I grabbed familiar whiskey and a ginger ale stash for highballs from the kitchen.
Pouring them over ice in glasses, I set them on a tray and returned to the bed.
There, a guy sat waiting—no underwear, just bare on the sheets.
Sigh.
Too happy.
I handed Miyagi a glass, stifling a grin.
He eyed my bottle, curious.
"Sensei, you're drinking? Whiskey?"
"Not strong stuff. Just gets me buzzed quick."
Handy for sleepless nights.
My tongue's not refined enough for fancy flavors—cheap works fine.
"Efficient thinking," he said.
"Real drinkers might call it heresy."
I'd love a palate for taste-talk, but that sounds pricey. Moderation suits me best.
We sat side by side on the bed, raised our glasses, and toasted. Tilting mine, I pushed the ice aside with my tongue, letting the liquor wash away the lingering bitterness and throat cling with its sharp sting.
After a breath, I started talking.
"When I was in Highschool, I was in the karate club. The advisor was Yamazaki-sensei."
"Huh… wait, what?"
Yeah, shocking, right?
"I'm your senpai too. Ten years back, I was a student there—an OG. Don't tell anyone, though. Nothing shady, just a hassle."
I wasn't a model student—more a troublemaker. Not a delinquent, but I scrapped with other schools' kids alongside my senpai in sketchy spots and got nabbed for flirting around town.
Now I'm a teacher—life's wild.
At a karate tournament, I scored big, and my senpai passed me the club's heirloom—Black Thunder—as a reward.
Hmm.
Should I show it?
Even for an erotic angel, flashing a woman's lust incarnate might disgust a guy. But this devilish angel might be into it.
"Wanna see? Might be intense for a guy."
"…I do."
That tease would hook anyone.
I pulled a fancy box from under the bed and took out one of the stash. Unused for ages, but its shape and feel were comforting nostalgia.
I showed it to Miyagi—and he said, "Oh. Black Thunder."
What?
That name dropped from his mouth.
He's young—knowing vibrators isn't weird—but the brand? How?
Between his blunt sex talk and this… does his family run an adult shop?
No, that's too out there.
As I pondered, he asked a cute question.
"Sensei, isn't reusing it unhygienic?"
"I don't go raw—senpai didn't either. Always used condoms with it."
Good times.
Back then, we obsessed over dodging old man Yamazaki's watch…
It's a laugh now.
"This thing and condoms aren't cheap in bulk. Student cash is tight—better spent on porn mags than supplies."
"Huh."
Guys wouldn't get it—the struggle to stretch a tiny allowance into max horniness.
"I'd swipe condoms from the infirmary, sneaking past Yamazaki-sensei."
Miyagi looked stunned—like, This upright teacher did that!?
"You didn't get caught?"
"Yamazaki tracked the numbers. He staked out once—caught the thief red-handed."
He wasn't just warming a chair—kept tight tabs on supplies. When condoms vanished, he suspected theft, hid, and nabbed the culprit.
"You?"
"No, my senpai got caught. She got three hours of hallway kneeling and a lecture—public shame."
Grim stuff.
She swore she acted alone, never ratted me or the crew out.
Outsiders saw a fool; insiders and sharp kids hailed her a hero.
Nostalgic.
Feels like yesterday, despite the years.
Lost in memory, Miyagi piped up.
"But Sensei, does a toy mean you're not a virgin?"
What's this now?
No hymen, no blood with a man—not a virgin, right?
Or from his view—
"Only a man counts?"
"That's my take."
Hmm.
Old-school thinking—more men around back then. Today's gender ratio makes it impractical.
"Every girl dreams of a man taking her virginity, but reality's harsher. Usually it's this or a veggie."
Sure, I'd have preferred a dick for my first.
But he pushed back.
"Still, doesn't count, right? I think I took your virginity."
Sticking to his guns—or kindness? Probably kindness.
His gentleness stung my eyes—tears welled up.
"So, per you, a man claimed my virginity…?"
"Specifically, your student's dick took it from behind, humping like a dog."
"Oh… oof…"
It was sweet—then he made it filthy.
Still bare, Miyagi added, "Sensei, it's getting chilly."
"Yeah, sweat's dried… good stopping point?"
He'd bragged about three rounds, but I'd turned it mushy.
Done for today?
No complaints—my body's toast, and it was damn fulfilling.
I'll sleep well tonight.
Would he stay over? Morning coffee sounds nice, but that's greedy.
Mulling tomorrow, he said, "Round three, then?"
"…Huh?"
My dumb voice doubted my ears.
(A/N: Only thing stopping me from uploading more chapters in a week is YOU not giving me powerstones.)