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Atsumu's first meeting with her dissertation supervisor is a disaster.
The professor she was assigned has just come back from a break, during which she wrote and published a new book, but the course coordinator is confident that Sakusa Kiyoomi is the perfect fit to guide Atsumu through the pains of obtaining her master's degree.
Atsumu doesn't know about supervision, but 'perfect fit' really is what comes to mind the first time Sakusa walks into the office in a dark navy satin shirt tucked into slim cream tailored pants. When she turns around to use a printer and Atsumu is faced with a perfectly plump ass, she grabs her water bottle and chugs like her life depends on it.
Her dark hair is pinned up in a bun, but stray curls frame her face. Her long fingers with short, naked nails are adorned with several silver rings. At the tip of her nose sits round metal glasses that she takes off to look Atsumu in the eye, leaving them dangling from a chain around her neck. Atsumu doesn't feel like she's pursuing a master's degree. In fact, she feels like her entire vocabulary consists of gay homosexual lesbian gay gay gay.
Sakusa Kiyoomi does seem like a perfect fit for Atsumu's project once they get to talking, when Atsumu is forced by a (decreasing by the minute) sense of decency to stop ogling her supervisor. Her dark eyes sparkle with interest when Atsumu explains what she wants to achieve, tells her about papers that she co-wrote with some academics Atsumu has read and respects, and they even exchange some lighthearted anecdotes about their experiences at academia. Atsumu flutters away from the meeting room like she could be broken down by a gust of wind, like a dandelion. It feels like the end of the best first date she's ever been on. But it's her dissertation supervisor.
Over the next few weeks they meet at least once, sometimes twice a week, even though Sakusa has been told by the course coordinator that normally meetings would take place once in a fortnight. Not that she minds— she likes following Atsumu's progress closely, and it's also her first time supervising a master's dissertation, so she knows what to expect as much as Atsumu probably does.
She grows fond of her pupil, really. Atsumu is earnest and a perfectionist, and often their meetings include a lot of lighthearted whining from her part. Sakusa remembers the pains behind obtaining each of the degrees lined on her office wall. The self-doubt, sleepless nights, microwaved meals, only a tower of library books to keep you company. It's familiar, and she sympathises.
Atsumu seems to take interest in her as well, which is always flattering. She promises she'll buy her book as soon as it comes out, even though Sakusa knows how being a student is hard on your finances. She yelps in joy when Sakusa brings her a copy as a gift, unsuccessfully tries to give it back before accepting. She asks about Sakusa's own experiences at being a student, listens intently to everything she says, eyes so wide and candid Sakusa can't help but find it endearing.
One day, when she's running a bit later after having a meeting with the dean, she walks into Atsumu in her office holding a framed photo that sat on Kiyoomi's desk, always facing her.
Atsumu flushes red when she's caught.
"'M sorry, Sakusa-sensei. I was just, uh, lookin' around while I waited, and—"
Sakusa dismisses her with a wave of her hand.
"It's alright, Miya-san. I apologise for being late. Shall we sit? How are you going on that argument you were struggling with?"
Atsumu is strangely quiet, still eyeing the back of the frame like it caused her personal offence.
"Is that your, uh, partner, Sakusa-sensei?"
The question catches her by surprise.
"No, Miya-san. That's my cousin."
Atsumu still hasn't looked her in the eye, but her tense shoulders relax a bit at the reply. Her gaze moves to where her hands wriggle in her lap.
"Do you, uhm, have a partner? Sakusa-sensei?"
This time, the question doesn't even catch her by surprise. It grabs her and slams into her almost physically.
"No, Miya-san. I don't."
Atsumu is quiet for a few more seconds, and when she looks up her entire face is the colour of a poorly graded paper.
Sakusa tries to get away from the subject as much as she can and conduct the meeting as normal. By the time it wraps up, she thinks fortnightly meetings would probably have sufficed for the purposes of the project. Maybe Atsumu isn't calling them for the project, though.
Sakusa Kiyoomi is a 37 year old single university professor. Her circles are not exactly brimming with hotties, and Atsumu is not really an eyesore. Her long blonde hair hides a dark undercut Sakusa has only seen when she pins her hair up, and her skin is plump and radiant and soft-looking. Her body is toned and athletic from being on the university's women's volleyball team during her undergrad, and the one time she came to a meeting straight from the gym in leggings Sakusa felt the entire room grow at least three degrees hotter. She's obviously attractive, and smart, and funny, and maybe Sakusa would like to do unspeakable things to her.
But she's also 13 years her junior, and a student, and Sakusa's supervisee.
The next time they meet, the deadline looms over them. Atsumu has submitted her first draft and they're going over it together, but every time Sakusa lifts a red pen to highlight any changes or question anything Atsumu physically winces. Her body shakes with anxiety, and Sakusa can recognise the signs of exhaustion.
"See, I think this sentence could be structured a little bit better. Just so it transitions into the next paragraph more seamless—"
"No, yer right. I see it. I need to rewrite the whole thing, gotcha."
"Miya-san, that really isn't necessary—"
"No, no, this whole argument is pretty weak, really, I should just scrap it—"
"Miya-san."
Atsumu looks up from the red marks on the page to find Sakusa's eyes boring into hers.
"Miya-san. Your research is really good. You have very powerful arguments, are backed by plenty of data, and have a very unique proposal that can easily be your phD thesis, if you wish. You are doing really, really well."
Sakusa wonders if this is her fault. If she hasn't been praising her pupil enough. Her evaluations are always positive, but sometimes mention she can be harsh in her criticism and stingy in her praise. Maybe Atsumu just needs more encouragement.
"You are doing really well. You're very intelligent, Miya-san, and it has been a pleasure to work with you on this project."
Sakusa grips the hand Atsumu has on the table, in a gesture she hopes will be comforting. Atsumu looks at her in mild shock, and Sakusa finds that her eyes are glassy with unspilled tears.
"'M doing good?"
It shouldn't turn her on. It shouldn't. The sight of her 24 year old student with big,watery caramel eyes looking at her with that level of adoration shouldn't turn her on. The pulse between her legs shouldn't exist.
The thumb that rubs Atsumu's hand shouldn't be doing that.
"Uhum. You're doing really good, baby."
Her mouth definitely, definitely shouldn't have said that.
Atsumu blinks at her, and it makes tears escape from the corner of her eye, run across the plump, soft skin.
"Sakusa-sensei..."
Sakusa can't breathe.
She watches her hand lift up from Atsumu's to wipe the trails of tears from her cheeks. She's not thinking about what she's doing, about the consequences of her actions, because in order to do that her mind would have to stop thinking about how Atsumu's skin is as soft as it looks, and how her face would look between her legs.
Her thumb trails the slope of Atsumu's cheekbones, following a path that guides her to a soft, open mouth. Sakusa traces her bottom lip, feeling hypnotised by the warmth of the skin under her fingers, by the way Atsumu never tears her gaze away from Sakusa the entire time.
Not even when she dives to catch Sakusa's thumb between her lips, giving kitty licks to the pad before taking it in her mouth and swirling it around her tongue.
"Am I doing good, professor?"
For someone with her kind of academic renown, Sakusa's rationality snaps very easily at that.
She pulls her hand away from Atsumu's face to grasp the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She feels the prickly hairs of her undercut beneath her fingers as she continues to rub soothing circles with her thumb, still slick with Atsumu's spit. Her mouth tastes salty from her tears.
Atsumu's hand tentatively traces up Sakusa's arm, feeling surprisingly taut muscle under the silky fabric. There's a muffled yelp in surprise that Sakusa swallows when Atsumu's fingers wrap around her bicep and squeeze. God, it shouldn't be cute.
Sakusa follows the path her thumb carved with her tongue, licking Atsumu's bottom lip for a permission she's granted easily. It's filthy, the way they kiss: Sakusa can only remember kissing strangers at parties like that, maybe sometime ten years ago. It's disgustingly hot and wet when their tongues lap at each other, and it's loud, the sounds of spit and panting breaths and the small moans Atsumu loses somewhere between her throat and where her lips chase Sakusa's. She can't remember the last time she was kissed like this, like everything Atsumu did with her tongue was a show, a tease into how much more she could do with her mouth in the right places.
The places where Sakusa wants Atsumu's tongue to be burn up under her clothes. She's painfully aware of the way she gushes into her panties every time Atsumu licks into her mouth like she's chasing words Sakusa left unsaid. Then she remembers she did.
Atsumu whines, honest to god whines, when Sakusa pulls back from the kiss to mouth at her jaw instead. Her warm breath is panting into Sakusa's ear, which is doing horrible things to the pool of slick that accumulates between her legs. Sakusa follows the line of her jaw to her ear, takes a lobe between her teeth and just barely grazes her tongue over it. Without Sakusa's lips, Atsumu's responding moan hits her like a fucking freight train.
"So, so good. I want to show you how well you're doing, what you're doing to me." She takes the hand Atsumu still hasn't moved from her lap, in a sudden moment of shyness, and slides it up her naked inner thigh, under her pencil skirt. "Is that okay, baby?"
"Fuck."
Atsumu deserts Sakusa's guidance to palm her cunt.
"Feel it. Do you want to see how wet it is, Miya-san?"
"Atsumu." She whispers.
"What was that?"
She gulps. "Call me Atsumu. Or baby. Please."
Sakusa ponders. "I can do that, Atsumu."
She lifts up her skirt until it's bunched around her hips, pushes her simple black lace panties to the side so Atsumu can see the glistening coat of arousal on her pussy.
"You can call me Sakusa-sensei."
She can't know what Atsumu is looking at right now but she feels it, the slow drip of slick down her folds, the wet patch in her underwear her finger is hooked into. Atsumu looks at it like it's a feast, licks her lips before tentatively extending her hand to run her fingers through it.
Sakusa sighs at the first tentative touches, hears Atsumu breath obscenities as her finger gathers more and more of Sakusa's slick, then pulls her finger away to taste it.
Sakusa's breaths come out shallow as she watches the dizzying sight of Atsumu moaning around her own fingers, eyes shut in pleasure just from tasting her.
"Do you believe me now, Atsumu? Do you believe me when I say you're doing good?"
Atsumu's eyes snap open at the sound of Sakusa's voice like she almost forgot she was there, watching. A blush darkens her cheeks. God, Sakusa wants to eat her alive.
"I want you to do even better, though. I want you to show me how good you are. Can you do that for me, baby?"
She doesn't know where this side of her is coming from. Actually, she does: it's coming from a year-long dry spell since her last relationship, and the woman in front of her, looking so obedient and pliant Sakusa wonders how many different ways she can break her.
She doesn't want to break her today, though. Today she needs to be more liberal in her praise, needs to show her just how pleased she is with her work, needs to make Atsumu understand how much potential she has. This is what she should've been doing from the beginning: taking care of Atsumu, being someone she wants to do good for. She can still do that. They still have time.
Atsumu swallows and nods. She's not in her own head anymore: she knows she can do better, so much better for Sakusa.
"Good. Take off your clothes."
Atsumu tentatively reaches for the hem of her t-shirt before pulling it off completely, shivering when her skin becomes exposed. Sakusa drinks the sight up, the toned muscle of her arms, the soft pouch in her lower stomach from the inactivity since leaving the sport. Her tits are glorious, still round and perky at her young age, spilling from the cotton top she has on. The outline of her hardened nipples is visible through the stretched material, and so are the barbells going through them.
"Fuck." It's her turn to curse. She can feel heat pooling at the pit of her stomach, but this isn't about her today.
Atsumu stands up from her chair to unbutton her jeans and drop them to the floor, stepping out in a matching gray cotton set like she should be selling sex on a Calvin Klein billboard somewhere in Tokyo.
She burns up under Sakusa's gaze. She doesn't remember ever feeling this wanted, this desired, not by the guys she went home with after end of term parties or the girls in hers and others teams she fooled around with in the locker room or on away games and training camps. Sakusa's eyes rake the dip of her waist, the curve of her thighs, zero in on the nipple piercings she knows are visible through her top. Her 21-year-old self might have been stupid, but Atsumu is willing to forgive all of her sins solely because of the way Sakusa is looking at her like she wants to devour her.
Sakusa beckons her closer and rises slowly from her chair, towering over Atsumu ever so slightly. They have never stood this close together, close enough that Atsumu can see the couple of inches Sakusa has on her for the first time.
Sakusa's hand drops to graze cold fingertips on the sides of Atsumu's waist, and she shivers at the touch. Her nipples feel physically unable to get any harder, and she's sure there's a visible wet patch between her legs now.
She lifts her head in a silent plea, and Sakusa indulges her with a kiss much more chaste than their first one. Her curls tickle the sides of Atsumu's face when she pulls away to whisper in her ear.
"I think I haven't been very good at telling you the things you need to hear, Atsumu, and that's my fault. So today I want you to relax. I will take care of you, and you just need to make sure you do everything I say. But I need to know you want this too."
"Please, Sakusa-sensei, I need it. I need you to touch me, I'm so wet, please—"
Sakusa cuts her off by placing the pad of her thumb on her bottom lip again. Atsumu gets the message, swallows the digit in her mouth, while Sakusa's hand travels down the sides of her body in maddeningly light touches, making every hair on Atsumu's body stand up. She's barely touching her, it's only fingertips running up and down her waist, but it pulls soft mewls out of her that die vibrating around Sakusa's thumb.
When those touches travel to graze her sensitive nipples she almost jumps.
"How old were you when you got these, Atsumu?"
Sakusa pulls her finger out of her mouth with an obscene pop.
"Twenty-one, sensei."
"I see. So you already know what it feels like to have someone's mouth on it, yes?"
Atsumu gulps.
"Y-Yeah, people have done that before."
"That's a shame."
She continues rubbing them through the fabric, delighting in the way Atsumu's body stiffens, as her lips travel from softly biting her earlobe, to pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, her collarbones, the hollow of her throat.
Her fingers hook on her bands, pulling the top down until Atsumu's tits drop slightly without the support, her perky pierced nipples dark and hardened. Sakusa takes the wet thumb Atsumu so kindly prepared for her and starts rubbing circles around it, playing with the metal through them.
Her other hand sneaks around Atsumu's waist as she gently starts pushing the student back until she hits the edge of Sakusa's mahogany desk. Sakusa's mouth is still occupied nipping at Atsumu's collarbone, so she forgoes a verbal command and settles for pressing her lower back on the wood until Atsumu gets the message and props herself up to sit on the free space.
"Aren't ya going to sweep all the stuff off of yer desk, professor?" Atsumu lets out a breathless chuckle when Sakusa's mouth finally starts trailing lower to the exposed skin. She feels her smile against her flesh.
"I thought I told you when we started that I don't like clichés, Atsumu."
She seems to think she's had enough fun teasing Atsumu, so she takes a nipple in her mouth, and her student moans.
Sakusa swirls her tongue around it, tugs on the barbells softly with her teeth, thoroughly enjoying the fucking sinful symphony she drags out of Atsumu's mouth. Atsumu's body reacts in kind entirely, wriggling away from the focused attention, her cunt obscenely wet now. Sakusa feels the heat radiating off her body, or maybe it's her own, neglected and begging to be touched.
"Ah, Sakusa-sensei, your tongue..."
Sakusa feels like she might die.
Atsumu has wrapped her legs around her now, and even through the layers of underwear and Sakusa's shirt she can feel Atsumu's arousal. When she pulls back from assaulting her nipples she allows herself a look. Atsumu's hips grind upwards so Sakusa has a full view of the distinct dark patch on the grey cotton.
She is going to die.
Atsumu aids by propping herself up and lifting her hips off the desk so Sakusa can slide the offending fabric off.
She has Atsumu completely naked in front of her now. The contrast between them, Sakusa still completely clothed and seemingly in control of Atsumu, naked and wet and pliant, legs spread open and panting heavily just from what Sakusa had done to her. It was obscene.
Sakusa continued her path down Atsumu's body with one last flick of her tongue on the nipple that hadn't gotten attention from her mouth. Normally she would take her time making sure they have both received equal amounts of attention, but there are more pressing matters she needs to attend to.
She still makes sure to worship her stomach, slathering kisses that get closer and closer to Atsumu's dark bush. Her hair matches the colour of her roots and undercut, dark brown curls Sakusa wants to bury her nose into. She nips at her hip bones, apologising with kitten licks, and every new part of Atsumu's body seems to be more sensitive than the last.
She's kneeling on the floor when her face meets Atsumu's cunt. Her student has now propped her feet up on the desk, shamelessly offering herself wet and warm for Sakusa to take. It takes all of the professor's self-control to ignore the hypnotising smell of her arousal and instead focus her attention on Atsumu's inner thighs, kissing the length of hard, toned muscle.
God, Atsumu's thighs are a sin. Sakusa might be able to use that.
Atsumu has started getting impatient now, letting out dissatisfied grunts and tangling her fingers on Sakusa's curls, trying to push her head to where she wants attention.
"I thought I told you to be good, Atsumu." Sakusa clicks her tongue in disapproval. "Maybe I need to teach you a lesson in patience too."
Sakusa certainly could lecture a course on willpower. Her own pussy is throbbing without any attention and she could drool from the idea of tasting her student alone. But she can't go about this the way a horny twenty-something would. Atsumu certainly has had plenty of encounters like that.
At the scolding Atsumu pulls back in shame, murmuring an apology and stilling herself. Good. Sakusa cradles her thigh as a reward, and sucks a mark on the sensitive skin. Maybe she can't mark Atsumu somewhere anyone could see, but she can leave a reminder for when she's alone. A reminder of how good she can be.
"Such a good girl, so desperate for my tongue. Is this what you wanted, Atsumu?" Sakusa rakes her nails lightly on the outside of her thighs. She feels out of her mind. "Is this why you wanted to see me so often? You wanted me to praise you, or maybe scold you? Or did you just want me to take you just like this, spread open like a whore?"
Sakusa has no idea where she's going, but she continues on the same path because Atsumu is looking at her like she's about to cry.
"This isn't something you just thought of today, is it?" Sakusa opens her folds to gather some of Atsumu's slick, poking at her entrance, and Atsumu's head falls back. "You've wanted this for a while, I presume. I should've seen it sooner, really, but you never want to assume these things, do you? But you seemed so interested in finding out if there was someone else." When she deems her finger wet enough, she takes it to Atsumu's lips so she can taste herself. "There isn't anyone else, Atsumu. And maybe that's why I'm so desperate to do this."
At that, Sakusa finally relents and her tongue pokes out to taste Atsumu. The woman above her lets out a broken cry.
She hasn't gotten anywhere close to Atsumu's clit on purpose, giving kitten licks to her folds, placing gentle kisses on her cunt. Atsumu has closed her thighs around her head, enveloping her in warmth. She gets more daring with time, still avoiding her most sensitive spot, relishing in the mild salty taste of Atsumu, in the musk of her pubes.
When she pulls back Atsumu cries in discontent, but the look of her professor's face shining wet with her own slick and perfect curls messed up from Atsumu's fingers placate her a bit.
"Atsumu, baby, you taste heavenly, fuck, I need, I need to—"
She's back between Atsumu's legs like that second without it made her miserable. She stills takes everything Atsumu can give her, tongue probing her cunt to pull more of it. Sakusa feels like an addict, and everything she does is just so she can continue to taste, taste, taste.
But Atsumu sounds like she's on the verge of tears, stringing together pleas of Sakusa's name and muddled begs. Every time Sakusa brushes anywhere close to her clit the thighs around her head tense in pleasure, and Sakusa knows she's being selfish, letting herself get lost in the pleasure of tasting her pupil.
So her tongue finds Atsumu's clit, starts with small licks of her pink tongue that have Atsumu whispering curses, eyes shut and head thrown back. She starts by teasing like she has been, testing Atsumu's discipline. After a few minutes of light kisses that she knows are not nearly enough, Atsumu still hasn't moved beyond the heavy breaths that shake her chest. Good.
"I knew you could do it, Atsumu. Look at how good you're being. I think you deserve to come for your sensei, hm?"
Atsumu cries, really cries, fat tears rolling down her face when she begs.
"Please, Sakusa-sensei, I have never needed it so much. Please put your mouth on me, I promise I will never doubt myself again."
Sakusa believes her, so she makes good on her end of the deal too.
She removes a heavy ring which clatters to the floor before inserting her middle finger inside Atsumu, tongue coming back to her clit. She strokes her walls lazily, curling the digit inside of her in time with the strokes of the flat of her tongue against Atsumu's clit. It's still too slow, she knows it's not enough.
And Atsumu tells her so, moaning for more, faster, deeper, and Sakusa has half a mind to chuckle at how eager she sounds. Like she can't feel the slow trickle of her own wetness on her inner thigh right now.
Sakusa indulges her with another finger, increasing her tempo until Atsumu's thighs are shaking around her. She's nearly suffocating with her nose buried in Atsumu's dark pubes, tongue flicking her clit while fighting a cramp, fingers curling into her g-spot. Atsumu is pooling on Sakusa's desk now, in a disgusting mix of spit and slick that Sakusa wants nothing more than to see her lap it up. God, what a way to die.
"Please, sensei, keep going, you look so good between my legs, I've thought about this for so long… So deep, so good..."
Sakusa is the one that should be praising her, but Atsumu's compliment goes straight to her pussy, and she makes a mental note to ask Atsumu about everything she's ever thought about later, and enact every single fantasy she's hidden.
She can feel Atsumu's orgasm building everywhere, from her inner thigh muscles shaking, the clenching of her cunt around Sakusa's fingers, the heavy breathing taking shape in choked moans. Sakusa should be more worried because Atsumu is fucking loud, but right now nothing exists beyond this room, beyond making Atsumu come on her fingers.
When she does it's silently, thighs clenching around Sakusa's head, eyes shut, mouth open. Sakusa milks it out of her, stilling the fingers buried in her cunt but continuing the assault on her clit until Atsumu's body stills, falling back on Sakusa's desk completely spent.
It's a fucking sight when Sakusa stands up. There's a small puddle under Atsumu, whose sweat-slicked chest heaves with arduous breaths. Her face is flushed and wet from tears, and she looks sinful, debauched, some unholy temptation Sakusa has just fallen for, and is willing to again, again and again.
And even though this was for Atsumu she can't help but sin again when her student offers her thighs to her. Sakusa comes like this, rubbing her wet cunt on her pupil's thigh, grinding shamelessly until Atsumu's skin shines with her own arousal. She cleans it up with her tongue, just like Atsumu does to her desk.
Atsumu submits her dissertation and graduates with honours. And when Sakusa needs an assistant tutor for the class she's lecturing next semester, PhD student Atsumu is highly recommended by the dean.
On the first day of class, Sakusa has a toy inside of her the whole time. Atsumu, on the first row, holds the remote.