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The good bad girl (3)
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2026-02-28 14:20:32
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TASTEFULLY INDECENT Teach me, professor (5)
The library study room felt different after that second time—like the air itself remembered us.We didn’t bother pretending to open textbooks again. Ethan pulled me onto his lap in the chair, my skirt already rucked up, his hoodie unzipped so I could press my palms flat against the warm skin of his chest. We kissed slower this time, less frantic, more deliberate. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing lips, hands roaming without hurry. His fingers traced lazy circles on my lower back under my sweater; mine carded through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat.Eventually we broke apart, breathing hard, foreheads resting together.“I canceled my eight o’clock section,” he murmured. “Told the prof I had food poisoning.”I laughed against his mouth. “Smooth.”“What about you? Any classes you’re blowing off?”“Creative writing workshop. I can email the prof later. Said I’m working on a personal piece.”He smirked. “Technically true.”We stayed like that a while—me strad
TASTEFULLY INDECENT Teach me, professor (4)
I decided not to go.I stared at the folded paper on my nightstand until the numbers blurred, then shoved it into the back of my desk drawer under old receipts and broken pens. I told myself it was smart. Responsible. That whatever happened in the library was a one-time lapse—tears, adrenaline, loneliness making me reckless. I showered until the water ran cold, changed into sweats, ate cold chicken standing over the sink while Mom and Dad talked about weekend plans I barely heard. I scrolled TikTok in bed until my eyes burned, forcing my mind anywhere but Ethan’s apartment, anywhere but the memory of his tongue and the way my body had shattered under it.I didn’t text him.I didn’t go.Sleep came in fragments, restless and hot. When the alarm went off at 7:30, I felt hungover without the alcohol—body heavy, mind foggy, a dull ache between my legs that hadn’t quite faded.The next day dragged through lectures and lunch I barely tasted. By four o’clock I was back in the third-floor stud
TASTEFULLY INDECENT Teach me, professor (3)
The knock echoed again, sharper this time, followed by the same muffled voice: “Library closing in ten. Need to lock up.”Ethan and I sprang apart like we’d been electrocuted. My skirt was still bunched around my waist, panties tangled around one ankle, thighs slick and trembling. His hoodie was rucked up, jeans unzipped, the thick outline of him still straining against his boxers. We stared at each other for one frozen heartbeat—wide-eyed, flushed, guilty as hell—then moved in frantic silence.I yanked my skirt down, smoothed it with shaking hands, snatched my panties off the floor and stuffed them into my bag instead of putting them back on. The damp fabric felt obscene against my notebook. Ethan zipped up fast, tugged his hoodie straight, ran fingers through his hair to flatten the mess I’d made of it. His lips were still shiny. I could taste myself on my own tongue.He grabbed his backpack, slung it over one shoulder, then paused at the door. Turned back to me.The voice outside w
TASTEFULLY INDECENT Teach me, professor.
His lips lingered on my closed eyelids a second longer than necessary, the warmth of his mouth seeping into my skin like a slow-burning promise. When he finally pulled back—just an inch, barely enough for me to breathe—our eyes locked.No words. No awkward laugh to break the tension. Just the soft rasp of our breathing in the small study room and the distant hum of the library’s HVAC system somewhere above the ceiling tiles.My hands moved first. I reached across the table, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, tugging him closer. He came willingly, sliding around the table until he was standing between my knees. The chair I was in creaked as I tilted my head up.Our mouths met—tentative at first, testing, tasting salt from my earlier tears. Then deeper. Hungrier. His tongue brushed mine and I made a small, involuntary sound against his lips. His hands framed my face again, thumbs stroking my jaw, tilting me exactly where he wanted me.I slid my palms up under his hoodie, find
TASTEFULLY INDECENT Teach me, professor (1)
I’m sitting in Mr. Adebayo’s office again, the one with the faded motivational posters curling at the edges and the air that always smells faintly of his cologne mixed with old books. He’s leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, looking at me the way he always does—like he can see straight through the hoodie I wear even though it’s against uniform code, straight through the earbuds I pretend not to hear the bell with.“Zara,” he says, voice low and steady like he’s reading from a script he’s memorized. “Your last three CAs. Maths forty-two. English fifty-one. Biology thirty-eight. That’s not the girl whose file I read when you transferred in. Top ten at FEGC Abuja. Consistent. So tell me—what changed?”I stare at the carpet. Gray. Ugly. Safe. If I look at him, I’ll crack. I already feel the heat building behind my eyes.“Nothing,” I mumble.He waits. He’s good at waiting. It’s worse than questions.The silence stretches until my chest hurts.“Everything,” I finally say. My
TASTEFULLY INDECENT The Gory room experience.
I didn’t text him this time.After Level 7, something shifted. The hunger didn’t claw anymore—it roared. Quietly. Patiently. Like it knew the next move wasn’t mine to make. Three days passed in silence. Then the message arrived at midnight, no sender name, just the warehouse address and one line:Level 8. The actual Gory Room. Tomorrow. 22:00. Come ready to disappear.No instructions about what to wear. No safe words repeated. Just that.I understood.I arrived in the same black coat—nothing underneath—and left it folded on the greeter’s table without being asked. She didn’t speak. Just opened a different door this time. Not 13. No number at all. Just a heavy steel slab that hissed when it swung inward.The room beyond was colder. Smaller. Clinical. White tiled walls that gleamed under harsh fluorescent light. In the center: a padded platform raised like an operating table, but lower. A circular hole cut into a thick partition wall at head height—black vinyl curtain draped over it lik
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