Kota's fingers lingered on the thin black strap riding high over Theo's hip, the elastic biting into soft, pale flesh just enough to leave faint red indents. Theo shivered again—full-body, helpless—and the motion sent another ripple through those obscene cheeks. The thong had already disappeared completely into the deep cleft; all that remained visible from behind was smooth, hairless skin stretched tight over curves that defied gravity and logic. Kota could see the tiny pucker winking faintly beneath the strap, already slick, already flushed a deeper pink than the rest of him. Theo had clearly prepped. Thoroughly. The faint coconut scent of lube drifted up, warm and sweet.
Kota's cock—still hanging heavy, thickening with every heartbeat—twitched against his thigh. He hadn't planned this. Hadn't walked in here intending to do anything but chew Theo out for the stupid intercom stunt. But the sight of the principal—tall, lanky, blushing to the roots of his hair, wearing nothing but a scrap of lace and desperation—had short-circuited every rational thought.
Theo's breathing came in shallow, uneven pants. He still wouldn't look up. His eyes stayed glued to the carpet, lashes wet, lower lip caught between his teeth.
Kota stepped closer until the head of his cock brushed the back of Theo's thigh—hot skin against hot skin. Theo made a small, broken sound and instinctively arched, pushing those monumental cheeks back just enough to graze Kota's shaft.
"Turn around," Kota said, voice low. Not quite an order. Not yet. But close.
Theo obeyed instantly. He spun—awkward, wobbly on long legs—and braced both hands behind him on the desk again. The motion made his ass clap once, soft and meaty, before settling into that perfect heart shape. From the front now, the thong pouch was soaked dark, the tiny outline of his nub straining uselessly against the fabric. A fresh bead of precum welled up and slid down the inside of his thigh in a slow, glistening trail.
Theo finally risked a glance up. His blue eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide they looked black. "I—I didn't mean to make you angry," he whispered. "The announcement. I just… I needed to see you. Needed this. Please don't hate me."
Kota's hand moved before he could think—cupped the side of Theo's flushed face, thumb brushing over a high cheekbone. Theo leaned into it like a cat, eyes fluttering closed.
"I don't hate you," Kota muttered. "You're just… stupid sometimes."
Theo let out a shaky laugh. "I know. I'm—I'm aware. Very aware."
Kota's other hand slid down Theo's side—smooth, warm skin, no resistance—until it hooked under the thin strap at his hip. He tugged once. The elastic snapped lightly against flesh.
Theo whimpered.
"Turn back around," Kota said.
Theo did—slow this time, deliberate. He bent forward over the desk, forearms braced, back arched so deeply his spine curved like a bow. The position thrust his ass out and up—cheeks parting naturally, the thong strap vanishing completely into the shadowed trench. His hole was right there—pink, slick, already fluttering like it remembered yesterday's stretch and wanted more. The cheeks framed it perfectly: two pale, plush globes quivering with anticipation, each one easily bigger than Kota's head.
Kota stepped in behind him. His cock—now fully hard, six-and-a-half inches of thick, veiny heat—slid up the cleft without penetrating, just gliding along the smooth channel between those cheeks. The heat was immediate, overwhelming. Theo's ass was so soft yet firm underneath, like warm dough packed around steel. Every tiny shift sent ripples across the surface, clapping faintly against Kota's hips.
Theo moaned—low, needy, muffled against his own forearm.
Kota reached forward, wrapped one hand around the back of Theo's neck—not hard, just possessive—and pulled his head up slightly.
"Quiet," he growled. "You want the whole school to hear?"
Theo shook his head frantically. "N-no… no, Daddy."
The word hit like a spark on dry grass.
Daddy.
Kota froze for half a second, cock throbbing hard against the cleft. Theo's blush somehow deepened—if that was even possible—and he buried his face in his arms again, mortified.
"I—I didn't mean—oh god—"
"Shh," Kota said, but his voice came out rougher, darker. He pressed forward—not entering, just grinding the full length of his shaft along that slick channel, letting the head drag over Theo's hole on every upstroke. Theo's walls clenched on nothing, desperate, hungry.
Theo's moans turned softer, more controlled—whimpers really—each one vibrating against the desk. His tiny cock leaked steadily now, dripping in thin strings onto the carpet below. The thong was useless; it was soaked through, clinging transparently to his skin.
Kota's free hand gripped one massive cheek—fingers sinking deep into plush flesh—and spread it wider. The cleft opened like a invitation. Theo's hole winked again, slick and ready, begging without words.
Kota lined himself up—fat head nudging right against that tight ring. He didn't push in. Not yet. He just held there, letting Theo feel the pressure, the promise.
Theo's whole body trembled. "Please…"
Kota leaned over him, chest to back, lips brushing the shell of Theo's ear. "Quiet, bitch," he murmured. "Do you want us to get caught?"
Theo shook his head again—frantic, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "No, Daddy… no… I'll be good… I swear…"
There it was again. Daddy.
Kota's balls tightened. He could already feel the pressure building—thick, heavy, inevitable. Yesterday's load had been obscene; today felt even bigger, backed up from a morning of restless energy and the slow burn of walking through school knowing everyone was watching him differently now.
He rocked forward—just enough to let the head breach the first tight ring of muscle.
Theo's moan was immediate—high, broken—but Kota clamped a hand over his mouth before it could escape fully.
"Quiet," he hissed. "Or I stop."
Theo nodded against his palm, tears spilling over now, mascara (he'd worn mascara today?) running in thin black tracks down his flushed cheeks. His hole clenched rhythmically around the head—greedy, fluttering, trying to pull Kota deeper.
Kota held there—barely inside, just the tip—savoring the heat, the impossible tightness. It was tighter than yesterday. Theo must've clenched all morning, edged himself stupid thinking about this, kept himself wound up and desperate.
Kota's hips rolled—slow, shallow thrusts that never went deeper than the head. Each one dragged a muffled whimper from Theo, each one made those cheeks clap softly against his pelvis.
Theo's tiny nub twitched uselessly, leaking in pathetic spurts. His whole body shook—legs trembling, back arched to the breaking point, fingers scrabbling at the desk edge.
Kota felt it building fast—too fast. The pressure coiled low and hot, balls drawing tight. He wasn't going to last. Not with Theo like this—bent over, thong swallowed by his own ass, calling him Daddy, crying quietly into his hand.
One more thrust—deep, sudden, burying every inch in one smooth stroke.
Theo's eyes rolled back. A choked sob vibrated against Kota's palm.
Kota bottomed out—balls pressed flush against that soft, plush cleft—and held there.
The first pulse hit like a dam breaking.
He came hard—thick, forceful ropes flooding Theo's insides. It felt endless. Pulse after pulse after pulse. Easily three hundred milliliters again, maybe more. The heat of it was obscene—warm, thick, filling Theo so completely that Kota could feel the pressure building inside, the way Theo's walls fluttered and clenched like they were trying to milk every drop.
It didn't feel like cumming.
It felt like pissing.
A long, hot, relentless stream pouring deep—flooding every inch, stretching Theo from the inside out. Theo's belly actually softened slightly under Kota's hand where it rested on his flat stomach—cum bloating him just enough to notice.
Theo sobbed quietly against Kota's palm—tears, pleasure, relief, all mixed together. His own tiny cock jerked once, twice—spurting weak, watery dribbles onto the carpet—before going soft and spent.
Kota stayed buried to the hilt, grinding slow circles, letting the last pulses empty into that greedy heat.
When it finally tapered off, Theo was trembling—full-body shakes, legs barely holding him up.
Kota eased his hand off Theo's mouth.
Theo gasped—ragged, wrecked.
"Daddy…" he whispered again, voice cracked and small.
Kota pressed a kiss to the back of his neck—soft, almost gentle.
Then he started to pull out—slow—watching the way Theo's hole clung to him, reluctant to let go.
A thick river of cum followed—white, viscous, pouring out in a steady stream down Theo's thighs, soaking the thong, dripping onto the carpet in heavy splats.
Theo whimpered at the loss.
Kota stepped back, cock still glistening, still half-hard.
Theo stayed bent over the desk—ass up, cheeks spread, hole gaping and leaking, thong ruined.
He looked completely, beautifully destroyed.
And Kota—chest heaving, skin slick with sweat—realized he wasn't angry anymore.
Not even a little.