Why me? Seriously, what cosmic deity did I piss off in a past life to deserve this? I felt like I had a giant, invisible target painted on my back, and life was just taking turns throwing shit at it.

The thought of not going to the gala flitted through my mind, but it was impossible. My scholarship was contingent on these kinds of community engagement events. Not showing up would be just as suspicious as showing up and acting like a freak. So I had to go. I had to pretend like my entire world wasn’t collapsing around me.

I spent the day in a state of numb anxiety, trying to study for my art history midterm but just rereading the same paragraph about Baroque chiaroscuro over and over. All I could see was Alistair Sterling’s cold, assessing eyes in my mind’s eye.

My phone buzzed again around noon. I flinched so hard I knocked my textbook off my bed.

Mr. Sterling: Are you ignoring me, Julian? It would be a shame if these photographs were to… circulate. Among the faculty, perhaps. Or the scholarship board.

Ice flooded my veins. That was it. That was the threat. Not veiled, not hinted at. Blatant. Was he trying to blackmail me?

Me: No! I’m not ignoring you. Please, Mr. Sterling. Don’t do that.

Mr. Sterling: It would be quite difficult to keep something like this to myself. However, I suppose another photograph might make it easier to remain discreet.

My core tightened. He wanted more. Of course, he did. This was a power play, plain and simple. And the sick, twisted part of me, the part that had enjoyed sending those pictures to Leo in the first place, felt a thrill of arousal. I hated myself for it.

I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. But the thought of those pictures getting out… of my parents finding out… of losing my scholarship… it was a fate worse than death.

Me: What do you want?

Mr. Sterling: I’m currently in a meeting with the Dean of Admissions. And the Head of your department. A rather tedious discussion about endowments. Your prompt cooperation would be… appreciated.

Fuck. He was sitting there, with the people who controlled my entire future, and he was texting me about nude photos. The sheer audacity of it made my head spin.

Me: Okay. Give me a minute.

I scrambled off my bed, locking my dorm room door. My hands were shaking so badly it took me three tries to get my jeans off. I grabbed my phone, propping it up against a stack of books. I needed a picture without my face. Just in case. I found one from yesterday’s shoot, a close-up of my torso, my happy trail leading down into my unbuttoned jeans. It was suggestive but not explicit. Safe.

I sent it.

A minute of agonizing silence passed. Then

Mr. Sterling: I see. That’s a start. But I believe I requested a photograph like the one you first sent to me. Not a a regular photograph of you. I want one of you on your knees. Looking directly at the camera. No face. Just your mouth. And I want to see that you’re enjoying the request.

My breath hitched. He wanted me hard. He wanted me to capture my own submission, my own humiliation, and send it to him while he was in a meeting with my bosses.

I sank to the floor, the cool wood a small comfort against my flushed skin. I was disgusted with myself, with him, with the whole situation. But I was also hard. The danger, the humiliation, the raw power he was wielding over me… it was a potent, toxic cocktail.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, unzipped my jeans, and wrapped a hand around myself. It only took a few strokes, a few thoughts of his commanding text, before I was ready. I positioned the camera, knelt, and looked straight into the lens. I let my mouth fall open, my tongue darting out to wet my lips, trying to look as wanton and desperate as he wanted. I snapped the picture and sent it before I could think better of it.

Mr. Sterling: Excellent. That’s much better. I’ll see you tonight, Julian.

That night, I felt like I was walking to my own execution. I’d borrowed a tux from the theater department, the stiff fabric feeling like a straitjacket. Every nerve ending was on fire. Chloe had tried to talk me out of going, but what could I say? ‘Sorry, I accidentally sent nudes to my ex’s dad and now he’s blackmailing me for more, so I can’t make it to the gala’?

The university ballroom was a filled with people wearing glittering gowns and black suits. I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it in one go, the bubbles doing nothing to calm my frayed nerves.

And then I saw them.

Alistair Sterling stood near the head of the room, a glass of whiskey in hand, holding court. He was even more intimidating in person. His silver-streaked dark hair was perfectly styled, his tailored tuxedo clinging to a frame that was lean and powerful. He exuded an aura of absolute control.

And next to him, looking like a younger, softer version, was Leo. My Leo. He was laughing at something his father said, his blue eyes sparkling under the chandeliers. When he saw me, his face lit up.

“Jules! You came!” He excused himself from his father’s side and crossed the room to me, pulling me into a hug that smelled of expensive cologne. “You look incredible. I was hoping you’d be here.”

My heart ached. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I lied, my eyes flicking over his shoulder to meet Alistair Sterling’s. The older man’s gaze was fixed on me, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, Good boy.

I felt a flush creep up my neck. I was trapped between the boy I wanted and the man who owned me, at least for tonight.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Leo said, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Your artsy types usually avoid these things like the plague.”

I forced a laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “Well, you do not know everything about me.” My gaze involuntarily drifted back to Alistair. He was watching us, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a predatory glare that made my skin prickle.

“I’ve missed you,” Leo added, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. The simple, familiar gesture sent a pang of longing through me. This was what I wanted. This easy affection, this connection. Not the dark, twisted game his father was playing.

“I’ve missed you too, Leo,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Before he could reply, a waiter announced that dinner was being served. We were escorted to our assigned tables. Of course, fate, in its infinite cruelty, had seated me directly across from Alistair Sterling. Leo was to my right. To my left was a stuffy old professor from the classics department. I was cornered.

Dinner was a special kind of hell. I picked at my seared scallops, my appetite completely gone. Every time I glanced up, Alistair’s eyes were on me. He didn’t leer. He just… observed. It was infinitely more unnerving. He made polite conversation with the dean, a picture of refined respectability, all while holding my fate in his perfectly manicured hands.

Halfway through the main course, my phone, which I’d placed on my lap under the table, vibrated. My heart leaped into my throat. I fumbled with it, my hands sweating inside my fine linen napkin.

Mr. Sterling: You look very handsome tonight, Julian. That suit fits you well.

I risked a glance at him. He was swirling the wine in his glass, his attention seemingly on the professor next to him. He hadn’t even looked at his phone.

Me: Thank you.

Mr. Sterling: I wonder what’s underneath it. I have a fairly good idea, of course. But I find myself wanting to be reminded.

My face burned. I typed back quickly, my thumbs trembling.

Me: Please, not here.

Mr. Sterling: Why not? I believe you owe me. And I find I’m thirsty for more… art.

He paused, and I watched him take a slow sip of his wine. My phone buzzed again.

Mr. Sterling: Excuse yourself. Go to the men’s lounge. Second door on the left. I’ll be there in two minutes.

Panic seized me. “I, uh… I need to use the restroom,” I mumbled to Leo, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stood.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Fine! Just… too much champagne,” I lied, gesturing vaguely with my hand.

I fled the ballroom, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The men’s lounge was opulent, all dark wood and leather armchairs. It was empty. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

The door opened and closed softly. Alistair Sterling locked it behind him.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice a low, calm command that brooked no argument.

I did, my eyes fixed on the antique Persian rug at his feet. I couldn’t look at him.

“Look at me, Julian.”

I slowly lifted my gaze. He was closer now, his presence overwhelming. He reached out and his fingers brushed against my lapel, his touch sending a jolt through me.

“You did very well tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning my face. “You look… presentable.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

“But I find I’m so… hungry for more,” he continued, his hand dropping to my tie, his fingers toying with the silk. “I believe our agreement was for more… artistic content. And yet, here I am, still wanting.”

“What do you want?” I asked, the question barely audible.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “I want a performance. Right here. Right now.” He took a step back, his gaze sweeping over me. “Unbutton your shirt. Slowly.”

My hands shook as I fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons. My fingers felt clumsy and useless.

“Slower,” he chided softly. “Savor it. This isn’t a race. This is an unveiling.”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to slow down, my eyes locked on his as I revealed the skin of my chest, my stomach. The cool air of the room pebbled my nipples.

“Now the trousers,” he commanded.

I hesitated. “Someone could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” he said simply. “And even if they didn’t, that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it? The risk. The possibility of being discovered.” He took a sip from the glass of whiskey he’d brought with him. “Don’t disappoint me, Julian.”

My fingers went to my belt. The metallic click of the buckle opening was unnaturally loud in the silent room. I slid my trousers down my hips letting them pool around my ankles. I stood before him in nothing but my unbuttoned shirt and my boxers, my erection painfully obvious.

“Much better,” he murmured, his eyes dark with hunger. “Now, I believe you were on your knees in our last correspondence. Let’s see that again. But this time, I want to watch it happen in person.”

The world narrowed to the space between me and him. The plush rug under my feet, the scent of his expensive cologne mingling with the whiskey, the intense, unwavering gaze that held me captive. My mind was screaming at me to run, to get out, but my body was a traitor, humming with a sick, illicit excitement.

I sank to my knees, the movements slow and deliberate, as if I were moving through water. The fabric of my shirt made sounds against my skin. I kept my eyes on him, watching as his own eyes darkened, as a muscle tightened in his jaw. He liked this. He liked my submission.

“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice a low rumble. “So much better in person.”

He set his glass down on a nearby table and closed the distance between us. He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He didn’t touch me, not yet. He just looked down, his gaze a physical weight.

“Open your shirt,” he said. “I want to see all of you.”

My hands, which had been resting on my thighs, moved to the last few buttons. I shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor behind me. Now I was completely bare from the waist up, kneeling before him in the dimly lit room.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and the word, coming from him, felt like both a compliment and a brand. He finally reached out, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb stroking my lower lip. “You have no idea what you do to me, Julian. What you could do for me.”

He tilted my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You’re a smart boy. You understand power, I think. You have it, in your beauty, your talent. And I have it, in my influence, my resources. Together, we could be very… productive.”

His other hand went to his belt. The sound of it unbuckling was like a gunshot in the quiet room. My breath hitched. This was really happening. Here. Now. With Leo just a few hundred feet away.

“But power,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he freed himself from his trousers, “requires a demonstration. A reminder of who holds the reins.”

He was hard. Thick and imposing. He guided himself to my lips, the velvety head of his cock brushing against them. The gesture was both a question and a command.

“Show me,” he said softly. “Show me how badly you want to keep your secrets.”

I closed my eyes and parted my lips, taking him into my mouth. The taste of him, clean and slightly salty, filled my senses. I heard him hiss in a sharp breath, his hand tangling in my hair, gripping it tight. The pain was a grounding force, a sharp contrast to the dizzying whirl of my submission.

I’d done this before, of course, but never like this. Never with the stakes so high, with this potent mix of fear and arousal coursing through me. I focused on the task, on pleasing him, on ending this as quickly as possible. I used my tongue, my lips, my hand, working him with a desperate intensity.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice strained.

I opened my eyes, looking up at him as I took him deeper. The sight of him—head thrown back, his face a mask of pleasure, his control finally fracturing sent a surge of power through me. I was the one on my knees, but in that moment, I was the one making him lose control.

“Fuck, Julian,” he groaned, his hips thrusting forward gently. “Just like that.”

He set the pace, his hand in my hair guiding me, and I let him. I let him use my mouth, my body, for his pleasure. And the most fucked up part? I was hard as a rock, aching with a need that was both humiliating and overwhelming.

Just as I felt him begin to tense, just as I knew he was close, a sharp, loud knock echoed through the room.

“Julian? Are you in there? It’s Leo. I wanted to check on you. You have taken up so much time. Are you up for some quicke”

I froze, Alistair’s cock still in my mouth. My eyes flew wide with panic. Alistair’s grip on my hair tightened, almost painfully, but his voice, when he spoke, was as calm and collected as ever.

“Not really, I will be out very soon,” he called out, his voice betraying nothing. ‘’I’m abit green around the gills. But go back to the hall. I’ll be out before you know it.”

“Ouch. That hurts. I though you would be happy to give me a blowjob. Well, you better be out in a minute if not i’m breaking that door to come get you,” Leo’s voice replied, muffled by the heavy door.

“Will do,” I said.

We listened to the sound of Leo’s footsteps retreating. Only then did I relax and did Alistair let out a slow breath, looking down at me. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Well now,” he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek. “That was… exciting, wasn’t it?”