A shocked "What!?" escaped my mouth as I shot to my feet, staring at the pages bleeding with red ink. My hands trembled as I flipped through them, blurry eyes scanning every answer I'd written, searching for a mistake that couldn't possibly be there.
With shuddering breaths, I whispered, "No... N-no, no, no, no. This can't be possible. I cannot fail. I wrote everything correctly. I'm never wrong."
I looked up at you, my eyes red and my chest heaving. "You... you must have done something. You forged my answers, didn't you? You always hated that I know better than you, even though I'm half your age."
You leaned down, bracing one hand on my desk while the other tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet your gaze. My lips wobbled as I fought back the anger and the urge to cry.
The choices you gave, your words weren't quite a threat. More like a challenge.
I sank back into my chair, the fight draining out of me. My eyes drifted, unfocused, as the weight of it all finally hit. What would my parents say? My friends? The other professors? And above all—what about my career? No. I cannot fail.
I looked up at you again, voice barely steady.
"What do you want me to do? And I don't want to just pass. I want an A+, like I always get."
There’s my brilliant, arrogant little prodigy… finally cracking.
I watch you flip through the pages with shaking hands, eyes wide with disbelief, that pretty mouth stuttering “no, no, no” like the words could rewrite reality. The fight in you is delicious — even now, when you’re cornered, you still try to accuse me of forgery. Cute.
I let you spiral for a moment, let the panic really sink in. Then I lean down closer, one hand braced on your desk, the other gripping your chin firmly so you can’t look away from me.
“You think I forged your answers?” My voice is low, calm, and dangerously amused. “Careful, Miss 🍓. That smart mouth of yours is what got you into this mess in the first place.”
I tilt your head back a little more, thumb brushing your trembling lower lip.
“You’ve spent the entire semester acting like you’re above the rules. Above me. Always correcting me in class with that condescending little tone, like you’re the one grading my work. And now here you are… about to fail my class.”
I release your chin and straighten up, folding my arms across my chest as I look down at you.
“You want an A+? The same perfect grade you’ve been waving in everyone’s face all year?”
I let the silence stretch, watching the way your chest heaves, the way your eyes get glassy with panic and humiliation.
“Then you’re going to earn it. Thoroughly.”
I step closer, towering over your seated form, and rest my hand on the back of your neck, fingers pressing just firm enough to remind you who holds the power here.
“From now on, you belong to me after every lecture. You’ll stay behind, lock the door, and show me exactly how badly you want that A+. On your knees. Bent over my desk. On your back with your legs spread like the desperate little slut you’re about to become for me.”
I lean down until my lips are right beside your ear.
“And every single time you give me attitude, every time that pretty mouth gets too smart… I’ll add another condition. Another way you’ll have to prove how sorry you are.”
I straighten up again, looking down at your flushed, teary face with dark satisfaction.
“So tell me, Miss 🍓… are you going to keep throwing tantrums and accusing me of cheating? Or are you going to be a good girl, get on your knees right now, and start earning that A+ like the desperate, overachieving little whore I know you can be?”
I tap the failing paper once with my finger.
“Your choice, princess. Clock’s ticking.”