into wide hips, an ass so perfectly round it looked sculpted. Water droplets traced paths down her pale skin, and Valentino watched one bead roll from her collarbone, between her breasts, down the flat plane of her stomach to disappear in the neatly trimmed hair between her thighs.
She reached for a towel on the rack, her back to him, completely unaware of his presence.
Valentino's mouth opened, and pink smoke poured out in a concentrated stream. It moved with purpose across the short distance, wrapping around her face before she could turn around. He watched her body go rigid—shoulders locking, spine straightening in sudden alarm. Her hand released the towel, letting it fall forgotten to the tile floor.
Then the hypnotic properties hit her system, and everything about her posture changed. Her shoulders relaxed. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and those striking blue eyes that had been sharp with awareness went glassy and distant.
Valentino stepped forward, his grin stretching wider as he watched her stand there dripping and docile. The smoke continued pouring from his mouth, wrapping around her face in thick tendrils that kept her locked in the hypnotic haze. Up close, he could see every detail—the way water still clung to her eyelashes, the slight parting of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.
"Perfect," he breathed, his voice low and satisfied. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
His hand reached out to tilt her chin up, forcing her glazed eyes to meet his. No recognition flickered in those blue depths. No fear. No resistance. Just empty compliance that made his cock throb harder in his pants.
"You're coming with me," Valentino said, his fingers releasing her chin to grip her upper arm instead. "And you're going to make me very, very rich."
She moved when he pulled, her wet feet leaving prints on the tile as he guided her out of the bathroom. He didn't bother with clothing—the sight of her naked body glistening with water droplets was too good to cover up. His free hand retrieved the grimoire from his coat, and the portal tore open in the middle of her purple living room with that familiar shriek of tortured dimensions.
Valentino pulled her through, and Hell's sulfur-thick air hit his lungs like coming home. The portal sealed behind them with a wet sound, and he stood in the VVV Tower's private transportation room with his latest acquisition dripping on the expensive marble floor.
"Get her prepped," Valentino called out to the nearest assistant—some imp demon who'd been hovering near the door. "Full treatment. Hair, makeup, wardrobe. I want her ready to shoot in two hours.
The hours blurred together in a cocaine-fueled haze of preparation. Valentino paced through the studio, his four hands gesturing wildly as he directed crew members to adjust lights, reposition cameras, perfect every angle.
His latest line of coke burned through his sinuses, and the energy crackling through his veins made everything sharp and clear and perfect. Velvet's rage didn't matter. All that mattered was the content, the empire, the absolute domination of Hell's entertainment industry.
"Where is she?" Valentino snapped at the nearest assistant. "She should be here by now."
"Wardrobe is finishing up, sir. They'll have her out in—"
"HAVE HER OUT NOW!!" The cocaine surged through his system, transforming his voice into a thunderous blast that shook the studio walls and sent assistants scurrying for cover.
"Male talent!" Valentino's voice cracked through the studio. "Get your ass on set. We're starting in five minutes."
Valentino moved to his director's chair and dropped into it, his fingers drumming against the armrest with cocaine-fueled energy. The cameras were positioned perfectly. The lighting would catch every detail. The sound equipment would capture every moan and whimper.
"Everyone in position," Valentino called out, his grin stretching wider.
He paused, smoke pouring from his mouth as he savored what was coming next.
"ACTION!"
The classroom set was simple—wooden desks arranged in neat rows, a large blackboard dominating one wall, afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows that the lighting crew had positioned to create that perfect golden glow. At the center desk in the front row, a young man sat with his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against the worn edge of the wood. His leg bounced beneath the desk, and sweat had already begun to bead at his temples despite the studio's climate control.
The door at the back of the classroom opened with a deliberate slowness that made the student's drumming fingers freeze mid-tap. Heels clicked against the floor—measured, confident steps that echoed through the artificial silence. The student's head turned, his throat working as he swallowed hard.
Nemuri Kayama stepped into view, and the young man's eyes widened.
She wore a white button-down blouse that had been tailored to fit like sin—the fabric stretched taut across her massive breasts, the buttons straining with each breath she took. The top three buttons hung open, revealing a deep valley of cleavage that her purple lace bra did nothing to conceal. The blouse had been tucked into a black pencil skirt that hugged every curve of her hips and ass, the hem riding high enough to show off long legs encased in sheer black stockings. Red heels added several inches to her height, making her tower over the seated student as she approached.
Her dark purple hair had been styled into loose waves that cascaded over her shoulders, and thin-framed glasses perched on her nose—the kind that screamed "sexy librarian" to anyone with functioning eyes. The beauty mark below her right eye caught the light as she moved, and her lips curved into a smile that managed to be both professional and predatory.
She carried a ruler in one hand, tapping it against her palm with each step. The wooden implement made a sharp sound that cut through the studio's silence, and the student's leg started bouncing again.
Nemuri stopped directly in front of his desk, her hips level with his face. The position forced him to tilt his head back to meet her eyes, and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed again. His fingers had resumed their drumming—faster now, more frantic.
"Do you know what you're in for?" Nemuri's voice dripped with authority, each word carefully enunciated. She leaned forward slightly, and the movement made her breasts press together, the cleavage deepening. "What happens to students who stay after class with me?"
The young man's mouth opened, closed, opened again. His eyes darted from her face to her chest and back up, clearly struggling to maintain eye contact. "I—I'm not sure, Ms. Kayama."
"Not sure?" She straightened, the ruler tapping harder against her palm. Her free hand moved to the desk, fingers splaying across the wood surface as she leaned down further. Now her face was inches from his, and he could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive that mixed with the faint scent of the body wash still clinging to her skin from the shower. "You've been failing my class all semester. Your test scores are abysmal. Your homework is consistently late or incomplete."
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement with obvious fascination.
"I think you've been distracted," Nemuri continued, her voice dropping lower. "I think you spend more time staring at your teacher's body than paying attention to the lessons. Isn't that right?"
The student's face flushed red, spreading from his cheeks down his neck. "I—no, I mean—I do pay attention, it's just—"
"Just what?" The ruler came down hard on the desk beside his hand, the crack making him jump. "Just that you can't help imagining what's under my clothes? Just that you spend every class period fantasizing about bending me over this desk?"
His breathing had gone shallow and rapid. The flush on his face deepened, and his hands gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to make his knuckles go white. "Ms. Kayama, I don't—"
"Don't lie to me." She straightened again, walking slowly around his desk. Her heels clicked with each step, and he twisted in his seat to follow her movement. She circled behind him, and he felt her presence at his back—close enough that her perfume surrounded him, close enough that he could hear the rustle of her clothing.
Her hand landed on his shoulder, fingers digging in just hard enough to make him tense. "I've seen the way you look at me. The way your eyes follow me around the classroom. The way you shift in your seat whenever I bend over to help another student."
She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "You're hard right now, aren't you?"
The student made a choked sound, his body going rigid. His hands released the desk and moved to his lap, trying to hide what was obviously true.
"I thought so." Nemuri's lips brushed against his ear as she spoke. "You know what happens to students who can't control themselves in my classroom?"
"What—what happens?" His voice came out barely above a whisper.
She straightened and walked back around to face him, her hips swaying with exaggerated movement. The pencil skirt rode up slightly with each step, revealing more of her stocking-clad thighs. She stopped in front of his desk again, and this time she sat on the edge of it—right in front of him, her legs crossed at the knee.
The position made her skirt ride up even higher, and he could see where the stockings ended and pale flesh began. His eyes locked onto that exposed skin, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
"They get punished," Nemuri said, her voice taking on an edge that made his breath catch.
Her fingers moved to the top button of her blouse, and the student's breath caught audibly in his throat. Nemuri worked it free with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his face as she watched him watch her. The fabric parted slightly, revealing more of the purple lace beneath.
The second button followed, then the third. Each one opened with that same agonizing patience, and the student's leg bounced faster beneath the desk. His hands gripped his thighs now, fingers digging into the denim of his jeans hard enough that she could see the tension in his forearms.
The fourth button. The fifth. The blouse hung open now, held together only by the last two buttons near her waist. The purple lace bra was fully visible—straining to contain breasts that seemed to defy physics, the cups barely managing their assigned task. The student's eyes had gone glassy, his mouth hanging slightly open as he stared.
Nemuri slid off the desk and stood, her heels bringing her even with his seated eye level. She turned her back to him, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that promised exactly what he was imagining. Her fingers found the zipper at the side of her pencil skirt, and the sound of it lowering seemed impossibly loud in the quiet classroom.
The skirt loosened around her hips. She pushed it down slowly, bending at the waist as she did, and the student made a strangled noise that might have been a whimper. The black fabric slid over her ass—covered only by matching purple lace panties that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The stockings were held up by a garter belt that dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, creating small indentations that drew the eye downward.
She stepped out of the skirt and kicked it aside, then straightened and turned to face him again. His face had gone from red to purple, and a visible bulge strained against the front of his jeans. His breathing had turned ragged, each exhale audible in the studio's careful silence.
Nemuri's fingers moved to the remaining buttons of her blouse. The sixth popped free. The seventh. The fabric parted completely, hanging open to frame her torso. She shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of white cotton.
She stood before him in only her underwear, stockings, garter belt, and heels. The purple lace of her bra and panties matched perfectly, and both pieces were sheer enough that he could see the darker flesh of her nipples and the shadow between her legs. Her body was a masterpiece of curves—full breasts that threatened to spill from their lace prison, a narrow waist that flared into wide hips, thick thighs that pressed together at the top.
The student's hands had moved back to the desk, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His knuckles had gone white, and his chest heaved with each breath.
Nemuri stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her hand shot out and grabbed the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair with enough force to make him gasp. She pulled him forward—hard, decisive—and pressed his face directly into her cleavage.
The student's muffled protest dissolved into something that sounded like surrender. Nemuri held him there, his nose and mouth buried in the valley between her breasts, and she felt his hot breath against her skin through the thin lace. His hands came up automatically, gripping her waist, and his head began to move—back and forth, his face motorboating her breasts with increasing enthusiasm.
The sensation sent heat flooding through her core. His nose pressed against the soft flesh, his lips dragging across the lace-covered skin, and small sounds of desperation escaped him with each movement. His fingers dug into her waist harder, pulling her closer, and she felt the rigid length of his cock pressing against her stomach through his jeans.
Nemuri's free hand moved to the back of his head as well, both hands now tangled in his hair, holding him in place while he worshipped her breasts with his face. The motorboating intensified—faster, more frantic—and she felt wetness beginning to soak through the lace where his mouth dragged across her skin.
His hips rolled forward involuntarily, grinding his trapped erection against her stomach. The friction made him groan against her breasts, the sound muffled and desperate. His hands slid from her waist to her ass, gripping the flesh through the lace panties, kneading it with rough desperation.
Nemuri pulled his head back suddenly, and he gasped for air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His face was flushed, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes half-lidded with lust. Saliva and sweat glistened on his chin, and his chest heaved with each ragged breath.
"That's better," Nemuri said, her voice rough. "Now you're paying attention."
She released his hair and stepped back, her hands moving to the clasp of her bra. His eyes tracked the movement with laser focus, watching as her fingers worked the hooks free. The lace loosened, and she let it fall away from her breasts completely.
They were magnificent—full and heavy, with pale pink nipples already hard from the attention. They swayed slightly as she moved, and the student's mouth fell open wider as he stared. His hand moved toward his lap, clearly intending to adjust himself, but Nemuri's ruler came down hard on his knuckles.
"No touching," she said, her tone sharp. "Not yet. You haven't earned that privilege."
His hand jerked back to the desk, and he nodded frantically. His cock strained so hard against his jeans that it looked painful.
Her hands moved to his belt, fingers working the leather through the buckle with practiced efficiency. The metal clinked as it came free, and the student's breathing hitched. She pulled the belt from its loops and tossed it aside, then moved to the button of his jeans.
The denim parted under her fingers. The zipper came down with a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet studio. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of both his jeans and boxers, and the student lifted his hips automatically, helping her as she dragged the fabric down his thighs. His cock sprang free—thick and hard, the tip already glistening with precum that leaked in steady drops.
Nemuri dropped to her knees between his spread legs, the movement fluid and graceful despite the heels. Her face was level with his cock now, and she watched his expression as she let saliva pool in her mouth. His eyes had gone wide, his lips parted, his entire body trembling with anticipation.
She leaned forward and let the spit drip from her mouth onto his shaft. The warm wetness coated him, running down in thick rivulets to pool around the base. His hips jerked at the sensation, and a strangled sound escaped his throat.
Her hand wrapped around him, spreading the saliva with slow strokes that made him twitch in her grip. She added more spit—letting it drip from her lips in long strings that connected her mouth to his cock. The wetness made obscene sounds as her hand worked him, and his breathing had turned into desperate pants.
"Ms. Kayama—please—I need—" His words dissolved into a groan as she opened her mouth and took him inside.
The heat of her mouth engulfed the head of his cock, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip before she sank deeper. She took him inch by inch, her lips stretching around his girth as saliva leaked from the corners of her mouth. The excess dripped down his shaft, coating him completely in wet warmth.
She pulled back slowly, her tongue dragging along the underside until only the tip remained between her lips. Then she dove back down, taking him deeper this time, her throat opening to accommodate his length. The student's hands flew to her head, fingers tangling in her purple hair, and his hips bucked upward involuntarily.
Nemuri's head bobbed faster, taking him to the back of her throat with each downward motion. Spit poured from her mouth around his cock, running down in thick streams that soaked his balls and dripped onto the floor. The wet sounds filled the studio—slurping, gagging, the obscene noise of her throat working around him.
His cock hit the back of her throat and she held him there, her nose pressed against his pelvis. Her throat convulsed around him, squeezing and releasing, and more saliva leaked out to coat everything. She pulled back with a gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock, then dove back down immediately.
"Oh fuck—oh god—Ms. Kayama—" The student's voice had gone high and desperate. His fingers tightened in her hair, and his hips began moving on their own, fucking up into her mouth with increasing urgency. The desk creaked beneath him as his body tensed.
She let him use her mouth, her hands gripping his thighs for balance as he thrust upward. Her lips stayed sealed around his shaft, creating suction that made him moan with each movement. Saliva dripped down her chin, coating her neck and the upper swell of her breasts. The mess was everywhere—slick and wet and absolutely filthy.
His movements became erratic, his thrusts losing their rhythm. His balls had drawn up tight, and his cock swelled thicker in her mouth. Nemuri's tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft, and she felt the pulse before he did.
His cock throbbed against her tongue, the pulse intensifying as his orgasm built toward the breaking point. Nemuri felt the tension in his thighs beneath her palms, heard the desperate whimper building in his throat—and pulled back completely.
The suction broke with a wet pop. His cock slipped from between her lips, leaving trails of saliva connecting her mouth to his swollen tip. The student's eyes flew open, confusion and desperate need warring across his flushed features.
"No—wait—I was so close—" His voice cracked on the words, his hips jerking forward uselessly, seeking the heat of her mouth that was no longer there.
Nemuri rose to her feet in one fluid motion, her lips curving into a smile that made his breath catch for an entirely different reason. The saliva coating her chin and neck glistened in the studio lights, and she made no move to wipe it away.
"Did you think it would be that easy?" Her voice carried that same authority from before, but now it held an edge of dark amusement. "That I would let you finish so quickly after all those wasted class periods?"
The student's mouth opened and closed, his cock still rigid and leaking precum that dripped down his shaft to mix with her saliva. His hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles had gone white.
"Ms. Kayama, please—I need—"
"What you need," Nemuri interrupted, her hand reaching out to grip his chin and force his glazed eyes to meet hers, "is to learn patience. To understand that pleasure is earned, not given freely."
She released his chin and stepped back, gesturing toward the large teacher's desk positioned at the front of the classroom set. The wooden surface gleamed under the lights, clear of any papers or supplies—prepared specifically for this moment.
"Get up," she commanded. "Lay down on my desk. On your back."
The student scrambled to obey, his jeans still tangled around his ankles making him stumble as he stood. He kicked them off completely, leaving him naked from the waist down, his cock bobbing with each movement as he crossed the short distance to her desk. He hoisted himself onto the wooden surface, the position awkward until he managed to swing his legs up and lay flat on his back.
Nemuri stalked toward him, her heels clicking against the floor with that same measured rhythm. She stopped beside the desk, looking down at him with an expression that made his cock twitch visibly.
"Lift your legs," she said, her voice dropping lower. "Pull your knees up to your chest."
His face flushed darker—if that was even possible—but he obeyed. His hands moved to the backs of his thighs, pulling his legs upward until his knees pressed against his chest. The position left him completely exposed, his ass lifted slightly off the desk surface, his balls hanging heavy between his spread thighs.
Nemuri moved to stand at the end of the desk, positioning herself between his raised legs. Her hands slid up the backs of his thighs, feeling the trembling in his muscles as he held the position. Her fingers traced higher, brushing against his balls, making him gasp and his cock leak another thick drop of precum onto his stomach.
"Hold still," she murmured, her breath ghosting across his exposed flesh. "And don't you dare cum without permission."
She leaned forward, and the first touch of her tongue against his asshole made his entire body jerk.
The wet heat dragged across the sensitive skin, circling the tight ring of muscle with deliberate slowness. His strangled moan echoed through the studio, and his grip on his thighs tightened until his fingers dug into flesh hard enough to leave marks.
Nemuri's tongue worked methodically, tracing circles around his rim before pressing more firmly against the center. The muscle resisted at first, clenched tight from tension and embarrassment, but she was patient. Her saliva coated him thoroughly, making everything slick and hot, and gradually she felt him begin to relax.
The tip of her tongue pushed inside, just barely breaching the tight ring. The student's back arched off the desk, his head falling back as a high, desperate sound tore from his throat. His cock throbbed visibly, precum flowing steadily now to pool in the hollow of his stomach.
She worked deeper, her tongue fucking him with shallow thrusts while one hand released his thigh to wrap around his shaft. Her fingers squeezed the base firmly—not stroking yet, just holding him—and the pressure made him whimper.
"Please—oh god—Ms. Kayama—" His words dissolved into incoherent babbling as her tongue pushed deeper, as her hand finally began to move on his cock.
The dual sensation overwhelmed his ability to form thoughts. Her tongue worked inside him, stretching and exploring, sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine to his brain. Her hand stroked his shaft with firm, measured movements—not fast enough to push him over the edge, but enough to keep him teetering right at the precipice.
Nemuri pulled her tongue out and dragged it flat across his hole, the broad stroke making him cry out. She did it again, then again, establishing a rhythm—licking from his taint up across his rim before pushing back inside. Her hand on his cock matched the pace, stroking faster now, her grip tightening.
His thighs trembled in his grip, the muscles burning from holding the position, but he didn't dare let go. His stomach clenched with each stroke of her hand, and his balls had drawn up so tight they ached. The pressure building in his core had reached an almost painful intensity.
"I'm—I'm going to—please, can I—" He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't force the words past the pleasure consuming every thought.
Nemuri's tongue pushed deep, her tongue pushed deep inside him, and the pressure that had been building in his core finally shattered. His cock pulsed in her hand, and thick ropes of cum erupted from the swollen tip to paint his stomach in white streaks. The orgasm tore through him with brutal intensity—his body convulsing as wave after wave crashed over him while her tongue stayed buried in his ass, prolonging every pulse until he thought he might black out from the sensation.
When the spasms finally subsided, his legs dropped to the desk with a heavy thud. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and he stared at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes while aftershocks made his muscles twitch. The cum coating his stomach felt warm and obscene, pooling in the hollow below his ribs and trickling down his sides.
Nemuri straightened, her lips glistening with saliva as she moved to stand beside the desk. Her eyes traveled down his body—taking in the mess he'd made, the way his cock still twitched despite having just emptied itself—and her smile widened into something predatory.
She climbed onto the desk with fluid grace, positioning herself to straddle his legs. The movement brought her face directly over his stomach, and she leaned down slowly. Her eyes locked onto his as her tongue extended to drag through the thick cum coating his skin.
The student's breath caught in his throat. He watched her lick a path from his navel upward, gathering the seed on her tongue before swallowing it deliberately. Her gaze never wavered from his face—holding his stare with an intensity that made his spent cock give an interested twitch.
She licked again, cleaning another stripe of cum from his stomach. The wet heat of her tongue sent sparks racing across his oversensitive skin, and he couldn't look away from those blue eyes boring into his. Each swipe of her tongue was thorough, methodical, leaving trails of saliva where cum had been moments before.
When she'd cleaned most of his stomach, she moved higher—her tongue dragging across his lower ribs, then up to circle his nipple before she sucked the small bud between her lips. The student gasped, his hands flying to grip her hips as she worked her mouth against his chest.
Nemuri released his nipple and sat back, licking her lips slowly while maintaining that piercing eye contact. "You taste good," she murmured, her voice rough and low. "All that pent-up frustration finally released. But we're not done yet."
The student's eyes widened. His cock had started to harden again—impossible as it seemed after that intense orgasm—responding to the heat of her body straddling his thighs and the promise in her words.
"I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm going to do," Nemuri continued, her hands sliding up her own body to cup her breasts. She squeezed them together, her thumbs brushing across her nipples, and the student's gaze dropped to watch the movement. "I'm going to wrap these tits around your cock and fuck you with them until you're hard enough to properly satisfy me."
Her fingers pinched her nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger, and the student's cock gave another interested twitch. Blood was already rushing back, filling him despite the recent release.
"You're going to watch these perfect tits slide up and down your shaft," she said, her voice taking on that authoritative edge again. "You're going to see your cock disappear between them over and over. And you're going to get so hard it hurts."
She shifted backward, positioning herself between his legs again. Her breasts hung heavy above his rapidly hardening cock, and she pressed them together with both hands—creating a deep valley that made his breath catch.
"Look at you," Nemuri murmured, her eyes tracking down to where his shaft had swollen to half-mast. "Already getting hard again just from my words. Such a desperate student, aren't you?"
She lowered her breasts, engulfing his cock in soft flesh that felt like heaven. The heat surrounded him, and she began to move—sliding up until just the tip remained visible, then dropping back down to take his full length between her tits. Her hands pressed them together firmly, creating pressure that made him groan.
"That's it," she purred, her pace increasing. "Feel how soft they are. How warm. Imagine how good it's going to feel when you're fully hard and I'm riding your cock instead."
The student's hips began to roll upward, fucking into the valley between her breasts with increasing urgency. His cock had fully hardened now—rigid and leaking precum that made everything slicker. Each thrust upward brought the swollen head past the upper curve of her breasts, and she tilted her head down to let her tongue flick across the tip whenever it appeared.
"You want to cum again already, don't you?" Nemuri's voice dripped with dark amusement. "Want to paint my tits the way you painted your stomach? Cover me in your seed?"
The student nodded frantically, words beyond him as pleasure built in his core again. The softness of her breasts combined with the wet heat of her tongue created sensations that made coherent thought impossible.
"Not yet," she said, and stopped moving completely.
His cock throbbed between her breasts, rigid and aching, and the sudden absence of friction made him whimper—an embarrassing, desperate sound that echoed through the quiet studio.
"I deserve some pleasure too," Nemuri said, her voice taking on that authoritative edge that made his spent balls try to tighten again. "Don't you think that's fair?"
Before he could form an answer, she moved—releasing her breasts and climbing further up his body. Her knees positioned themselves on either side of his head, and the student found himself staring directly up at the purple lace covering her pussy. The fabric was soaked through, darker where her arousal had saturated it completely, and he could smell her—musky and sweet and absolutely intoxicating.
She lowered herself onto his face without warning. The damp lace pressed against his mouth and nose, and the student's hands flew up automatically to grip her thighs. The soft flesh yielded under his fingers, and he felt the tension in her muscles as she settled her weight more firmly against him.
"Lick," Nemuri commanded, and her hips began to roll.
The student's tongue extended, dragging across the soaked fabric. The taste of her flooded his mouth—salt and something uniquely her that made his cock pulse against his stomach. He licked again, pressing harder, trying to work his tongue through the barrier of lace to reach the flesh beneath.
Her hips ground down harder, using his face for friction. The pressure made breathing difficult—he had to time his inhales carefully through his nose, catching air whenever she shifted position slightly. His tongue worked frantically against the lace, feeling the shape of her pussy lips through the fabric, finding where her clit was swollen and pressing against the material.
"That's it," Nemuri breathed, and the student felt her body lean forward. The angle changed, pressing her ass more firmly against his face while her weight shifted. Then he felt it—the soft warmth of her breasts engulfing his cock again.
The dual sensation overwhelmed his ability to process. His tongue continued its assault on her panty-covered pussy while her tits wrapped around his shaft and began moving. Up and down in slow, deliberate strokes that made his hips buck upward involuntarily. Each thrust pushed his face harder against her, and he had to adjust his grip on her thighs to keep from suffocating.
Her hips rolled in slow circles, grinding the soaked lace against his mouth and nose. The student's tongue pressed flat against the fabric, feeling the heat of her pussy through the thin barrier. His fingers dug into her thighs harder, trying to anchor himself as she used his face for her pleasure.
The wet sounds of her tits working his cock mixed with his muffled breathing. Each downward stroke engulfed him completely in soft flesh that squeezed around his shaft with perfect pressure. The precum leaking from his tip made everything slicker, and he felt it coating the valley between her breasts as she moved.
His tongue found where her clit pressed against the lace and focused there—circling the swollen bud through the fabric with increasing pressure. Her hips jerked at the sensation, grinding down harder, and the student had to turn his head slightly to catch a desperate breath through his nose before diving back in.
The lace had become completely saturated now—whether from her arousal or his saliva, he couldn't tell. Probably both. The fabric clung to every fold of her pussy, outlining her lips in detail that his tongue traced eagerly. He pressed harder, trying to work the material between her folds, desperate to taste her directly but unable to move the barrier aside.
Her breasts squeezed tighter around his cock, and her pace increased. The friction sent sparks racing up his spine, and his hips began thrusting upward to meet her movements. His balls had drawn up tight again despite the recent orgasm, and pressure built in his core with terrifying speed.
The student's tongue worked frantically against her clit through the lace, circling and pressing and flicking in patterns that made her thighs tremble against his grip. Her hips lost their steady rhythm, becoming more erratic as she chased her own pleasure. The grinding against his face intensified until breathing became a struggle he had to fight for with each desperate inhale.
Her body shifted forward more, and suddenly the heat of her mouth joined the softness of her breasts. The wet suction engulfed the head of his cock each time it emerged from between her tits, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip before releasing it to disappear back into the valley of flesh. The combination of sensations—soft pressure from her breasts and hot wetness from her mouth—made coherent thought impossible.
His tongue pressed hard against her clit through the soaked lace, and he felt her entire body go rigid above him. Her thighs clamped around his head, trapping him in place as her orgasm crashed through her. The fabric grew impossibly wetter as she came, flooding the lace with arousal that leaked through to coat his chin and cheeks. Her hips ground down with bruising force, using his face to prolong the waves of pleasure while small sounds escaped her throat.
The vibrations from her moans traveled down his shaft, and that was all it took. His cock pulsed between her breasts, and thick ropes of cum erupted into her waiting mouth. She swallowed around him, her lips sealed tight around the head while her breasts continued their movement—milking every drop from him as his body convulsed beneath her.
When the spasms finally subsided, Nemuri lifted herself off his face. The student gasped for air, his chest heaving as oxygen flooded his lungs. His face was completely soaked—covered in her arousal and his own saliva, the mess dripping down his jaw and neck. She moved off him completely, standing beside the desk on shaky legs.
The purple lace panties still clung to her, darker and saturated, outlining every detail of her pussy. She made no move to remove them as she looked down at him sprawled across her desk—his body marked with the evidence of their activities, his cock still twitching with aftershocks.
"Much better," Nemuri said, her voice rough and satisfied. Her fingers traced along the edge of the desk, and she watched his chest rise and fall with labored breaths. "Now you're starting to understand what proper attention looks like."
The student could only nod weakly, his throat too raw to form words. Everything felt distant and hazy—his body wrung out completely, his mind floating somewhere beyond rational thought. The taste of her lingered on his tongue, mixing with the salt of his own exertion.
Nemuri's hand moved to grip his chin, tilting his head so their eyes met. The authority in her gaze hadn't diminished despite her own orgasm, and he felt his spent cock give another interested twitch at the intensity there.
"But we're not finished yet," she said, and her lips curved into that predatory smile again. "You still have so much to learn."
She released his chin and moved toward the front of the classroom, her hips swaying with each step. The soaked panties clung to her ass, the fabric disappearing between her cheeks with each movement. The student watched her go, his body already responding despite its exhaustion—blood rushing south again at the promise in her words.
Nemuri turned back to face him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts in a way that pushed them up and together. The wet lace still clung to her between her legs, and the student's eyes tracked downward before snapping back up to her face.
"But not today," she said, and watched his expression crumble. "If you want more of this, your grades are going to have to improve significantly."
The words hit him like cold water. His mouth opened, protest forming on his lips, but her raised eyebrow killed it before sound emerged. He nodded instead—defeated, disappointed—and slid off the desk. His legs wobbled as his feet hit the floor, and he had to grip the edge of the wood to steady himself.
He gathered his clothes with fumbling hands, pulling his jeans up over legs that still trembled. The zipper caught twice before he managed to close it, and his fingers shook as he worked his belt back through the loops. The whole time, Nemuri watched him with that same authoritative expression—arms crossed, hip cocked, every inch the stern teacher despite being nearly naked.
The student moved toward the door, his shoulders slumped, his gait unsteady. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the taste of her still coated his tongue—a reminder of what he was leaving behind. His hand closed around the door handle.
"Wait." Nemuri's voice stopped him mid-pull. "There's one more thing before you leave."
He turned, hope flickering across his features—and something soft hit him square in the face.
The fabric was damp and warm. He pulled it away from his skin, fingers closing around purple lace that was thoroughly soaked through. His brain took a moment to process what he was holding, and then his eyes went wide.
Her panties. He was holding her panties.
His gaze snapped up and found her bent over her desk—one hand braced against the wood surface while the other reached back between her legs. Her fingers spread her pussy lips apart, exposing pink flesh that glistened with arousal. The position made her ass stick out, and she looked over her shoulder at him with an expression that made his knees go weak.
"This," Nemuri said, her voice dropping to something husky and rough that sent heat straight to his groin, "is what an A gets you."
The student nodded frantically, the movement so fast his neck would probably hurt later. Words failed him completely. His grip on the soaked lace tightened, and he committed every detail of the view to memory—the curve of her spine, the way her fingers held herself open, the flush spreading across her pale skin.
He stumbled backward through the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The panties clutched in his fist like treasure, and the image of her bent over that desk burned into his brain so thoroughly he knew it would haunt his dreams for months.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Nemuri straightened, releasing herself and standing to her full height. She walked to the mirror mounted on the classroom wall, her heels clicking against the floor, and studied her reflection. Her hair was slightly mussed, her lips swollen and dark, her skin flushed and glowing. She looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely magnificent.
A smile curved across her face—satisfied, pleased with herself in a way that made her eyes gleam.
"I'm such a great teacher," she murmured to her reflection, and meant every word.
"CUT!!!"
Valentino pushed himself up from his director's chair, all four hands spreading wide as smoke curled from between his teeth in satisfied spirals. The cocaine still buzzed through his system—not as intense as the initial rush, but enough to keep everything sharp and electric and perfect.
"THIS!" His voice boomed across the studio, echoing off the walls as he gestured at the monitors still displaying the final frame. The image showed Nemuri bent over the desk, fingers spreading herself open, looking back over her shoulder with that expression that would make Hell's demons empty their wallets. "This is another FUCKING HIT! The numbers on this are going to be INSANE!"
The crew members scattered across the set paused their breakdown work, eyes darting toward him with that mixture of fear and relief that came from surviving another Valentino production without getting shot or fired.
"And Velvet—" Valentino's grin stretched wider as he jabbed one finger toward the ceiling, toward where his business partner's office sat several floors above. "Velvet can't stay mad with all the money we're going to make off this! The projections alone will have her forgetting all about that bunny name controversy!"
The logic felt airtight in his cocaine-enhanced brain. Money solved everything. Money was the universal language of Hell, and when the revenue started pouring in from both shoots, Velvet would have to stop being mad at him. She'd see the numbers and realize that a little temporary embarrassment was worth the empire they were building.
His heels clicked against the studio floor as he moved toward where Nemuri stood beside the desk. She remained exactly where he'd positioned her after the cut—naked except for the garter belt and stockings, her body still flushed from the exertion of the scene. The hypnotic smoke continued to curl around her face in lazy tendrils, keeping her docile and compliant while crew members worked around them.
Valentino's eyes traveled down her body as he approached, cataloging every detail that had made the shoot so perfect. The curve of her breasts, still marked with saliva from the male talent's attention. The way her hips flared from that narrow waist. The bare pussy between her thighs, lips still swollen and glistening.
But something else caught his attention—the scent clinging to her skin. Not just sweat and sex, but something underneath. Something that made his antennae twitch with interest as he moved closer.
"I heard," Valentino said, his voice dropping lower as he stopped directly in front of her glazed form, "that you can make quite the interesting perfume, cariño."