Behind the hoodie; tales of secrets, desire and power
On campus, he was the most well-behaved student in the entire department.
Oversized hoodies, black-rimmed glasses, quiet enough to fade into the background. Even when facing the notoriously strict Professor Elliott, he would only lower his head, clutch his books, and murmur a timid, “Professor.”
At night, he became the most intoxicating dancer in the club.
He wrapped himself around the pole, bent low, rolled his hips—each movement driving the men below into a frenzy. Bills were stuffed into the strap around his thigh as they shouted his name.
To cover his obscene tuition fees, he took a private party offering an equally obscene payout.
Inside the VIP room, he straddled the pole, bathed in dim, hazy light, fingers reaching for the final restraint he was meant to undo.
Suddenly, the man lounging on the sofa stubbed out his cigar and stood.
The light swept across his face—
It was Elliott. The very man he feared most by day.
He walked onto the stage step by step, then slammed him hard against the pole in full view of everyone.
“Can’t even breathe in front of me during the day,” Elliott sneered, “but at night you’re here shaking your ass, begging men to f*k you?”
His mentor wrenched his arms behind his back. Hot lips brushed his trembling earlobe, his voice low and dangerous.
“Noah,” he murmured, “if you’re that desperate for money… why didn’t you just come to me? How much—per night?”
He panicked and tried to struggle, but Elliott forced his legs apart with his knee, pinning him against the cold metal.
“Don’t hide,” Elliott said softly.
“Now. Take off the rest—right in front of me. And if you perform well…”
A pause, deliberate.
“I’ll pay you ten times tonight’s fee