Reporting Behind Tiles

The heavy wooden door of the restroom stall in the old wing swung shut with a hollow echo. I slid the rusted latch across, leaned my back against the cool tiles, and let out a deep breath for the first time in two hours.

Outside from the urinals drifted the sharp scent of bleach and damp concrete. My legs were still shaking faintly. With every step through the stairwell, the resin cylinder had pressed mercilessly into my raw, overstimulated pubic bone. The phantom ache of that blocked erection from earlier sat deep in my groin like a white-hot spike.

The phone buzzed in my hand. Not WhatsApp. An incoming call lit up the screen.

Loona.

My stomach tightened into a knot. Swiping the green icon aside, I pressed the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

“Dragging your feet, are we?” her voice cut through the line instantly. Cool, sharp, utterly composed, backed by the faint chatter of the girls' lounge in the background. “No text report. What happened, John? Did little Emma go and cut your tongue out?”

“No,” I whispered hurriedly, staring blankly at the scratched graffiti on the inside of the stall door. “I… I’m in the bathroom. Couldn't text earlier.”

“Then talk. How did the handover go?”

I bit my lower lip. My mind raced, searching for any way to shorten the scene, to blunt the raw, humiliating edges. But the mere thought of what she would do to me if she found out the truth through back channels smothered every excuse before it could breathe.

“I gave her the folders,” I managed to choke out. “She… she wasn't alone.”

“Who was with her?”

“Leon. From the varsity basketball team.” My voice sounded painfully thin. “She handed him the history binder. Just like that. Right in front of me.”

On the other end of the line, a brief pause settled. “And then?”

“He said thanks. He… pulled her close. Kissed her. In front of me. Both hands full on her ass, digging in deep. And Emma looked right at me while they did it. She told me… I was just there to work, not to touch.”

For two agonizingly long seconds, dead silence hung in the air. I held my breath, bracing for a sharp lash of anger, a hiss of indignation over Emma’s insolence.

Instead, a dry, amused chuckle broke through the speaker.

It started low and blossomed into a genuine, entertained giggle that sent cold water down the length of my spine.

“Oh god, John,” Loona breathed, and I could practically visualize the wide, mocking smirk stretched across her lips. “That is brilliant. The little bitch is sharper than I gave her credit for.”

“What…?” I stammered, entirely caught off guard.

“Just listen to yourself!” she went on condescendingly, the scorn in her tone cutting deeper than any reprimand. “Emma knows damn well she can’t challenge me directly. She’s following my rules to the letter: she doesn't lay a finger on you. She dutifully takes your schoolwork. But she’s ruthlessly exploiting your pathetic weakness to buy her way into the pants of the biggest jocks in school—bankrolled entirely by your hard labor. And as the cherry on top, she degrades you right on the spot to nurse her bruised little ego after I brought her to her knees earlier. A stroke of genius at your expense. And completely within the rulebook.”

The words landed on me with brutal weight. My knuckles went white around the phone.

“And you?” she murmured softly, her voice dropping into an intimate, venomous purr. “You just stood there like a soaked stray mutt having to watch the neighborhood hound get the bone, didn't you? Tell me the truth, John. What did that cock of yours do when Leon grabbed her pants?”

My face burned hot. My throat closed up. “Loona, please…”

“Tell me. Right now.”

“It… it wanted to get hard,” I forced out, hot shame strangling every syllable. “It hurt. The cage… it clamped down on me.”

Loona let out a low, satisfied sigh. “Wonderful. Exactly where you belong. Packed to bursting with frustration, locked away behind resin while real men have all the fun. A perfect little homework slave.”

She cleared her throat softly, her tone snapping back into its usual crisp, businesslike authority.

“Still, you were honest with me. No dodging, no hiding. And because you gave me such a good little report, you get your reward.”

My ears pricked up, surprised by the abrupt shift.

“You’ve got the afternoon off,” she said dryly. “No kitchen duty today, and you don’t have to cook either. I’m heading downtown to meet Nadja tonight anyway, so I’ll be back late. After school, you can go sit at your computer. Boot up Discord, put your headset on, and spend the evening gaming online with Timo. Order yourselves some virtual pizza, do whatever immature boys do on the internet.”

A tiny spark of relief flared in my chest—until her voice dropped down an octave, icy and unmistakable.

“Don’t let it get to your head, though. That lock remains strictly off-limits. When I come home tonight, I expect to find you asleep in your bed, with the shackle exactly where I left it. Make even the slightest mistake, and I’ll pull the leash so tight you won’t even be allowed to look at a monitor again. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered hoarsely against the tiles.

“Good boy. Now wipe that little whine off your face and get to class.”

The faint click on the line signaled the end of the call. Staring down at the black display, feeling the dull, persistent throb in my loins, I closed my eyes for a long moment. A few hours of freedom—yet the leash hadn't grown a single inch slacker.