Chapter Two — The Dean’s Discipline

I thought I’d get detention. Not obsession.

It started with a missed deadline. One paper. One stupid term paper I didn’t turn in because I’d been drunk on heartbreak and hot tears after my ex posted a video of him screwing some sorority girl.

Now, I was sitting outside the Dean’s office with a racing pulse, trembling hands, and wet panties.

Don’t ask me why. I just knew something was wrong the moment his secretary closed the door behind me.

Dean Alaric Carr. Mid-forties. Steel-gray eyes. Always suited in black like he was mourning the innocence of every student who crossed his path.

He sat behind a heavy oak desk, sleeves rolled, fingers steepled beneath a jaw so sharp it could slice.

“I read your records,” he said without looking up. “Bright. Consistent. Then this.” He tapped the empty manila folder. “Why?”

I swallowed. “Personal issues.”

“Personal issues don’t interest me.”

“Then maybe you should stop looking at me like you want to peel mine off.”

The silence after that stretched long. Tense. Then he stood.

Walked around the desk.

Stood directly in front of me.

And reached for the door.

Click. Locked.

“Miss Vale,” he said, his voice dropping. “Do you know what happens to students who waste my time?”

My breath hitched. “They get expelled?”

His smile was razor thin. “They get corrected.”

His hand gripped my chin. Firm but not cruel.

“I want to see how much discipline you can take.”

When I didn’t back away, he tilted my chin higher.

“Knees. Now.”

I dropped.

The marble floor was cold. The heat between us molten.

He unbuckled his belt slowly, deliberately. My heart beat in my throat. His pants slid down just enough to free him, thick and already hard.

“Open that pretty little mouth,” he murmured.

I obeyed.

He pushed past my lips, filling me inch by inch until I choked on the stretch.

“Breathe through your nose,” he guided, running a hand down the back of my head. “That’s it. Take all of me.”

My eyes watered. My throat ached. But the wetness between my thighs soaked through my panties. I moaned softly, sending vibrations up his shaft.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned. “That mouth

filthy little student.”

His pace picked up. Not brutal, but commanding. He rolled his hips, controlling the depth, the rhythm. I became nothing but mouth and need. He held my head still as he used my throat like it belonged to him.

“Look at you,” he growled. “So eager to please. Just a naughty little girl who wants to be ruined.”

I whimpered in agreement, desperate for more.

He pulled out suddenly. A wet pop echoed in the air. He dragged me up by my hair, eyes dark with lust.

“You dripping already?”

I nodded, breathless.

He spun me around and bent me over the desk, yanking up my skirt. My soaked panties clung to my thighs as he ripped them down.

“Fuck. Look at this pussy,” he growled, spreading me with two fingers. “Greedy. Starved.”

Then he spanked me.

Once. Twice. Harder the third time.

“Count,” he ordered.

“O-one”

Another slap.

“Two!”

His hand soothed the sting before spreading my lips again. He dipped his fingers inside, slow and deep.

“Soaked. My desk. My rules. My cunt.”

I was shaking. Begging.

“Please, Dean”

“Say it right.”

“Please, Sir.”

He didn’t wait another second. He sheathed himself inside me in one thick thrust that made me cry out.

“Shh,” he hissed, hand over my mouth. “You don’t want the whole office knowing how desperate you are, do you?”

But I didn’t care. I wanted them to hear. I wanted everyone to know I was being fucked like I mattered.

Each thrust sent the desk creaking, the air thick with sex and authority. He used me like a lesson, marking my skin with every grip, every slap, every filthy whisper.

“Take it,” he snarled. “You like being fucked by your Dean?”

“Y-yes, Sir!”

He grabbed my hair and pulled me upright, keeping himself deep inside as he bit down on my shoulder.

“Cum on my cock. Now.”

My orgasm hit like a detonation. I screamed into his hand, body trembling as I gushed around him.

He followed with a deep groan, spilling inside me with punishing thrusts until I felt every drop.

He didn’t pull out. Just held me there. Breathing hard.

“You’ll rewrite that paper,” he said against my ear. “But next time, you’ll deliver it in person. On your knees.”

He finally pulled out, the heat of him dripping down my thighs. He handed me a tissue, adjusted his tie, and unlocked the door like nothing happened.

“Close the door on your way out.”

My legs wobbled as I walked, ruined, wrecked, and utterly satisfied.

And already wondering how long until I missed another assignment.