January Week 2: Friday-Leah agrees to wear the Snow White outfit (Silence: +25)

Leah bristled, feeling the pressure already beginning to crush her.

"You’re disgusting," she muttered, but he just winked and let the costume hang from his finger. It swung like a slow pendulum, counting down to the moment she would give in. She knew the sound of that clock by heart. "If you say so," he replied, his voice dripping with false innocence. "But if you’re going to call me that, at least kiss me first." She winced, biting back the retort that burned her tongue. The familiar sense of dread wrapped around her, binding her more tightly than any of his ropes ever could.

He tossed the costume onto a couch that sat next to the desk where he filmed the morning announcements. It landed in a heap, bright and cheap and shameful.

“See you soon.” he said, indicating that she should change into her “Costume.”

Leah put the costume on the bed, and turned away from Mr. Baker as she disrobed—as if he hadn’t seen her before. Or as if he hadn’t fucked her before—or cummed on her before—or had any of it on film. Even still it was the small moment of peace before all that was shattered. She held the costume up with trembling fingers, as if she couldn’t quite believe what it was. A garish blue-and-yellow, it was nothing but cheap, shiny fabric—a parody of innocence that would have made Snow White blush seven shades of red.

With careful movements, she pulled the rest of her clothes off, every piece a small sacrifice to Mr. Baker’s demands.

She let her clothes fall to the floor, a heap of normalcy she wished she could crawl inside. The air felt cold against her nakedness, the touch of it a constant reminder of what she was about to do. Leah’s heart pounded a wild rhythm as she reached for the costume, the sensation of it alien and slick in her hands. She pulled it over her head, wincing at the way the fabric clung like a second skin. It was tight in all the wrong places, making her look cheap and ready for anything but a fairytale. A damn student had worn this before. The thought disgusted her. It likely made that pervert even more aroused at the thought.

She wished she could be anywhere else, anyone else, but she was there, and she was his, and there was no escaping what that meant.

She finished dressing, the task more like surrender than completion. The costume hugged her body, branding her with Mr. Baker’s lewd intent. Leah’s heart sank as she looked around, Mr. Baker was very eager and ready and she knew it was time to face him, time to be the Snow White he had created in his twisted image.

"Are you decent, Miss Williams? Or should I say indecent?" Mr. Baker said as he walked up with a camera in hand.

She crossed her arms under her chest, the bodice of the Snow White dress digging into her ribs.

“So how do you want to start this, Walt?” she asked, her voice sweet and mocking, the kind of sarcasm you learn while working in a broken system. “Should I bite an apple first? Or do you want to have a woodland creature give me a helping hand?”

Mr. Baker’s smile stretched with delight at her banter.

“Oh, I think we’ll let your lips do the talking, Miss Williams.” He wagged his cock at her for emphasis, moving with the easy, sleazy showmanship of a man who’d spent a very long time alone with a high-speed internet connection. “Let’s give the audience what they really want. A classic opening act.”

Leah felt herself flush—part anger, part embarrassing anticipation. She hated that he could still do that to her, that her body could react even as her mind rebelled. The heat crept up her neck and settled, shameful and insistent, at the tips of her ears.

“You know, in the original fairy tale, Snow White doesn’t actually get with the prince until after she’s dead,” she said, the academic in her refusing to die quietly.

“Then you better get to work, princess. Prince Charming’s looking pretty lively.” He winked and patted the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. “Let’s start with something hmmmm oral shall we? Get over here.”

She locked eyes with Baker, refusing to look at his cock, which jutted up and to the right like something that could impale a fairy tale villain.

“You’re really going to film this?” she demanded, her voice a rasp.

He put a hand over his heart, faux-wounded.

“For posterity. And my own collection. And for your own job security, remember? You want tenure, don’t you?” His other hand did not leave the camera, but instead zoomed in cruelly and captured her tight smile, her trembling jaw, the way her hands flexed and curled in her lap.

“Fine.” Leah rolled her eyes. She scooted forward, the skirt bunching up around her hips, and knelt between his spread thighs. His cock loomed inches from her face, swollen and eager,

“Smile for the camera,” Baker said, and for a split second he sounded almost tender, like he wanted to capture a wedding kiss instead of an act of ****. Leah wondered, in the haze of humiliation, if he truly believed this was some twisted romance.

She tried to channel her pain somewhere else—into sarcasm, into performance.

“Should I curtsy first, or just get to the happy ending?” she asked.

“Just use that pretty mouth.” Baker barked out a laugh, delighted.

She gripped the base of his cock with fingers that trembled only a little, and leaned in. The camera zoomed closer, the lens devouring her every movement, the sound of the whirring focus motor so loud it nearly drowned out her own heartbeat. She licked up the shaft, slow at first, determined to show as little submission as possible.

“Oh, you’re a natural,” Baker crooned, canting his hips just enough to **** her lips apart. “You ever do this backstage at a pep rally?”

“Not all of us are perverts, Mr. Baker. Some of us actually care about the kids.” She glared up at him.

“That’s what makes it so fucking hot. Like mentoring, but with a happy ending.” He moaned, rolling his head back.