It's a matter of perspective really.

"Take off your pants," Ms. Rosso said. It was a calm suggestion. The ex-soldier could even meet his blue eyes. But it was also a quiet one. And her gaze seemed bizarrely distant.

Not that Mason blamed her. Technically speaking the hand was holding onto his pants not him. He could slip free like a banana from its peel. No matter how much the sticker on the outside protested.

But that would mean being face to face with her student's cock for the second time. And that was bound to make anyone a little gun-shy. Still, at that precise moment, Mason was finding it very hard to think of an alternative plan. Or much of anything else.

Mason didn't trust his voice so he gave her a small, twitchy nod.

She closed her eyes. But that didn't mean Mason's face burned any less. His thick fingers fumbled with his belt. He wasn't sure if he was glad it wasn't the belt Ms. Rosso gave him, or disappointed that it wasn't. Or maybe it didn't matter. He pulled the buckle apart either way.

Then came the button and zipper. He began to slide his pants down his legs. The hand stubbornly refused to move. At least until the denim physically began to **** it. Then it gracefully, infuriatingly simply began rubbing him through his boxers instead.

"Damn it, Li-" Mason stopped himself just in time. He didn't really want to explain why he was cursing an arch-demon to his vice-principal. But she did deserve at least a minor cursing. He was already pitching a massive tent in only the thin cotton of his boxers. Wasn't that enough?

Well, obviously not. This was Lilith after all.

"What?" Ms. Rosso's, or perhaps now it was Barbara's, eyes snapped open with a chillingly controlled ferocity. But when she saw their new predicament she gave a frustrated growl. "Shit…"

Without another word, her left hand flew forward. This time though they roughly grabbed the hem of his underwear and yanked them down. A **** second attempt. His cock bounced for a moment, flicking a little clear precum into the air. But as quickly as it sprang free it was captured by the mechanical limb.

Mason shivered for a moment. The metal was cool against him. But it eagerly drank up the heat of his loins. And soon it was pleasant. But not as much as the soft rubber pads. They glided up and down his shaft, just enough friction to send a delectable tingling up his spine.

That finally made him gasp. This was now truly a hand job. Each stroke was gentle but insistent. Slow at first. But in time his breath grew ever deeper, more ragged, hotter. And each time it rubbed from base to tip, it did so just a little faster. A little more firmly. It took a lot of willpower to hold in the moan that formed in his throat.

Mason could only manage it because he was apprehensively watching Ms. Rosso's reactions. At first, it was utterly terrifying. She openly scowled at the handjob. Her eyes were filled with fire and her teeth were bared like a wolf's. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she looked up at him. But then her expression cracked. Her eyes crinkled as she grimaced. It almost looked like she was ashamed.

Ms. Rosso closed her eyes and took in a single deep breath. The tension faded as she exhaled. Her stony expression returned. And just like that the little glimpse Mason had of what was going on in her head was gone before he could even process it.

Eventually, her eyes did reopen. Mason was ready to silently plead for mercy, but she never looked up at him. It took a second for him to process what he was seeing, mostly because it was insane. Ms. Rosso was staring at his cock as her synthetic hand stroked it. Maybe she was once again staring at her new hand. But… something told Mason that wasn't it.

Wishful thinking probably. After all, she didn't seem to be reacting like she was face to face with a foot of cock. Then again this time it wasn't literally on her face. But still, that should elicit some reaction right? Especially as it pulsed with pleasure as the handjob continued.

Her handsome face may have been a little redder than normal, but her tan made it hard to tell. So what was going on? Was she resigned? Was she still furious, just now she was hiding it for some reason? Did he want her to be enjoying this? Would that really make this any better? What if it made it worse?

"Just finish," Barbara said.

"What!?" Mason's glasses slipped off his face. He fumbled to catch them, but Ms. Rosso's left hand effortlessly snatched them out of the air. At least that was Mason's best guess. He couldn't really see.

"If you finish you can slip free afterward," She explained. It was the same deep monotone she had used to walk him through the inventory process. Mason was glad that she handed him her glasses as she spoke it gave him a second to think of a response.

"I'm sorry," He said, his voice a little heavier, raspier than he would have liked.

"This isn't your fault," Suddenly her voice was very adamant. But that didn't really help him. In fact, it only made his guys twist harder. Maybe it wasn't totally his fault, but he wasn't blameless. Mason should have known something like this would have happened.

"Just close your eyes. Think about Yumi or something," Ms. Rosso offered. When Mason spluttered wordlessly, she elaborated. "You like her don't you?"

Mason did like Yumi. And he was sorely tempted to close his eyes and think of her. Or Vina. Or Ms. Bailey. Or any combination thereof. But for some reason he didn't.

He couldn't take his eyes off his current partner. Something let him really take in Barbara. She had a beauty all her own. One not defined by grace or refinement, but by brawn and battle scars. The corded muscles of her thighs and broad shoulders strained against the fabric. With the swell of her modest bust reminded him that she was still all woman.

It was even true of her eyes. Some may think brown eyes were a little boring. But Barbara's were like the desert, beautiful and dangerous. He could only breathe because of the oasis of good graces he had stumbled into.

"You're holding back," Ms. Rosso said, her voice calm but insistent. Those eyes were staring right back at him. Mason hadn't even realized how close he had gotten. But the ever-present caresses had gotten him close to the edge.

"I'm sorry," He said, gritting his teeth. This had to end, and he knew how he had to end it. But with her prosthetic hand forcing her to squat in front of him, he also knew exactly what that ending was going to entail. He couldn't let that happen. He had to think of a way out of this.

"I'm tired of hearing that from you Mason," Ms. Rosso said sternly. But then a small, honest smile formed on her face. And when she spoke again there was a touch of warmth in her deep voice. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm okay. And we can figure this out afterward. So just let go."

He didn’t have much of a choice. Her hand had added a little twist as it shamelessly pumped his shaft. A little flick of the wrist teased his head and gathered just enough of his precum to lube him up. It was too much to fight. Mason closed his eyes, his head tilted back, and wordlessly gasped as he finally gave in. He came, a shock to the system that threatened to stop his heart. He felt rope after rope shoot out of him. Not that the hand stopped. It insistently milked his cock, doing its damnedest to drain his balls.

Right as it threatened to switch from pleasure to abrasive overstimulation, it finally stopped. Mason finally opened his eyes a few hammering heartbeats later. And then was reminded exactly what “draining his balls” meant now. Ms. Rosso was coated in milky globs from chin to navel. It soaked into her shirt, turning the white fabric between the stripes a translucent gray. It gave him a faint glimpse of her cleavage and bra.

But before he really had the chance to stare they both finally reacted. Ms. Rosso had been staring with slightly widened eyes before some internal cue snapped her out of whatever was happening. She blinked, reminding him to do the same. And when he did he briefly caught a flurry of movement. Ms. Rosso’s left arm swung like a train gate, pulling her prosthetic away from her student and into an armbar.

“Good,” She said quietly. She offered him a tight, but earnest, smile as she smoothly rose to her feet without the help of her arms. Mason didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to slow his breathing. And that little voice in the back of his mind was too busy debating what constituted "good" in this situation.

Without saying anything else Ms. Rosso quickly peeled the electrode off her temple and threw it to the ground. Then she popped the top few buttons of her shirt. Not that Mason got a look at whatever was underneath. Her hand dove under the fabric and rummaged a bit. She was eventually rewarded with a barely audible pair of clicks. The robotic arm sagged unnaturally as it was suddenly only held in place by the soaked shirt.

But she wasn’t done. Her hand came back out and got to work on the next button.

“Oh, uh,” Mason stuttered as he realized the obvious. He had ruined her shirt. There was no way she could just walk around soaked in cum. At least not if she didn’t want to get immediately fired. Plus, if she wanted to take off the prosthetic, she would probably have to take off her shit too.

She might not have been perturbed by the idea of stripping down to her bra in front of him. But Mason’s instincts kicked in. Whether it made any kind of sense, he suddenly felt his face heat up and turned around. Or rather he tripped over his pants as he tried to turn around. That was what reminded him that he was still bottomless. He yanked his pants and boxers back up, while his face grew ever hotter.

He almost said sorry. But he caught himself. So he just cinched up his belt and stood in the awkward near silence. He heard the hiss of fabric and the thud of metal on concrete. Then the jostling that he assumed was the prosthetic being pulled free. Mason wasn’t sure if he should offer help or not. So he just awkwardly waited, running his thumb over his knuckles and shifting his weight back and forth.

At least until something caught his eyes. He picked up his hoodie from next to the door. Shuffling backward holding the sweatshirt out behind him was weird, but he didn’t want to turn around until she was presentable.

God, he sounded like his grandma. But still.

“Thanks,” He heard her say flatly. It took her a second to take it from him. When she did he listened to another rustle of fabric, and a long, slow zip. “Okay.”

Mason turned around and found himself smiling sheepishly. He couldn't really help himself. The only other person he had ever seen wearing one of his jackets was Yumi. The tiny girl had practically been swallowed up by all the gray fabric. But it almost fit Ms. Rosso. Sure it was still probably still at least a size too big, but it just looked like she was wearing something comfy and baggy. And that was weirdly… touching. Maybe because part of him hoped that it would help her feel that way too.

"See," She said in her unwavering contralto. "I told you we'd be fine."