Go to bed

Julia collapsed onto her bed after sending the confession body spent and shaking from the relentless orgasms that had torn through her while thinking about her children entangled in the headmaster’s web. The phone slipped from her fingers onto the pillow beside her. She didn’t bother cleaning up; she didn’t have the strength. Exhaustion crashed over her like a wave, pulling her under almost instantly.

She fell asleep curled on her side, thighs sticky, the taste of guilt and arousal still thick on her tongue, dreams fragmented with flashes of Riley’s blindfolded mouth, Nick’s cock pulsing in sleep, the headmaster’s voice whispering like mother, like daughter over and over.

Morning light filtered through the curtains when her phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

Julia stirred, groggy, head pounding from too little sleep and too much everything else. She fumbled for the device, squinting at the screen.

A text from Riley, sent twenty minutes ago.

Riley: Hey Mom—feeling kinda off today. Gonna skip school and hang with Angela instead. She’s picking me up soon. Don’t worry, I’ll be good. Love you.

Julia stared at the words, stomach twisting. She knew instantly it was a lie. Angela had early classes on Fridays; she wouldn’t be free until afternoon. And Riley skipping school to “hang out” with her older sister—especially after last night’s hotel rendezvous and the headmaster’s command to suck Nick off—reeked of cover. Riley was probably already gone, sneaking out before Julia woke, chasing whatever next twisted dare “Alex” had texted her.

Julia exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the call button. She could confront her. Could demand the truth. But the thought of facing Riley—flushed, secretive, maybe still leaking cum from the night before—made fresh heat curl low in her belly. No. Better to play along. Keep the mask in place a little longer.

She sat up, smoothed her tangled hair, and dialed the school’s main line.

The secretary—Caprice, the same young woman who’d escorted her out of the headmaster’s office days ago—picked up on the second ring.

“Harvard-Westlake, this is Caprice. How may I assist you?”

“Hi, Caprice. This is Julia Edwards, Riley’s mom. I just wanted to let you know she’s not feeling well today. She’s staying home sick.”

There was a brief pause—keyboard clicks in the background—then Caprice’s voice returned, polite but tinged with something else.

“Of course, Mrs. Edwards. I’ll mark her absent. One moment… actually, Headmaster Alexander would like to speak with you. He’s available now if you can hold.”

Julia’s heart lurched into her throat. The headmaster. Wanting to talk. After last night. After the video. After the screenshots of Riley begging. After Julia’s own confession that she wanted to fuck her own children.

She swallowed hard, voice barely steady.

“Yes….”

The line clicked. Soft hold music for three endless seconds.

Then his voice—smooth, British, laced with dark satisfaction—filled the receiver.

“Mrs. Edwards. Good morning. I trust you slept well after last night’s… entertainment.”

Julia’s free hand clenched the sheets. She could still feel the ache between her legs, the dried slick on her thighs, the ghost of her own fingers inside her while she watched Riley swallow Nick.

“I… yes,” she managed, voice small.

He chuckled—low, knowing.

“Excellent. We have much to discuss. Come to my office this morning. Alone. Wear something… accessible. And Mrs. Edwards?”

A beat of silence.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

The line went dead.

Julia sat frozen on the bed, phone still pressed to her ear, pulse roaring.

The house was quiet. Riley was gone. Nick was probably still asleep, dreaming of her.

And the headmaster was waiting.

She set the phone down slowly, hands shaking, already feeling the familiar, shameful heat building again between her legs at the thought of what he might demand next.