جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

The sun was high and hot over the farm, turning the fields into a golden haze. Everyone was busy. The air was thick with the smell of dry grass, dust, and hard work. Sarah and the other workers were further down the field, but Greg was taking a break near the old barn. He was sitting on a pile of yellow straw, leaning back against a wooden post. Greg was wearing loose, baggy cotton shorts. They were old and thin, almost like boxers. He sat with his legs spread wide, trying to catch a breeze. He didn't realize that the wide leg of his shorts was gaping open. Every time he shifted, his heavy, thick length was visible, hanging carelessly in the shadows of the fabric. Vicky was working nearby, packing straw into bundles. Every time she bent over, she had a perfect view. She could see him flashing her, his skin against the light fabric. Her heart started to race. She looked over at Greg’s son, Leo, and another worker who were sitting a few feet away, talking about the harvest. "Leo!" V

Rosie The studio was quiet, except for the soft click-clack of the camera lens. The air felt warm against my skin, and the overhead lights were so bright and white that they made everything look like a dream. I stood right in the center of the room, my skin glowing under the studio lamps. I wasn't wearing a single stitch of clothing, but I felt more powerful than ever. My photographer and best friend, Jax, was crouching on the floor. He moved his camera around, searching for that perfect angle. "Damn, Rosie," Jax whispered, his eyes glued to the small screen. "You need to see this one. The way your boobs point out in this shot... if I wasn't gay, I would fuck you right now." I let out a loud, bubbly laugh and tossed my hair back. "Oh, stop it, Jax! You say that every time we do a nude shoot." "I say it because it’s true," he joked, clicking another picture. "Your body is a work of art. Look at the curve of your waist here. It’s perfect." I walked over to him, my bare feet silent

Rosie I sat in the very back row of the lecture hall. My heart was a drum, beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stared at the screen of my phone, my hands shaking so much I almost dropped it. The message from Professor Ashton was staring back at me. He wanted a picture. Right now. In the middle of class. My hand moved on the screen, typing… Me: I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t understand. I watched him from across the sea of students. He barely even looked up from his notes, and my phone buzzed again instantly. Professor Ashton: You are a smart girl, Rosie. Don’t play games with me. I swallowed hard. Me: But Sir... the class is full. Everyone is right here. He raised his phone. Up, a little. He stopped talking. He looked up from the podium, and he looked directly at me. His gaze was stiff, cold, and almost threatening. It felt like he was pinning me to my seat from across the room. Buzz buzz. Professor Ashton: Then you better be very careful, shouldn’t you? I am waiting. Sha

RosieThe hallway of the department was empty. My footsteps sounded like thunder against the linoleum as I walked toward his office. It was 5:02 p.m. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in my chest, battering against my ribs. I shouldn't be here. I knew that. But when Professor Ashton tells you to come to his office, you don't say no. Not when he has a video of you on his phone that could ruin your entire life.Let's not forget to add… that it was a video I willingly sent to him.I reached the heavy wooden door. My hand shook as I knocked."Come in," his voice boomed. It was deep, calm, and terrifying.I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office smelled like expensive leather, old books, and that same sandalwood cologne that made my head spin. Professor Ashton was sitting behind his massive desk. He didn't look up. His eyes were fixed on the laptop in front of him, the blue light reflecting in his sharp, dark eyes. He looked incredibly… hot… and so fucking professional for s

The last student hurried out, the heavy oak doors swinging shut with a dull thud. The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. I stayed in my seat in the front row, my legs still trembling, my heart hammering against my ribs. I felt empty, messy, and completely at his mercy.Professor Ashton didn't say a word at first. He walked slowly across the front of the hall. Click. He locked the main doors. Then, one by one, he began hitting the switches. The bright, clinical overhead lights died, plunging the massive room into a moody, golden dimness, lit only by the emergency floor lamps and the glow from his laptop.He turned toward me. He didn't look like a teacher anymore. He looked like a predator."Get on the desk, Rosie," he commanded. His voice was a low, jagged rasp that made my stomach do a backflip.I didn't hesitate. I couldn't. I stood up, my knees shaking, and climbed onto the long wooden desk. I sat on the edge, my bare thighs sticking to the cool surface. He walked