Page 69 of Deviant Obsession

The blush deepens across her cheeks, spreading down her neck to disappear beneath her collar. I find myself wondering just how far that flush extends.

"Yes," she whispers. "I've been...exploring."

"And these explorations," I press, watching every micro-expression that crosses her face, "they're worth risking your academic future?"

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and my fingers itch to reach out and free it. To replace her teeth with my own. "I didn't mean for it to affect my studies."

I notice how she unconsciously leans toward me as I speak, like a flower seeking sunlight. Her body betrays what her words won't say. She's desperate for guidance, for approval.

"Well, I’m afraid that’s the reality of it. Your place here at Milton Santee is on the line, just when you’re less than a year from graduating. Have these experiences been worth it?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the way her pupils have blown wide, almost consuming the vivid green of her irises.

She furrows her brows, that lip still caught between her teeth as if she’s chewing over her next words. "I wouldn’t trade them for perfect grades, Professor."

The formality in her tone, the slight emphasis on my title—it confirms every suspicion I've been harboring. She's discovered something about herself, something that speaks to the darkest parts of my nature. I don’t doubt she’s shed more than a few chains from her oppressive upbringing.

I straighten up to my full height, using every inch of my stature to loom over her. "And do you think I should forgive your failing grade because you've been following advice I gave you myself?"

"No, sir." The honorific seems to slip out unconsciously, and her lips press shut as she realizes what she's said.

It’s too late, though. My cock already heard it.

“I-I swear I will do better. Whatever I need to do to make up the credit.”

It’s only too easy to forget that we’re supposed to be discussing her terrible grade. All my head is filled with right now is fantasies of what she could have been up to on this journey of rebellion.

"I see.” I let a charged silence fall over us for a minute, my control hanging on by a thread. Hearing Rhea call me ‘sir’ has me ready to throw away my entire career just for the chance to make her say it again.

I’ve lost count now of the number of times she’s shifted awkwardly in her chair, visibly caught between fear and something far more intriguing. Something that makes her press her thighs together again, harder this time. I can’t help studying her body language with professional interest even as desire burns through my veins.

"Humor my curiosity for a moment, if you will. This new path you find yourself on, disruptive as it is… How does it make you feel?"

Her answer comes out breathy, almost reverent. "I feel...I feel alive."

The transformation is remarkable. Just discussing her experiences has changed her entire demeanor—spine straightening, shoulders rolling back, chin lifting slightly. Pride radiates from her, mingled with what I could only describe as catharsis.

"You've discovered something about yourself, haven't you?" I try to keep my tone gentle, encouraging, free of the ravenous hunger that’s pulsing in my veins. "Something that frightened you at first, but now..."

"Now I crave it," she finishes, then immediately looks mortified at her own candor.

I allow myself a small smile, letting her see just a hint of approval. "There's nothing wrong with craving release, Rhea. With wanting to let go, maybe let someone else to take control…. And trust them to keep you safe.”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve hit the mark. She stares up at me with those pretty lips gaping, like she can’t quite believe we’re having this conversation.

“How did you...?” she starts, then stops herself.

“Know?” I complete her question. “I’m a psychologist, Rhea. I study people for a living. You’re not the first young woman to seek acceptance, guidance even, having felt neglected in childhood. That blush of yours, forgive me for pointing it out, and the way you seem to squirm every few seconds as I question you… It tells me everything I need to know about how you’ve been embracing freedom.”

"I..." She licks her lips, and I track the movement with predatory focus. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.” She huffs a quiet giggle, almost as if she’s relieved to have her secrets out in the open. It speaks to a level of trust that I don’t deserve. Not when I’m thinking up a thousand different ways to take advantage of it.

The only small justification I can afford myself is that she’s not a patient of mine. It’s frowned upon to fraternize with students, sure, but it’s not written in my contract. It’s not the law. And I know with absolute certainty that I need to possess her. I need to show her what real dominance feels like. I need to claim every inch of her submission for myself.

"Don’t be embarrassed. I have an uncanny knack for reading people.” I offer a wider smile this time, and she returns it gladly, no doubt yearning for someone to tell her that what she’s been up to isn’t wrong. I’d bet my entire year’s salary that she’s been drowning in guilt.

“If you’d like," I muse aloud, cocking my head while I consider whether I dare take this next step, "we could discuss an... alternative way for you to earn back the credit you need."

Our eyes lock, and the rest of the world falls away. There's onlythis—this moment, this tension, this inevitable surrender. I never imagined I would utter those words aloud to a student, but the way she’s looking at me is too tempting to resist. Her desire is written across her face, plain as day, and I’m not a strong enough man to pretend I don’t see it.

“I meant what I said, Professor. I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

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