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Bend me over, Professor 97
I saw her watch the tape Sia gave her.Saw the exact moment her face went white, then green, then that particular shade of terror that makes people do stupid things. Honestly? I didn’t give a shit. Sia’s pulled this bleeding-heart routine before—thinks she’s some kind of corporate guardian angel, saving the innocent girls from the big bad wolf.Except she works for me. Has for fifteen years. Knows maybe thirty percent of what actually goes down in this building, and even less about what goes on in my head. That’s how I stay three steps ahead of everyone—information compartmentalization. Nobody gets the full picture except me.And that’s exactly why I love this twisted little chess match with Sia. She plays savior, I play god, and everyone else? They’re just pieces on the board.I said nothing when I came to Floris that morning. Just nodded at the guards and waited while she followed. Two days ago I had her exactly where I wanted her—broken down, compliant, that defiant fire in her
Bend me over, Professor 96
I shouldn’t have left. I cannot get Floris damn Middleton out of my mind. I needed a distraction. The Red Velvet Room was already prepared when I walked in—lights low, jazz humming through the hidden speakers, restraints laid out like offerings on silk. I’d requested someone from the list. Yes, I have a list of disposable girls. The quick fuck type of girls. Someone eager. Someone forgettable.She arrived five minutes later, breathless and obedient, dressed exactly as instructed—nothing but a black satin robe, heels, and red lipstick trying too hard to look sinful.“On the bed,” I said, already unfastening the cuffs from the wall.She moved quickly. Good. Quick meant trained. Quick meant she’d practiced submission like a performance.But I wasn’t interested in performance.The robe slipped from her shoulders. She wasn’t nervous. Not really. She was too used to this. To being looked at like a fantasy instead of a tool. But I wasn’t fantasizing. I was hunting for silence—chasing distr
Bend me over, Professor 95
She never read the contract. Not the real parts. None of them ever did. They scanned for words like “medical coverage” and “treatment approval”—in Floris’s case, just one word: Jake. I watched her skim across the page like she was trying to convince herself it was just paperwork, not chains. Her eyes darted once to the clause that gave me full surveillance rights, lingered a breath too long, then moved on. No question. No protest. She signed because she thought she still had agency. Hope makes people sloppy.She passed her last test. Barely. I watched the footage of her debugging the planted loop I’d buried in the Board’s encrypted back channel. Not because it needed fixing—but because I wanted to know what she’d do when I betrayed her from within. She solved it. Smart. Rattled. But smart. And the surveillance spike I detected when she realized I’d set her up? Delicious. That emotional glitch—that hiccup in loyalty—was the crack I needed.
Bend me over, Professor 94
I built my empire on one simple truth: everyone has a price. Some people want money, others want power, a few want revenge. But everyone—everyone—wants something badly enough to compromise their principles.Floris Middleton was supposed to be no different.Sia handed her the cocktail dress at exactly 3:47 PM. "Corporate networking event in Rotterdam," she explained clinically. "TimeCorp's quarterly launch party. Timothy Hartwell will be there."I watched through security feeds as Floris held up the navy silk dress—expensive enough to open doors, subtle enough not to scream corporate spy."This looks like it costs more than my rent," Floris said."Mr. Brighton's events require appropriate attire.""And my job is to…?""Network. Listen. Report back on TimeCorp's surveillance contracts with the European Union."Standard corporate intelligence. The kind of thing I'd orchestrated for years without a second thought.What I didn't expect was finding myse
Bend me over, Professor 93
“I don’t like to repeat myself.”The words slipped through the speaker, low and unhurried. I didn’t need to raise my voice. I watched her stumble on the monitor, hands twitching. Her thighs pressed together like she could hide the reaction. Like she could pretend she wasn’t dripping.Sia stood beside her in perfect silence, hands folded behind her back like a funeral director at a wake. Floris turned to her, voice breaking with panic and defiance.“Are you really just gonna stand there? Like this is normal?”Sia didn’t flinch. “This is Brighton Systems, Miss Middleton. You agreed to our structure. That includes reinforcement.”Perfect delivery. Flat. Dead-eyed. That’s why I kept her.I adjusted the feed.On the other side of the glass, a carefully staged scene played out. A woman moaning into silk sheets, her wrists bound, my voice—recorded from an earlier session—crooning orders that made even the security techs shift in their chairs. Wet
Bend me over, Professor 92
She was exactly where I wanted her—on the floor, trembling, marble biting into her knees like penance. But it wasn’t pain she flinched from—it was the moment itself. That flicker in her gaze when she realized she couldn’t talk her way out of this. Not this time. Her body was caught between instincts: protect or submit. Her arms were stiff at her sides, fingers curled into useless fists, like she didn’t know whether to fight or beg. That hesitation—that crack between resistance and surrender—that’s where truth hides. I stood over her, silent, still. Sometimes stillness is more violent than force. She looked up. Didn’t look away. That was new. That was rare. Sia never looked this long. None of them ever did. But Floris met my stare like she was daring me to flinch first. “Just because my brother has medical debt,” she rasped, her voice fracturing like glass under a boot, “and I’m stuck paying it off—doesn’t mean you get to pull this twisted power-trip bullshit with
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