Professor’s pet project (The trap)

Lena

The clock in the lecture hall strucked 8:17 PM when Professor Zeph closed the door behind me with a soft click that echoed like a judge’s gavel.

I stood frozen at the center of his dimly lit office, the whole atmosphere smelled of old books and expensive leather heavy in the air.

My heart fucking hit against my ribs. The moment he asked me to stay behind after class, I knew something was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for the printed pages he now slid across his massive oak desk.

“Sit,” he said quietly.

I sat.

Zeph leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. At thirty-eight, he was younger than most tenured faculty, but carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had never lost an argument.

His sharp jawline and dark hair threaded with the faintest grey hairs. His colored eyes of winter storm clouds were fixed on me now. I got speechless.

“Miss Lena,” he began, the sound of his voice was smooth as polished stone. “You’re one of the brightest students I’ve met in years. Your insights on postmodern fragmentation was quite inspiring …genuinely impressive of you.” He paused for a moment. “Which is why I was so disappointed to discover this…”

He tapped my final paper. The one I had submitted three days ago. Fuck. I should have been more careful, He seems. wiser than most lecturers. Maybe I should try defending the act. “I didn’t…” I started.

“Don’t you dare!”

That single word cut me off like a blade.

He continued, “Listen miss, I ran it through every database we have here manually. Pages 4 through 7 are lifted almost verbatim from Dr. Miriam Kessler’s 2019 journal article. The transitions were clever. You tried to disguise it, but you weren’t clever enough.” He smirked.

I felt the floor drop out from under me. My mouth went dry. I flipped my eyes beside his table. I reminded myself how I made sure to be so careful. I thought I really was.

This is my simple and ugly truth…I had been drowning in two part-time jobs, my mother’s medical bills, This crushing financial pressure made me treasure this scholarship program more than ever. If I'm expelled, mom would collapse. This was my only hope to be educated and survive for I and mom.

But today, I had crossed a line I swore I never would.

“Sir please, I can explain,” I whispered, hating how deep my voice whispered.

Zeph raised an eyebrow. “You have the whole floor miss Lena. But a failed explanation would attach servere punishment.”

I tried to explain, but words kept tangling on my throat. He watched me struggle as if I was a character in one of the novels they studied. Flawed, fascinating, and entirely at his mercy.

He spoke again after few silence.

“I don't think you understand your crime you've done and how its strictly prohibited. I can report this to the Academic Integrity Board tonight on copyright issues and You’ll be expelled. You have two options to pick from. Either your scholarship vanish or…”

He let the word hang between him.

“Sir please willing to accept any conditions than being expelled and tarnishing my scholarship.” I pleaded.

“Or you become my personal research assistant for the rest of the semester. You must be fully available and obey Completely. In return, I will dismiss this case. ”

I stared at him. “Isn’t this black mail?”

He smirked “It’s not. I’m only offering you a second chance if you wish to retain your scholarship program here with us.” he sliding a sheet of paper to me to sign the contract with him.

My hands trembled as I read the contract. The writings were typed in crisp font but the language made my stomach twist.

I read through the contract, “You must be fully available day and night.” could mean anything.

“Complete obedience to all reasonable instructions related to research and administrative duties.” The word “reasonable” felt dangerously flexible.

I looked up at him. “What if I disagree with this?”

“Then I’ll email the dean before you reach the elevator.”

My mind raced high. Rain began pattering against the tall windows, the only sound I could hear was the ticking of the antique clock on his shelf.

I thought of mum. I owe a mountain of debt in fulfilling my future dreams. I clung to it since I was sixteen. Becoming a real writer, not just another failed student statistic.

With a shaky breath, I picked up my pen and signed the contract. Voss’s posture didn’t change, but the air grew thicker, charged.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The words sent an unwanted spark down my spine.

He suddenly stood and walked around the desk, stopping in front of me. He was taller than I remembered from classbroad shoulders beneath his tailored black shirt.

“Now that we understand each other,” he said, “ this is your first task. My office looks disorganized. You will reorganize every book on those shelves by author, then by publication date. Now, On your knees.”

I blinked. “On my…?”

“Knees miss,” he repeated calmly. Humiliation burned in my cheeks as I slid off the chair and lowered myself to the hardwood floor.

The position made my short black skirt ride up my thighs. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch as I began pulling books down, stacking them carefully.

For twenty minutes, the only sounds were the rustle of pages and my uneven breathing.

He sat back at his desk, pretending to work, but I knew he was watching every movement.

Gosh. My knees are aching.

A bead of sweat trickled down my back.

Yet beneath the shame, something else stirred. It was dark, confusing, and entirely unwelcome.

I reached for a heavy volume on the bottom shelf and felt his presence behind me.

“Proper Posture,” he said softly.

He got up from his seat and settled his hand on my lower back, firm and warm through my silk thin blouse.

He pressed my back gently, guiding me to ache slightly as I stretched. The touch felt possessive. My breath hitched sharply. I frozed.

Voss leaned down, his lips close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath against my ear. What does he want from me exactly?

“This is only the beginning, Miss Lena.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he withdrew, leaving a ghost of heat on my skin.

I remained on my knees. I hate this man so much. He's scary. I continued sorting books with trembling hands.

I couldn’t ignore the slick warmth building between my thighs.