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After the Lesson: 1

Author: LiahđŸ„°
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-10-16 19:03:29
Practice Room, Door Locked💩💧

“Again.”

Jax’s mouth opened on command. I slid two fingers over his tongue, slow, watching his dark eyes stay fixed on mine the way I required. Twenty-four. Broad shoulders under a worn black shirt. A thin scar through his left eyebrow. The soft leather cuffs locked his wrists to the arms of the straight-backed chair I kept in the corner of the practice room for exactly this. He had been sitting there for fifteen minutes. I had not let him come. I had not even
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  • Mummies and their Badboys   On-Call After Midnight: 4

    Morning HandoffđŸ«ŠđŸ’ŠThe leave of absence became permanent on a Tuesday.I read the board memo in the attending lounge between cases, coffee gone cold in my hand. Daniel Voss had resigned his seat effective immediately, citing personal reasons. Counsel’s investigation was marked closed with no further action recommended against the hospital. The voluntary security notice had satisfied the medical staff office. No names beyond the investigator’s had appeared in any external communication. The attendings who still nodded to me in the hallway did so with the same distracted professionalism as before. Nothing in the air had changed except the quiet knowledge that the cameras above the sink and in Room 412 would never come back online without my signature.Cole found me in the on-call room at 12:50 a.m. three nights later. He locked the door without being told, set his badge on the metal side table, and waited.“Board’s clean,” he said. “No pending reads. Charge nurse is on the far wing for

  • Mummies and their Badboys   On-Call After Midnight: 3

    Three A.M. Stairwell💩💧Cole covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the man’s throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the linen carts before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the linoleum with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low service light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the on-call room, my hand in Cole’s hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the hospital once last spring under the pretext of advising on after-hours security audits. He had stayed until the last trauma bay went quiet. He had always been polite.Cole eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.“You’re done,” I said. “The on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillance

  • Mummies and their Badboys   On-Call After Midnight: 2

    Service Stairwell and Offline FeedsđŸ«ŠđŸ’§Cole was gone twenty-one minutes.I stayed on the narrow bunk with the charting tablet open and the still image of his mouth between my thighs locked on my phone. The on-call room remained quiet. A monitor beeped somewhere down the hall and was silenced. The charge nurse’s soft-soled shoes passed once and did not stop. At 1:52 a.m. the service-stairwell sensor on my tablet still showed locked. I had not touched it.The door opened. Cole stepped inside, closed it, and locked it from the inside without being told. His scrub top carried a smear of dust from the sub-level closet. In his hands were a small black network recorder no larger than a medication scanner and two loose network cables.“Sink-unit was replaced,” he said. “Old housing, new board, cellular uplink instead of the hard line that was supposed to be dead after the renovation. Recorder was tucked behind the switch stack in the security closet on sub-level one. Live feed was pushing to

  • Mummies and their Badboys   On-Call After Midnight: 1

    Empty Bay, Full MouthđŸ«ŠđŸ’§â€œOn your knees. Door stays locked.”Cole dropped without a word. Twenty-five. Dark hair pushed back from a twelve-hour shift. The surgical-tech scrubs hung loose at the collar. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He had a record for fighting and a suspended license that should have kept him off the floor. I signed the waiver anyway. People with his hands were useful when the trauma bay ran hot and the attendings needed someone who didn’t flinch.I leaned back against the locked door of the empty on-call room, the hem of my scrub top already lifted. The only light came from the red exit sign and the thin strip under the door. Outside, the hospital hummed its usual after-midnight noise, distant monitor alarms, the squeak of a gurney, the low murmur of the night charge nurse two halls over. Inside, the air was cool and carried the faint bite of antiseptic.“Mouth only,” I said. “You do not touch yourself. You do not rush. You make it last until I say other

  • Mummies and their Badboys   After the Lesson: 3

    Eleven P.M. Studio💩💧Jax covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the man’s throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the instrument cabinets before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the carpet with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low hallway light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the practice room, my hand in Jax’s hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the conservatory once last spring under the pretext of advising on acoustic monitoring. He had stayed until the last practice room went dark. He had always been polite.Jax eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.“You’re done,” I said. “The on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillance

  • Mummies and their Badboys   After the Lesson: 2

    Side Studio and Offline FeedsđŸ«ŠđŸ’§Jax was gone eighteen minutes.I stayed on the piano bench with the Bach score open and the still image of his mouth between my thighs locked on my phone. The practice room remained quiet. The radiator ticked. Somewhere down the hall a pipe knocked once and went silent. At 9:47 p.m. the side-studio door sensor on my tablet still showed locked. I had not touched it.The hallway door opened. Jax stepped inside, closed it, and locked it from the inside without being told. His black shirt carried a smear of dust from the lower-level closet. In his hands were a small black network recorder no larger than a metronome and two loose network cables.“Music-stand unit was replaced,” he said. “Old housing, new board, cellular uplink instead of the hard line that was supposed to be dead. Recorder was tucked behind the switch stack in the security closet on the lower level. Live feed was pushing to an external number on a twelve-hour loop. I pulled the unit and th

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