beyond office hours . . .
゛⸝⸝ ⋆ 𝓅rof! kento nanami × reader × 𝓅rof! hiromi higuruma
⌗ synopsis :: ethics professor nanami and law professor higuruma just can’t stay away from their cute star student..
⌗ content :: ౨ৎ explicit content (18+) ┄ afab!reader pervy!professors legal age gap praise brief m. masturbation petnames double oral f. rec. fingering squirting handjob edging overstim pussyjob p talking light p slapping spitting 3sum mating press dacryphilia dumbification light choking improper use of a tie sloppy seconds breeding k creampies
the semester had begun like any other, crisp air and fresh syllabi and the low hum of campus life settling back into its rhythm after winter break. you were in your third year now, double-majoring in pre-law and business ethics, which meant your schedule was neatly split between professor nanami’s ethics lectures on tuesdays and thursdays and professor higuruma’s constitutional law seminars on mondays and wednesdays.
both men had reputations that preceded them—nanami for his unflinching, almost surgical lectures on moral philosophy and corporate responsibility; higuruma for the way he could turn a dry case discussion into something electric and alive. you liked them both, in that uncomplicated student way. they noticed you when others didn’t. they remembered your name. they listened.
you never once suspected the depth of what simmered beneath their professional surfaces.
nanami’s classroom was on the third floor of the east wing, tall windows overlooking the quad, rows of tiered seats that always smelled faintly of old wood and dry-erase markers. he stood at the front that first tuesday in his usual tan suit, jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled once at the wrists to reveal the precise lines of muscle and tendon along his forearms. blond hair parted with military neatness, wire-rimmed glasses sitting on the sharp bridge of his nose and catching the light whenever he turned his head. his voice rolled out low and measured, each word chosen like a scalpel.
“ethics is not about feeling good,” he said that morning, pacing slowly between the projector and the first row. “it is about doing what is right even when every incentive points elsewhere. even when the consequences are… personally inconvenient.”
his eyes swept the room and landed on you—third row, center, notebook already open, pen poised. you were wearing a soft cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder and a pleated skirt that rode just high enough when you crossed your legs, in perfect view for him thanks to the way the aisles were tiered. it wasn’t even anything provocative. just you, sitting there with your chin in your hand, listening like the material mattered more than anything else in your world. nanami’s jaw flexed once, imperceptibly. he forced his gaze onward, but the image stayed; your lips parted slightly, the delicate column of your throat when you swallowed, the way your thighs pressed together casually under the desk.
he told himself it was admiration for a diligent student. nothing more.
after class you lingered, as you often did to clarify notes you were too shy to ask about with the whole class watching, and waited until the last stragglers had filed out before approaching his desk. your voice was soft, a little hesitant. “professor nanami? i was wondering if you had any recommended secondary sources for the trolley problem variations. the ones that involve personal relationships. my notes felt, um, incomplete.”
he looked up from the stack of papers he was straightening, hazel eyes steady behind his glasses. up close you could smell his cologne—something clean and expensive, sandalwood and citrus and warm skin. “of course,” he said, and the low timbre of it made something flutter low in your belly, though you chalked it up to nerves. he reached for a thick volume on his shelf, handed it to you. his fingers brushed yours in the exchange, warm and deliberate. neither of you pulled away immediately.
“take your time with it,” he added, voice quieter now that the room was empty. “and if you find yourself stuck, my office hours are wednesdays at four. no appointment necessary.”
you smiled up at him, bright and grateful, completely unaware of how his gaze tracked the way your sweater shifted when you hugged the book to your chest. “thank you. you’re always so helpful.”
he hummed, a small sound in the back of his throat. “it’s my job to make sure bright students like you don’t waste their potential.”
that night, alone in his apartment, nanami poured himself two fingers of whiskey and let the memory replay on loop. the brush of your fingers. the soft swell of your breasts against that sweater. the innocent way you’d said his name. his cock was already half-hard by the time he sat on the edge of his bed, palming himself through his slacks but refusing to actually touch himself. that just wouldn’t be right. still, he imagined bending you over his desk after hours, skirt flipped up, your voice cracking around his name. he was so close, teeth gritting and free hand fisting into his duvet, your name on the tip of his tongue. but he ultimately pulled his hand away from himself before he could cross that line.
it was not the last time.
higuruma’s classroom was smaller, more intimate, tucked in the law annex with heavy oak tables arranged in a u-shape so everyone could see each other during debates. he arrived five minutes late that monday, tie slightly askew, dark hair falling into his eyes as he dropped his battered leather satchel onto the chair. sleeves already rolled to the elbows, exposing those long, veined forearms that always drew quiet stares from half the class. he looked perpetually exhausted and perpetually unbothered by it, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders and he simply refused to let it show.
“good morning,” he drawled, voice rough like he’d spent the weekend arguing with appellate judges in his sleep. “today we’re dissecting miranda v. arizona. again. because apparently half of you still think ‘you have the right to remain silent’ is a suggestion rather than a constitutional shield.”
his eyes found you immediately, seated at the end of the left arm of the u. you were in a soft lavender cardigan today, hair clipped back with a little barrette that matched your top in colour and made you look younger than your twenty-one years. you were already scribbling notes, tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in concentration. higuruma’s fingers tightened around his marker, distracted.
he cleared his throat and began the lecture.
you participated more than most, unexpectedly, even for yourself. when he posed a hypothetical about coerced confessions you raised your hand without hesitation, voice steady even though your cheeks just a tad more pigmented under his direct attention. “but professor, if the suspect is exhausted and isolated, doesn’t the power imbalance make any waiver inherently involuntary?”
“excellent question.” higuruma leaned back against the table, arms crossed, and gave you that small, crooked tilt of his head that made your stomach flip every single time. “care to expand for the rest of the class?”
you did, throat going dry as twenty pairs of eyes turned your way, but you held your ground, citing cases you’d read over the weekend. higuruma listened like every word mattered, head tilted, dark eyes never leaving your face. when you finished he nodded once, slow and approving. “well reasoned. you’re thinking like a defense attorney already.”
the class chuckled. you ducked your head, pleased and embarrassed at once.
after the seminar ended he didn’t dismiss you right away. instead he waved you over while he packed his bag. “you stayed late on the reading again,” he observed, voice low enough that only you could hear. “i can tell. your arguments are sharper every week.”
you shifted your weight, skirt swishing around your thighs. “i just… really like the material. and you explain it in a way that makes sense. not like the textbooks.”
he huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rare. “flattery will get you extra credit, you know.” his hand brushed your elbow as he reached past you for a folder, a casual touch that lingered half a second too long. “if you ever want to discuss a case one-on-one, i’d be happy to. emails are always welcomed, but feel free to swing by during office hours. every wednesday after three.”
“really?” your eyes lit up. “that would be amazing. thank you, professor.”
he watched you leave, skirt swaying, and let out a slow breath through his nose. the second the door clicked shut he pressed the heel of his hand against the growing bulge in his slacks, cursing under his breath.
it’s that damn smile and eagerness of yours.
he made it to his office before he locked the door, sat in his chair, and pulled his cock out—thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip. he stroked himself with rough, impatient pulls, imagining your pretty mouth forming those careful arguments while he fed you his length instead, imagined the way your eyes would water when he hit the back of your throat and told you what a perfect little student you were. he came hard, stripes painting his fist and the edge of his desk, and still the ache didn’t ease as he reached for tissues.
weeks passed like that, tension coiling tighter with every interaction.
in nanami’s thursday lecture, he asked you to stay after to discuss your latest response paper. the room emptied. he circled around to your desk, perching on the edge so his thigh was inches from yours. “your analysis of utilitarianism versus deontology was… nuanced,” he said, voice pitched low, trailing off in a way that told you there was criticism coming. “but you hesitated on the personal cost section. why?”
you bit your lip absentmindedly, thinking. “because… in real life it’s not theoretical. if you’re the one who has to pull the lever, or the one who has to live with the guilt afterward… i don’t know. it feels different when it’s your hands, i guess.”
nanami’s gaze dropped to your hands—small, delicate, nails grown but well kept with a sheer glaze of colour he suspected of being your favourite since you added pops of it to your outfits more often than not. he imagined those hands wrapped around him, imagined them braced against his desk while he fucked you from behind—not now. now’s definitely not the time. he swallowed.
“right,” he murmured. “the theory collapses when the blood is on your own hands.” his fingers brushed a fallen eyelash from your cheek before he could overthink it, a gentleness that made your breath hitch. “you have a good heart. don’t lose that. but don’t let it blind you either.”
the touch lingered. you felt the warmth of his palm against your skin long after he pulled away. when you finally left his classroom your pulse was racing for reasons you couldn’t name.
higuruma caught you in the hallway two days later, arms full of books, struggling to balance your coffee and your bag. he took the stack from you without asking, long fingers wrapping easily around the spines. “you’re going to topple over like a baby giraffe,” he teased, that dry humor wrapping around you like smoke. “where are you headed?”
“library. i have that big torts outline due next week and my brain is mush.”
he walked with you the entire way, matching your shorter stride, making quiet conversation about a recent supreme court ruling that had everyone buzzing. every so often his arm brushed yours. every so often he glanced down at the way your cardigan had slipped again, exposing the delicate strap of your bra. he wanted to hook a finger under it and tuuuug. he wanted to mark that soft skin until you wore his fingerprints for days.
at the library doors he handed your books back, but not before his thumb stroked once along the inside of your wrist. “don’t work yourself too hard,” he said softly. “you look tired. if you need a break, come find me. i keep decent coffee in my office.”
you laughed, light and sweet. “you’re going to spoil me, professor.”
his smile was small and sharp. “maybe i want to.”
the dreams started at some point in the next week, like there had been a spell put on these men.
for nanami it was always the same: you on your knees in his office, sometimes under his desk, skirt pooled around your thighs, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes while he painted your tongue white. he woke hard and aching, jerked off in the shower with your name on his lips—righteousness be damned—then went to class and acted like the perfect, restrained mentor.
for higuruma the fantasies were rougher, hungrier. you bent over his courtroom-style desk, hands cuffed behind your back with his tie, cunt dripping down your thighs while he fucked you slow and deep and forced you to recite case law until you were sobbing and begging and coming apart around him. he came in his fist so many nights he lost count, then stared at the ceiling wondering if he should have just gotten married ten years ago. that way it may have been easier to resist this pull.
they never spoke about it to each other, but they noticed. nanami saw the way higuruma’s eyes tracked you across the quad. higuruma noticed how nanami’s lectures always seemed to circle back to questions only you could answer. there was a silent understanding between them—two men circling the same flame, neither willing to step back yet.
one rainy wednesday you showed up to nanami’s office hours soaked from the sudden downpour, sweater clinging to your curves, hair damp and curling at the ends. but you were on a mission. a mission to establish solid thesis for your midterm paper, too indecisive to settle on one thing. he took one look at you and ushered you inside, draping his own suit jacket over your shoulders without a word. it swallowed you, warm and heavy with his scent.
“you’ll catch a cold,” he murmured, guiding you to sit on the small worn brown leather couch against the wall. his hands lingered on your arms a moment longer than necessary, thumbs stroking through the wet fabric. “stay until it passes. i’ll make tea.”
you nodded, teeth chattering slightly, completely unaware of how his gaze darkened at the sight of your hardened nipples pressing against the damp sweater. he turned to the electric kettle to hide the way his dick twitched in his slacks.
you talked for nearly an hour. about the paper, about life, about how overwhelming third year felt sometimes. nanami listened like every word was scripture, sitting close enough that his knee pressed against yours. when you laughed at something he said, soft and bright, he reached out and wiped a stray raindrop from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“there,” he said quietly. “all better.”
your breath caught. the air felt thicker. you didn’t move away, just smiled into your tea.
by the time midterms loomed the tension was a living thing.
you’d started staying after both classes more often. nanami would walk you to the library some days, hand hovering at the small of your back, never quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat. higuruma would “accidentally” run into you in the coffee line, buying your drink before you could protest, then sit with you at a corner table while you reviewed notes. his long leg would stretch under the table and brush yours, and neither of you would comment on how neither pulled away.
one friday afternoon you were in nanami’s classroom again, helping him organize handouts for the next lecture because you’d offered and he hadn’t refused. the room was empty, late sunlight slanting through the windows and turning everything golden. you were on your tiptoes reaching for a high shelf when he stepped behind you, one big hand settling on your waist to steady you, the other reaching easily over your head to grab the box.
his body was flush against your back for one long, breathless second. you could feel the hard plane of his chest, the warmth of him, the way his fingers flexed against your hip like he was fighting not to pull you closer. his breath ghosted over your ear.
“careful,” he murmured, voice rougher than usual. “wouldn’t want you to fall.”
you swallowed, heart hammering. “thank you, professor.”
he didn’t step back immediately. when he finally did, his hand slid slowly along your waist as if tracing what he could not yet touch, thumb brushing the strip of skin where your sweater had ridden up. the touch burned.
that same evening higuruma found you in the library, tucked into a corner carrel with your head in your hands, surrounded by open textbooks. you’d wondered if this back and forth of moments between them would ever melt into anything else. he dropped into the chair across from you without invitation, long legs stretching out until one oxford shoe nudged between your mary jane’s under the table.
“you look like you’re about to declare war on the casebook,” he observed, dry as ever.
you groaned, rubbing your temples, eyes squeezed shut. “it’s this negligence hypothetical. i keep going in circles.”
he leaned forward, elbows on the table, dark eyes intent on your face. “talk me through it.”
you did, voice growing more animated as he listened, occasionally nodding or asking a pointed question that made everything click. when you finally got it you beamed at him, bright and triumphant, and without thinking reached across the table to squeeze his forearm in gratitude.
the muscle jumped under your fingers. higuruma went very still.
“sorry,” you whispered, starting to pull back, cheeks flaming.
his hand caught yours before you could retreat, large palm engulfing yours, thumb stroking once over your knuckles. “don’t be,” he said softly. “i like when you touch me.”
the words hung between you, heavy and charged. you didn’t know what to say. your mouth opened, closed. heat pooled low in your belly, unfamiliar and frightening and wonderful all at once.
he released your hand slowly, but not before turning it over and pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist in the briefest, softest kiss, followed by a nip that left the faintest mark. “keep going,” he murmured against your skin. “you’re brilliant. don’t doubt it.”
you left the library that night with your pulse thundering in your ears and your panties embarrassingly damp, though you told yourself it was just the stress. just the relief of understanding the material. nothing more.
nanami noticed the mark on your wrist the next morning in his class—subtle, but there. his eyes narrowed fractionally. when you approached his desk post-lecture he caught your hand gently, turning it to inspect the spot.
“what’s this?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.
you shrugged, smiling. “oh, professor higuruma helped me last night. i must have pressed too hard on my pen or something.”
nanami’s thumb stroked over the spot once, thoughtful. “be careful who you let leave marks on you,” he said quietly. “some of us are far less restrained than we appear.”
your breath stuttered. you looked up at him, wide-eyed and innocent, and for a moment the mask slipped. just a flicker of raw hunger in those hazel eyes before he schooled it back into polite concern.
the air between the three of you was practically crackling by now, even if you remained sweetly oblivious to the storm gathering around you. you kept showing up to their classes in soft sweaters and short skirts, kept asking thoughtful questions, kept letting them walk you places and touch your arm and tuck your hair behind your ear and tell you how clever you were. you kept thanking them with that bright, trusting smile.
but the midterm papers were due in two weeks. and you were already starting to look a little overwhelmed, staying later and later and later in the library, shoulders tense, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you typed.
thursday afternoon found you in nanami’s ethics lecture again, seated in your usual spot, third row center. the topic was corporate whistleblowing—duty versus loyalty, personal risk versus public good. nanami paced the front of the room with his usual measured calm, sleeves rolled to the elbows, glasses catching the overhead lights every time he turned. his voice carried that low, steady authority that always made the room quiet down instinctively.
you were taking notes faster than usual, pen flying across the page, but your handwriting had started to slant and wobble toward the end of each line, letters pressed awkwardly tight whenever you neared the margins. every few minutes you paused to rub at the back of your neck, trying to ease the knot that had settled there days ago and refused to leave.
when the lecture ended, most students filed out quickly, eager for the weekend. you lingered, packing your things slowly, eyes fixed on the half-finished outline glowing on your laptop screen. nanami noticed—of course he noticed. he always noticed when it was you.
he approached your desk without hurry, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but eyes sharp behind the lenses. “still wrestling with the outline?”
you looked up, startled, then offered a small, tired smile. “yeah. i keep rewriting the section on consequentialism. it feels like every angle i take collapses under its own weight.”
he hummed, a low sound of understanding. “it’s a difficult topic. the theory is clean on paper. reality is messier.” he glanced at your screen, then back at your face—taking in the faint shadows under your eyes, the way your shoulders stayed hunched even now that class was over. “you’ve been putting in long hours.”
“trying to,” you admitted, closing the laptop with a soft click. “the library’s fine during the day, but after nine it gets… echoey. and loud in a weird way. people are cramming right about now so they’re studying in groups, doors slamming. i can’t focus.”
nanami considered you for a long moment. then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small silver key on a plain ring. he held it out, palm up.
“my office is quiet after hours,” he said simply. “no slamming doors, no groups. just books, a desk, and that couch against the wall if you need to spread your notes out. i’ll be there most evenings this week grading midterms anyway. you’re welcome to use the space. lock up when you leave if i step out.”
your eyes widened. the key gleamed under the classroom lights. “are you sure? i don’t want to impose—”
“you wouldn’t be.” his voice was firm, but softer at the edges. “i’d rather know you’re working somewhere comfortable than burning out in a noisy library. take it, i insist.”
you hesitated only a second before reaching out. your fingers brushed his palm as you took the key. warm skin, calloused fingertips from years of turning pages and gripping pens. the contact was brief, but it sent a small, involuntary shiver up your arm. nanami’s gaze flicked down to where your fingers had touched his, then back to your face.
“thank you, professor,” you said quietly, curling the key into your fist. “really. this means a lot.”
he gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to soften his usually stern features. “good. come by whenever you need. door’s always open for you.”
you left the classroom feeling lighter than you had in days, the key a small, secret weight in your pocket.
that evening, around seven, you let yourself into nanami’s office.
it was unlocked, you presumed he was already there. the room was exactly as you remembered from the one time you’d come for office hours in the pouring rain—tall bookshelves packed floor-to-ceiling, a wide oak desk covered in neat stacks of papers and a single reading lamp, the deep brown leather couch against the far wall. the air smelled like him: clean linen, faint sandalwood, old books. warm. safe.
nanami was already there, as you suspected, jacket off, tie loosened, sleeves still rolled. he looked up from the stack of blue books he was grading when the door clicked open.
“you made it,” he said, voice low and pleased.
“yeah.” you smiled, a little shy, holding up the key like proof. “hope it’s okay i came tonight.”
“more than okay.” he gestured toward the couch. “make yourself at home. there’s an outlet behind the end table if you need to charge anything.”
you set your bag down, kicked off your shoes—socked feet sinking into the soft rug—and curled up on the couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs. for the first few minutes it was quiet. companionable. just the scratch of his red pen on papers, the soft click click click of your keys, the occasional rustle when he turned a page.
after about twenty minutes he stood, stretched, and walked over with two mugs. he set one on the coffee table in front of you. exactly how you liked it, plenty of sugar and cream. you hadn’t even asked, but he remembered from the one time you told him.
“thought you might need it,” he said, settling on the opposite end of the couch instead of returning to his desk. his long legs stretched out, one ankle crossing over the other. close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, but not so close that it felt invasive.
“you remembered,” you said softly, wrapping your hands around the mug. the heat seeped into your palms.
“i pay attention,” he replied, simple as that.
at some point you were frowning at your screen, muttering under your breath about a citation that refused to format correctly. nanami glanced over and reached across the space between you to gently tilt your laptop screen so he could see.
“here,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours as he took over the keyboard for a second. a few quick keystrokes and the reference snapped into place. “better?”
“so much better,” you exhaled in relief. “thank you.”
he didn’t move his hand right away. instead his thumb grazed the back of your knuckles once, light as a breath. “anytime, sweetheart.”
the word landed like soft weight in the quiet room. your cheeks heated instantly, but you didn’t pull away. like something he’d been holding back for weeks and finally let slip.
you glanced at him sideways. “sweetheart?”
nanami’s mouth curved, small and knowing.
you shook your head, too quickly. “no. i… i don’t mind it.”
“good.” he let his hand linger another second before withdrawing, returning to his grading. but the air felt different now—thicker, charged in a way that made your skin prickle.
you worked like that for another hour. every so often he’d ask a quiet question about your paper, offer a suggestion, or simply look over just to watch, hand brushing against your arm whenever he turned a page. each touch was careful, deliberate. each one left you a little more aware of how close he was sitting, how his thigh sometimes brushed yours when he shifted, how his cologne wrapped around you every time he leaned in.
at nine-thirty there was a knock—two firm raps—before the door opened without waiting for an answer.pp
higuruma stepped inside, a thick manila folder under one arm, tie already pulled loose around his neck. he paused when he saw you curled on the couch, laptop glowing.
“evening,” he said, voice rough and amused. his eyes flicked between the two of you, lingering on the way nanami’s arm rested along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. “didn’t realize i was interrupting study time.”
nanami didn’t move. “you’re not. she’s using the office tonight. quieter than the library.”
higuruma’s gaze settled on you, dark and warm. “smart choice.” he crossed the room, dropped the folder on nanami’s desk, then dropped onto the couch on your other side. the leather dipped under his weight. his thigh pressed lightly against yours, long and solid.
you suddenly felt very small between them, but not in a bad way. more like sheltered. wanted.
“how’s the paper coming along?” higuruma asked, stretching one arm along the back of the couch behind you. his fingers brushed the nape of your neck casually, almost absentminded.
“better now that i’m not fighting fluorescent lights and nonstop yapping,” you admitted, laughing softly. “professor nanami’s been helping.”
“has he?” higuruma’s tone was dry, teasing. he glanced at nanami over your head. “generous of you, kento.”
nanami hummed, noncommittal. “she needed a quiet place. i had one.”
higuruma’s fingers drifted higher, tracing the shell of your ear with the lightest touch. you shivered. he noticed, of course, and his voice dropped lower. “you look tired, angel.”
the nickname hit different from nanami’s. softer, rougher at the edges. intimate in a way that made your breath catch. you ducked your chin, smiling despite the flush creeping up your neck.
they stayed like that—nanami on your right, grading papers with one hand while the other rested along the couch back, occasionally brushing your shoulder; higuruma on your left, long legs sprawled, one hand occasionally reaching over to adjust your laptop screen or point out a better way to phrase a sentence. neither of them crowded you, but neither gave you much space either. their presences seeped into you from both sides, steady and grounding.
every so often one of them would murmur something low; nanami calling you sweetheart when you nailed a difficult transition in your argument, higuruma murmuring angel when you yawned and rubbed your eyes. the nicknames weren’t constant, weren’t forced. they came naturally, like they’d both been thinking them for weeks and finally decided it was safe to say them out loud.
around eleven you started to flag. your eyes were heavy, fingers slower on the keys. nanami noticed first.
“enough for tonight,” he said quietly, closing his gradebook. “you’re half-asleep.”
“i can finish this section—”
“no.” higuruma’s voice was gentle but firm. he reached over and closed your laptop for you, careful not to pinch your fingers. “you’ve done good work. let it rest.”
you pouted just a little, but didn’t argue.
the small sound you made then—half whine, half sigh—hung in the quiet office like smoke. your lower lip pushed out, eyes glassy from staring at the screen too long, shoulders rounded forward in that defeated way that made both men go still.
nanami’s hand, still resting along the back of the couch, drifted down until his fingertips grazed the slope of your neckc brushing slow slow circles. barely there. “you’re exhausted, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice lower than it had been all night. “pouting won’t change that.”
higuruma leaned in from your other side, elbow braced on the cushion, face close enough that you could smell the faint cologne on his collar. “must be painful, hm?” he said, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where the pout pulled it, a frown tugging at his own lips though it felt almost mocking. “all that tension in your pretty face.”
you swallowed. the room felt smaller suddenly, warmer, the lamp on nanami’s desk throwing long shadows across the leather and their sharp features. “i’m fine,” you tried, but it came out thin. “just… frustrated. the section won’t behave.”
nanami’s fingers slid higher, threading gently into the hair at your nape. he tugged once, not hard, but just enough to make your head tip back against the couch. your breath hitched, eyes lifting to look at him. “frustrated,” he repeated, tasting the word. his thumb pressed the soft skin behind your ear. “we can fix that.”
higuruma’s hand found your thigh at the same moment—high enough that his pinky brushed the hem of your skirt, but not crossing. yet. “let us help you unwind, angel,” he said against your temple. his lips didn’t quite touch skin, but the heat of his breath did. “you’ve been so good for us tonight. let us be good to you.”
your heart slammed against your ribs. you looked between them—nanami’s steady stare, higuruma’s darker one—and felt something hot and liquid slide down your spine.
nanami moved first. he cupped your jaw with one wide palm, turned your face to his, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it. slow at first, lips brushing, testing, then deeper when your mouth opened on a soft huuuum. his tongue slid against yours, deliberate, coaxing, tasting of black coffee and restraint finally snapping. you whimpered into it, hands coming up to clutch his shirtfront in an attempt to drag him closer.
higuruma didn’t wait long. while nanami kissed you senseless he hooked two fingers under your chin and turned you toward him the second nanami gave you air. his kiss was hungrier. teeth grazing your bottom lip, tongue pushing in like he couldn’t wait another second. in and out, in, out. you moaned against his mouth, dizzy, already drunk on the contrast: kento's controlled heat, hiromi's raw edge.
they passed you back and forth like that for long minutes, kissing you deep, then shallow, then deep again, until your lips were swollen and slick, breath coming in short pants as your head spun. kento's hand slid down your throat, broad palm covering the front of your neck while his fingertips pressed against your pulse point. pressing and releasing rhythmically. “look at you,” he murmured against your cheek. “already so responsive.”
higuruma’s fingers found the top button of your cardigan. he popped it open without asking, then the next, then the next, until the soft wool parted and cool air kissed your bra. pale lace. thin straps. your nipples were already peaked against the cups enticingly.
“fuck,” hiromi breathed, voice wrecked. “been wondering what you look like under all those sweaters.”
kento hummed agreement, reaching around from behind to slide the cardigan down your arms. it pooled at your elbows before he finally pulled it off and set it on the coffee table carefully. he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck as higuruma palmed one breast through the lace, thumb circling the nipple until you arched for more.
“sensitive here,” nanami noted, low and pleased as he glanced down at the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. he nipped your earlobe, the two men working in sync as they stripped you of the rest of your clothes save for your panties. “good to know.”
they eased you back until you were reclining against the arm of the couch, legs stretched across both their laps. higuruma caught one of your ankles, lifted it, kissed the inside of your anklebone and nanami dragged slow fingertips up the inside of your other thigh. higher, higher, stopping just shy of where your panties were already clinging damply to your heat.
“spread for us, dear,” higuruma murmured against your skin. “let us see.”
your knees parted on instinct and kento’s hand slid upper your inner thigh, cupping you through cotton. he groaned—quiet, guttural—when he felt how wet the fabric was.
“she’s soaked,” he told his colleague, like you weren’t right there hearing every word. “dripping right through.”
the man addressed leaned down, nosed along your inner thigh. “can smell her from here.” he pressed a kiss high on your leg, then another, then scraped his teeth lightly over the skin. “sweet little thing’s been aching all night, hasn’t she? all for her dear professors?”
you nodded frantically, the concept so perverted you couldn't help but squimr. “yeah—yes—h-hah... please—”
nanami hooked a finger in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down your thighs. slowly. letting you feel every inch of exposure as he draaaaged. when they reached your ankles higuruma pulled them off completely, brought the damp cotton to his nose, inhaled deep, then passed them to nanami with a crooked grin.
nanami took them, pressed them to his own face for a second, eyes fluttering shut. “divine,” he muttered. then he folded them neatly and set them on the coffee table like evidence.
they didn’t give you time to be embarrassed.
higuruma caught your hips, dragged you down the couch until you were flat on your back. nanami knelt between your spread thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wider. the other man stayed higher, braced over you, one hand planted beside your head.
nanami looked up your body, eyes dark, pupils blown. “gonna take care of her first,” he said. then he leaned in and licked a slow, flat stripe up your center. shhhlick!
you cried out, hips jerking. he did it again—longer this time—tongue broad and hot, parting your folds, collecting every drop of you and slurping at your clit. higuruma watched, transfixed, then bent to kiss you again while nanami ate you like a man starved.
they traded places after a few minutes. higuruma settled between your legs, pushed your thighs up and out until you were folded nearly in half. his nose bumped your clit on the first pass and you mewled. he groaned against you, vibration making your toes curl.
“fuck—her clit’s so swollen,” he muttered, more to nanami than to you. “look how she twitches.” he flicked his tongue over it once, sharp, then sucked gently. your back bowed off the couch.
nanami stroked your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “breathe, sweetheart. let him have her. she’s been waiting so patiently.”
they took turns like that—nanami’s methodical, thorough licks; higuruma’s hungrier, nose grinding against you every time he buried his face deeper. then they were both there, tongues all over your cunt and working in tandem until you were trembling, pleas falling from your lips in broken little gasps.
“please! ’m—‘m shoo close—don’t stop—”
kento's fingers joined higuruma’s tongue. two thick digits sliding in slow, stretching you, curling against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. higuruma sucked your clit harder, teeth grazing. you came with a sob, gushing against higuruma’s mouth, thighs clamping around his head as he drank you down like it was the only thing that mattered.
they didn’t let you come down for more than ten seconds.
nanami pulled you up into his lap, your back to his chest, legs splayed over his thighs. higuruma knelt in front of you, hands on your knees, spreading you again to take a look of the leaky mess between your thighs. nanami’s cock was rock-hard against your lower back—huge, throbbing through his slacks—but he didn’t free it yet.
instead he reached around, spread your folds with two fingers so higuruma had an unobstructed view. “look how she flutters,” nanami murmured, landing a light slap right on your puffy clit. “still clenching around nothing. greedy little cunt.”
higuruma spat directly onto your clit. warm, thick, oozing through your folds. then rubbed it in with the pad of his thumb. you jolted. he did it again. “she liked that,” he noted, voice rough. “winking at me.”
nanami’s free hand came up to pinch your nipple, rolling it slowly. “of course she does. what's there to expect from a dirty girl like her?”
higuruma’s mouth and fingers bringing you right to the brink—then stopping. nanami’s hand between your legs, circling your perky pearl with devastating precision, then pulling away the second your hips started to grind. over and over until tears slipped down your cheeks and your pleas turned hoarse. "nnghhh! moremoremore—wanna—!"
“not yet,” nanami whispered against your ear, when you pleaded for release after the fifth time they denied you. “you can take more. you’re doing so well for us.”
higuruma reached up and wiped your tears with his thumb before smearing them against your trembling lips. “cry all you want, angel. makes you soo much cuter, hah”
when they finally let you come again it was brutal. hiromi's tongue flicked your clit with quick precision while kento fucked you with three fat and looong fingers, curling and prodding so so perfectly against that spongy spot inside you. you screamed, body locking up, squirting right across hiromi's chin. he groaned like he’d been given a gift, rewarding you with open mouthed kisses that had you twitching.
they kissed you through the aftershocks—messy, tasting yourself on their tongues.
the professors stripped after nanami slid you off his lap carefully, panting as you watched. shirts falling away to reveal more meat and chiseled muscled than you could've ever anticipated. belts. slacks. boxers last.
their cocks sprang free—heavy, thick, veined, heads flushed and already leaking down the underside of their shafts. kento's was long, so tall and proud with a gentle upward curve. hiromi's was girthier, the shaft ridged with prominent veins, foreskin pulled back to reveal a fat, glistening tip.
you stared, mouth watering.
“go ahead,” higuruma rasped, nearly cumming just at the sight of you looking so damn eager.
your hands wrapped around them, barely able to close your fingers around the thickness. you stroked slowly, marveling at the heat, the weight, the way they throbbed in your palms, how they jolted when you thumbed at their slits. but they didn’t let you jerk them for long.
instead, higuruma pulled you up on your knees as they shuffled around and closer, sandwiching you with him in front and nanami in the back. both cocks slid along your folds at once. the heads bumped your clit on every pass, slick sounds obscene in the quiet office. they held you between them tightly, not providing any room for you to even think about grinding for more.
"a-ahhh-" you sobbed, trying to chase the friction. “inside—please—need you innnn—”
“not yet,” hiromi growled, biting your shoulder, fingers digging into your waist to keep you still. “gonna make you come like this first. gonna soak both our cocks before we even stretch her.”
nanami’s hand wrapped around the front of your throat, just holding. “so—mmh—pretty when you beg, sweetheart. got this pussy crying for us too.”
and you kept begging. broken mores and pleases until your voice cracked, but hiromi only sank his hand into your hair and pressed your face into his bare chest to muffle your sounds. you felt them everywhere; one pair of lips against your shoulder, the other against your temple as you listened to their groans. whenever higuruma slid back, his length dragged along your clit and already had you trembling, only for nanami to follow through a slide forward, throbbing tip nudging under the hood.
they finally let you finish when they felt like they were about to themselves, letting you grin desperately between them until the dual pressure on your clit sent you over. you gushed again, toes curling and coating both shafts, making everything slicker, messier, two sets of thick arms wrapping around you to keep you from collapsing.
after a beat, kento reached for his discarded tie. he looped it around your wrists, tied them loosely behind your back as he kissed your shoulder—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to keep your hands out of the way.
they manhandled you onto your hands and knees. well, just your knees since your arms were out of commission for now, tipping forward until your shoulders and chest hit the couch and your ass was pushed nice and high. hiromi knelt in front, cock bobbing near your face as he used his grip on your hair to drag you up, kento somewhere behind you spreading the backs of your thighs.
you were fed higuruma’s cock first—slooow, careful, letting you adjust to the girth. despite the care he put into it, you gagged when he hit the back of your throat, eyes stinging and maw fluttering clumsily around his base, but he praised you the whole time. “so good, angel. taking me so deep—fuck.” his hand in your hair slid down to your throat, brushing over where he could feel himself bulging through.
nanami spat on your cunt, letting it drip drip drip down between your cheeks and mix in with the fountain of slick, then rubbed the head of his cock through the mess. “gonna open her up now,” he said lowly, “should be able to take us.”
he pushed in so slowly, inch by thick inch, until you were stretched around him, whimpering around the dick in your mouth. the stretch burned, ached, felt impossibly full already and he wasn’t even all the way in.
“fuck—she’s tight,” nanami groaned, kneading your ass in handfuls. “clenching like she never wants me to leave.”
they found a rhythm; nanami fucking you deep and steady from behind, higuruma fucking your throat with careful thrusts. every time nanami bottomed out his hips slapped your ass; every time higuruma pushed deep your nose pressed to his pelvis. a hand resting on the small of your back, pressing down to deepen the arch until you were practically folded in half, changing the angle just enough to make sure kento pounded against your g-spot with every thrust.
you were crying steadily now—overwhelmed, overstimulated, and so so full it hurt in the best way. jaw slack, letting higuruma fuck your face freely. you could swear you felt every minimal movement of nanami inside you too, could feel how he slid in—tip sliding against that sensitive spot and then further to smoooch your cervix, balls slapping against your clit steadily. you felt yourself going numb with pleasure, clenching and cummin’ around kento’s cock for what felt like the fifth time, their voices ringing in your ears.
“taking us so so well, dollface.”
“look how she keeps swallowing me right back in.”
“her cunt’s drooling around you, ken.”
“such a greedy, greedy girl, taking not one but two professors. bet if we asked you’d let professor kusakabe join too, huh?”
when nanami came it was sudden. "gonna f-fill you uuuup, sweet girl," he groaned as he dragged your ass right against him, holding you there so you couldn't squirm away. "mhm, that's it—fuuuck—gonna look so cute with a full tummy—a-ah, cummin'—" then he spilled deeeep, grinding against your cervix, flooding you with his seed without care, moanin' your name like a prayer, hips stuttering.
he pulled out slowly and spread your ass as far as he could in his calloused palms, watching with hooded eyes as his cum leaked out of you in spurts. thick and white, oozing down your thighs like it did in his dreams.
higuruma flipped you onto your back after giving you a moment to recover, pushed your knees to your chest, and slid into the mess nanami left behind. “feels so fucking good,” he growled, pounding hard now, rougher than before. “gonna add to it—gonna breed this pretty cunt full till you forget what it’s like to be empty.”
you came again just from the stretch of him sinking in, shaking and clenching around him as he buried himself deep, deep, deeeep with a wet squelch, kento’s cum seeping out around him. and then he stayed there, huffing out low breaths as he stared down at your folded form.
“look at that,” he hummed in fascination, eyes drifting down to your stomach. he pushed in just a fraction deeper, making you gasp as his hand came down to rub over your tummy, a prominent bulge the shape of his member poking through.
once he started fucking into you, rough sounds tumbling from his lips and nails digging into the backs of your knees, it was hard to do anything but whine and whimper, toes curling in the air as he frothed up your poor, poor pussy. sat by your head, kento reached down to brush heart from your sweat slicked forehead. a gesture so tender and almost sweet that practically broke you when he reached right past your torso to deliver a harsh smack to your cunt.
you cried out a little too loudly when you came, someone’s broad hand clamping over your swollen lips to muffle you. who it was, you had no clue, eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming of hiromi fucking you through it. he followed quickly, already sensitive from how your mouth had swallowed him up, spilling deep with a broken moan. still, he kept those hips pistoning, making sure it all stayed inside.
by the end you were limp, covered in sweat and cum and spit, wrists still loosely bound, thighs trembling. they untied you gently, kissed every mark they’d left—neck, shoulders, inner thighs—murmured soft praise against your skin.
“took it all like a champ.”
the two of them cleaned you with soft cloths from nanami’s private bathroom, wrapped you in nanami’s suit jacket, let you curl between them on the wide couch while your breathing evened out. muttering sweet words and peppering your skin with kisses, you didn’t think twice about what just happened and what it would mean for your relationship with your professors.
outside the window the campus was dark and silent.
inside, the three of you stayed tangled together, hearts slowing in sync, the scent of sex and satisfaction thick in the air.
