Part Three: Obedience Lab

The next time she was summoned, the paper slipped from her locker like a secret, folded four times and tucked inside her history notes, written in the same looping, patient script: 'My office. Tonight. 9 PM sharp. Callahan.' No reason. No class. No pretense. Just time and obedience.

Brandy read the note at lunch, her pink nails brushing over the ink like it was holy scripture, like it might burn through her skin and leave the command etched underneath. She didn’t question it. Not anymore. Her head had grown so light since the first visit. Light like helium, light like fog, floating somewhere just beneath control. Whenever she thought too hard, something 'buzzed' in her skull and the thought slipped away like it never belonged to her.

By 8:58, she was outside his door.

By 9:00, she was knocking.

He answered it in shirtsleeves and slacks, no tie tonight, the top button undone, exposing the rough patch of chest hair she hadn’t realized she wanted to lick. His sleeves were rolled back just enough to expose those forearms, veins, tendons, clean strength that made her thighs twitch.

“You’re early,” he said, voice warm, almost amused.

“You told me to come,” she replied, softly, as though that explained everything. As though it did.

“And did you bring the assignment I asked for?”

Brandy blinked. “Umm… assignment?”

He smiled, slow, knowing. “No worries. Come in.”

The door clicked shut behind her, the lock turning with a heavy, certain thunk.

His office was dim again, the desk lamp casting that warm, honeyed glow that made shadows stretch long and lazy across the bookshelves. The air smelled the same, wood polish, old paper, and the faintest tinge of something she couldn’t place. 'Leather, maybe. Or memory.'

He didn’t tell her to sit. He didn’t have to.

She was halfway to the chair before he even turned around.

But this time, he didn’t sit behind the desk. He leaned against the front of it, arms crossed, eyes scanning her outfit like a scanner beam. Pink crop top, barely legal, clinging like static. Low-rise jeans with those rhinestone wings stitched on the back pockets. Zero underwear.

His voice dipped. “Brandy.”

“Yes, Professor?” she breathed, pupils already wide.

“You seem to be… responding well to the curriculum.”

She gave a dazed little smile. “I’m learning so much.”

“I can tell. But I think it’s time for a new kind of test. A pop quiz, if you will.” He tilted his head. “You’re not afraid of oral exams, are you?”

A tiny whimper of a giggle slipped out of her, involuntary. “Nuh-uh.”

“Good girl.” The words slammed into her like a drug. Her knees went soft. That phrase, those 'two' fucking words, turned her into a puddle every time.

He snapped his fingers, sharp and sudden. “Kneel.”

Her body dropped before her brain caught up, thighs parting as she settled between his polished shoes, palms on her thighs like a schoolgirl waiting for a grade. She looked up at him, lips glossy, eyes doe-wide, cheeks faintly flushed.

“You’ll listen very carefully now,” he said, unbuckling his belt with a practiced flick. The metal tongue clinked loose. “Because this part of the exam is graded pass/fail. And failure has consequences.”

She nodded, mouth already open like she needed to breathe through it.

“Hands behind your back.”

She obeyed, spine straightening even as she quivered.

He let the trousers fall.

He wasn’t wearing briefs tonight. Commando. His cock sprang forward, thick, dark, already hard. Her lips parted further with a tiny gasp that turned into a low, eager 'mmnnhhh', the hunger obvious in her glassy gaze.

“Eyes up,” he warned, tapping the side of her cheek with the head of his cock. “Always.”

She locked eyes with him. She didn’t blink.

And he fed it to her.

Slow.

Thick inches sliding over her tongue, the weight of him almost painful in her mouth, stretching her lips. Her throat fought reflex, swallowed him like instinct. She moaned around him, vibrated like a tuning fork as he hit the back of her throat, then paused.

“Breathe through your nose, baby girl. Just like I taught you.”

'Fwhh-hhhh… fwhh-hhhh…' She sucked air through tiny nostrils, spit leaking down her chin, her eyes tearing up but still locked on his face like it was a hypnotic spiral.

He let her go halfway, then drew her back. A rhythm started, like waves, smooth and slow and inevitable. He never thrust too fast, never hard. Just deep. Just deliberate. Like it wasn’t fucking, it was programming.

Every motion, a lesson.

Every inch, a command.

“Mhfff… gghkkk… mmhhhnnnh!”

Strings of drool laced from her bottom lip to his cock as he pulled out, her chest heaving, mascara starting to smear.

“You’re improving,” he muttered, gripping her hair tighter, angling her face. “But you still gag. Tsk tsk. We’ll fix that.”

She nodded dumbly, licking her lips like they still tasted like his skin. They did.

Then he did something different.

He stepped away.

Brandy blinked. The absence of his cock in her mouth felt like a collar snapped off. She stayed kneeling, trembling. Eyes big and confused.

“Wha… did I mess up?”

He walked behind his desk, retrieved a file. Paper clipped. Crisp.

“No, Brandy. I just want to show you something.” He held it up and flipped it open to a photo.

Her.

Lying on the office floor.

Naked, from the last session.

She gasped, hand flying up to her mouth.

Another photo. Her bent over the desk. Another. On her knees.

“Wh… what is…?”

“Surveillance. My own cameras.” His voice was calm. “Campus security doesn't have access. Only me.”

She looked up, a tremble in her jaw.

“I-I didn’t know…”

“Of course not. That’s the point.” He walked over and knelt beside her. “But you 'do' now.”

She stared at him, lips parted. Confused. Vulnerable.

Then he showed her the last photo.

Her face.

Mouth stretched around him. Eyes unfocused. The raw joy in her expression.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispered.

She swallowed.

“Are you gonna… post those?”

“No.” He grinned. “Not unless you disobey.”

A chill ran through her spine.

And then warmth pooled in her stomach.

The control. The threat. The power.

It wasn’t fear she felt.

It was 'want'.

He saw the shift. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

She nodded slowly.

“You like being owned.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You like being watched.”

Another nod. More desperate.

“You want more.”

She whimpered. “Yes, Professor.”

His fingers threaded into her hair again. “Good girl. We’re going to take this further now. Much further.”

He lifted her by her hair, guided her to the desk, bent her over the cool wood.

“Tonight, Brandy,” he breathed against her ear, sliding a hand between her thighs, “you’re going to be 'recorded'.”

She gasped.

“You’re going to show me just how deep you can go.”

He reached back, clicked a remote, and a soft red light lit up the corner of a bookshelf.

Brandy shuddered.

And the tape began to roll.

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