Learning Curve - Benny Miller x f!Reader
POV: 1st (f!Reader POV) Rating: Explicit Summary: Benny helps you understand your body for the first time, and suddenly everything you thought you knew about sex and yourself starts falling apart in the best way. Word Count: 10.1k Content/Warnings: Female sexual awakening, PiV sex, strong language, past bad sex / emotional neglect, crash course in SexEd presented by Benny, humor, bad puns, female anatomy talk (“clitoris” is the word of the day), protective Benny, Benny praises you, very slight roleplay (professor/student), Benny cannot draw, Benny defends your honor. A/N: @musings-of-a-rose received an ask involving Benny and a girl whose first relationship never resulted in orgasms. Think modern-day Francesca Bridgerton. I hope I delivered.
Masterlist
The couch cushions dip beneath me as Benny leans in, his weight pressing me into the upholstery. The air turns heavy, charged with something I don’t fully understand but feel in every nerve. His hips settle between my legs, a deliberate, heavy pressure that makes my breath catch, my eyes go wide.
This is something more than making out now.
I freeze, my mind scrambling to catch up with my body. I barely know what I’m doing or what’s supposed to happen next, only that the line we’ve been toeing is about to be erased completely.
Panic flutters through my chest in quick, uneven beats. I turn my head away and pull back. His head dips like he thinks I’m exposing my neck for him. But I’m not. My hands hover uselessly in the space between us, lost.
“Benny, wait…”
He stills immediately.
The change in him is almost startling, a switch flipping instantly. One second, he’s close enough that everything feels blurred and warm, and the next he’s propped up on one elbow, creating space without hesitation. His blue eyes settle on mine, sharp and searching.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “Is this too much? We can stop. Or slow down. Whatever you need.”
The certainty in his voice tightens my throat.
“It’s not that I want to stop,” I reply. My voice comes out thinner than I expected. My stomach drops when I realize it. “It’s… well…” I swallow, looking anywhere but directly at him. “Never mind. It’s fine.”
It’s clearly not fine.
Benny’s frown deepens slightly, but not in frustration, studying me as though I’m a puzzle missing half its piece.
“Whatever it is,” he says after a beat, softer now, “you can tell me.”
The patience in it almost undoes me. I let out a slow breath, shoulders easing a fraction even as my embarrassment lingers under my skin.
“I don’t think I ever really questioned it before,” I admit, hesitating. “But… sex has always been fine. Good, maybe. But never great.”
Benny’s expression falters, his brow drawing together in quiet confusion. He looks at me as if I’ve just told him the sky is green.
Carefully, he asks, “What does that mean exactly? Is it uncomfortable for you?”
I pause, picking at the edge of my own words before I trust them enough to say them out loud.
“No. Not really,” I admit finally. “It always felt like I was supposed to be enjoying it more than I actually was. Like I wasn’t quite getting it...”
My voice trails off at the end, smaller than I intend it to be, and I suddenly find the texture of the couch cushion far more interesting than his expression.
A beat passes between us before he eases off me, shifting to sit near me on the cushion instead. It isn’t distance. Just a quiet reset between us.
“Wait,” he says, almost hesitant. “Do you… Do you not enjoy sex?” He searches my face, clearly trying to make it make sense. “Because I can’t tell if you mean it’s bad, or if nobody’s ever actually…done it right with you.”
I squirm a little under his gaze, suddenly aware of how closely he’s listening. My words seem to matter to him in a way I’m not used to.
“I mean… I don’t hate it,” I reply carefully. “It feels good, most of the time. It’s just…” I search for the right words a moment longer, then let out a small, frustrated breath. “I don’t know. I always end up feeling kind of unsatisfied afterward. As if I’m supposed to get something out of it that just never quite happens.”
Benny drags a hand through his hair, the motion slow and restless, trying to organize his thoughts through the motion alone.
“Okay,” he says before shifting slightly. “Sorry if I’m completely out of line, but are you trying to tell me you’ve never had an orgasm?”
The question lands heavily. Not because it’s invasive, but because of the genuine confusion in his voice. It’s clear he wants to make sense of this. And truthfully, so do I.
“What?” I blink at him.
His brows pull together, seeming to realize this conversation is not going to be simple.
“An orgasm,” he repeats. “You know… when sex builds up and then… Well, your body sort of hits that point where it… releases. Finishes.”
“Oh.” I fall silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Isn’t that… a guy thing? You know, the biological end point?” I frown slightly. I’m trying to match the idea to something I already know but coming up blank.
Benny goes still. For a second, he doesn’t even blink.
“No,” he finally answers, slow and controlled, like he’s making sure he heard me correctly. “Not even close.”
My stomach drops a little under his stare. “I…I didn’t think women did that. Not in real life. Movies, maybe, but-”
“Wait.” His voice sharpens with disbelief. “What about when you’re alone?”
“What about when I’m alone?”
The silence that follows is so complete I can practically hear his thoughts grinding to a halt.
“You’ve never…,” he starts. “Never explored your body? Ever?”
Heat floods my face, spreading fast and unrelenting all the way up to the top of my ears.
“I grew up with a very… ‘don’t have sex or you’ll ruin your life’ kind of talk. Anything like exploring your own body was pretty much off-limits. Pleasure wasn’t really part of the curriculum.”
The words feel clumsy in the open air. Too honest, too exposed. I let out a small sigh, shoulders dropping with it as the embarrassment settles in.
“I’m sorry,” I add quietly. “I know you didn’t exactly sign up for this.”
The shock on his face softens almost instantly into something steadier, something protective.
“Hey,” he says softly, his tone steady enough to cut right through my shame. “Don’t apologize for that. When I started seeing you, I signed up for all of you. Whatever that comes with.”
Before I can respond, his hand reaches out, closing the small space between us. His fingers wrap lightly around mine, warm and grounding, anchoring me back into the moment instead of letting me drift further into my own discomfort.
Then, with absolute seriousness, he adds, “But we are fixing this.”
My brain stalls. “We?”
“Yeah.” He nods once, clearly having assigned himself a mission. “Let’s do it.”
Before I can even process his words, he’s up. He crosses the room with purpose and comes back a moment later with a legal pad and a Sharpie.
I stare as he sits down again, tongue poking slightly out in concentration.
“Benny… What are you doing?”
“Making instructional material,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Why does this feel like a tactical briefing?”
“Because it is a tactical briefing,” he says, settling back like this is completely normal behavior. “Or maybe a debriefing? I don’t know. Just give me a minute. You’ll see.”
A moment later, I’m staring at what can generously be called a diagram, if one is extremely generous and ignoring all artistic standards. The page is a mess of uneven, overlapping lines and half-formed shapes, as though it were drawn blindfolded.
There are thick, dark scribbles that might be meant to indicate hair, and everything else blurs together into something abstract enough that I can’t quite tell what I’m supposed to be looking at. One corner even has a stray, oddly enthusiastic squiggle looking like it wandered in from another drawing and decided to stay.
“What is that, and why does it look like a very sad clam?” I question, leaning in a little closer to inspect it, as if getting closer might somehow help.
It definitely does not.
Benny looks down at his handiwork, then back at me, a sheepish grin breaking through his serious soldier facade.
“Well, to be fair, if it’s never experienced an orgasm, it is a very sad clam,” he says, then pauses to draw a small frowning face on the side like it needs emotional support.
I snort. “Now it seems to be melting.”
“Art was never my specialty,” he admits. “Here… let me add a little more to make it clearer.”
By the time he is done, the page has evolved into something more chaotic: arrows, labels, a makeshift legend. He’s clearly trying to be organized and seeming to fail on principle.
I lean in, squinting at it.
“That’s more clear?” I ask. “It looks like a treasure map drawn by a drunk pirate.”
“Well, call me Jack Sparrow. But it’s supposed to be educational diagram.”
Benny studies his scribbles for a second longer, then adds, a little grudgingly, “If you want to call it a treasure map, I guess technically it does point to the main objective.”
I laugh harder than I mean to, the sound bright and clear. The absurdity of the situation, the world’s most capable soldier hunched over a legal pad, meticulously labeling anatomy for my benefit, is enough to sweep away the last of my nerves.
Benny doesn’t look offended.
“Laugh all you want,” he says, a playful glint in his eye as he taps the edge of the paper with the Sharpie. “I’ve navigated through dense jungle with maps that were way less legible than this. At least this one has a high-value target.”
I shake my head, trying to catch my breath, but my eyes drift back down to the paper. Amidst the shaky loops and detailed key, one specific area stands out. It isn’t just labeled. It’s been circled three or four times, the ink thick and dark where he’d pressed down repeatedly.
Tentatively, I reach out, my finger hovering over the heavily emboldened spot. “And what exactly is this?” I ask, my voice dropping an octave as I look at the aggressive scribbling. “Is it the buried treasure?”
Benny lets out a short laugh. It’s quiet, surprised, as though it caught him off guard. He shakes his head, still amused, eyes dropping back to the page.
“Sort of?” he says, testing the idea. “If you consider that it can be buried beneath folds and is definitely the spot.”
Then he catches himself, the humor fading as he taps the drawing. “That,” he says, more grounded now, “is the clitoris.”
I blink. “The…what?”
“The clitoris,” he repeats, slower this time.
I stare at the diagram. “The clitoris… Okay. I take that it’s very important?”
Benny huffs another laugh before he can stop himself. “Well, if you’re calling this a clam, then the clitoris is the pearl. It’s the part that really matters. You don’t just poke around the shell and call it a day, right?”
He glances up at me, a little sheepish but committed now. “You have to know it’s there. Pay attention to it. Be….” - he makes a vague circling motion with the pen, then winces at himself - “intentional. Otherwise, you’re just opening clams for no reason and never even getting to the pinnacle.”
Benny angles the pad toward me so I can read everything more clearly.
“Look,” he says, tapping different parts as he speaks. “This whole outer area here” -he circles the messy oval- “is the vulva. That’s the general term for everything on the outside.”
I furrow my brows. “What? I’ve been calling the whole thing the wrong thing? It’s not all the vagina?”
“No. The vagina is the inside. It has walls,” he says, tapping the drawing. “Think of it as… an internal space. Everything outside is a different category entirely. Most people mix it up though, so don’t worry.”
I feel myself starting to spiral.
“That feels like important information I should’ve gotten earlier in life.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t agree more. But it’s never too late to learn, right?” He taps another line. “These are the inner lips, and these are the outer lips. They’re… protective structure. Like insulation.”
“Insulation,” I repeat slowly. “I am apparently insulated and have walls. My vagina is a house now?” The words come out more playful than I mean them to, what’s left of my nerves twisting into sarcasm.
He stares at the diagram for a second, seemingly betrayed by his own metaphor. A short breath escapes his nose.
“Well, now I’m afraid to say anything else in case it gets classified as architecture.”
Hesitating, Benny rubs the back of his neck. He seems to be suddenly aware of how ridiculous the conversation has gotten, and how close I am while he’s having it.
“Are you planning to move into my house? Paint the walls and call it yours?”
“No! No part of you is a house. Or any sort of architecture,” he says quickly, then immediately shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. You’re not a work of art. Well, you are-”
He stops mid-sentence and cringes at himself. “That also came out wrong.”
Color creeps up the side of his neck. “You’re just…” he tries again, then huffs a quiet laugh at himself. “You’re very much not a house. Or art.”
A beat passes.
“Thank you for establishing that,” I say, my voice flat in a way that makes it very clear I’m trying, and failing, not to laugh.
Then, softer, almost like it slips out before he can catch it, he says, “I only mean that you’re work of art in the sense that you’re…beautiful. Fucking gorgeous, even. But let’s move on before I end up in an even deeper hole.”
“Isn’t getting into a hole the endgame here?” I ask, unable to stop the teasing. At this point, I don’t even know if I’m trying to make things less awkward for him or for myself.
Benny’s brain seems to short-circuit in real-time. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then looks down at the legal pad like it might contain an emergency exit strategy.
"I- That is not what I meant," he sputters, the flush creeping up his neck more obvious.
“It’s really easy to fluster you,” I reply, a smile tugging at my mouth as I clearly succeed in doing exactly that.
Benny lets out a long, suffering sigh, dropping his head back against the back of the couch. "I’ve survived three tours, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to be taken out by a single conversation on my own couch."
Chuckling, I pull the pad closer to me. “Can we circle back to the clitoris now?”
“You’re going to quickly realize why you can’t say ‘circle’ and ‘clitoris’ in the same sentence,” he mutters. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re fucking with me.”
“No, but I want to,” I reply, light and teasing. “Hence this…enlightening educational experience.”
He lets out a short breath of a laugh, then looks at the page again, his expression tightening as the instructor part of him clicks back into place.
“Right,” he says after a beat, tone leveling out. “Any questions so far?”
“Is the clitoris as small as it seems? Is that… maybe why I’ve never been able to find it?”
“Yes and no. It’s actually a lot bigger than that visible part,” Benny replies. “What you’re seeing here is just the external tip. It extends internally under the surface.”
I lean in a little without thinking. “Sorta like an iceberg?”
“Yeah, exactly.” He glances up at me briefly, a faint hint of approval in his expression. “The internal part is what people call the G-spot. It’s part of the same overall structure, but it’s not visible from the outside. Stimulating it, either with a penis or fingers or a toy, can contribute to a lot of pleasure for people.”
I sit back a little, processing, drawing my brows together as I try to make the pieces fit in my head.
“So… If you can stimulate it with a penis, why has it never really felt that great for me?” I ask slowly. “Shouldn’t I have… I don’t know… felt something more?”
My voice trails off a little at the end, quieter now, less confident.
His expression tightens slightly, more serious now. “Even though there’s an internal part, penetration alone doesn’t work for a lot of women. Most women can’t orgasm without stimulating the clitoris. You know, the part on the outside.”
I blink at him, then at the aggressively annotated vulva still sitting between us. This is too damn complicated.
“Dare I even ask how best to do that?” I question.
A short, almost helpless laugh slips from Benny. I don’t think he expected the follow-up question.
“I mean,” he says, bobbing his head back in forth in consideration, “there are a few ways. But the point is… it requires a conscious effort. It’s not really something that just…happens on its own most of the time.”
I nod with the seriousness of someone absorbing critical mission intel.
“So,” I say slowly, leaning back into the couch as the realization settles in, “what you’re telling me is I’ve basically been aiming at the wrong ‘goal’ this entire time, and nobody thought to mention the target is in a completely different arena?”
“Yeah,” he says. “That unfortunately sounds right.”
I let out a breath that’s part laugh, part disbelief, shaking my head slowly. “I’ve basically spent years operating on completely incorrect assumptions. Great.” I gesture vaguely at myself. “I think my body deserves compensation at this point.”
A small huff of laughter slips out of him, but his expression stays soft.
He studies me for a moment, his expression steady but intent. “You weren’t given the information,” he assures me. “A lot of people failed in educating you. You can’t fault yourself for that.”
A beat.
“And for what it’s worth,” he adds, mouth twitching slightly, “you’re correcting course pretty damn fast.”
I offer him a smile before leaning in again, studying the drawing like it might suddenly make more sense if I stare hard enough.
“Is this for real? This isn’t something you made up to impress me, right?” I ask.
Benny looks offended in the way only someone being questioned about highly personal, improvised anatomy can look.
“Yeah, I had a gorgeous as all hell woman beneath me, but stopped and thought, ‘You know what would really help me seal the deal? A competitive round of draw what you think anatomy looks like from memory using a Sharpie and pure panic.”
“I mean, your drawing is so realistic. It doesn’t put you in the mood?” I question jokingly.
Benny lets out a long, suffering sigh.
“I’m retiring from art immediately,” he mutters.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Stick to your day job.”
My eyes drift back to the page, specifically to the aggressively circled spot he’d labeled. My mind swirls as I try to take it all in, a faint disbelief creeping in. How did I make it this far without knowing any of this?
“Can I ask you something?” Benny asks after a minute, his tone careful again, as though he’s testing the edges of the conversation. “I mean, it might be a little too personal.”
I glance at him sideways. “At this point, I don’t think there’s a category of question that qualifies as too personal.”
That earns a faint, relieved huff of laughter from him. He hesitates anyway, then finally asks, “If you’ve had sex before… how did you not know about any of this stuff? Didn’t your boyfriends do any sort of foreplay? Anything to help make you come?”
“I’ve only had one before you,” I admit. “We were together for a while, and he never…” I gesture vaguely at the paper between us. “Any of this. He never mentioned it. Never asked anything. He’d just… do his thing and be done.”
I swallow, the words feeling a little heavier now that they’re out.
“And I thought…” I trail off with a small shrug. “I thought that was how it was supposed to be. Just… get through it and make the man happy.”
Benny goes very still. “I’m going try really hard not to say anything disrespectful here.”
“That bad?” I ask, wincing a little as I brace myself for the answer.
“Let’s just say he would not pass this class.”
That makes me laugh again. “Is there at least some hope for me?”
Benny’s mouth twitches. “Oh, there’s hope,” he replies. “I’m very concerned for the guy who came before me though.”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “I mean… literally came, right?”
Benny chuckles, but there’s a faint edge of disbelief under it. “I’m surprised he at least knew how to that. Did he even put it in the right hole?”
I blink at him for a second, then a small, incredulous laugh escapes before I can stop it.
“I think we at least got that part right. Give me some credit.” I shake my head slightly, a breath of disbelief slipping out of me. “It’s just… I came from a conservative background,” I add, glancing away for a second. “And Kyle…” I hesitate, jaw tightening faintly. “He was honestly kind of a selfish asshole. It took me too long to realize that.” I let out a quiet, humorless huff. “I don’t think he’d recognize a clitoris if it was labeled, highlighted, and circled on a diagram in front of him. Not because he couldn’t figure it out,” I say, meeting Benny’s eyes again, “but because he never cared enough to try.”
Benny’s expression changes, the humor giving way to something quieter, more contemplative. His eyes stay on me. He’s putting the pieces together, and he doesn’t like what he sees
“I’m sorry he didn’t give you what you deserve.”
There’s no edge to it, no performative anger. He is steady and sincere, and that lands deeper than I expected.
I huff out a soft breath, glancing down at my hands for a moment before looking back at him.
“I didn’t really know there was anything missing,” I admit. “It’s hard to miss something when you don’t know it’s supposed to be there.
His jaw tightens just slightly, not at me, but at the idea of it.
“Well,” he says after a beat, “you know now.”
Something lighter starts creeping in. Tilting my head, I say, “Hypothetically, if someone were to want to further fix a gap in knowledge…”
Benny’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Hypothetically?”
“In actuality,” I correct, my voice more confident now. “Would that require more…hands-on instruction?”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“I mean,” he replies playfully, “there is only so much I can teach with a Sharpie.”
I glanced at the legal pad again. “Yeah, I think I’ve reached the limit of what the sad clam can offer me academically.”
Benny lets out a laugh at that, quick and genuine, like it catches him off guard, then drags a hand down his face, still shaking his head. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“Not a chance,” I reply lightly.
I shift on the couch, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: how close he is, how the space between us doesn’t feel uncertain anymore, just warm and charged in a quieter, steadier way. My own heartbeat feels louder than the room.
“I think I’m ready for a more practical lesson.”
His expression changes immediately. It’s subtle, but unmistakable, like something in him sharpens and softens at the same time. The humor fades, replaced with attention that’s fully focused on me.
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod once, even though my nerves flicker at the edges. “Yeah. I am. Will you help me?”
Benny doesn’t look away when he answers.
“It would be my pleasure,” he says, then immediately winces at himself. “Well, no. That sounded way better in my head. I mean, this is about your pleasure. Mine is…secondary. Extremely secondary. Not the point.”
A small laugh slips out of me, the tension easing just enough that I can finally breathe again.
“Noted. Glad we clarified the priorities.”
A boyish grin spreads across his face.
There’s a different kind of pause now. Less chaotic. More real.
Then, because apparently, I have completely lost the ability to be normal tonight, I add, “Show me, Benny. Help me understand what I’ve been missing.”
That does it.
The humor in his face shifts, turning into something more serious underneath.
“Okay,” he replies simply.
Benny stands and holds out his hand. A simple offering. I take it, letting him help me up, my heart picking up in a way that feels different now. Less anxious, more anticipatory.
His bedroom is dim, the air cooler against my flushed skin as he guides me inside. It feels private here. The outside world can’t reach us.
I stand near the edge of the bed, acutely aware of my own body. My heart hammers against my ribs, anticipation coiling low in my belly.
His focus narrows like I’m the only thing in the room.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says softly, brushing hair from my face. “There’s absolutely no pressure. We do whatever you want on your time.”
“No,” I argue immediately, voice steady. “I want this.”
His eyes search mine, like he’s making sure there’s not a single flicker of doubt there.
“I’m serious, Benny,” I add, firm in a way that surprises even me. “I want you to show me what it’s supposed to feel like. Show me what my body is supposed to do. Make me…” I swallow, thinking of the word he used earlier. “Make me come.”
His breath catches slightly, enough to notice. His eyes turn dark, and he gives me the deadliest smirk.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Benny pulls me toward him, kissing me slow and steady, no hesitation left in it now. His hand is firm at my waist as walks me backwards until the back of my legs hit his bed.
Gently, he guides me down onto the mattress, his movements deliberate. He doesn’t rush to undress me or himself. Instead, he settles beside me, one hand sliding beneath the hem of my shirt to rest against the heated skin of my waist. His thumb traces lazy circles there, grounding me, while his mouth finds mine in a deep, slow kiss.
It’s different from the frantic making out on the couch. This is purposeful. He’s taking his time, letting me get used to the weight of his hand and the way his body fits against mine. When his fingers finally drift upward, cupping my breast through the lace of my bra, I arch into him instinctively, a soft gasp escaping my lips.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice low and warm.
His hand drifts downward at first, then pauses, like he’s reconsidering, before sliding upward instead. His fingers slip beneath the edge of my bra, brushing over my skin before finding my nipple.
The touch is gentle at first, exploratory. My reaction is anything but. He exhales softly against my lips, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and approval while he feels the way my body responds beneath his hand.
His thumb sweeps over the sensitive peak, and I practically jerk off the mattress. It’s electric, a sharp, sudden jolt that shoots straight down my spine and settles low in my belly. He does it again, a little slower this time, rolling the tight bud between his fingers, and a broken sound escapes my throat that I don’t even recognize.
Benny doesn't let up. He watches my face with dark, hungry eyes while pinching gently, tugging just enough to make me sigh. Every pull sends a shockwave through my system, turning my muscles to jelly and my brain to static. I’m gasping, my hands fisting in the sheets, completely at the mercy of a few fingers and a little friction. It’s maddening, the way he’s playing me like an instrument, drawing sounds out of me I didn't know I could make, and he hasn't even touched me there yet.
His gaze lingers on my face for another moment, cataloging every gasp and flutter of my eyelids before his hand retreats from beneath the lace. The loss of heat makes me whine low in my throat, a sound I barely recognize as my own, but he hushes me softly, his hand moving to the hem of my shirt.
"Let's get this out of the way," he murmurs, his voice rougher than before.
He sits back slightly, creating space between us, and grips the fabric. I lift my arms without hesitation, surrendering to whatever he wants to do to me. He pulls the shirt over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor.
The cool air of the room hits my skin instantly, raising goosebumps along my arms, but the warmth under my skin doesn’t let up. I’m left in my bra and leggings, feeling suddenly bare under the weight of his stare. Benny doesn't rush to touch me again. Instead, he takes a moment, his eyes tracking the exposed lines of my body with a focus that feels heavy, almost reverent. It makes me want to cover up, but the way his jaw ticks tells me he likes exactly what he sees.
"You have no idea," he says quietly, more to himself than to me, "how long I've wanted to see you like this."
He leans back in, but this time his hands go to my back. With a quick, dexterous flick of his fingers, he undoes the clasp of my bra. The tension releases instantly, and he slides the straps down my shoulders, pulling the lace away until I’m completely bare to the waist.
My instinct to cover myself wars with the hungry way he’s looking at me. But Benny doesn't give me a chance to shy away. He dips his head, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my shoulder and down the slope of my breast. His facial hair scrapes against the sensitive skin, sending jolts of electricity skittering across my nerves, and when his mouth finally closes over the tight peak of my nipple, I cry out.
He doesn't stop there. He takes his time, worshiping one breast and then the other with a patience that unravels me. His tongue circles and teases while his hand continues its downward exploration, fingers tracing the waistband of my leggings. I suck in a sharp breath when his hand slides beneath the fabric, his palm resting flat against my lower belly, searing me with his touch.
Benny smirks against my body, clearly pleased with the reaction he’s wrung out of me. His fingers slip under the waistband, reaching down and encountering the damp fabric of my underwear. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my chest.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers, his voice low and satisfied.
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, dousing the heat in an instant. My stomach twists into a knot of mortification. I snap my knees together, trapping his hand, and scramble backward.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, my hands flying up to cover my face. I’m burning alive. “I am so sorry. That is…that is so gross. Did I-”
"Stop," he commands gently, but firmly enough to cut through my spiral. He doesn't try to pull his hand free, just holds it there, a steady, grounding weight against my panic. "Look at me."
I force my hands away from my face, my eyes darting anywhere but at him before finally landing on his. He isn’t grimacing. He doesn’t look grossed out. Instead, he looks intense, focused, as though he’s trying to defuse a bomb with nothing but his calm voice. My ex had always acted like anything involving my body was messy, wrong in some way. Like even normal reactions were something to be ashamed of.
"It is not gross," he says, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "It is the opposite of gross. It’s a biological response. It means your body is working exactly the way it’s supposed to. It means you’re aroused." His thumb strokes idly over the fabric covering me, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine. "Do you have any idea how much of a turn-on it is to know that I did that? To know that you want this just as much as I do?"
"It's a good thing," he insists, his voice dropping to a rough, intimate register that makes my toes curl. "It makes everything easier, makes it feel better for you. If you were dry, it would hurt. This is your body taking care of you, getting ready for me. Please don't apologize for wanting me."
His words sink in slowly, pushing back the shame. He doesn't sound like he's lying. He sounds like he's in awe. The panic in my chest loosens, replaced by a slow, pulsing warmth.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice shaky but trusting. I force my muscles to unlock, my legs relaxing their death grip on his wrist. "If you say so."
"Do you trust me?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine, searching for any lingering hesitation.
"Yes," I breathe out instantly. "You know I do."
"Then let me take care of you." He changes his weight, pressing his hips into the mattress to hold me still while his hand retreats long enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of my leggings. He pauses, a silent question, and when I lift my hips in permission, he slides them down, taking my underwear with them in one slow, deliberate motion. The air is cool against my overheated skin, but his gaze is scorching, tracing the lines of my body like he’s committing them to memory.
"Do you know how beautiful you look right now?" he asks, his thumb tracing the crease where my thigh meets my hip. "Flush. Swollen. All for me."
"I feel... exposed," I admit, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't know how to just lie here and let you look."
"You don't have to do anything," he says, his eyes returning to mine. "Breathe. Let me handle the rest."
His hand shifts, slowly sliding inward from my hip. The anticipation is a physical weight, tightening my chest and making my breath hitch in my throat. When his fingers finally brush through my folds, the sensation is so sharp, so overwhelming, that I gasp, my eyes fluttering shut.
"God, Benny," I breathe, my head falling back against the pillows.
"Easy," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as his hand stills.
His fingers remain exactly where they are, resting heavily against that sensitive bundle of nerves without giving me the relief of pressure or rhythm. The denial of movement is its own kind of torture, a sweet, tormenting friction that winds me tighter than I thought possible.
My hips twitch instinctively, seeking more, chasing the friction I desperately need, but he holds firm, anchoring me to the bed with a calm dominance that makes my head spin. He’s dictating the pace entirely, forcing me to exist in this suspended state of anticipation where every nerve ending is screaming for attention.
"Please, Benny," I whimper, my hips canting upward in a silent demand for more contact, for anything to relieve the unbearable throbbing that has taken up residence between my legs.
He hums, a dark, satisfied sound, but instead of giving me what I want, he lowers his head. His breath is a ghost of sensation against my inner thigh, hot and teasing, before he presses a deep, wet kiss dangerously close to where I needed him.
"Not yet," he scolds softly, his eyes locking onto mine. "We're going to take this slow. You need to learn exactly what you like, and I'm not going to let you rush past the best parts."
When he finally leans in, it isn’t the fast, aggressive rhythm I expected. He flattens his tongue and drags it upward in a deliberate, devastating lap, circling my clit with precision.
A sharp, broken cry tears from my throat, my back bowing off the mattress as the sensation blazes through me like a live wire. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, wet, hot, and overwhelmingly intense. My fingers fly to his hair, tangling in the short strands to anchor myself against the sudden shockwave of pleasure.
"Feel that?" he mumbles against my skin, the vibration of his words nearly undoing me. "That's the spot. I'm going to stay right here until you're shaking for it."
He does exactly that, alternating between broad, flat strokes and tight, sucking pulls that build the pleasure higher and higher, winding me tight like a coil ready to snap. My fingers tug desperately, but he groans and redoubles his efforts, holding me on the knife-edge of release without letting me fall.
He pulls back when the pressure starts to become too much, leaving me gasping at the sudden loss of heat. I look down at him, dazed and desperate, my chest heaving.
"Shh, I know," he soothes, bringing his hand up to replace his mouth. He hovers his index and middle fingers over my entrance, letting them rest there without pushing inside, a maddening tease. "I'm going to slide inside you now," he informs me, his eyes never leave mine. "And I'm going to curl my fingers up, toward that spot you learned about earlier. I want you to tell me when I hit it."
He pushes forward, sinking his fingers deep in one slow, relentless glide. The stretch is sharp, a fullness that steals my breath, but he doesn’t stop. He crooks his fingers upward in a “come here” motion, rubbing firmly against the sensitive ridges on my front wall.
A gasp slips from my lips as my body bends instinctively, tension pulling me toward him the moment he hits exactly where it matters.
"There," he growls, his voice dark with satisfaction. "Right there, isn't it? That's the spot. Does it feel good?"
"God, yes," I sob.
He begins to move then, a slow, torturous rhythm that drags against that bundle of nerves with every thrust. His other hand comes down to press flat against my lower belly, holding me in place as he works me over.
“Take it," he commands softly, his pace steady and unyielding. "Don't try to run from it. Just breathe and let me make you feel it."
The dual sensation of his fingers stroking deep inside and the anchor of his hand on my stomach is overwhelming, pushing me until I am teetering on the edge of oblivion, begging him for the release only he can give. That coil in my belly is winding so tight it hurts, a sweet, agonizing pressure that has my muscles locking up in anticipation.
"Benny, please," I gasp, my voice barely recognizable as my own. "I can't...I need..."
"You can," he corrects me gently, though the pace of his fingers never stumbles. He shifts slightly, pressing the heel of his hand against my clit while his fingers continue that relentless, curling stroke inside me. The added stimulation is a match to a fuse. "I can feel you. Let go. I've got you. Come for me."
The command in his voice shatters whatever resistance I have left. The pressure snaps, sending me spiraling over the edge with a hoarse cry. My inner muscles clamp down around his fingers, pulsing rhythmically as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. Benny doesn’t stop, milking every last spasm out of me until I am a trembling, gasping wreck, completely undone beneath his hands.
I drift back to reality slowly, like surfacing from deep water, my body feeling heavy and loose in a way that is entirely foreign to me. The room is quiet except for my ragged breathing, and Benny is still there, watching me with a dark, hungry gaze that tells me he isn't nearly finished with me yet. He carefully withdraws his fingers, the loss making me shiver, and presses a tender kiss to the inside of my knee before moving to kneel between my legs.
"Do you have any idea how incredible you look when you come apart for me?" he rasps, reaching for the button of his jeans. His movements are methodical, unhurried, giving me a front-row seat as he strips off his clothes.
My eyes trace the broad expanse of his chest, the defined muscles of his abs, and finally settle on the heavy, flushed length of him as he frees himself from the denim. He wraps a hand around his base, stroking slowly as his eyes roamed over my bared body.
"I could watch you do that all night, but I think you’re ready for the next lesson."
He reaches over to the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a condom, and the sound of the foil wrapper tearing makes my breath hitch in my throat. He rolls it on, and I can't look away. His jaw is tight with the same restraint he’s been exercising all night. He lowers himself over me, bracing his weight on his forearms to cage me in. When he settles his hips against mine, the hot, hard length of him presses against my still-sensitive entrance. It’s a stark, delicious reminder that while I found my release, he has been holding back the entire time, waiting patiently for his turn.
He captures my mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing my gasp as he begins to rock his hips against me. He hasn’t entered me yet, just letting me feel the weight and heat of him, sliding the slick length of his erection through my folds to coat himself in my arousal. The friction is maddening, making me pull my hips up without thinking.
Benny pulls back to look me in the eyes, his gaze intense and searching, checking for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he reaches between us to notch himself at my entrance, the blunt head pressing forward enough to stretch me.
"Relax for me," he coaches softly, his thumb stroking my cheek. "Remember, breathe. I'm going to take it nice and slow. This time, I want you to come on my cock."
“I-I don’t know if I can.”
“You can do it. I know you can. I’ll help you.”
He pushes forward with agonizing patience, letting me feel every inch as he stretches me open. The burn is there, a sharp sting that makes my breath hitch, but beneath it is that rising tide of pleasure he so carefully cultivated. He pauses when he’s halfway in, giving me time to adjust to the intrusion, his jaw clenched tight with the effort of holding still.
"You're taking me so well," he praises, his voice ragged. "Look at us. Look at how we fit together." He surges forward the rest of the way in one smooth, fluid motion, burying himself deep, and the sudden fullness knocks the air out of my lungs.
When my hips shift restlessly beneath him, practically begging for friction, he knows I am ready. He draws back slowly, almost all the way out, before sliding back in.
The rhythm he sets is punishingly slow, a deliberate glide that forces me to acknowledge every ridge and vein of him as he drags against my inner walls. He isn’t merely fucking me. He’s worshipping me, his hips rolling in a deep, languid wave that leaves my body trembling beneath him, my thoughts scatter completely.
“God, look at you," he grits out, his voice straining with the effort of maintaining his control. He captures my wrists, pinning them above my head against the pillows, interlacing our fingers to anchor us together. "You're so tight, so perfect. I can feel you fluttering around me, trying to pull me in deeper."
Each thrust is a lesson in patience, dragging ragged moans from my lips as he hits that spot with unerring accuracy, stoking the fire he built inside me until I’m a trembling mess beneath him.
My body isn’t my own anymore. It’s a live wire under his touch, strung tight with a need so sharp it borders on pain. I try to move faster, to arch up and take control, but he holds me firm, denying me the quick friction I crave.
"No," he commands gently, nipping at the sensitive skin of my throat. "Don't rush. I want you to really feel it. I want you to remember exactly how this feels, how I fill you up, how hard you make me."
He shifts his hips slightly, changing the angle to grind against my clit with every thrust, and the added stimulation shatters what’s left of my composure.
"Benny, please," I sob, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as the pleasure crests higher, threatening to drown me. "I can't take it. I need..."
"You can, and you will," he growls against my mouth, finally picking up the pace just enough to push me over the edge. He drives into me harder, deeper, his rhythm turning relentless as he chases my release. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come around my cock. Now."
Once more, the command is my undoing. With a broken cry, I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me with the force of a tidal wave. I convulse around him, my inner muscles clamping down tight as wave after wave of ecstasy obliterate everything else. He rides me through it, his own rhythm fracturing as my body grips him. His groan of release mingles with my gasps as he follows me over the edge, burying himself deep and pulsing inside me as we collapsed together in a tangle of limbs.
I drift in the haze for what feels like an eternity, my body humming with a residual sweet ache that’s entirely new to me. When I finally blink open my eyes, Benny is still hovering over me, his weight resting on his elbows to keep from crushing me. His hair is damp with sweat, a stray lock falling over his forehead, his eyes locked on my face with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone, swiping away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen, his expression softening into something so tender it makes my chest ache.
"You did it," he murmurs, a crooked, tired grin tugging at his lips. He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, then to the corner of my mouth, before shifting to sit up.
I make a small, involuntary noise of protest at the loss of his warmth, but he hushes me softly, reaching for the base of the condom to tie it off.
"I'm not going anywhere. Just hold on a second." He moves with the same deliberate care he’s shown all night, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few tissues from the nightstand to clean me up. His touch is gentle as he wipes away the sticky evidence of our lovemaking, his eyes tracking every movement like he’s memorizing the moment.
When he’s done, he reaches down and pulls a blanket up over us, cocooning us in the warm, heavy weight of it. He settles back against the pillows and pulls me into his arms, tucking my head securely under his chin. I curl into him instinctively, molding myself against the hard lines of his body, my leg thrown over his hip.
The silence that settles over the room isn't empty or awkward. It’s heavy, sated, filled with the sound of our slowing breaths. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of soap and sex and Benny, feeling the frantic beat of his heart gradually slow down to match mine.
The silence stretches on, comfortable and warm, but my brain is finally starting to reboot. As the post-orgasmic fog begins to lift, snippets of the night drift back to me. The diagrams, the instruction, the way Benny had practically turned my nervous system into his own personal science experiment. A huff of laughter escapes me, bubbling up from my chest.
Benny shifts slightly, his hand stroking lazily up and down my spine.
"What's so funny?" he murmurs, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, his breath rustling my hair.
I tilt my head back, grinning up at him.
"I was thinking," I say, tracing the constellation of freckles across his shoulder with my fingertip. "That was a lot. Lots of theory. Lots of practical application." I bite my lip to suppress a smile, looking at him through my lashes. "So, as the instructor... Do you think I passed?"
Benny lets out a low, sleepy chuckle, the sound vibrating through my chest where it’s pressed against his. He tightens his arm around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer until there is no space left between us.
"Passed?" he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks down at me. "Honey, you didn’t just pass. You graduated with honors. Fuck, I’m pretty sure you set the curve."
A flush heats my cheeks, but I can’t look away from his soft, adoring gaze.
"I don't know," I counter, feigning doubt even as I smile. "I think you might be biased. You seemed to be enjoying the curriculum a little too much."
"Trust me, that lesson was mutually beneficial," he says, his expression sobering slightly as he brushes a stray lock of hair away from my face. He traces the line of my jaw with his thumb, his touch reverent. "But if you're worried about your grades, we can always schedule a few review sessions. I'm thinking nightly. Possibly multiple times on weekends."
I snort against his skin, the warmth of his chest seeping into mine and making me feel drowsy and safe.
"You think you have that kind of stamina, Professor?" I tease. "I'll have you know I'm a demanding student. I may require a lot of hands-on attention."
"I'm willing to risk it. Besides," he mumbles, his voice already growing heavy with sleep, "someone has to make sure you don't forget the material. Repetition is key to retention, or whatever it is they say in school." He yawns widely, his jaw cracking, and then tightens his hold on me possessively, like he is afraid I might try to sneak out and take the final exam without him.
My heart gives a little flutter at that, a stupid, sappy reaction would have had me rolling my eyes at in anyone else. But here, wrapped in his arms with the smell of us clinging to the air, it feels right. I settle back against him, listening to the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart beneath my ear.
"Alright," I whisper into the quiet room, closing my eyes as a sense of profound peace settles over me. "I guess I can fit a few tutoring sessions into my schedule. But promise you won't go easy on me."
"Deal," he whispers back, his voice already slurring with sleep as he tightens his hold on me.
Within minutes, his breathing evens out, but my mind is still wide awake. I lay there tracing the lines of his palm, my thoughts racing. For years, I had treated my own body like a stranger, a piece of machinery I didn't know how to operate, convinced it was broken because I’d never been given the manual. But tonight, Benny didn’t only hand me the manual. He taught me how to read it.
As I drift off, secure in his arms, I know one thing for sure: I am done being ignorant. I want to know everything there is to know about this machinery, and I am more than ready to explore more.
----
It’s a Friday night, three months post-sexual awakening, as I’ve started calling it in my head. The bar is loud, packed with the after-work crowd. Benny has his arm draped comfortably over my shoulders, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against my sleeve. I feel loose, happy, and significantly less clumsy in my own skin these days.
Then, I see him.
My ex, Kyle, is standing near the dartboards, holding a beer and laughing with a group of friends. The sight of him hits me like a splash of cold water. It isn't heartbreak or longing. It’s...annoyance. The memory of years of faked sighs and unfulfilled promises rushes back, followed immediately by the knowledge of what I’d been missing out on the entire time.
Benny must have felt me tense against him because he stops rubbing my arm and follows my gaze. His body goes rigid, the easy warmth vanishing instantly.
"Do you know him?" he asks, his voice low and vibrating with a sudden, dangerous tension. “Oh shit. Is that… Is that him?”
"Yeah," I mutter, trying to steer us toward the exit. "Let's go, Ben. It's not worth it."
But I don’t move fast enough.
Kyle spots us and raises his glass, a smug, oblivious grin plastered on his face. He starts to push through the crowd toward us, seemingly ready to offer some backhanded compliment about how "healthy" I look.
Benny doesn’t move toward the door. He plants his feet, his jaw clenching tight enough to grind diamonds. I see the exact moment recognition and comprehension dawn on Benny's face. He isn't looking at a guy he’s jealous of. He’s looking at a man who had wasted years of my time, and the realization makes something snap behind his eyes.
Before I can grab him, Benny is already moving, stepping in front of me with an aggression that makes the crowd part like the Red Sea.
By the time he reaches Kyle, Benny has already transformed into a solid wall of barely contained fury. He doesn’t say a word, just steps directly into Kyle’s personal space, forcing the other man to stumble back a step. The smirk slides off Kyle’s face as he looks up, realizing he is shorter than Benny and significantly less prepared for a fight.
"You must be the ex," Benny says, his voice terrifyingly calm, yet it cuts through the din of the bar like a knife. He doesn’t offer a hand to shake. Instead, he crowds Kyle back until my ex is nearly tripping over his own feet.
"I have a question for you. How? How did you look at her every day and not make sure she was satisfied? How do you keep someone like that in your bed and never once bother to learn how to make her fall apart?"
Kyle blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, clearly stunned by the verbal assault.
“I… Excuse me? Who the hell are you?" he sputters, his face turning a splotchy red. He tries to puff his chest out, but Benny doesn’t budge an inch, looking down at him with a mix of pity and disdain that is far more insulting than actual rage.
"I'm the man who actually gives a damn," Benny snaps, taking another step forward that forces Kyle to recoil into a nearby table. His voice drops to a dangerous growl, and for a second, I genuinely think he is going to throw a punch, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You had the most incredible woman in your bed every night, and you treated her like a piece of furniture. You didn't only cheat yourself out of a good time. You made her feel like she was broken. You owe her an apology for that."
Kyle looks wildly around the room, searching for an escape route or perhaps a bouncer, his bravado completely evaporating under Benny’s blistering scrutiny.
"Look, I don't know what she told you, but we had...different priorities," he stammers, trying to save face, but he only looks smaller, more pathetic. He doesn’t even look at me once, his eyes darting anxiously between Benny and the exit sign.
"Different priorities? That’s an awfully funny way of saying you were incompetent,” Benny shoots back, his lip curling in disgust. He leans in close, looming over Kyle. “You couldn’t find a clitoris if it was labeled for you.”
Kyle huffs, trying to claw back some dignity. “She never complained,” he says, shrugging like that settles it. “Seemed fine to me.”
Something in Benny’s expression goes completely still. Not louder. Not angrier. Worse.
He steps in closer, slow and deliberate, until Kyle has nowhere left to go but the edge of the table digging into his back.
“Yeah,” Benny says quietly. “That’s the problem.”
Kyle scoffs, but it’s shaky now. “Man, I think you’re blowing this way out of proportion. She-”
Benny leans in just enough that Kyle has to tilt his head back to keep eye contact.
“If you say one more word that even sounds like you’re blaming her,” Benny says, voice low and razor sharp, “you’re going to need a dentist.”
Kyle freezes at that, whatever comeback he had dying in his throat. For a second, it looks as though he might push it anyway. His jaw tightens, his pride scrambling for something to hold onto.
But then he glances around.
People are watching now. The bartender. Couples at a nearby table. The energy has shifted, and Kyle knows it. He swallows hard, shoulders pulling in just slightly, like he’s trying to make himself smaller without admitting it.
“Yeah,” he mutters, not meeting either of our eyes. “Whatever, man.”
The words land week.
Benny studies him for one long second, seeming to calculate whether there’s anything left worth saying.
There isn’t.
He straightens, the tension rolling off him as quickly as it built. When he steps back, it’s controlled.
“Yeah,” Benny says flatly. “That’s what I thought.”
He turns away, tossing over his shoulder, “Remember: clitoris. Look it up.”
A smug smirk tugs at Benny’s mouth as he walks back to me.
“You ready to go?” he asks.
I nod, still a little stunned.
Benny reaches for me, his hand gentle despite the adrenaline still coursing through him. Steadily, he steers me toward the door, leaving Kyle standing there with his drink and his bruised ego.
The night air hits us as we step out onto the sidewalk, shocking my overheated skin. The adrenaline pumping through my veins makes my hands shake.
Benny doesn’t stop until we’re halfway down the block, putting distance between us and the noise and smell of stale beer. He comes to an abrupt halt under a streetlamp, turning to face me, his hands settling gently on my arms.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice low and unsteady. "I know I shouldn't have done that. I know I embarrassed you. I just... I saw his face and realized he was the reason you spent so long thinking you were broken, and I lost it."
I stare at him, stunned for a different reason now. For the first time all night, the tension in my chest unravels, replaced by a warm, bubbling sensation that makes me want to laugh out loud.
"Embarrassed?" I repeat, stepping closer, pulling a hand off my shoulder to hold it. "Benny, that was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me. You told off my ex for not knowing where the clitoris is." I can’t help but laugh. I squeeze his fingers, leaning into his space. "I didn't know you were the jealous type."
He laughs, the tension in his shoulders easing away as he looks down at me, his eyes softening.
"I'm not usually," he admits, slipping an arm around my waist to tug me against him. "I don't like assholes. And that guy... he wasted years of your life because he couldn't be bothered to pay attention. It pisses me off." He leans down, resting his forehead against mine, the familiar scent of him grounding me instantly. "He had no idea what he had," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "But I do. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
I smile against his mouth, feeling the last of the lingering tension evaporate into the night air.
“You know,” I murmur, pulling back to look up at him, “I’ve been doing a little research… and I might have a few new experiments to test out when we get back to my place.”
Benny grins, that familiar, crooked smile that still makes my knees weak. "I am absolutely available for peer review," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I laugh, a warm, unburdened sound that spills out of me more easily than it ever has before, wrapping my arm around his waist as we turn away. The ghost of the girl who had felt broken for years is officially gone, and in her place is someone who finally knows her own worth. And her own body.
"I think you're going to like my presentation," I tease, leaning my head against his shoulder as we walk toward my apartment.
Benny smiles down at me. "I hope you made diagrams.”
