Jan. Week 3: Friday(Condom)-Leah just wants to get it over with...

She needed this to be over as quickly as possible. The sooner she started, the sooner she could wash the stink of it out of her mouth, and maybe her memory. She’d been here before, in this exact spot, with the same man’s dick in her face, and every time it was as if the universe was reminding her how little control she actually had.

Mr. Bill was already palming his crotch, grinning down like the world’s sleaziest prom king. She hated how practiced the motions were, how his belt unraveled and fly dropped with a lazy rhythm she knew by heart. His cock came out half-hard, thick and veiny, a swollen slab that looked more like a challenge than a sex organ. Leah felt a wash of revulsion, but her hands moved anyway—she wrapped her fingers around the shaft, squeezing just enough to coax a grunt from his lips.

“Go easy, now,” he whispered, voice syrupy, “don’t wanna break it, do ya?”

She ignored him. It was hard to look at the thing, even harder to put her mouth on it, but she did. Opened, slid her tongue along the underside, and started bobbing, slow and mechanical. She refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on the motions. Suck, swirl, pop, repeat. It was almost meditative if she didn’t think about the taste, or the way his tip bumped the roof of her mouth with every thrust forward.

Mr. Bill liked to talk. He liked to narrate. Leah had always found that to be the worst part. He ran a hand through her hair, not roughly—just enough to remind her he was in charge.

“That’s it, Miss Leah. Glad to see them teacher skills transfer. Gonna give me a gold star on this bad boy, huh?”

She would have rolled her eyes if they weren’t already watering. The closet was small, built for mops and buckets and not for two grown adults re-enacting a porn scene. The air was thick with ammonia and sweat and the unspoken **** of the situation. Leah grimaced around his shaft, willed herself not to make a sound. She wanted Bill to feel nothing from her, no pleasure, no resistance—not even hatred. Just a blank, hollow space where her soul used to be.

But he wanted a show, and so he upped the ante—rocked his hips, **** her to take more. Leah coughed, choked, felt a stream of spit drool down her chin and onto her blouse. He laughed, delighted.

“Don’t act like it’s your first time, girl.” he laughed at her expense.

She pulled off him, spat to clear her throat.

“Can you just let me finish!?” she said. Even that little act of resistance felt like it could have been a mistake.

“Naw, I like the sound of yo voice. You could read me the phone book it sounds so sweet when yous on your need and so long as yous use that pretty lil’ mouth.”

He slapped his cock against her cheek, a wet thwack that left a stinging line. Leah braced herself, then went back down, this time using her hand as a buffer. She could feel him swelling, pulsing in her grasp. He wasn’t going to last long—thank God. If she was lucky, he’d finish quickly and leave her alone for a while.

But even as she worked, Leah’s thoughts spiraled. How had it come to this? She’d been a good kid, a good student, even a good teacher once upon a time. Now she was a living, breathing cliche, the slutty teacher on her knees for the janitor, selling her dignity for a scrap of peace. She wondered if Mr. Bill knew how much she hated him, or if he even cared. Probably not. Men like him assumed every woman secretly wanted it, that every act of submission was just a prelude to a confession of desire. She wanted to puke.

After a few minutes, he grunted and pulled her off with a sudden jerk. Leah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring daggers at him as he fished for the condom.

“Almost made me bust right there,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “But I wanna see that pretty pink pussy, too."