POV Matthew I hadn’t touched my textbook in two days. Midterm week, and my tabs were still open to one particularly graphic thread titled ‘When submission becomes identity.’ Every time I tried to close the window, something stopped me. Curiosity. Hunger. Maybe just the memory of her voice saying good boy.Now my grades were slipping.So when Professor Wells said, “Mr. Jefferson, please stay after class,” I knew I was screwed. And not in any way that would help the ache in my gut.The classroom emptied around me. I heard chairs scraping, students murmuring goodbyes, the door creaking closed. I stayed frozen in my seat, palms sweaty, pretending to rearrange my notes.“Come,” she said.Her voice was steady. Cool. Not like at Velvet.I stood slowly, forced my legs to move, followed her to her office down the hall. Every step made my heart pound louder. The room was warm, lit by a desk lamp and the soft glow of her laptop. She gesture
Last Updated : 2025-09-30 Read more