Chapter 15

The scream was silent—trapped in the back of her throat like a caged animal.

Samyukta jolted awake, her body slick with sweat, her breath ragged as if she’d been running for miles. The nightmare clung to her like a second skin, vivid and cruel, replaying in fractured flashes: hands gripping her wrists, the cold bite of metal against her nose.

Next to her, Jithin snored softly, oblivious.

She slipped out of bed, her legs trembling beneath her. The hardwood floor was icy against her bare feet as she padded toward the kitchen, the dream’s echoes still pulsing between her thighs. Her fingers wrapped around a glass, the water spilling slightly as she gulped it down, trying to drown the shameful heat pooling in her core.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

She sank into a dining chair, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened. The dream had been too real—too detailed. The humiliation, the pain, the way her body had betrayed her, arching into every cruel touch. And worst of all?

She wanted it.

The realization made her stomach twist.

She was a respected professor. A woman who had clawed her way up from nothing, who had stood tall against every obstacle. Yet here she was, fingers trailing down to the tiny gold stud in her nose—his mark—her pulse spiking at the memory of how he’d made her beg for it.

And then there was Naha.

Her star student. Her pride.

Now a mistress who owns her life.

A shudder ran through her.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

She didn’t need to check to know who it was.

The message glowed in the predawn darkness, stark and undeniable:

“Hey professor pet. Hope you’ve got the jewelry. As usual, come in your sexy clothes. Wait for me in the janitor’s closet. Present yourself like a proper pet. – MS”

Her breath hitched.

She shouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

But her fingers were already typing a reply before she could stop herself.

“Yes, Master.”

The title sent a jolt through her.

Another buzz.

“Don’t eat. I want you empty. And clean. Or you’ll regret it. 7:30 sharp.”

Her thighs clenched.

He wasn’t just planning to use her mouth this time.

The college loomed ahead, its stone facade as imposing as the knot of dread in her stomach.

She’d dressed carefully—skimpy enough to obey him, modest enough to avoid suspicion. The thong hugged her hips, the skirt barely grazed her thighs, and the blouse dipped just enough to tease. Her coat was the only shield she had left.

The auto driver’s gaze lingered too long on her legs. The watchman’s eyes traced her silhouette.

She ignored them.

The janitor’s closet was her destination—her doom.

The second she slipped inside; the scent of bleach and damp wood assaulted her senses. She shrugged off her coat, folding it neatly before locking the collar around her neck. The clasp clicked shut like a prison door.

She undid the top buttons of her blouse, exposing the swell of her breasts.

Then she knelt. The concrete was unforgiving beneath her knees. The leash coiled at her feet, a mocking promise of control.

Her breath hitched. What if someone walked in? What if it wasn’t Manish?

The door creaked open. Her heart stopped. A shadow fell over her.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t dare. A boot nudged her chin up.

“Well, well.”

Manish’s voice dripped with amusement.

“Look who’s finally learning her place.”

Her stomach twisted—with fear, with want. The leash tightened in his grip.

“And you’re not even late.” He smirked.

“Good girl.”

The praise burned worse than the humiliation.

And god help her—she craved it.

The metal bucket scraped against the concrete floor with a screech that made Samyukta flinch. Manish grinned as he flipped it upside down, the hollow thud echoing in the cramped storage closet. He settled onto his makeshift throne, spreading his legs wide, the bulge in his jeans already straining against the denim. Behind him, Suraj and Aquel leaned against the shelves, their predatory smears widening as they watched the economics professor kneel before them like a common whore.

“Look at you,” Manish purred, reaching out to flick the delicate gold loop dangling from Samyukta’s earlobe. The ruby embedded in the jewelry caught the dim light, flashing like a warning. “My pretty little pet, all dressed up like the slut you are. Do you like your new decorations, professor?” His fingers trailed down to the collar snug around her throat, the one she’d been ordered to wear in his presence.

“Th-thank you, sir,” Samyukta whispered, her gaze fixed on the scuffed toes of Manish’s boots. The scent of leather and male musk filled her nostrils, mingling with the coppery tang of fear on her tongue. Three weeks ago, she’d stood at the front of a lecture hall, commanding respect. Now she knelt in a puddle of her own shame, her silk blouse sticking to the sweat between her shoulder blades.