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You grew up on tales of Sly Cooper's exploits. You thrilled at the fragments of his story that became public knowledge, and when you got your paws on more detailed accounts, it only tantalized you into seeking out more.

It's all led here. You're learning from the man himself.

He's older now, of course. He carries it well, in your totally unbiased opinion. You get the sense he could still vault a rooftop or two without trouble, even if he's grayer in some places (and perhaps a bit softer, in others).

The main difference is his eyes. The rare clear photographs police managed to get in his youth showed a cocky young man with absolute faith in himself. That unshakable self-confidence, even if it bordered on arrogance, was a big reason he had captured your attention as a girl.

That was why you were surprised that, when you finally met him, his eyes were so different. But it makes sense, really. He's recognizably himself, but the teenage swagger is long gone. His hazel eyes are steady, reflecting years of wisdom. Some of it - much of it - hard-earned.

That's a great quality too, except for all the firm and well-evidenced arguments he had for why you shouldn't become a thief.

He had good intentions, and he wasn't mean about it. But the warmth he had shown upon 'meeting a fan' turned into something more serious when you insisted on following his example. He had to be sure you knew what you were getting into. He knew first-hand it wasn't always easy, or romantic.

But you stood your ground, and then, with one of those wry smiles - that famously sexy voice - he shrugged and said if he couldn't change your mind, the next best thing was to make sure you didn't die on your very first heist.

It's everything you could have hoped for. Sly Cooper is your personal instructor in all things larcenous.

It's comprehensive, too. He's an expert at safe-cracking and infiltration and acrobatics, but he's able to give you a general grounding in computer stuff too. And combat, of course. You hopefully won't need it, but when things go wrong, you'll have to know how to throw a punch.

Sparring with him is exhilarating... which is an early sign that you're not just here for the new skills. Certain other desires are wrapped up in your giddy enthusiasm. Part of you likes it when you mess up a defensive technique and he lands a blow on you. A lot of you likes it when his warm, soft body presses against yours - calm and professional, as ever - to correct your stance.

You start 'forgetting' to wear a sports bra. He shows no sign of noticing.

The other lessons aren't so hands-on. There's often a practical element, though. Sly will show you some piece of equipment, torn out of a security system, and run you through the components. You never question where he gets this stuff, because there are other, more useful questions to ask. If you were going to bother him with silly, pointless questions, ones you can already guess the answers to, they wouldn't be about security systems.

You start 'forgetting' that it's not ladylike to bend over too far, in the short skirts you tend to wear, while you're examining these pieces and your teacher is standing right behind you. No reaction there either.

Finally, a certain amount of lessons are almost like traditional classes. You sit and take notes as Sly explains the basics of something fundamental, like how guards tend to plan their patrols or the best ways to distract a cop trying to arrest you. Theoretical stuff.

It's here that he most obviously shows those years of wisdom. Every time you ask a question, he can cite a specific example. Mostly from his own career, though he sometimes names another criminal who made a mistake he didn't. While some of these anecdotes are pretty funny, in a bleak way, he doesn't really play them off as humorous... mostly. Some of them did very much have it coming.

Sitting there, listening to him talk, it really feels like you lucked into being the sole girl attending Thief University. If you close your eyes, you can picture picture him wearing one of those dorky jackets with tweed on the elbows. You can picture him wearing other clothes too. Or not. As much as you try to make the most of this opportunity, sometimes it gets a little hard to focus.

It all comes to a head during a lecture on aerodynamics- which in this case means understanding how physics can help you quickly and safely get from a rooftop to a getaway vehicle three blocks and several floors away. Sly says something about the drag generated by clothing, which is why it's important that your thieving outfit is simple.

You 'forget' it would probably be a bad idea to ask if you should, therefore, commit crimes while naked. That, finally, gets a reaction.

Even knowing all about his previous feats, and seeing first-hand that he hasn't been slowed in the intervening years, he takes you completely by surprise. After you asked your little question, you blinked for a second - and in that instant, he crossed the distance to your desk. His hazel eyes stare into your own, mere inches away.

"Mz. [Surname]," he breathes. He had shrugged off any professorial compliments you made before, but suddenly, he's drawing on all his authority as a teacher. "Sometimes I worry you're not taking my instruction seriously."

You stammer that no, you definitely are.

"Really? Forgive me if I'm not getting that impression from comments like that. You're telling me it wasn't a joke?"

You say it wasn't, and realize too late that would've been a good out.

"Interesting." His voice is still firm and his stance is still stiff, but there's the barest glint in his eyes now. "So you do actually want to be naked?"

Your heart had already accelerated with him being so close, so intense. Now it skips a beat.

"Well? Speak up, girl."

All your bravado has left you. You wilt under his gaze, unable to find your voice.

When you recover, it's like the words bypass your mind. It's hard for you to form a coherent thought through the potent mix of anxiety and... other stuff you're feeling. But through it all, you still want to be a good student. You've held up this lesson enough as it is.

You hear yourself answering, honestly, that yes. You would like to be naked.

Sly makes an understated gesture. It's so deliberately casual. "Alright then. Who am I to stop you?"

That's all he says. It becomes clear that he's not saying another word until this is resolved, one way or another. You either need to retreat and back down... or start removing your clothes.

This feels like a lesson, too. Even as your face (your whole body, really) flushes with embarrassment, part of you thinks it's the best lesson he's ever taught you.

Your hands are trembling, just slightly, as you remove your top. Then you shed your skirt, and just like that, you're in your underwear. In front of him.

For his part, he's back to that maddening lack of reaction. Now it feels much more deliberate - you're sure now it was deliberate the entire time. His expression is neutral as his young student strips in front of him. Gaze steady, even as you reveal every curve.

You can struggle out of your shoes and socks without standing, but for the final part you'll need to leave your seat. You've never had to formally ask permission before - he's not one for strict discipline, or wasn't, until now. The change in the air has you posing the question with quiet, wide eyes. Sly gives you a little nod, but otherwise remains impassive.

You stand. The air feels cool against your bare arms, stomach, thighs. Biting your lip, you expose even more.

The speedy reflexes you had been so proud of fail, or work against you, or something. It feels like it takes an eternity for you to hook your fingers into your waistband and lower your panties.

Eventually, though, they're around your ankles. As you step out of them, you reach for your bra too, trying to make all of this one smooth motion. You want it done quickly.

Not the whole thing, whispers an eager voice somewhere in your mind. Just this early step.

As you let your bra hit the floor, you take a breath. You're now completely naked in front of your hero and mentor.

Sly quirks an eyebrow. "Better?"

You tell him it is.

"Are you going to be distracted for the rest of my lesson?"

Something about the subtle emphasis on the word 'my' - the reminder that he is, in every respect, the one in charge here - sends a tingle down your naked back. You manage to shake your head.

"Good. Then sit back down and let's finish up."

As soon as you're back in your chair (stifling a little gasp, the seat is cold against your bare skin), he picks right back up. He acts like there had been no interruption at all, much less calling his horny student's bluff and making her strip naked.

You try to absorb whatever wisdom is being imparted to you, both through the lecture and the power play. Ironically, despite a slight lingering chill, your own nudity doesn't distract you that much. There's too much else to deal with.

You do a decent job paying attention, given the circumstances. You take notes and nod along. You're asking fewer questions than normal- none at all, actually, not trusting your voice- but aside from that it's almost business as usual.

Then you start to wonder if Sly is going to make you show up naked to all your lessons, and suddenly you're distracted again.

There can't be a way back after this. He's seen you naked! He made you_get_ naked! The fact he's fully clothed and calm doesn't undo that. (It kind of adds to things, actually...)

By the time he lazily wraps up his lesson, it's a mercy. You weren't going to last much longer, one way or another. Your chest wobbles, just a little, as you let out a deep breath.

"Alright," he says. "I think we were going through some lockpicking drills next, right?"

He raises an eyebrow when you fail to suppress a little whimper.

"Something wrong? I know drills can get boring, but you said yourself you won't improve without practice..."

This is too much. You remind him - in the most mature and well-spoken way you can, right now - that you are currently nude.

"And?"

If that unflappable stare is meant to be calming you, it's not. It's doing the opposite. Realizing you're going to have to take the initiative, you ask if you and he could do something... else.

"Guess we could do combat training, either. Your stamina could always use more work."

You, wisely, do not keep talking in circles about 'other forms of cardio' or something. This, too, is a power-play, and you know you can't outlast him. (Especially if he's enjoying this, which he certainly is.) You take another breath to settle your nerves...

...and ask if you can please have sex.

You could tell him that without getting straightened out, you're going to struggle to focus on anything at all, for weeks. You could say something about how you've always had a crush on him. You could get down on your knees and beg.

Instead, thought that last option in particular is vivid in your mind, you sit there and wait. He lets a few seconds pass in heavy silence.

"It's inappropriate for a teacher to do that with a student."

You keep a hold of yourself - not blurting out the obvious response that what's 'appropriate' is already out the window - for the final, slow moments you need to get through.

"...unless it's educational, I suppose."

You tell him it would be very educational. So educational. A thief should have this as a skill, you know, just in case. You add that he probably has a lot of experience himself.

He brushes that off with one of his little laughs. He doesn't deny it, though.

Instead, at last, he motions you to stand. You're eager to get out of that chair, though the thrill of being completely exposed in front of him rushes back in. Sly, for his part, mostly stays as cool as ever. Maybe it's wishful thinking on your part that he's walking a little faster than normal as he leads you out of the room. Maybe it isn't.

You leave the mock-up classroom area behind, and soon you find yourself in what seems like an equally fake bedroom. It's too tidy, too clean. You realize you're more interested in its immediate future than its past, though. Who cares if he's slept here before, compared to how it's about to be used...

He stands next to you. Right next to you, the tips of his fur barely touching your exposed body. By now, there's been a definite change in his tone. But even still, he has wisdom to impart.

"Remember what I told you about cracking a safe? How, even if you want to rush through it, you get the best results when you pace yourself?"

You say you do. Then he kisses you.

The metaphor is easy to grasp, which is good, because you're in no state for complex thought right now. An impossible moment you've dreamed about for years. Sly Cooper is kissing you, and it's everything you hoped for.

His lips are warm, almost like fresh bread. His whole body is warm, really, and soft too - something you can fully appreciate as he subtly draws you deeper into an embrace. All the while, he kisses you at that slow, unhurried pace. As tantalizing as the kiss itself is, the implicit promise that this is only beginning feels even better.

You want to give yourself to every desperate urge your body is currently weathering. But you manage to pace yourself, and match his example. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and return the kiss. You don't even use tongue. Not until he starts to, at least...

One of his hands is stroking, toying with, your hair. The other begins to wander, those experienced fingertips handling your curves like you're a work of art. Even for something as basic as that, he feels controlled, experienced. All your hands are doing are taking eager fistfuls of his shirt.

That's where your attention is drawn - once he breaks the kiss and satisfies himself with the curves of your naked hips, anyway. "So," he purrs, so close you can feel the words rumble. "Educational, right?"

You just meet his gaze and nod.

"You weren't wrong. This can be... useful. If you want someone eating out of your hand, well, a good approach is to lessen the amount of work they need to do."

He gives you a smile that makes you realize that mischievous young man may have changed, but he definitely never died.

"Why don't you show me what you can do?"

There's nothing you want more. Your hands reach immediately, almost hungrily, for his belt. But he stops you.

"Be patient. You want to draw this out." His hand is on your chin, soft but firm. "Make them... make me... feel the anticipation."

You feel like you've already suffered through enough anticipation as it is, weeks of it. But you're still his star pupil, so you comply. Your hands move for his collar instead, and you help him out of that shirt.

You've snuck glances at his body before, mostly while sparring, but seeing him bare-chested is still a treat. He remains in great shape, by any measure. Maybe he doesn't have the absurd build he had in his twenties, nothing but dense, wiry muscle. But you find the inevitable changes from that youthful ideal actually quite appealing, in their own way. He doesn't object as you trace your fingertips against his stomach, confirming the softness of his fur.

You take his advice to heart. Instead of moving directly on to his pants, you pause here, coming in close for another slow kiss. The feeling of your bare chest against his is wonderful. He slips an arm around your waist and keeps you close, fully returning the your efforts.

When that arm doesn't budge, you eventually realize you'll need to continue without breaking the kiss. That's fine by you. This is supposed to be educational, after all. These are the same skills he's been teaching you for pick-pocketing. You're just applying them to the entire trousers.

As you press against his warmth, your newly-nimble hands creep along his torso until you reach his waistband. Part of you wonders if you should keep taking things slow, but you've waited long enough for your prize. A thief can't sit back and wait for permission.

Instead, fast and light, you finally(!) reach your fingers beneath his belt, feeling the fur that's been hidden from you all this time.

He doesn't resist your efforts. Without neglecting your kiss, you loosen his clothes and get them past his hips. Your eyes are closed, so you do it all blind. That's educational, right?

As his pants fall to the floor, his underwear with them, you press a little closer. You let your hands wander down his thigh and back around, tracing a slow and definite path to his-

Suddenly, he breaks the kiss with another smirk. "Wow. I almost didn't feel that. Good job."

The praise warms your body almost as much as certain other stimulus. You make a note of that.

"I'd make some crack about you having a good teacher," he continues, "but honestly, that's only half of it. To be clear, you're a good student, too. So go ahead. Help yourself."

You return his smile, though yours probably comes out a lot giddier. You pull back just enough to get a view of your prize.

It's your proudest moment yet, seeing he's already hard.

Delicately, you reach down and handle him with the same deft care he's shown for you. Your touch earns a low, quiet sound of approval, not unlike a purr. You wonder what other sounds he might make.

That's for later. Right now, you're taking in every detail of his cock, lowering yourself to get a closer look. His balls are covered in that same soft gray fur, but it gives way to an impressive shaft. You're almost drooling as you get close.

You feel his eyes on you, but he doesn't make any more comments. There's no need for a prompt. What happens next is only natural. Grasping him in one hand, you lay a gentle kiss on his tip.

You continue like that for a little while, applying small kisses and licks. You want to commit every part of this encounter to memory, and that includes his taste. You don't have much experience here, so you can only hope you're doing a good job. But you soon come to realize that, like many things he's been teaching, it's important to follow your natural instincts here too.

There's still no instructions coming from above. No suggestions or timelines. You crouch there, your face in his crotch, for as long as you think is right. Maybe another day you'll do more like this. Maybe you'll spend hours with your cheeks brushing the fur of his thighs.

But you have something else in mind for now. Looking up at your teacher, meeting his calm gaze, you gesture to the bed.

There's a bit of scrabble as you decide on positioning. It might be fun to prove just how nimble you've become by balancing on his hips. But he's letting you take the lead, and you know what you want. You want Sly Cooper, your hero and childhood crush, to pin you to the mattress until you scream.

Pacing-wise, he has other ideas. Once you lay beneath him, your hair spilling behind you in a way you can only hope looks cool and sensual instead of distracting, he takes a moment. His eyes rove slowly over your body, travelling up your bare legs to your hips along your chest until he's meeting your gaze again. More silent communication. Another lesson.

Then he leans down, close enough so you can feel the warmth of his breath. You fall back into a kiss, his lips claiming yours again. You happily share them.

For a moment, he lies against you. You can feel him now, his hard shaft brushing your bare stomach, but even now he makes you wait. You feel a delightful tension as part of you wants to lie back and kiss him for hours, but other drives demand, beg, for him to give you what you really need...

The way your heart flutters when he finally shifts is proof of where your priorities lie. You're a thief, now, and thieves keep their focus on grander prizes.

Without pulling back too far, keeping the kiss going, he aligns his hips to yours. There's the barest contact, but it's already enough to make your breath hitch. Things seem to slow almost to a crawl, leaving you trapped in a blissfully torturous moment of anticipation...

Then, finally, he penetrates you.

You moan helplessly into his mouth. The sensation is different than you imagined it, almost overwhelming - but holding back is the last thing on your mind. You keep your legs spread for him, silently begging for more.

He obliges his favourite student. There's a few moments of slow motion as you both become used to each other. But soon, he has a good grasp of you. As if he ever didn't.

His first, full thrust is exquisite. It makes your whole body react. The best part is knowing that this is still only the start.

Sure enough, the second is just as good, and so is the third. Still kissing you, and now caressing your chest with one hand as well, his hips soon find a rhythm against yours. You wrap your arms around him and take two fistfuls of his fur, clinging to him tight. You're kissing him back with everything you have, letting your passions control you. Any pretense is gone by now. You're just giving yourself to this moment, and to him.

You lose track of time, happily pressed beneath his soft but muscular body. Even now, he still demonstrates that elegant, experienced dexterity. His hand stays at your chest while the other brushes the side of your hip, still handling you with a delicate deliberation that makes you feel special. You would have been more than sated with a quick fuck, but this is anything but. He's making love to you, and it's amazing.

Before long, you have your legs around him too, matching your arms. Still kept apart, of course, giving him total access to your eager body. But laying back passively wasn't enough any more. You needed to make clear just how much you're enjoying this.

And you are. Every second. He feels incredible inside you, and it's no surprise that he knows exactly what he's doing. Every movement of his tongue, his fingertips, and especially his cock has a kind of measured confidence. He seems to know just what you need without you having to tell him.

When an abrupt spike of pleasure makes you shiver, he finally breaks away, only to smirk at you. "Doing okay? Anything you need to tell me?"

Words are a little beyond you right now, and you're blushing like a fool to boot. It's all you can do to meet his gaze and shake your head.

"Good, good. I know this all might be new to you..."

A long, slow thrust makes you gasp.

"But communication is important. Especially now."

Another. The sensation mingles with the feeling of his fingers, and makes your heart melt.

"So," he purrs, in that unforgettable voice, "if there's anything you want to say...?"

"Please," you reply, "don't stop."

Something in your voice makes his smile widen. "Well, alright then."

He leans back in, your lips meeting again. And from there, he speeds up.

Maybe you should be doing more, but frankly, you're perfectly content as is; lying back, beneath his warm body, letting him guide you through this experience. You're doing your best to memorize every part of this; his taste, his scent, the way he moves almost effortlessly inside you as though his dick belongs there. That's the real lesson here. The graceful confidence of a thief can and does have other uses.

You've lost track of time. There's been no pressing need to change position, and you need to feel him pressed against you, so it all blurs into one long, unbroken session of movement. You're happy to stay here, in this moment and on this mattress, for as long as possible.

But your teacher has never let you get complacent, and that hasn't changed. He steadily increases the speed and force of his thrusts, making your arousal spike a little higher every time he touches you in a new way. It's gentle, but relentless. Soon you've fully lost control of yourself, panting and gasping like the overwhelmed animal you are.

Once again, Sly breaks the kiss - this time without slowing his hips, his incredible dick, even slightly. "Yes?"

All you can do his stare up at him and moan, needy and helpless.

"I see. Interesting."

He takes one hand and delicately brushes the loose hair that's gotten tangled on your face. You marvel at how he can be so gentle and so firm at the same time.

"It's to be expected," he adds, more seriously. "Like I said, stamina's not going to be your strong point..."

You don't remember him saying that, though right now, overwhelmed by delicious sensations, you would struggle to recall your own middle name.

"...so how about," he says, so deep and low that you can feel the rumble in his chest against yours, "we bring this all to a... climax?"

He has made bad puns before, and you have laughed at them, as you do now. You can't brush this off as an attempt at flirting, though, since you are very demonstrably past that. It catches you off-guard, that's all. This is the least guarded you're ever going to be.

To answer his question,you simply lean up and kiss him. Hard. He meets you, guiding you back down against the pillow. You fully trust that however he plans to end this, it'll be just what you need- what you've always needed.

It's nothing fancy, it turns out. Once you're comfortable, he simply gets a good grip on you, and begins to pump you more firmly than ever.

Your legs are getting tired, but you have no intention of moving them. Wrapped around his hips, squeezing a little tighter with every reflexive tensing of your body, is exactly where they belong. The same goes for your lips, pressed into his mouth, and your hands, clinging to him tightly.

The same goes for your pussy, holding on to his shaft with true passion.

You let your mind go almost blank with total, overpowering focus. Free of all distractions and worries, filled only with the reward you've craved so long. Your arousal spikes higher and higher, leading to the inevitable conclusion. Just as he said, with that beautiful voice and that damn smile, the climax.

You surrender yourself totally to the best orgasm of your life.

The pleasure rolls through you like an ocean wave, radiating through every nerve until crashing into your brain. Your toes curl as you hold on to Sly even tighter, and you break the kiss with a pathetic mewl, your breathing unsteady.

Your walls are massaging his flesh instinctively, and that or the way you look or both drives him to his own peak. He lets out a noise that delights and almost scares you, close to a low growl, as his length twitches once then twice and then fills you, in spurts, with his hot seed.

That draws out your own climax, of course, both of your bodies fulfilling their deepest urges. Primal release, the satisfaction of doing well on your first time, the giddiness of sharing an experience like this with someone you nursed such a helpless crush on... Different flavours of happiness mingle in your overpowered mind.

Sly is still thrusting, just slightly, easing you through the shared orgasm until finally your muscles finally grow still. Once the last of his load is inside you, he sighs and you feel him relax. It's a nice thing to feel.

You would be more than fine if he just laid on top of you, but ever the gentleman, he smoothly rolls to the side. Thankfully, he doesn't distance himself. On the contrary, you soon find yourself gathered into his soft, warm arms.

"Doing okay?"

His voice is so soothing, right in your ear. Even now, you don't trust yourself to speak, so you answer him with a firm but sleepy nod.

"Glad to hear it. I'll admit, you were... impressive."

His breath is delightfully warm, but his words are what really make you melt.

"Shall we add this to our training schedule...?"

You agree that you could always learn more from him, and he laughs. The sound is warm and rich, and you hold it tight in your memory.

Your teacher, for all his compassion and good humour, has pushed you hard until now. But he says nothing else about schedules. Both of you simply enjoy this warm, sleepy moment.

With your face in his chest and his cum in your pussy, you congratulate yourself on being a model student.