YES! DADDIES: AN EROTIC COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES

A STUDENT OR STRIPPER? (5)

TRINITY.

I wake up to morning light and an empty bed.

Then I hear movement from somewhere in the apartment.

I sit up, wincing at the pleasant soreness between my legs. We f****d three more times last night, each one more intense than the last, and I can still feel him.

There's a silk robe laid out at the foot of the bed. I put it on and follow the sound of movement to the kitchen.

Damien's there, wearing just pajama pants, making coffee. He looks up when I enter and smiles.

"Morning."

"Hi."

He pours me a cup and I take it gratefully, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.

"We need to talk," he says.

My stomach clenches. "Okay."

"Come sit."

We sit at his dining table, which probably costs more than my car, and he studies me for a moment.

"I have a proposition for you."

"I'm listening."

"I want to hire you. Exclusively."

I nearly choke on my coffee. "What?"

"Quit the club. Quit any other jobs you have. I'll cover all your expenses—tuition, rent, books, living costs. Everything." He pulls out his phone and shows me a monthly amount.

My eyes go wide. "That's..."

"More than fair. More than you make dancing. Enough to live comfortably and focus on your studies without financial stress."

"In exchange for what exactly?"

"For being mine. Available when I want you. Coming here when I call. Dancing for me. Letting me f**k you whenever I need you." His eyes are intense. "Being my personal dancer. My lover. Mine and only mine."

My heart is racing. "That's..."

"Think about it before you answer." He leans forward. "I'm a wealthy man, Trinity. Family money. Old money. I teach because I love it, not because I need the income. I can afford to take care of you. The question is whether you'll let me."

"Why me?"

"Because I want you. Only you. Because watching you dance, being inside you—it's the most alive I've felt in years." He reaches across and takes my hand. "Because I'm obsessed with you and I don't share."

"What are the rules?"

"You're mine exclusively. No other clients. No dancing for anyone else. You come when I call, day or night. You let me have you however I want, whenever I want." He pauses. "But your studies continue as normal. This doesn't interfere with school. Just with your work."

"What about... us? What are we?"

"Whatever you want us to be. This can stay transactional—I pay you, you service me. Or it can be more. That's entirely up to you."

I should think about this rationally. Should consider all the implications.

But that money would change everything. No more late nights at the club. No more worrying about making rent. I could actually focus on my thesis.

And I want him. God, I want him so badly it's terrifying.

"How soon do you need an answer?"

"Today. Now, preferably." His thumb strokes over my knuckles. "But I'll give you until this afternoon. Think about it. Really think about it."

"Okay."

We sit in silence for a while, drinking coffee, and I'm very aware that I'm naked under his robe, that I can still feel where he was inside me.

"If I say yes," I start slowly. "What would that look like? Day to day?"

"You'd move in here. I want you in my bed every night. During the day, you go to class, work on your thesis, live your life. But evenings and nights, you're mine."

"Move in?"

"I'll have movers pack up your apartment. You can keep it if you want as storage, but I want you here. Want to fall asleep with you. Wake up with you."

It's too much too fast. Way too fast.

But I hear myself saying, "Yes."

His eyes flash. "Yes?"

"Yes, I'll do it. All of it."

He's on me in a second, kissing me hard, lifting me onto the table.

"You won't regret this," he promises against my mouth. "I'm going to take such good care of you."

He proves it immediately, pushing the robe off my shoulders and spreading my legs.

"Already sore?" he asks, fingers sliding through my folds.

"A little."

"Good. Want you to feel me all day. Want you to remember who you belong to."

He pushes two fingers inside me and I gasp, still sensitive from last night.

"Gonna be gentle this time," he murmurs. "Gonna make love to you slow and sweet."

He does, carrying me back to bed and entering me carefully, f*****g me with long, slow strokes until we're both trembling and coming together.

After, lying tangled in his sheets, he outlines the arrangement.

"I'll transfer the first month's payment today. Your apartment will be packed up this week. I'll have a car service take you to and from campus. And I want you to make a list of anything you need—clothes, books, whatever. I'll take care of it."

"This is insane."

"Is it? Or is it the best decision you've ever made?"

I think about my life before this. The constant stress, the exhaustion, the fear of not making rent.

"Maybe both," I admit.

"I can live with that." He pulls me closer. "You're mine now, Trinity. And I take care of what's mine."

Two weeks later, I'm fully moved in.

He wasn't kidding about taking care of me. My tuition is paid through graduation. My old apartment is kept as storage but I haven't been back once. His closet now has an entire section just for the lingerie he keeps buying me.

And every night, without fail, he comes home and has me.

Sometimes it's sweet—he makes love to me slowly, telling me how beautiful I am.

Sometimes it's rough—he bends me over the nearest surface and f***s me until I'm screaming.

Sometimes it's creative—he ties me up, uses toys, explores every fantasy he's ever had.

And I love all of it.

"Can't get enough of you," he groans one night, f*****g me against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Anyone with a telescope could see us but I don't care. "Can't get enough of this perfect pussy."

"Damien—someone could see—"

"Let them. Let them watch me f**k what's mine." His hand wraps around my throat from behind. "Let the whole city know you belong to me."

He fills me for the second time that night and I'm boneless, completely satisfied.

"I have class tomorrow," I mention later, curled up in his bed. "Your old class, actually. Victorian Lit II with Professor Morrison."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I recommended you for it. Told Morrison you were my best student." He grins. "He has no idea I'm f*****g you."

"We have to be professional on campus."

"I know. Can you handle that?"

"Can you?"

"We'll see."

The next morning, I'm getting ready for class when he appears in the doorway.

"Come here before you go."

I walk to him and he pulls me close, kissing me thoroughly.

"I have a class in twenty minutes," I protest.

"I know. This won't take long."

He turns me around and bends me over the dresser.

"Damien—I don't have time—"

"Make time." He's already pulling up my skirt, pulling my panties aside. "Need to be inside you before you leave. Need to know my c*m is dripping down your thighs while you sit in class."

He pushes inside me and we both groan.

"f**k—still so tight—"

"Because you're huge—"

He f***s me hard and fast, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip. It's desperate and possessive and perfect.

"Gonna fill you up," he pants. "Gonna pump this p***y full of my c*m and send you to class dripping."

"Yes—please—"

He comes with a groan and I feel him pulse inside me, filling me. When he pulls out, his c*m immediately starts leaking down my thighs.

"Leave the panties off," he orders. "Want you to feel it. Want you to sit in that lecture hall feeling my c*m leak out of you and knowing you're mine."

I should protest. Should say this is too much.

Instead I step out of my panties and pick up my bag.

"See you tonight," I say.

His smile is wicked. "I'll be thinking about you. About my c*m inside you. About everyone in that room having no idea that you're mine."

I make it to class with two minutes to spare.

Professor Morrison starts his lecture on Wuthering Heights and I try to focus, but all I can think about is Damien. About what we did this morning. About his c*m slowly leaking out of me, soaking into the chair.

My phone buzzes silently.

How are you feeling? - Damien

Full. Messy. Yours. - Me

Good. Keep your legs crossed. Don't let it all leak out yet.

I clench my thighs together and try to pay attention to the lecture, but it's impossible. I'm hyperaware of the wetness between my legs, of the secret no one else knows.

Damien texts me throughout class, filthy things about what he's going to do to me tonight, and I'm squirming in my seat by the time it ends.

When I get home that evening, he's waiting.

"How was class?" he asks innocently.

"You know exactly how it was."

"Did anyone notice?"

"No."

"Shame. I was hoping someone would see how flushed you were. How you kept squirming." He pulls me close. "Did you keep your legs crossed like I told you?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." His hand slides up my skirt, fingers finding me still wet with his c*m. "Still messy for me. Still full of me."

"Always."

"Always," he agrees. "Because you're mine, Trinity. In every way. And I'm never letting you go."

He proves it by f*****g me right there against the door, adding more c*m to what's already inside me, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

This arrangement was supposed to be temporary. Transactional.

But somewhere along the way, it became everything.

And when he tells me he loves me, three months in, I realize I love him too.

"You know this is insane, right?" I say one night, lying in his arms. "The professor and the stripper."

"Former stripper. You're mine now. Just mine."

"Semantics."

"Important ones." He tilts my face up. "I love you, Trinity. I'm in love with you. This isn't about the money or the arrangement anymore. It's about you. About us."

"I love you too," I whisper.

"Good. Because you're stuck with me. Forever."

"Forever," I agree.

And I mean it.