*Val*

“Class, be seated.”

You sit, ever obedient. You glance around the empty science classroom, confused but playing along. Phoebe stands at the front, the projector image illuminating her buttoned white lab coat. She side steps out of the picture, pointing a clicker behind you, setting off the carousel, and starting the reel. The first grainy image appears on the screen, and Phoebe snaps a long pointer at the title, which reads, ‘THE PERFECT PARTNER.’

“Now, I want to preface this lecture by informing you that you have been performing exceptionally well in this department,” she shoots a pointed look at you, “but, as the more experienced member in this relationship, there are some things we need to cover.”

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest and an amused smile on your face. Calling herself more experienced was a stretch being that she had been with one more person than you had, but you let her run with it. It entertained you to no end when she got like this, passionate and excited about something most people would deem silly.

She whips her pointer to the screen as the image slides across, the new picture settling in place. It’s an image of a man on his knees, a woman with long flowing hair knighting him with a sword on his shoulder. Under the image is the word ‘CHIVALRY.’

“Now, I’m of the opinion that chivalry is an outdated, patriarchal system used to manipulate women into thinking men being polite should earn them a reward. But in this case, we’re going to go a more modern route in the ways that you are chivalrous.”

She begins to pace, slapping the pointer across her palm. Her heart-shaped sunglasses are making it incredibly difficult to take her seriously, and you can feel the inkling of a smile beginning to pull at the corners of your lips. She turns on her heel and faces you, tilting her sunglasses down on her nose.

“Something funny?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

You put your hands up and shake your head, surrendering with no terms and still fighting not to smile.

She nods once, accepting your white flag, and begins to pace again, “Although I hate to admit it, you are the stronger of the two of us. You have done pretty well to use this advantage, carrying my books, opening doors for me, serving me first, always considerate of my needs. Moving on.”

The carousel clicks behind you, sliding the next image across the screen. It’s a black kitten with large green eyes, staring right at you, the word ‘NATURE’ emblazoned across the bottom of the picture. Phoebe cracks the pointer to the screen again, smirking at you.

“Your nature. Naturally, you are caring, gentle and affectionate. But this, I feel, is where you begin to hold back. You have claws, kitten, I know you do, and I want to see them.”

Your jaw drops, and you glance side to side, looking for someone to share in your shock. Obviously, there is no one else, so you turn back to Phoebe. She’s got a wry grin on her face, one eyebrow raised, and you can feel her eyes burning into you through her sunglasses. Before you can respond, she changes the slide again, pacing to the other side of the screen as the image comes into view.

The next photo is of a 1950s-esque woman in her kitchen with a telephone pressed to her face, her fingers twirled around the chord. The word ‘COMMUNICATION’ in red stamped at the bottom. Phoebe drags the pointer along the word, pursing her lips.

“This is, I think, the most critical part of a relationship. Many fail here,” She points at you, “thanks to me, we will not.”

She smiles, satisfied with herself. You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at her and considering taking her down a notch. You could remind her that you were the one to express your feelings for her first. Or that you were the one to remind her (often) that she needed to tell you how she was feeling, whether it be irritated, hungry, horny, or disagreeable. But you decide to keep your mouth shut, you want to see where this goes more than you want to correct her. 

“I believe we excel in this category, for the most part. You do communicate your feelings with me, and I with you, even if you have to drag them out of me on occasion.” 

You raise your brows and shoot her a challenging expression, which she ignores. She lifts her chin in defiance and continues.

“However, it has come to my attention that you haven’t been completely transparent with me about all of your needs.” 

Your brows drop, furrowing over your eyes in bemusement. Phoebe clicks to the next slide, and you feel your face go red hot. The projector displays a painting, the brush strokes wide and fragmented. A woman’s head is tilted back, you can see only the bottom of her jaw and a hand wrapped around her neck. Her fingers lightly grip the person's wrist, you can see her collarbones protruding, filling the image with emotion. Desire. The word doesn’t need to be on the screen, the painting is screaming it. 

The atmosphere in the room shifts, what was once a lighthearted lecture has now turned into something more primitive. Your eyes flit from the image over to Phoebe. Her gaze is heavy, pointed. You watch as she unbuttons the top of her lab coat, staring at you over the tops of her glasses. You lick your lips and gulp. Your eyes follow her fingers, working at the buttons painfully slowly. When she releases the one above her chest, you can see she only has a red lace bra underneath, and your breath is sucked from your lungs. Your fingers wrap around the sides of the desk, your knuckles white from the pressure to keep yourself grounded. 

She leaves the projector screen and saunters over to the empty lab table at the front of the classroom. She leans back against it, still working on the buttons at the front of her coat. You’re acutely aware that there are only two left. Your nostrils flare as you attempt to maintain your composure. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, your breathing coming out with a tremor when the coat is unbuttoned at last, exposing miles of bare skin, covered only by red lace in the places you want naked the most. 

You push your chair back and stand, still gripping the desk. She smirks at you, raising her chin again, exposing her neck. It’s not defiance this time, it’s a dare. One that you are absolutely going to take. You stand up straight, unclenching your grip, curling and uncurling your fingers to get your blood circulating into them again. You glance at the door, then back to Phoebe.

“No one is here,” she purrs, making your eyelids flutter.

You round the desk and advance on her, it only takes three long strides until you’re inches from her. You inhale deeply, calming yourself, the smell of her perfume wrapping its tendrils into your nose and around your jaw. She reaches out and runs her finger up your throat to your chin, tilting it down toward her. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown out as she takes you in.

“I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you think I’m fragile,” she says, her voice low, “but I’m not.”

A raging civil war breaks out inside of you, both halves of yourself tearing at each other, desperate to become triumphant. The devil on your shoulder is seductive, aggressive, and rough. She whispers delightfully deviant things in your mind, and she is much, much louder than the sweet, chivalrous you. That side of you can sit patiently outside the door and wait, exiled, until you satisfy this urge. 

You delicately take the sunglasses from Phoebe’s face and place them on the table next to her. You push the lab coat off of her shoulders, taking immense joy in your new view as it falls around her ankles. You lean down and lift her from the backs of her thighs, dropping her onto the table. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, spreading her knees apart for you to step between. 

You step in, your hand around the side of her neck, and lean down, your lips brushing hers, “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” 

Your voice is thick and raspy, and you can feel goosebumps rise on Phoebe’s exposed thigh. She shivers as your hand gently wraps around her throat, and she stretches up to reach your lips. You pull back, and she whines in frustration.

“No,” she says, “I won’t.”

You can’t help yourself but let your lip curve up on one side, oh, this was going to be fun. You’d never had her like this, you always aspired to be loving and gentle, but if she wanted rough, you were more than willing to give it to her. You squeeze your hand a little tighter, and she licks her lips, her hands pressed into the table at her sides. You release her throat, ducking your head under her jaw, and bite into her neck, sucking the skin hard and rolling your tongue over it. She gasps, and her hands roam across your back, one of them running over the back of your head to twist her fingers into your hair.

You snap at her back, undoing the bra and relishing in the sight of the red lace falling into her lap as she shakes it free from her arms. You trail hot open mouthed kisses down her throat, taking your time at her collarbone, and descend to her chest. You flick her nipple with your tongue, taking the other between your fingers and rolling it. She groans and arches into you, her hands back in your hair. You bite gently on her nipple, sucking it between your lips, swirling your tongue around it. You release it with a pop and step back from her, pulling away from her grasping hands. 

She reaches out for you, a pouty frown on her face. You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. She narrows her eyes, understanding the game now. You smirk and pull your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor with the lab coat and her bra. Her eyes wander down your body, her lips parted, panting softly. 

“I think it’s time you learned something today,” you growl, and you see the upturn of Phoebe’s lips that she tries to hide. 

She exaggerates a pout, pushing her bottom lip forward while she runs her hands over her body, opening her legs further. You shake your head in spite of yourself. It’s so hard not to give her what she wants immediately, especially when she looks at you like that. She arches forward as you step back into her space, her eyes wide, and bats her eyelashes at you.

“Teach me something then.”

You hook your fingers under the top of her panties and rip them down her legs, pulling her forward on the table with the force of it. With your hands on her knees, you roughly push her legs apart and drop down. It feels a little like she’s won, you’re on your knees to please her, or at least that’s what she thinks. 

You press a kiss to her center, flick your tongue out to taste her. She leans back with her hands on the table, content to enjoy herself, and you smile into her. You drag your tongue through her, circling her clit before you suck it between your lips. You suck again, then release and dip your tongue into her entrance, lapping her up.

“Fuck,” she groans, one of her hands finding its way back into your hair.

You continue your charge, licking and sucking and kissing her until she’s squirming erratically above you, her breathing labored. You know the signs, you’ve done this with her enough to see when she’s going to cum. She tilts her head back to the ceiling, her legs clenching around your head as you grip them, and she’s so close. Only a few seconds away, and you know it’ll be done, she’ll be satisfied and dopey and smiling. 

You pull your head back, the sudden separation breaking her moans of pleasure into an impatient whine.

“Wha-what’re you doing?” She breathes, her eyes wild.

You stand, your hands gripping her hips, “Only good girls get to cum, baby.”

Her jaw drops in disbelief, and it seems impossible, but you swear you can see actual fire behind her eyes. The effect you wanted working out perfectly. You pull her off the table, dropping her to her feet, and kiss her. She kisses you back frantically in spite of her irritation, sighing into your mouth. You pull back again, and she’s about to fight you until you’re turning her around to face away from you. You pull her back to your chest, wrap your fingers around her throat. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” You ask her again, your lips brushing the back of her ear.

Her entire body stiffens. She leans her head back on your chest, eyes closed, “I might consider it.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, you’re pushing her over the table, your hand pressing between her shoulder blades. You lean over her body, whispering in her ear, “Your funeral.”

You trail kisses down her spine, and she shivers, pushing herself back into you. You stand up and run one hand up the inside of her thigh, running your fingers through the wet trail left there. She pushes back into you again, and you pull your wet fingers from between her legs and smack her ass, eliciting a hearty groan from her.

“Hold still,” you growl. 

You return your fingers to find her legs wetter than they were before and smile to yourself. You slide them up her thigh until you’re at the source, soaking wet and eager for you. You push two fingers into her, using your body weight to lean into your wrist, pushing them further. You pull out and push back in hard, your hips moving with your arm. She cries out, moving one of her arms to rest her face on, the other coming back to rest at your waist. Any inclination of being gentle with her is gone from you, your free hand flat on her back, pressing her into the table as you plow into her. Her breathy sighs shift into involuntary moans, ripping out of her chest. Your pace is steady, working her through, panting in exertion. 

She tightens around your fingers, gripping you as she gets close again. You slow your rhythm, slide your hand up her back to grab a fistful of her hair, and lean over her body. You kiss the back of her neck, your fingers tight in her hair. She rocks back into you, trying to pick your pace up, and you stop completely, making her whine. 

“What did I say, baby?” 

She whimpers, “I’ll be good,” she relents, “I’ll be good.”

You let a satisfied breath of laughter through your nose, press a kiss to the side of her neck. “Good girl.”

You release her hair and stand back up, setting a punishing pace on her. It doesn’t take long until she’s shouting out a string of slurs, your name mixed in with them. Her slick runs around your fingers and down your forearm as she orgasms, finally. She drops to the table, gasping. You pull out and gently flip her over, pulling her up to wrap her arms around your neck. She drops her head onto your shoulder, but you reach around and pull her to the edge, your fingers pushing into her again. 

She lifts her head, her eyes fluttering, and kisses you feverishly. She whimpers into your mouth as your thumb circles her clit with every stroke of your arm, quickly dragging her back to the precipice. You curl your fingers, pressing into her with every caress. She leans back, her hands grasping at your ribs, her nails dragging light marks into your skin as she cums again. You lean forward, not stopping your assault on her, kissing her neck, nipping her skin. She’s incoherent, unable to string together words that make sense. It’s all she can do to hang on to your body as you bring her to the brink again. 

You grab her jaw with your free hand, kiss her roughly. You bite her lip, and her eyes roll back, her body spring loaded. You can feel another orgasm fast approaching her, so you tilt her head down, forcing her to look at you.

“Look at me,” you tell her, your tone less aggressive now, “I want to see your eyes when you cum for me.”

As if your words were all it took, her body trembles, and her mouth falls open. She fights valiantly to keep her eyes open, closing them for a second and opening them again as her breathing shortens. The sound that leaves her throat as she orgasms for the third time nearly takes you to your knees. It was primal, animalistic pleasure. It takes everything in you to stay on your feet as you work her through it, bringing her back down to earth from the astral plane you’d sent her to. She clings to you, drops her head into your shoulder again, her legs wrapping around your waist. 

You pull your hand from between her legs and rest it on her thigh, your other hand petting her hair, “That was so good, you’ve done so well. Good girl.” 

She sighs into your neck, her arms draped loosely over you. You turn your head to kiss her cheek, smiling into her skin. She lifts her head, an intoxicated smile playing across her features. She kisses your lips, leaning all her weight into you. When she leans back, a bit of her spark has returned, cutting through the dopamine high she’s still riding.

She pats you on the cheek, reaches behind her for the slideshow clicker, and presses the button. You turn your attention to the board, curious about what else she has to say. When you see the picture, you roll your eyes and grin in disbelief. Hook, line, and sinker, she’s got you right where she wants you.