Surrender To My Professor Where To Watch Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Where’s the asshole?” “In here,” Darren answered, leading him into a spacious, leaf-green living room. A half-dressed and trembling Devon, hands bound in front of him, as seated on a sofa chair, two grave men on either side of him, itching for the order to take him out. As Josh approached, he glanced up, realized shit just hit the fan, and swore, “Fuck.” Josh smoothly lowered down into the sofa chair opposite Devon, steeple his hands. “Hello, Dev.”

I watched the exact second his brain short-circuited trying to process the violent reality in front of him. To Leo, I was Professor Cross. I was the strict academic who stood at the front of a brightly lit lecture hall in a tailored suit, grading papers and discussing art history. I was not the man sitting behind a metal desk in an underground biker club with bruised knuckles and a loaded Glock resting near my right hand. Seeing me here broke his reality entirely. I did not break eye contact with the kid. I stood up slowly. The metal legs of my chair scraped a harsh, grating sound against the concrete floor.

Gladys, a co-worker, pulled me aside. “Why haven’t you been picking your frigging calls?” she demanded, excitement written all over her face. “I overslept. What’s going on?” “See for yourself,” she said, handing me her phone. On the screen was footage of—fuck!—Matthew Foster. In the video, he declared himself the new CEO of Rensons Corporation and, as if that wasn’t enough, announced he was officially here to court Mia Patel—ME.

Myra stared at the Professor in shock, then quickly changed her posture. She brought both her legs together, and held her hands together in front, in a submissive demeanor. Seduction was a mind game, she could not let the professor have the upper hand by letting her real emotions show. Every act, move, had to be well-thought-out and doctored. She fixed her eyes on him, and then let her face show hurt sadness. The Professor’s posture changed immediately, from arrogant heedless rage to feeling a little guilt. Just a little guilt.

He was watching me, his arms crossed, his golden gaze unreadable. The moment our eyes met, something showed briefly on his face. A challenge. A warning. I knew what he was thinking "Don't do it." I did it anyway. At least of I was to lose , I'd lose to a professor not a student. "I'll fight Xavier," I said. The crowd continued with murmurs and whispers. Rosswill raided a brow. "Your professor?" I could see the worry in Rosswill's eyes. "Yes I will" He nodded. "Very well then."

“And tonight, I have a message.” Adrian clenched his jaw. “Let me guess, surrender or die?” She laughed softly. “Oh, darling, if Victor wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here.” Marcus growled. “Cut to the chase.” She reached into her blazer and pulled out a single item. A USB drive. She tossed it onto the ground at Adrian’s feet. “Victor wants you to watch this. Consider it insight.” Adrian didn’t move. “And if I don’t?”

My mind kept drifting back to the screen, to Professor Vince’s hand wrapped around that fat veiny cock, stroking it slowly while I had been bouncing like a desperate whore on my dildo. Oh shit! Why would he even watch me in the first place? My nipples stayed rock hard under the towel, aching to be pinched and twisted again, and my asshole twitched every time I remembered his growled commands from all those cam sessions. We pulled up to his house and Mom basically dragged me out of the car, knocking on the door like it was just another normal drop-off. The second it opened and Professor Vince stood there in nothing but those loose boxers hanging low on his hips, my breath caught hard in my th

Professor Kane stood at the front, looking devastating in a black button-down that hugged his broad chest and muscular arms. His hazel eyes scanned the room before locking onto Lila in her usual seat. “Miss Bennett,” he called, his voice smooth and commanding. “What are your thoughts on the theme of surrender in The Story of O?” Lila’s heart skipped. She stood slowly, cheeks already warming. “Surrender isn’t just physical, Professor. It’s the complete loss of control… when desire becomes so overwhelming that you willingly give up everything—your pride, your morality—for that one person who consumes you.”

The screen lit up with the paused video: the bottom arched, face contorted in bliss, cock untouched and dripping onto the sheets. Professor Henry watched the frame for a long moment. Then swiped. Scrolled. Found our hidden folder—dozens of thumbnails, all men, all submissive, all beautifully wrecked. He exhaled through his nose. Not disgusted. Curious. “You like this,” he said. Not a question. We nodded. He looked at me first. “Why?” I licked dry lips. “Because… it’s beautiful. Seeing someone strong give up control. Letting themselves be taken. Fucked until they can’t think. Until they’re just… feeling.”

She fumbled in her pocket, hands shaking. Before she could pull out her phone, I lifted mine and showed her a live feed from Dr. Smith’s home. Her face drained of color. “Damon, please,” she begged, voice cracking. “Please don’t do this.” God, the way she said my name… “Say hello to your professor.” On screen, her professor was chatting with my men like they were guests. A little girl played quietly in the corner of the room. Well-behaved. Sweet. It would be a tragedy if she had to watch her father die.