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EIGHTY: Where Are You Taking Me?
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2025-12-09 05:00:58Grace clears her throat when she realizes I am not going to speak. “Unfortunately, it’s not entirely common for us to take on English literature majors and place them in full-time positions.”
“What about Professor Harlan?” I deadpan, pursing my lips.Grace blinks at me, looking a little stunned. Whether it is because she’s merely heard his name or because I’ve had the audacity to compare myself to him, I am not sure. But I can already feel myself growing hot under my skin, like my insides are being brought to a low simmer.“Professor Harlan is… extraordinary,” Grace replies with a little laugh, as if whatever I am trying to suggest is absolutely ridiculous.“Who’s to say I’m not?” I challenge, before I can stop myself.Grace stares at me like I’ve insulted her mother. Whether it is shock or horror or a mix of both, I am not sure.I can feel more heat rising to my cheeks, and mentally, I try to quell it, but I know that there is no point. I tell myself not to
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SUBMISSION 101 EIGHTY-ONE: Let's Make A Deal
We only drive for about ten minutes before Professor Harlan pulls into a tree-lined backroad off of Concord Avenue. That is finally enough to give me pause; I furrow my brows and crane my neck to examine the scenery around me.It is lush, green, dense, and desolate. Definitely a large park of some kind, it seems. He drives for a long while, and I notice off the bat that there is no one around. Wherever he is taking me, he’d better have a good fucking reason, I grumble internally, trying not to appreciate the scenery.He parks the car on the shoulder of the road after a few more minutes of driving. He steps out without so much as a word to me. I grimace at him, but follow after, rolling my eyes in frustration as he disappears into the tree line.I smack away twigs and branches, silently cursing his name for dragging me out here when I am in heels.But I quickly drop all negative thoughts as soon as I step into the clearing after him.I stand in a low, green meadow
SUBMISSION 101 EIGHTY: Where Are You Taking Me?
Grace clears her throat when she realizes I am not going to speak. “Unfortunately, it’s not entirely common for us to take on English literature majors and place them in full-time positions.”“What about Professor Harlan?” I deadpan, pursing my lips.Grace blinks at me, looking a little stunned. Whether it is because she’s merely heard his name or because I’ve had the audacity to compare myself to him, I am not sure. But I can already feel myself growing hot under my skin, like my insides are being brought to a low simmer.“Professor Harlan is… extraordinary,” Grace replies with a little laugh, as if whatever I am trying to suggest is absolutely ridiculous.“Who’s to say I’m not?” I challenge, before I can stop myself.Grace stares at me like I’ve insulted her mother. Whether it is shock or horror or a mix of both, I am not sure.I can feel more heat rising to my cheeks, and mentally, I try to quell it, but I know that there is no point. I tell myself not to
SUBMISSION 101 SEVENTY-NINE: It Makes Me Fuckung Seethe
I walk into work only to be immediately tracked down by Grace, who asks to speak with me privately around 10:00 A.M. in conference room A, I feel my heart hit the floor of my body.This is it.I finally got caught fucking my professor – or, rather, my boss now – and I am fucked.I spend the entire morning in too much crippling, agonizing nervousness to do any work. So instead, I just stare at my computer screen and pretend to work while my fingers tremble violently and I struggle to swallow thanks to the dustiness mounting in my mouth and throat. It is pure agony that I am not in the Press’s office space anymore. If only I can run down the hall and confirm that there are security cameras in the copier room…Not that it matters now.The hour that separates 9:00 and 10:00 feels like a single day squished into sixty minutes. I hate the waiting and want nothing more than to get my sacking over with, until 10:00 comes around, of course, and I am walking into the confe
SUBMISSION 101 SEVENTY-EIGHT: With Or Without His Permission
I can imagine, in my mind, how it must look: four students, all of whom he dislikes (mutuality) with me being the one exception. And how can I forget that he’s repeatedly called the cops on two of us for hosting parties that exceed his preferred noise level?Imagining it in his eyes doesn’t make the entire thing any less weird.Dean Vance doesn’t move for the longest time, only eyes the four of us with deep suspicion, undoubtedly wondering what the hell we are doing on his porch after dark, and what trouble we are about to raise – and drag him into.I am the first to speak. I know that Dean Vance has warmed up to me exponentially. That certainly doesn’t mean he trusts my taste in friends. “Can we come in?” I ask, forcing a smile and trying to look hopeful.His eyes narrow on me. “What’s this about?”“Something off the record.” I raise my brows knowingly.He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t talk about that. We’ve discussed this.”“
SUBMISSION 101 SEVENTY-SEVEN: It's Time To Make A House Call
Milo and Jax are silent for a long time after I finish talking. Rhea is too, but somehow in a completely different way. While she sits there with her hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs with the guilt of knowledge, the other two gape at me openly, as if trying to decide whether or not I am playing some sort of sick, practical joke on them. The longer they look at me, the more I feel like I am shrinking, and the more I want to melt into the cracks of the couch cushions beneath me. In my mind briefly flickers the image of Horace Slughorn from the sixth Harry Potter, and in that moment, I too wish I can transform into a piece of furniture to flee from my accountabilities, nondescript and guiltless. And unable to be attacked by my friends.I am exceptionally grateful when Jax finally licks his lips and leans forward in his seat: the tell-tale sign that he is about to say something as soon as he is done grappling with his thoughts. Even if he tells me he thinks I am disgusting and
SUBMISSION 101 SEVENTY-SIX: I've Got Something To Tell You
Oh–oh. I know from experience, of course, that he likes to slap me during sex. But it isn’t ever really that hard or aggressive, and a part of me had thought that it just occurs from the heat of the moment. But this…this…he likes it. He likes the pain. He likes…being hurt. And he likes that I hurt him. I swallow both my spit and my surprise, and lift myself back up onto the counter, lifting my chin. He waits for me to motion him to approach, but when I finally do, he lunges to me, taking me in his arms in the blink of an eye, wrapping himself around me and capturing me with a smouldering, desperate kiss. Our tongues slide and fight, and my hands dart to grip his belt-loops, yanking him closer to me. Now, he drips and aches and finally, finally, I am ready to let him give me what I want. I don’t remove his clothes. That way, he still has his tie, and I can use it to control him. I begin working on his belt, unbuckling it, and stroking his cock slowly thr
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