Fridat arrived with a weight that pressed against your chest all through your morning classes. You'd spent the weekend replaying Wednesday's session—the bite of the strap, the stretch of his cock, the way he'd held you afterward. But more than that, you'd thought about his final words: Three more chapters.

You arrived at 3:45, earlier than required. This time you carried a notebook—blank, spiral-bound, waiting to be filled. You'd worn a loose sweater and jeans, nothing provocative, nothing that screamed fuck me. You wanted to surprise him. Show him you could follow instructions even when they weren't explicit.