NTR : Next Reincarnated-Chapter 19: Ch - Teacher’s Pet

Next Day

Keita felt the familiar prickle of unease crawl across his skin. It hadn’t started as such, not really. He’d been the "model student," the quiet, studious one, always compliant, always getting the best grades. Aizawa-sensei, his Literature teacher, was generally kind, demanding respect but not overtly cruel. Yet, lately, something had shifted. Aizawa’s gaze had lingered longer during exams, her critiques seemed sharper, her praise sparser. It felt like the walls of his carefully constructed ’good student’ persona were starting to crumble under an unseen pressure.

The phone call came during a rare moment of relative quiet between classes. Keita was waiting for the bell, pencil hovering over a blank spot on his desk, replaying the previous day’s lecture on existentialism, which he hadn’t quite grasped.

"Keita-san?" Aizawa’s voice, usually warm but now clipped, echoed slightly down the phone line.

"Yes, Sensei?"

"Come to my office immediately after school. Alone." Her tone brooked no argument.

Keita frowned, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. "Yes, Sensei."

He spent the remaining classes on edge, the feeling that his quiet path was narrowing, perhaps closing entirely. He saw Aizawa in the hallway, her expression unreadable, her eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for him. He kept his head down, pretending to focus on his book.

The bell rang, a cacophony of students rushing past. Keita lingered, gathering his things, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Keita-san?" Aizawa’s voice stopped him at the classroom door.

He turned slowly. She was standing there, her posture rigid, her eyes intense.

"Yes, Sensei."

"Come."

Her command was direct, devoid of the usual politeness. It felt like a dismissal, a stripping away of his place.

He followed her down the hallway, his footsteps heavy. The air felt thick between them. She led him to her office without a word, the door heavy, wooden. She didn’t invite him in; she simply pushed the door open with her shoulder and gestured towards the small desk inside.

The room smelled faintly of old paper and correction fluid. The only light came from a single, harsh overhead lamp. Aizawa sat behind her desk, the chair pushed back, her arms crossed over the expanse of her desk. Her face was a mask, unreadable.

"Keita-san," she began, her voice flat. "You’ve been exceptionally quiet lately. Almost... invisible."

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling the weight of her scrutiny. "I was just studying."

Her lips twitched. "Yes, of course. But lately, your ’studying’ has become... monotonous." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp. "You think you’re too good to be challenged? Too good to be noticed?"

"No, Sensei," Keita insisted, his voice low.

Her eyes narrowed. "Don’t lie to me, Keita. Your grades are fine, your work is adequate... but you’re not thinking anymore. You’re coasting. Like a fish in a bowl, pretending you’re invisible." She stood up abruptly, her presence suddenly dominating the small space.

She walked around the desk, her high heels clicking softly on the floor, a sound that sent a jolt through Keita. She stopped directly in front of him, invading his personal space.

"I’ve had reports," she whispered, her voice dropping in pitch, becoming dangerously intimate. "About your attitude. Some of the other students... they find you boring, predictable."

"No one said that, Sensei!" Keita protested, feeling a heat rise in his face.

"Doesn’t matter what they say," she murmured, her fingers reaching out to brush his cheek. The touch sent a shockwave of pure, primal fear and arousal through him. She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. "What matters is what I see."

She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering. "Your eyes, Keita... they hide things. Secrets. Desires I haven’t seen in a long time."

His breath hitched. "I... I just want to do well in class, Sensei."

"Liar," she hissed, her hand clamping around his wrist, her touch iron-fisted. She dragged him closer, pulling his hand up towards her waist, forcing him to touch the fabric of her skirt. He froze, unable to move.

"Your mind... your mind is full of filth, Keita," she whispered, her eyes darkening. "I can see it. I can smell it." She released his wrist, letting his hand drop, but not before he’d touched her. A faint scent clung to his fingers – vanilla and something sharp underneath.

"You... you smell like paper, Keita. Safe. Too safe."

She turned her back to him, her shoulders taut. "Now, you’re going to be punished for your insolence. For your hidden thoughts."

"What... what are you talking about, Sensei?" Keita stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Silence," she commanded, her voice suddenly stern. She walked back behind her desk and retrieved something from her drawer – thin leather cuffs. Her knuckles were white.

"You think you can be ’the teacher’s pet’?" she sneered, turning back to him. "Let’s see how much of a pet you can be."

Before he could even react, she grabbed his wrist again, not painfully, but with surprising strength, pulling him roughly towards the door. He stumbled, his mind reeling.

"Your quiet obedience is the problem, Keita," she explained as she dragged him towards the main hallway. "It’s letting you hide."

He was yanked into the main area of her office, the door closed firmly behind them. She pushed him towards the wall opposite her desk.

"Stand there."

Keita obeyed, his back pressing against the cold, hard wood.

"Now," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Hands above your head. Arms spread."

"No, Sensei!" Keita protested, trying to resist. He felt a surge of panic, the realization dawning that this wasn’t just about a report. This was crossing a line, shattering the illusion.

"Silence!" she roared, grabbing his hair and twisting his head back sharply. Pain lanced through him. He saw the harsh fluorescent light above his desk glowing faintly. Her eyes were burning holes into his soul.

He was trembling. "Please..." he whispered.

"Please?" she laughed, a cold, humorless sound. She reached into her drawer again, pulling out more of the same leather straps. "I think it’s time you learned what happens when you stop being invisible."

Her hands, deft and strong, secured his wrists firmly behind his back, the leather biting into his skin. The restraints felt like a brand, branding him to her desk.

"Now, stand still," she commanded, her voice softening slightly, becoming a deadly command. "Or do I need to use more?"

He remained frozen, terrified. Aizawa walked around him again, her gaze taking in his bound form. She looked almost pleased.

"You are so... controlled," she murmured, touching his bound hands as if they were a finished sculpture. "So... predictable."

She walked back to her desk, her expression unreadable. She picked up a small bottle from a drawer and uncapped it. The smell of vanilla and something else stronger, sweeter, filled the air. Her perfume, but amplified, more potent, more deliberate. Keita’s eyes widened in horrified realization.

"It’s okay, Keita," she said softly, her eyes gleaming with something predatory. "You’re not imagining that smell."

She walked back towards him, the liquid in the bottle glinting under the light. She stopped just inches away, looking down at him with an intensity that was terrifying and... strangely magnetic. He felt a perverse part of him drawn to the danger.

"You want to know what’s in here?" she whispered, holding up the bottle. "It’s not just perfume. It’s... for you."

He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "Sensei, please..."

"Don’t call me Sensei," she hissed. "Not here. Not when you’re mine."

She uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount into her cupped hands. Her breasts, beneath her blouse, swelled slightly, the skin glistening with the liquid. It looked like... lubrication? Intentional? A cruel trick?

She leaned forward, her lips finding his ear again. "Your mouth is very dirty, Keita. It’s been asking for things you don’t understand. It’s been begging."

She forced his mouth open. "Open wide."

He protested weakly, but her grip on his hair was like steel. He opened his mouth, tasting the vanilla-sweet liquid, the distinct scent of arousal filling his nostrils.

"Drink," she commanded, pouring some of the liquid into his mouth. It tasted warm, musky, overwhelmingly female. It burned his tongue, a sharp contrast to the vanilla sweetness.

He gagged, sputtering. "Sensei!"

"Drink," she repeated, her voice dangerously soft. "Or do you want me to untie you and make you drink?"

He complied, swallowing the liquid with revulsion, the taste sending a fresh wave of panic through him. But beneath the fear, another sensation began to bloom – a confusing heat low in his belly, a strange ache.

"Good boy," she purred, pulling back. She wiped her hands on her blouse, the act deliberate, stripping away the last vestiges of her teacher persona.

"Now," she said, her voice flat again. "You will serve me."

She walked to the student desk, a simple wooden bench usually used for group work. She straddled it, her legs spreading, her knees braced on either side. Her skirt was pushed up slightly by the liquid, revealing a patch of smooth skin on her thigh.

She looked down at him, her gaze unwavering. "You will worship."

He felt sick. This was madness. This was a violation. But a different part of his mind, the part that had always been drawn to the dark, the forbidden, seemed to awaken.

Aizawa reached down, her fingers digging into his hair as she tilted his head back. Her perfume was stronger now, almost overwhelming. She lowered her head, her lips finding his, a kiss that was punishing and erotic, her tongue exploring his mouth with a fierce, invasive energy. Her body pressed against his, her breasts straining against her blouse.

He gasped, pulling back slightly.

"Don’t fight me, Keita," she growled, her grip tightening. "You wanted this. Didn’t you?"

The thought of her dominance, the sheer power she wielded, ignited a spark deep inside him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, his bound hands struggling against their restraints, his desire overriding his fear.

"More," he whispered hoarsely, his lips finding the soft skin of her neck.

Aizawa laughed, a low, throaty sound. "You think you can take what I offer?"

She stood up from the desk, the liquid on her skin glistening. She walked back to him, her eyes dark with triumph. "Let me show you what happens when a student stops pretending to be good."

She pushed his back harder against the wall, her hand sliding up his chest, under the fabric of his shirt. He gasped as her fingers traced patterns on his skin, her touch both torturous and inflaming his own arousal.

"You think you’re too clean?" she whispered, her lips near his ear again. "Let me see what dirt lies beneath this perfect surface."

She reached for the snap of his trousers, unfastening them deliberately, drawing his gaze downwards. His cock, already hard, swelled beneath the denim, a stark, undeniable symbol of his violation. Her eyes followed the movement.

She knelt down, her knees hitting the floor softly. Her gaze lifted to his eyes, a silent challenge. "Your mind is filth, Keita. But I loved it."

She leaned forward, her lips finding his again, a kiss that was both gentle and brutal. He felt her unfasten the top buttons of her blouse, her breasts freed, the skin smooth and taut, waiting. He moaned against her kiss, his hands straining against the leather cuffs.

Aizawa pulled back slightly, her gaze burning. "You want to taste yourself on me, Keita?"

He nodded mutely, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and desire.

She grinned, a predatory curve of her lips. "Good."

She reached down, unbuttoning her blouse completely, then pushing it off her shoulders, revealing ample, firm breasts with dark, hard nipples. She then reached for his trousers again, pulling them down just enough to expose his hard-on. Her gaze locked on his cock, her own arousal evident.

She dipped her head, her lips wrapping around the crown of his penis, her tongue flicking out to taste the pre-come glistening at the tip. Keita gasped, his hips bucking instinctively. The sensation was electric, raw. She sucked him into her mouth, her throat working, her movements deliberate, slow, torturous.

"Mmm," Aizawa hummed around him, her voice thick with arousal. "So hard for your ’teacher’, aren’t you?"

He couldn’t speak, his world reduced to the feeling of her mouth, the tight heat of her tongue, the sheer violation of it. His bound hands strained against the leather, his body begging for release.

She pulled back, her gaze intense. "You want more?"

He nodded desperately, his eyes pleading, but filled with a burgeoning need he didn’t understand.

Aizawa smirked, pulling her blouse back on, her breasts covered once more, but her arousal radiating stronger than ever. She walked back to the desk, her expression shifting from domination to pure, unadulterated desire. She picked up the bottle again, pouring more of the liquid onto her fingers.

"You think I was done?" she murmured, turning to him, her eyes gleaming. "I think I have a lot more to teach you."

She walked back to him, the liquid gleaming on her fingertips. She spread her legs slightly, offering. She looked at him, challenging him, her eyes dark with expectation.

"Touch me," she whispered, her voice a low command.

He hesitated for only a second before his hand shot out, his fingers trembling as he touched her thigh, the wetness glistening on her skin. Her hips bucked slightly, a gasp of pleasure escaping her lips.

"Good," she purred, spreading her legs further. "Now... you want to taste my wetness?"

He looked from her wet leg to the desk bench, then back to her demanding gaze. He nodded, his mouth watering slightly, the humiliation mixing with a perverse excitement. He dropped to his knees, pushing the desk aside with his shoulder, the sound loud in the tense silence.

He crawled onto the desk bench, his eyes fixed on her. She was spread out before him, her skirt bunched up, her thighs glistening with the vanilla-sweet liquid, her gaze locked on his, filled with a hunger that was terrifying and utterly consuming.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the glistening surface of her inner thigh, then the junction between leg and groin. He saw the dark patch beneath the fabric, the dampness soaking through. His own arousal surged, intense, shameful.

He parted the material of her skirt carefully, revealing the full, wet heat of her sex. The lips were engorged, slick with her own arousal, the scent of vanilla and something else, sweeter, more primal, filling the air. Her clit was hard, prominent.

He lowered his head, his mouth opening instinctively. He touched her clit first, his thumb rubbing the hard nub, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She arched her back, pressing her pussy against his face, offering herself completely.

He closed his mouth around her clit, sucking hard. She cried out, her hips thrusting off the desk. Her thighs clamped around his head.

He moved down, his tongue finding the slick folds of her pussy. He tasted the wetness, the vanilla-sweetness mingling with her own potent arousal, a flavor that was both floral and musky, deeply intimate. He licked her, his tongue swirling around her clit, deep into her wetness. She was wet, so wet, her juices flowing freely onto his tongue, down his chin.

"Mmm," she moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Oh, God, Keita... do that..."

He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring her depths, mimicking the thrusts of his own cock against his belly. Her hips bucked wildly, her body shuddering with each passing second. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more.

He felt a surge of power, a twisted joy in her complete submission to his touch, his mouth. She was no longer the dominant teacher, but a raw source of pleasure, a woman lost in the act.

"More," she gasped, her voice thick with need. "You want to swallow me?"

He looked up from between her legs, his eyes dark with desire. "Yes, Sensei," he whispered, the word feeling like a betrayal even as he spoke it.

She smirked, a look of utter triumph on her face. "Call me ’Aizawa’."

"Yes," he breathed, burying his face in her wet heat once more.

He continued sucking, licking, his mouth filling with her wetness, her cries, her desperate gasps. His own cock was straining against the leather cuffs, aching to release the tension building within him. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

Aizawa reached down, unzipping her skirt completely, revealing her fully to him. Her legs were spread wide on the desk, her thighs shaking slightly. She watched him, her eyes burning with a fierce, possessive light.

"Come to me, Keita," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You want it, don’t you?"

He nodded, his eyes glued to her exposed pussy, the wet, glistening folds, the spreading lips offering themselves fully to his mouth.

He moved his mouth to her clit, sucking hard, eliciting a sharp, breathless cry from her. She clamped her thighs around his head again, her hips rolling against his face, pushing her wetness deeper into his throat.

He felt the familiar tightening building deep inside her, the pre-climax shudders rippling through her body. He could feel her juices flowing even more freely, soaking the hair on his head, running down his chin.

"Almost," she whispered, a raw sound of need. "Let me cum on your face, Keita."

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation, the wet heat filling his mouth, the frantic pulse of her neck against his cheek. Her climax hit like a physical wave, her body convulsing, her cries filling the small office, her juices flooding his mouth even more. Her hips slammed down on his face, a final, desperate thrust.

He choked slightly, gagging on her wetness, the sheer volume overwhelming. She collapsed onto the desk, legs spread wide, her body spent.

He remained kneeling between her legs, his mouth filled with her wetness, her spent core slick and glistening. He looked up at her, her face flushed, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with a dark, satisfied possessiveness.

"Now," she whispered, her voice raspy. "Now, I want you to clean up."

He looked at her, then back at the mess on his head, on the desk. She reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek, smearing her wetness across him.

"Use your tongue, Keita," she commanded softly. "Clean my mess."

He hesitated, the humiliation and arousal swirling within him. He saw her expectant eyes, the challenge in her voice. He closed his eyes, then opened them, his gaze fixed on her clit, now red and glistening from his tongue. He leaned forward, licking the excess juice from his lips.

Then, he turned his attention to her clit again, his tongue flicking out to clean the remnants. She gasped, her hips lifting slightly off the desk. He laved her inner thighs, cleaned the wetness, his own arousal intensifying with each touch.

He moved to her slit again, his tongue tracing the edges, cleaning her thoroughly. She moaned softly, a sound of pure pleasure. Her body was relaxed, spent, yet responsive to his ministration.

When he was done, she sat up slightly on the desk, her legs still spread, her core wet and glistening. She looked down at him, her expression unreadable for a moment, then a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips.

"Good?" she asked softly.

He nodded, unable to speak.

"Good enough," she said finally. "But I’m not finished."

She reached down, her fingers dipping into her wetness, pulling out a thick, glistening globule of her own fluid. Keita’s eyes widened in horrified anticipation.

"Now," she said, holding the fluid out in front of him. "Drink."

"No!" he cried, pulling back.

"Don’t be stupid," she hissed, her voice cold again. "Drink or I’ll make you."

He looked at her, then at the milky liquid dripping from her finger. He saw the look in her eyes – not anger, but pure, unadulterated desire and control. He felt a fresh wave of helplessness wash over him.

He leaned forward, his lips parting. The taste was overwhelmingly her – wet, warm, musky vanilla sweetness. He swallowed, gagging slightly, but the act felt... necessary. A final act of humiliation and submission.

She smiled, a cold, satisfied curve of her lips. "Now... you’re clean."

She pulled her skirt back up, covering her wet heat, her arousal subdued but still present. She walked over to him, her high heels clicking on the floor.

"You are so pathetic," she said softly, her gaze burning into his. "And yet, you wanted more."

She reached out and touched the back of his head, her fingers combing through his sweat-damp hair. "You are mine now, Keita. Every dirty thought, every filthy desire... belongs to me."

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, a brief, cold kiss.

"Now, get dressed," she commanded, her voice returning to its stern tone, though the underlying possessiveness remained. "And don’t you dare tell anyone about this."

He was trembling, his bound hands still aching from the struggle. He looked at Aizawa-sensei, no longer the woman who had dominated his thoughts and actions, but the figure he had always known, now revealed in a horrifying, alluring light.

He knew his quiet, studious life was over. He was trapped in this new reality, the ’teacher’s pet’ broken and claimed, ready to write the next filthy Chapter of his own creation, under the gaze of the dominant woman who controlled him.

"Understood, Sensei," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He tried to stand, but the restraints made it difficult. Aizawa reached out, unfastening the leather cuffs from behind his back with a soft click. He rubbed his wrists, the skin raw.

She watched him dress, her expression unreadable. When he was fully clothed, he stood rigid, waiting for her judgment.

"Leave my office," she commanded, her voice flat.

He turned and walked out, feeling numb, violated, and strangely marked. The sound of her office door clicking shut behind him echoed the finality of his submission. He had been punished, broken, and claimed. The ’teacher’s pet’ was gone. All that remained was the dark, disturbed student who had always lurked beneath the surface, now fully unleashed .

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