"The Trap"
The Student:
I knew she was watching.
Not just the way teachers glance no.
Her eyes followed like slow flames,
curling around my limbs,
tracing the edges of my shirt,
pausing where skin forgot to hide.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
That stare
it wrote its own language across my throat,
a silent dialect of hunger,
spoken only when no one else was looking.
She called me after class.
Not with words
just a tilt of her chin
and a smirk that told me
obedience was expected, not requested.
Inside her office,
the air smelled like ink and heat.
She didn't ask me to sit.
She didn't ask anything.
Instead
she walked to the window,
pulled the blinds down
like she was undressing the light.
And then she turned.
"You're always staring," she said,
her voice low, amused.
"But do you even know what you're looking for?"
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth,
my pulse a traitor in my wrists.
She stepped closer.
My knees did not hold virtue.
She placed her hand on the desk
close. Too close.
Her fingers long, pale, cruelly elegant.
They tapped once. Slowly.
The sound echoed in my heart.
"You want something you don't understand," she whispered.
"And I… I take what's already halfway mine."
The Teacher:
She trembled like a trapped thing
but didn't run.
Oh no, she stayed.
Good girls always do until they break.
She smells like nerves and the beginning of ruin.
Her lips twitch in denial,
but her thighs are traitorous tight together, breath shallow.
I can see the dream building in her,
and I'm going to ruin it with a smile.
"Take your bag off."
She hesitates. I wait.
And when she obeys
when the strap slides off her shoulder
that's the sound of the first thread unraveling.
"Do you think I haven't noticed?" I say,
voice velvet-wrapped steel.
"How your eyes linger?
How your breath catches when I walk past?"
I lean forward.
So close, she could measure madness in my lashes.
I don't touch her.
Not yet.
Desire is best when it starves a little.
But I do let my voice fall into her ear:
"You've already made the mistake, darling.
You've already imagined it
now I just have to make it real."
Her knees buckle.
Not from fear.
From the way her own body betrays her longing.
I let her fall into the chair.
Let her drown there.
And I watch
as the trap closes,
as the line between student and prey disappears.
She's mine.
She just doesn't know what that means yet.