I stood in front of my mirror that morning, heart racing as I smoothed down the short, tight-fitting black gown I’d bought on impulse the night before. It clung to every curve like a second skin hugging my waist, lifting my breasts, and ending high on my thighs, barely covering the swell of my ass.
One wrong move and it would ride up dangerously. I turned slightly, admiring how it snatched my figure, making my hips and ass look fuller, more tempting. This was no longer subtle pushing. This was a declaration. Campus felt electric as I walked toward class. Heads turned. Whispers followed. The gown swayed with each step, the fabric stretching tight over my ass and thighs. I felt powerful and exposed. Addicted to the thrill. When I entered Professor Damien Vale’s lecture hall, the room went
