FILTHY ETHNICS: THE PROFESSOR'S OBSESSION

LUNA’S POV

I sat in the back row of the lecture hall, as I always do, with my hoodie pulled low and my glasses slipping down my nose as I pretended to take notes. The room smelled like old books and coffee, but all I could think about was Dr. Alexander Elliott, who was pacing the front like he owned the whole place.

And he might have. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that caught the light above him and grey eyes that were sharp enough to cut glass. His voice was low and slow, and he talked about power dynamics and moral domination. Every word hit me deep in the gut.

He stopped for a moment to let the sentence hang and said,

"True power doesn't need force."

It just is, and the weaker mind bends to it without knowing why. My pen stopped working in the middle of a word. My body reacted involuntarily, my core tightened, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks. I hated how my body had become so predictable around him. One look from those eyes made my belly feel hot and my hole clenched on nothing.

My nipples got hard under layers of cotton. I crossed my legs tighter and prayed that no one would see how my thighs pressed together or how red my neck was getting. I was supposed to be the quiet, perfect student, like Luna Kline, the girl who never spoke unless she was called on and turned red when teachers looked at her too long.

Not the girl who wants to be pushed face-down over a desk while the whole class watches.

The class ended too soon. Students rushed to the door. I slowly and carefully gathered my books, taking my time so I wouldn't have to walk too close to him.

But he was already at the front desk, putting papers in order with his big, veined hands. I had to walk right past.

"Professor," I mumbled, looking down at the floor. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. He didn't answer right away.

Just looked at me. I could feel the weight of his gaze moving over my face, mouth, and chest, which was hidden by the hoodie. With a shaky breath, my lips parted. For one crazy second, I thought he was going to reach out, grab my wrist, pull me into the empty hallway, and nothing.

I kept going. The door swung shut behind me, and the cold October air slapped my face, but it didn't help the ache between my legs. Lila caught up with me in the middle of the quad. Her red hair was blowing in the wind, and she had a sketchbook under her arm.

She smiled and said,

"You look like someone just told you they were going to eat you."

I said,

"Elliott's lecture."

"Just like always."

She made a noise like a pig.

"Every time he calls you, you turn tomato-red.”

He'll notice you're half-hard one day when he does it. I pushed her shoulder, and my cheeks got even hotter.

"Be quiet."

She laughed and put her arm around mine. Lila was the only one who knew parts of me, like the broke kid who was drowning in loans and worked "late shifts" that no one asked about. The rest was unknown to her. Not yet.

The night came quickly.

I took off my hoodie and jeans in the back room of Club Inferno and put on black mesh and a thong that was so small it didn't cover anything. I rubbed oil into my skin until it shone, then ran my hands down my stomach and over the V of my hips, feeling the muscle move.

I wasn't Luna anymore when I looked in the mirror. I was Nyx: thin, flexible, and hungry. Full lips painted dark, contacts that changed hazel to almost black, and a body that was already buzzing with excitement. As soon as I stepped onto the main stage, the bass hit me.

My skin was painted with red and purple lights. I put one leg around the pole, bent my back, and slid down slowly and seductively. Ass high, thighs spread and thong riding up so the crowd could see the curve of my hips and the faint outline of my hardening clit.

Bills fell like rain. Hands reached. I moved my hips in wet, dirty circles and ground the steel pole like I was fucking it. I pinched my nipples until they hurt, let my head fall back and moaned low enough for the people in the front row to hear.

I thought of Elliott right away, his grey eyes watching me like this, his suit jacket off, his sleeves rolled up to show off his thick forearms, and his cock straining against his slacks. The fantasy made my own arousal spike, slicking my inner thighs.

I hooked a finger under the waistband of my thong and pulled it aside just enough to expose my pussy to the cheering crowd. Then I slid one finger inside myself shallow and teasing while I kept grinding.

They went crazy. I was slick with sweat, my heart racing, and my clit throbbing after the set.

Marcus found me behind the scenes, with a big belly and a smile like a shark. He handed me a thick envelope and said,

"VIP tonight."

"Room for one. Gives a lot of money. Don't mess it up, Nyx.”

"Tuition isn't going to pay itself."

I gulped. The envelope felt heavy with guilt and need.

I nodded. The VIP lounge was smaller, darker, and full of cigar smoke and expensive cologne.

There was only one pole in the middle, lit by hazy purple light. I stepped up, the harness shining on my chest and the thong already wet. I bent over and showed my ass, then rolled my hips slowly and seductively.

Fingers ran down my crack, around my rim, and then inside. I was slowly fucking myself with two fingers while I moaned for the dark figures watching. Then the door swung open. The frame was filled with a tall figure. Cigar smoke swirled around him.

He moved forward into the light. Grey eyes. Hair that is both salt and pepper. Suit made to fit. Elliott. My fingers froze inside me. My pussy clenched so hard it hurt. He didn't smile. Did not talk. Just stared at my open thighs, my slick fingers deep inside, and my arousal dripping down my thighs.

Then he slowly and carefully put out the cigar and walked toward the stage. One step. Two. My heart stopped. He was going to kill me. Or worse, he was going to take me right here in front of everyone and make me beg for it.