Sabrina accepts

Sabrina felt the ground give way beneath her feet. Professor Andrews' words echoed in her ears like a final verdict. "You either do this or you fail history." It wasn't a request, it was blatant ****, an **** of power that left her breathless. The mention of her lack of underwear—an intimate secret now being used as a weapon—made a burning blush creep from her neck up to her cheeks. Humiliation was a bitter taste in her mouth.

During a long, tense silence, only the frantic beating of her own heart could be heard. Sabrina looked at the sheer tunic, then at the professor, whose gaze was now cold and implacable. Her academic future, her pride, everything hung by a thread.

"—Fine," she managed to articulate, in a voice that was no more than a husky whisper. "I'll do it."

A triumphant smile, almost imperceptible, formed on Mr. Andrews' lips. "A smart decision, Sabrina."

"—But I need you to leave me alone," she added, clenching her fists at her sides to stop them from trembling. "Please."

"Of course. You have five minutes. The class is about to begin," he said, with a false cordiality that was more terrifying than his previous harshness. He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The click of the lock engaging sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the empty room. She turned towards the tunic, laid out on a chair. The translucent silk seemed to mock her. She took a deep breath, trying to convince herself. "It's like a bikini, it's just like a bikini in public..." But it wasn't. It was a flimsy fabric that would hide absolutely nothing. Every curve, every detail of her body would be exposed to the gazes of all her classmates.

With clumsy movements, she began to take off her clothes. Her sweatshirt, her jeans, everything fell to the floor, forming a small pile of normality that now seemed unattainable. The cold air of the room brushed against her naked skin, raising goosebumps. She looked at herself for an instant in the window's reflection, **** and completely exposed, before picking up the tunic.

The fabric was surprisingly soft, a grim contrast to the vileness of the act. She put it on, adjusting the straps over her shoulders. The almost ethereal material clung to her breasts, mercilessly outlining her nipples, erect from the cold and the nerves. She looked down and could see, with terrifying clarity, the dark shadow of her pubic hair and the line of her hips. It hid nothing. If anything, it was more suggestive than nakedness itself.

There was no mirror, but she didn't need one. She knew exactly how she looked. A wave of shameful heat washed over her. She felt like merchandise, an object prepared for a **** exhibition.

Just then, a soft knock on the door made her jump.

"—Sabrina, one minute left," Mr. Andrews' voice penetrated the wood. "I'll wait outside to accompany you to the classroom."

It was the final touch. Her jailer, her exploiter, would now also be her escort to the gallows. With watery eyes and a knot of panic and forbidden excitement in her stomach, Sabrina grasped the doorknob. As she opened it, she met the professor's gaze, which traveled over her body from top to bottom with a deliberate, approving slowness.

"—Perfect," he murmured, his voice sounding husky. "The class will never forget today's lesson on female attire in Ancient Rome. Walk ahead of me."

The short walk down the hallway to the classroom was the longest walk of her life. Every step, the sensation of the tunic brushing against her bare skin, was a reminder of her submission. And when Mr. Andrews opened the classroom door and a hundred eyes were fixed on her, Sabrina knew that the humiliation, and the dark fascination that accompanied it, was only just beginning.