Below is a peek at something we’ve been working on: flash fiction stories based on our lewd figure collection. (And yes, they’re NSFW). Enjoy!
After the rest of your classmates have made plans for the evening and put their textbooks away in their lockers, you sit there in the back of the classroom. You see your peers slapping high-fives, hugging and kissing, laughing and yelling from your seat on the third floor, overlooking the school entrance. Yellow buses line up to take some people home, but the rest walk down the streets toward bus terminals and train stations. The leaves are changing color, and the winds that carry them reach you from the open window, making you wish you could join everyone else outside.
You’re a delinquent. Delinquents don’t get to leave school with their peers. Delinquents get left behind with the new teacher and her bitchy attitude. Who cares if you were cheating on the pop quiz by peeking at the person next to you? Smart people should help out stupid people, right? You don’t care about tests, or school, or any of this crap. You have anime to catch up on. There’s a big update on Fate/Grand Order for the next farming event. And you still haven’t finished that hentai from last night, where the busty teacher started sucking her student’s cock and fucking him raw.
Your own cock starts to grow. You can’t help it. That’s just what happens to guys, and especially to delinquents. You start fidgeting in your chair, bouncing your knee up and down, hoping your pocket snake will settle down.
Your teacher, seated at her desk in front of the classroom, closes the lid on her laptop. The sound distracts you from the window, leading your gaze to hers. If you ever bothered to pay attention in class, you might have noticed earlier how attractive she is behind her red-rimmed glasses. Her purple eyes are intense, nearly impossible to look away from. Her long hair leads to a black bow tied around her slender neck, like something a goth Lolita would wear.; you want to tug at it, listen to her softly gasp for breath.
“It’s just you and me,” Ms. Ayame finally says. She takes a deep breath before circling to the front of her desk and leaning back. Her skirt is short, creeping up to reveal soft flesh above thigh-high stockings. “Believe it or not, I care about my students, and I want them to do well. Even you deserve a fair shot. Why don’t you come up here and show me why you should get a second chance?”
You comply, although your feet drag behind you reluctantly. The obvious erection coming from your slacks is hidden beneath your palms. Now that you and the teacher are alone, you catch the floral-scented perfume wafting from Ms. Ayame’s chest. You’re close enough to watch her breasts rise and fall as she breathes.
“I assume you want an explanation,” you bluntly tell her.
“Among other things, yes.” She looks you up and down in search of something, perhaps watching the thoughts rush through your perverse mind.
“It’s not that complicated,” you reply. ”I can’t afford to get left behind again, so I cheated.”
“Is that so?” she nods. She looks down at your hands conspicuously covering your crotch. “They say hands are the most expressive parts of your body, more than someone’s face or even their words. You tell me you want to graduate, but that’s not what your hands tell me: they’re always attached to your phone, or to your Nintendo Switch, or holding onto a pen while you draw in your notebook. I don’t see them raised when I ask the class a question. I don’t see them shaking anyone else’s, or offering someone comfort when they’ve had a rough day. Even now they keep to themselves, hiding something instead of sharing.”
She grabs for your hands. Your erection is in full view, giving her pause.
“It looks like you want to submit extra credit?” she asks.
“I can’t pass without it,” you weakly say. Your throat dries as you realize what’s going on. A shot of adrenaline runs through you; this isn’t like any detention you’ve ever had.
“You think so?” She smirks. “Alright, Here’s what I’ll do: you’re going to take a practical exam, to show me what you know. And, we’ll start where our conversation began: with your hands.” She raises your hands to her chest, placing one on each pillowy breast. Her hands drift for your waistband and slowly loosen the metal buckle of your belt. She follows with the unfastening of your pants button, and the descent of your zipper. Your slacks drop to the floor.
The thrill of her fingers grazing the tip of your cock—even with your underwear still on—sends you into a frenzy. Copping a feel through her white button-down shirt isn’t enough anymore. You reach for her buttons and quickly undo them. Her indigo bra looks more like lingerie, low cut and adorned with stitch pattern roses, almost like she knew this moment was coming and she wanted you to tear it off.
“Not yet,” she admonishes.
She reaches into your underwear, and latches onto your hot cock. Your glans head slips in and out of her fingers as she tugs up and down. Her pinky rubs against your frenulum, the skin between your head and shaft, until precum drips. After a few pumps, she holds tight while leading you to her chair at the opposite end of the desk. She takes a seat. She pulls your underwear down to your ankles.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already?” she whines, watching your cock as it throbs. You clench your Kegel muscles to keep from ejaculating.
“No way,” you reply, lying through your teeth. Your only wish is to pull her bangs back and jizz all over her pretty forehead. “I can keep going. Don’t fucking stop now.”
A smirk flashes across her face. She guides you into her mouth slowly, thrusting her tongue out like a welcome mat before closing her lips. It’s hot and moist, almost as good as penetration. At first, she flicks her tongue just along the bottom of your glans head, targeting that spot to drive you insane. Your body has tried cumming a couple times, but you grab onto Ms. Ayame’s hair like a cowboy holding the reins and fight going over the edge.
Gripping your hips, she takes more of you in her mouth. The bob of her head forward and back is hypnotic. A moan escapes your throat, and you almost forget you’re in school until the squeak of sneakers just outside the door puts ice in your blood. Ms. Ayame grips tighter in response. Her blowjob gets deeper, and deeper, until your whole cock is in her mouth and your pubic hair brushes against her nose. Her eyes redden; her delicate throat strains as she stifles a gag. She holds out as long as she could, silently, until the students in the hall move on.
Ms. Ayame pulls back. A trail of bubbling saliva drips from your cock to her lips, spilling onto her chest. “Let’s finish part one of this, alright?” she smoothly says, as if having you in her throat was no challenge at all. Gazing into your eyes, she removes her shirt and tosses it aside, then reaches behind to unlatch her bra, which she places atop the table. You remove her glasses for what’s about to happen next.
Ms. Ayame grabs your butt cheek to pull you to her breasts. She leans forward so you can squeeze your cock between them. It slides in with ease thanks to the fresh lubrication her spit provides. Your hips begin pumping on their own, primal passions taking over before you realize you’re tugging on her bowtie and choking her with each thrust. Her lips are pouting, a low growl escaping her throat. She’s encouraging your aggression. You can hear her whispering, “Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me harder.”
That familiar zap of electricity shoots through your loins. You’ve hit the point of no return. Your balls draw closer together as they prepare to shoot. You’re losing control of your breathing. Your entire cock aches.
“I-I’m about to cum,” you struggle to say while you fuck her tits even harder.
“Go ahead,” she laughs. “Fucking do it. Cum right here, shoot it all over. I want it on my chest, I want it on my face.”
Her eyes widen, and her pupils dilate like a feral beast ready to pounce; you hold her bangs up to better look into them. Her face is beautiful and luminous, like the breasts enveloping your member. You reach for them, feeling for her hard nipples and bountiful flesh as you thrust your last bits of sanity away. Your body resists the urge to cum until one of her hands gently squeezes your balls.
“Fuuuck,” you moan aloud as all your stored semen fires off into the air. You’ve never cum this hard in your life. It spews onto Ms. Ayame’s chest and lips, going as high as her forehead. Your second shot lands on her nose. The world fades away for a moment as the oxytocin floods your body. You can feel her hand still on your balls, tugging and milking them dry.
“There you go,” she encourages. She licks the cum from her lips even as you’re still twitching. “You’re smarter than you think. I’m really fucking horny after watching you take charge. The apathetic teenager act you do doesn’t suit you.”
“I still don’t give a shit about school,” you say as you take a seat atop the desk. Your energy was ejaculated all over your teacher. Your cock loses its rigidity and slowly limps onto your thigh. “But thanks for passing me.”
“Passing?” Ms. Ayame muses. She reaches under the desk for her purse. The first item she pulls out is a handkerchief, which she uses to wipe the cum from her face; it comes off her skin in long, sticky strings, and you can see faint residue she’ll have to properly wash off later. “You’ve only taken the first part of the exam.” She bunches up the handkerchief and leaves it on the desk. Standing up from her chair, she raises her purse in search of something else.
“We’ll have to wait a few minutes for me to get hard again,” you tell her, surprised she doesn’t already know this. It’s rare for men to cum and stay erect.
Ms. Ayame, still rummaging through her purse, changes from dismay to excitement. ”Okay, that’s important,” she mumbles to herself as she unveils a small bottle of clear, viscous liquid. It looks like a lubricant.
When you see what this other item is, red and thick and at least six inches long, your eyebrows raise in alarm. She lifts her skirt to reveal an elaborate leather strap saddled against her hips (how did you not notice this before?). Both ends of the strap meet at her mons pubis, in a heart-shaped holster with a circular opening to secure the dildo.
“This part of the test is for both of us,” Ms. Ayame grins. “It’s a double strap-on. My dildo is already inside. You’re going to like yours: it vibrates!”
Thanks for reading! While the photos are taken by Goatius and PVC Waifus, “Extra Credit: An Ayame Story” is a derivative fan fiction based on illustrator Ban’s Ayame figure, manufactured by Alphamax under their Skytube brand. Check out our review of this figure here.