Chapter 176 Fingered by my tutor 2

Chapter 176 Fingered by my tutor 2
Lena hadn’t bothered with the assignment.

The deadline had come and gone, and instead of scribbling out an essay Draven would shred with red ink, she had spent the evening scrolling through her phone, smirking to herself. She knew exactly what skipping his assignment would earn her.

That was the point.

Now, standing in front of his office door, she adjusted her skirt—shorter than last time, pleated, dangerously high—and smoothed down the skin-tight black top that left nothing to the imagination. She didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open like she owned the place.

The air was different today.

Draven didn’t look up from his papers. His glasses sat low, his pen moved slowly across the page, and his entire posture screamed unbothered.

That was the first red flag.

“You’re late.” The same words, but the tone had shifted. It wasn’t irritation anymore.

It was anticipation.

“I figured you’d need time to cool off,” Lena said, shutting the door behind her. “Didn’t want to walk in on a tantrum.”

He didn’t respond.

Just stood.

The way he rounded the desk, unhurried and precise, made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. When he reached the door and clicked the lock shut, the sound was louder than it should have been.

“That skirt,” he said, turning to face her, “is an insult to this institution.”

“That’s funny, because you didn’t seem to mind it last time.” She smiled, stepping forward. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you—”

“Strip.”

Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to jump straight to it. Her defiance faltered, but she masked it with a grin.

“Eager much?”

His lips curled, but not in amusement. “If I have to repeat myself, Lena, you’ll regret it.”

The tension was suffocating now, pressing down on her chest. Still, she refused to give him the satisfaction of hesitation. She grabbed the hem of her top and dragged it over her head, tossing it onto his desk. Her skirt followed, pooling at her feet.

No underwear. Of course.

Draven’s eyes never softened. He didn’t leer. He didn’t smirk. He studied her, as though she were a problem to be dissected.

“Face the desk. Hands flat.”

Her legs moved on their own. The cold wood kissed her palms as she braced herself, heart hammering in her chest. She expected his hands next, maybe his fingers sliding in again, maybe—

But nothing happened.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

Her pulse quickened with every breathless moment of silence.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she said, turning her head slightly, but her voice wasn’t as sharp as she intended.

“I am.” His response was calm, collected. “But not as much as you will be.”

Suddenly, his hand was on the back of her neck, pressing her cheek against the desk. The force wasn’t violent, but it left no room for negotiation.

“You think you’re in control, Lena. That skipping assignments, dressing like a whore, walking into my office with that mouth—” his grip tightened, “—puts you above consequence.”

He stepped back. The sound of his belt unbuckling was slow, deliberate.

“You’re wrong.”

Her stomach coiled with anticipation.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, voice low and venomous. “That’s a reward. You haven’t earned one.”

The sting came sharp and immediate. His palm cracked across her ass, the slap echoing in the office, burning through her skin. She gasped, hips jerking forward.

Another slap. Harder. Then another.

Her knees buckled as the strikes rained down, relentless, methodical. He didn’t speak. He didn’t soothe. He simply punished, her skin igniting under each unforgiving hit.

When he finally paused, her breathing was ragged, her thighs trembling. She hated how wet she was. How much her body craved the very discipline she claimed to defy.

“Spread your legs wider.”

She obeyed. Instinct overruled pride.

His hand returned—but not to strike. This time, his fingers trailed down the welted flesh, skimming lower until they hovered over her soaked slit.

“Pathetic,” he murmured, slipping two fingers inside with no warning.

Her moan was broken, desperate.

“You’ll count,” he said, curling his fingers with brutal precision. “For every thrust, you’ll give me the number. Miss a count, and we start over.”

The first thrust was deep. She barely got out, “One.”

The second had her toes curling. “Two.”

By “Five,” she was shaking.

By “Nine,” she’d lost count.

“I believe that was Eight, Lena.”

He withdrew.

“No—!” The word burst out of her, unfiltered, desperate.

“You’ll learn,” Draven said, circling around her like a predator.

He dragged a chair across the floor, placing it directly in front of her. He sat, legs apart, arms resting on his thighs, watching her remain bent over, exposed, humiliated, dripping.

“On your knees.”

She turned slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed with a defiance that was beginning to crack. She dropped to her knees between his legs.

“Since academics aren’t your strength,” he said, unzipping his pants, “we’ll focus on oral discipline.”

His cock was hard, thick, the head flushed as it emerged from his slacks. He didn’t touch her. Just sat there, waiting.

She wanted to snark, to bite back with some witty remark, but her mouth had already opened, tongue dragging along his shaft in one slow, deliberate stroke.

Draven’s breath hitched—barely noticeable, but there.

“That’s the only time you’ll take initiative tonight,” he said.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her mouth down his length, making her gag. He didn’t let up. The pace was brutal, relentless, his grip ironclad as he used her throat with clinical efficiency. Her hands scrambled for balance, nails digging into his thighs as drool and spit dripped down her chin.

“Messy,” he muttered, watching her choke, watching her struggle. “But I’ll fix that.”

He pulled her off abruptly, saliva connecting her lips to his cock.

“Crawl to the desk.”

Lena’s limbs moved sluggishly, her body exhausted yet aching for more. She crawled, every movement accentuating her degradation, until she reached the desk’s edge.

“Up.”

She stood, barely, leaning against the desk for support.

Draven came up behind her, hands gripping her hips. His cock slid between her folds, teasing, coating himself in her slickness, but he didn’t push in.

“You don’t get to come until I say so.”

His hand found her clit, fingers ruthless, rubbing circles that sent shockwaves through her core. She was shaking, hips grinding back against him, desperate for friction, for release.

“I can feel you clenching,” he said, voice steady while her composure crumbled. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

She bit her lip, refusing to answer.

His other hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her breath stutter.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” she gasped, body arching, betraying her.

“Too bad.”

He stopped.

Just like that.

She let out a broken sound, a mixture of frustration and pleading.

“You want to come?” he asked, pulling her back by her hair until their faces were close. “Then you’ll earn it.”

He guided her back to her knees, but this time, instead of his cock, he brought his fingers to her mouth—the same fingers drenched in her own arousal.

“Suck.”

She did, swirling her tongue around them, tasting herself, every flick of her tongue met with a low hum of approval from him.

“Good girl.”

The praise shouldn’t have made her shiver, but it did.

Draven crouched, his face inches from hers.

“You will finish this assignment tonight. On my terms.”

He pushed her onto her back, legs spread wide, his fingers returning with a vengeance. The pace was brutal, his thumb flicking her clit, fingers thrusting deep, unrelenting, merciless.

“Beg.”

She bit her lip.

“Beg, Lena.”

Her pride crumbled.

“Please—fuck—please let me come,” she gasped, hips jerking, tears prickling at her eyes from the intensity.

“Louder.”

“Please, Mr. Draven—please let me come—I’ll do better—I swear—”

That’s when he allowed it.

His fingers pressed deep, thumb grinding against her clit until her vision blurred and her body convulsed, back arching off the floor as the orgasm hit like a freight train. She was sobbing, gasping, her mind reduced to nothing but the overwhelming release he had denied her for so long.

He didn’t comfort her.

Didn’t hold her.

He stood, straightened his shirt, and tucked himself back into his slacks.

“You’ll submit the assignment by midnight,” he said, his tone cold and final.

Lena lay there, a trembling, ruined mess, throat raw, body aching, but somewhere deep inside, a smirk formed.

Because she knew this wasn’t over.

And she’d fail that assignment again.

On purpose.