I always had a soft spot for the boys who stayed after class.
So eager. So desperate to impress.
So easy to break.
I tell them it’s “extra credit,” but what I really want is their obedience.
One word from me and they sit up straight, tug their collars nervously, fumble to please.
I lean against my desk, slow and sensual, crossing my legs so they catch just a flash of lace.
“Tell me why you deserve to pass, baby.”
They stammer. Blush.
I smirk. It’s always the shy ones who beg the hardest.
Sometimes I make them write lines—I will serve Miss Meredith over and over until their hands shake.
Sometimes I just… watch them squirm.
The ones who beg the prettiest?
I reward them.
A slow unzip. A hand tangled in their hair. A whispered purr of approval.
Detention with Miss Meredith isn’t about punishment.
It’s about training.
And trust me… they never miss a session.
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