I didn’t breathe again until I was out in the hall. What kind of punishment? I wondered. I couldn’t wait to get out of the room so that I could come out of my fantasies of him touching me. Dean Wolfe wasn’t just dangerous. He was addicting. And I’d just walked into the fire. ********** It was finally Wednesday. I couldn’t stop imagining what he had in store for me. Bellmere’s hallways were designed like a maze, but this morning, they felt like a funnel—every corridor pushing me toward the inevitable.
Toward him. Dean Sebastian Wolfe. The name had been etched into Bellmere’s glossy website and whispered through dorm rooms like he was a myth. Tech billionaire. War veteran. Academic savior. And now, apparently, disciplinarian of the year.
None of them knew what I knew. None of them had knelt on the rug in his Red Room, tied up and blindfolded, mistaking domination for curiosity. I should’ve worn something sexier, maybe something black and backless like the girls Sloan Maddox hung out with. But my brain short-circuited trying to dress for a man who had seen me on my knees.
So I wore denim and a hoodie. The opposite of submissive. When I reached his office door, it was already open. “Close it behind you,” Wolfe said without looking up. He was sitting behind the same dark oak desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pen in hand. I shut the door. Click. Like the start of a countdown. “Sit.” I sat. Hard. He still hadn’t looked at me. “You’ve managed to attract quite a bit of attention,” he said, flipping through papers. “Professors don’t like surprises. Neither do deans.” “Guess I’m special.” Now he looked up.
That silver gaze hit like frostbite. “You’re not special, Aria. You’re impulsive. Reckless. And infuriatingly entitled.” “And yet, here we are.” Something flickered across his face. Not amusement. Not quite anger either. Something in between. I knew what his face was talking about, but I couldn’t think that between us. “I’m giving you a chance to stay here,” he said. “That’s more than you deserve.”
“Why?” “Because I saw something in you.” He stood, walking around to lean against the front of the desk. “Most students here follow the rules because they were raised to obey. You disobeyed on instinct.” He crouched in front of me. “That makes you dangerous. And potentially useful.” “To who?” “To me,” with a lustful voice. My breath caught. “You’ll continue to meet me here every Wednesday afternoon,” he said. “We’ll discuss your progress. Your behavior. And when necessary—your punishment.”
“You can’t be serious.” His smile was razor-sharp. “Oh, I’m dead serious.” I stood up, but he didn’t move. “Let me guess,” I said. “You’ll call it detention?” “If you like. Or we could just call it obedience training.” I flushed. “You’re insane.” “Only about things that matter.” “And I matter now?” He stepped closer, voice lowering. “More than you should.” The room shrank around us. He reached behind me and plucked a sealed envelope from the desk. “Your first assignment.” I took it with shaking fingers.
“Read it. Complete it. Bring it to me next Wednesday.” I looked down at the envelope, then back up at him. “And if I don’t?” He smiled. “Then we escalate.” ****** I opened the envelope in my room with Jules peeking over my shoulder like we were cracking open top-secret files. Inside was a single sheet of thick parchment.
**Assignment #1: Obedience Exercise** **Instructions:** 1. Wear a dress with no underwear; your breasts bare , and your n*****s exposed. 2. Submit a five-page essay on the experience: emotional, physical, psychological. Wetness. 3. Deliver it by hand—sealed—in my office by noon. Failure to comply will result in formal disciplinary action. Signed, Dean Sebastian Wolfe Jules whistled. “Girl. That’s not detention.
That’s foreplay.” I sat back on the bed, heart racing. “This is blackmail, right?” Jules shrugged. “Only if you didn’t like it.” I didn’t answer. Because the worst part wasn’t the envelope. It was how wet I already was just reading it. I imagined him looking at me like that. Dressed as if I were his w***e, ready to be slain or f****d. Friday morning, I stood in front of my closet with trembling fingers and a war in my head.
I could wear tights and technically still obey. But I knew that wasn’t the point. Wolfe didn’t want me to hide. He wanted me exposed. Humiliated. Hyperaware of my body with every step I took. So I chose the green wrap dress. Low-cut. Bare-backed. And made of silk that would stick to every curve. I didn’t wear anything underneath. The walk to class felt like an out-of-body experience. Every gust of wind made me flinch. Every glance made me paranoid. But the worst part?
I liked it. The adrenaline. The secret. The fact that I was obeying him. By noon, the essay was printed, sealed, and in my bag. Five pages of raw truth, handwritten in careful script. I didn’t sugarcoat it. I told him everything. The thrill. The shame. The heat between my thighs that wouldn’t go away. When I stepped into his office, he was already waiting.
“Close the door.” I obeyed. “Did you complete your assignment?” Wordless, I handed him the envelope. His fingers brushed mine as he took it. Slow. Deliberate. His touch sent shivers down my spine. He placed it on the desk without opening it. “Did you obey every instruction?” “Yes.” His gaze dipped briefly to my dress, then back to my eyes. “No underwear?” I swallowed.
“None.” He stepped forward, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of leather and bergamot. “Lift your skirt,” he said softly. My heart stopped. “Now.” I did. The silk slid up my thighs, baring me completely. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even move. He just stared. Like I was something rare. Wild.
But I could see it in his eyes; he wanted something more than just to stare. I couldn’t think straight, or look at his eyes all I want is for him to touch me. “Do you want me to—” His jaw clenched. “Lower it,” he said finally. I obeyed. “This is the last time I ask,” he said, voice hardening. “Are you ready for this?” I nodded. He stepped even closer, lips at my ear. “Then next week, we begin.” And just like that— I was his. —