Page 29 of Blurred Boundaries

“Are you proposing that corruption may serve political order?” Jan asks, frowning slightly.

Taj shrugs. “Historically, yes. Patronage can prevent conflict.”

“Let’s suppose corruption stabilises politics temporarily,” I say, stepping back into the conversation. “Does usefulness then make it ethical? Because that’s the core of our discussion.”

The plug is still working between my cheeks, but as class continues, I’m starting to get used to the steady vibration. Watching my students now, I realise they basically teach themselves, and I’m surely going to miss them. One of them in particular, if I’m being honest.

It wasn’t like this at the start, they were attentive, sure, and eager to contribute. But they were also careful back then, hesitant, and more concerned about getting things right than actually thinking them through. I remember the pauses and awkward glances, and the way they would look at me first before speaking, like they needed permission. Now they don’t wait, they interrupt each other, disagree properly, ask better questions, and there is something satisfying about watching it happen, knowing I helped build this space where they can do it on their own.

I look around the room again, taking it in for one last time. Their familiar faces, the way they sit, the little habits I’ve picked up on. Who leans forward when they are about to argue, who crosses their arms when they disagree, who already has a response ready before the question is even finished.

But when Taj increases the vibration of the plug again, whatever thoughtful and reflective version of me that’s enjoying the moment vanishes. I try to fight the sensation rolling through me. I swear I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or kill him. My cock is starting to stir in my trousers, and I just hope I can keep it from getting fully hard.

“No,” Eliška answers, pulling me back in. “Slavery was also once ‘economically useful’.”

“That comparison is extreme,” Taj says immediately.

“Actually, the principle is the same,” Angelika says, not missing a beat. “The point is, usefulness doesn’t equal morality.”

I nod, letting them take it further, the rest of the class continuing in that vein, building on each other’s points, challenging without waiting for me to step in, and by the end of it I’m proud of all of them, including Taj, who may one day become a corrupt politician.

“We have something for you,” Angelika says, stepping out from her seat and walking towards me with a wrapped box in her hand.

“Wow, you guys shouldn’t have,” I say, genuinely touched by their thoughtfulness.

They all join me at the front to take selfies, crowding in close until there is barely any space left between us. Phones come out from every direction, Angelika telling the rest to squeeze in, and I end up in the middle of it, half turned and half pulled, trying to keep up with which camera I’m supposed to look at while also managing the sensation still coursing through me from the plug.

Taj appears beside me, and even though I don’t see him walk up, I feel him there. When I finally do glance sideways, he throws a wide and easy smile at me like he isn’t responsible for my current predicament. But I don’t miss what happens when one of the students leans in too close. He’s not even trying to hide the hint of irritation on his face. I still don’t understand how he does that, how his face can soften one second and then be set in a grim line the next. I find it confusing, but I also find it hot as hell, which kind of says a lot about me, none of it particularly flattering.

Because yeah, I’m definitely mad in the head.

The lecture hall clears out, voices trailing into the corridor, chairs scraping back, doors opening and closing until silence takes over the room.

I’m still at the front, disconnecting my laptop from the projector and sliding it back into my bag. I can feel Taj behind me. He isn’t saying anything, but he’s close enough for me to notice his presence. I’m about to turn back to him when the vibration of the plug kicks up another level, stronger this time and it zaps straight through me before I can brace for it.

“Holy fuck!” I almost wail, the words tumbling out of me as my knees give out. I have to grab the edge of the table to keep myself from falling, but my grip is clumsy at best while my breath stutters and refuses to settle. I stay like that, bent forward and trying to remember how to stand upright.

I hate him.

I actually hate him.

Taj steps into my personal space and I can feel how hard he is. “I’ve been thinking about bending you over this table since class started,” he says, voice hoarse and rougher than it had been earlier.

He reaches for my belt, and the sound of it coming loose snaps something in my head back into place, enough for the rational part of my brain to surface and tell me to shut this down, to wait until we get back to my apartment. I know this is a terrible idea, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because all I can focus on is how much I want him, so much so that I’m already leaning into him instead of away. It really isn’t my fault that my dick has taken over my brain, and with the way my hole is contracting around the butt plug, I want nothing than to be fucked right here, right now.

“You’re so bad for me,” I grunt when he rolls a condom on my leaking cock.

He chuckles, a little too pleased with himself. “Don’t want you messing the floor up.”

He pulls down my trousers just enough, leaving them caught at my thighs, and removes the plug. I feel the loss of the fullness immediately, but not for long because Taj replaces the plug with two lubed fingers, and I’m so stretched and wet that they enter easily. He scissors his fingers in me for a little bit. Only a few seconds later, he removes his fingers, and the blunt head of his cock pushes into me. My body yields easily, adjusting around the pressure as he starts thrusting into me. My head dips lower, arm sliding forward a fraction before I curl my fingers against the table. My whole body is thrumming with both need and the relief of him inside me.

“Muffin,” he moans, one hand tightening on my hips, the other fisting my dreads as his thrusts pick up pace.

“Yes,” I hiss when his cock brushes my prostate, tingles spreading across my body.

“It was so hot watching you in front of the class while I controlled your butt plug,” he rasps.

“You’re shit for that,” I say but it comes out as a moan.