Bent Over His Desk：The Principal's Dirty Secret - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading Bent Over His Desk：The Principal's Dirty Secret, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of Bent Over His Desk：The Principal's Dirty Secret.
The next morning at school, I fought to keep my mind on work, but my thoughts kept drifting.
During lunch break, I made my way to the library for research materials. The quiet hallway echoed with my footsteps—until an iron grip seized my arm. I whirled around to face Principal Vincent Lowell's piercing gaze.
I tugged halfheartedly, painfully aware of nearby classrooms. One wrong move could spark rumors. Head bowed, I trailed him to the administrators' private lounge like a condemned prisoner.
The click of the locking door sent chills down my spine. As blackout curtains swallowed the light, my stomach twisted with dread. Every instinct told me to bolt.
"Principal Lowell, this is inappropriate," I whispered, backing toward the bookshelves. "I should leave."
The man was everything society admired—wealthy, devastatingly handsome, wielding power like a birthright. But I refused to be another notch on his bedpost, my virtue traded for temporary protection.
His laugh turned arctic. "Leaving? After I caught you touching yourself in the faculty office?" He produced a phone, thumb hovering over send. "One step toward that door, and every male teacher gets front-row seats to your little performance."
My breath left me in a whoosh. The blood drained from my face as realization struck—the security camera angle from behind my desk. He'd weaponized my private moment.
When he advanced, I threw up defensive arms, retreating until bookshelves bit into my back. His palms slammed against the wood on either side of my head, caging me in.
"P-Principal, I have an open class tomorrow," I stammered, fingers clawing at the shelf. "I need to prepare—"
"Bad girls get punished." His whisper curled around me like smoke.
I went boneless with surrender—only for him to suddenly step back. "Not today. Next time, I expect you on your knees." With that, he vanished, leaving me to compose my rumpled clothes and shattered dignity.
The reprieve made no sense. He'd won. Why stop?
That evening, my phone shattered the silence of my apartment. Vincent's name glared from the screen.
"White camisole. Black pleated skirt. The Ritz-Carlton. Now." His command left no room for refusal.
I opened my mouth to protest.
"The video goes viral in twenty minutes unless you're here in fifteen." The line went dead.
Teeth chattering, I dressed mechanically. Tonight ended this. I'd destroy that footage if it killed me.
The hotel door yanked inward before my knuckles touched wood a second time. Darkness swallowed me whole. My knees knocked together.
"No—I came for the video!" I shoved against his chest.
"After," he purred, whiskey-laced breath scalding my ear. "Then it disappears."
When I hesitated, he misread my terror for consent. "Relax, Natalia. Adults enjoy themselves without these dramatics." The vulgarity burned my cheeks.
"Vincent, I've never... I'm not..." My voice cracked. I should've run. Instead, I froze like a rabbit in headlights.
Abruptly, the television blazed to life—illuminating my own gasping image on screen. My moans ricocheted through the suite. Humiliation scorched through me.
"You bastard—"
I was well and truly trapped. All I'd ever wanted was to teach. Not auction my body for blackmail.
The suffocating silence broke with three sharp raps at the door. Salvation.
Vincent ignored it initially—probably expecting room service. When the knocking persisted, he cursed and adjusted his suit. A glare sent me scrambling beneath the four-poster bed. My career couldn't survive this scandal.
"Sweetheart?" A woman's melodic voice floated in. "I saw you in the lobby... it is our anniversary."
My pulse pounded in my ears as high heels clicked toward the bed. Was this a setup?
"Darling, I was changing," Vincent oozed, the bed dipping as he embraced her. "Booked this suite just for us."
Rustling fabric. The floral scent of roses. Had this actually been their romantic getaway? Then why summon me?
Their murmured endearments turned my stomach. Would I spend the night trapped under here?
"Join me in the shower?" she cooed.
Thank heaven—my escape route.
The bathroom door snicked shut. I army-crawled across plush carpet, eased the suite door open, and fled into the mercifully empty hallway.
During lunch break, I made my way to the library for research materials. The quiet hallway echoed with my footsteps—until an iron grip seized my arm. I whirled around to face Principal Vincent Lowell's piercing gaze.
I tugged halfheartedly, painfully aware of nearby classrooms. One wrong move could spark rumors. Head bowed, I trailed him to the administrators' private lounge like a condemned prisoner.
The click of the locking door sent chills down my spine. As blackout curtains swallowed the light, my stomach twisted with dread. Every instinct told me to bolt.
"Principal Lowell, this is inappropriate," I whispered, backing toward the bookshelves. "I should leave."
The man was everything society admired—wealthy, devastatingly handsome, wielding power like a birthright. But I refused to be another notch on his bedpost, my virtue traded for temporary protection.
His laugh turned arctic. "Leaving? After I caught you touching yourself in the faculty office?" He produced a phone, thumb hovering over send. "One step toward that door, and every male teacher gets front-row seats to your little performance."
My breath left me in a whoosh. The blood drained from my face as realization struck—the security camera angle from behind my desk. He'd weaponized my private moment.
When he advanced, I threw up defensive arms, retreating until bookshelves bit into my back. His palms slammed against the wood on either side of my head, caging me in.
"P-Principal, I have an open class tomorrow," I stammered, fingers clawing at the shelf. "I need to prepare—"
"Bad girls get punished." His whisper curled around me like smoke.
I went boneless with surrender—only for him to suddenly step back. "Not today. Next time, I expect you on your knees." With that, he vanished, leaving me to compose my rumpled clothes and shattered dignity.
The reprieve made no sense. He'd won. Why stop?
That evening, my phone shattered the silence of my apartment. Vincent's name glared from the screen.
"White camisole. Black pleated skirt. The Ritz-Carlton. Now." His command left no room for refusal.
I opened my mouth to protest.
"The video goes viral in twenty minutes unless you're here in fifteen." The line went dead.
Teeth chattering, I dressed mechanically. Tonight ended this. I'd destroy that footage if it killed me.
The hotel door yanked inward before my knuckles touched wood a second time. Darkness swallowed me whole. My knees knocked together.
"No—I came for the video!" I shoved against his chest.
"After," he purred, whiskey-laced breath scalding my ear. "Then it disappears."
When I hesitated, he misread my terror for consent. "Relax, Natalia. Adults enjoy themselves without these dramatics." The vulgarity burned my cheeks.
"Vincent, I've never... I'm not..." My voice cracked. I should've run. Instead, I froze like a rabbit in headlights.
Abruptly, the television blazed to life—illuminating my own gasping image on screen. My moans ricocheted through the suite. Humiliation scorched through me.
"You bastard—"
I was well and truly trapped. All I'd ever wanted was to teach. Not auction my body for blackmail.
The suffocating silence broke with three sharp raps at the door. Salvation.
Vincent ignored it initially—probably expecting room service. When the knocking persisted, he cursed and adjusted his suit. A glare sent me scrambling beneath the four-poster bed. My career couldn't survive this scandal.
"Sweetheart?" A woman's melodic voice floated in. "I saw you in the lobby... it is our anniversary."
My pulse pounded in my ears as high heels clicked toward the bed. Was this a setup?
"Darling, I was changing," Vincent oozed, the bed dipping as he embraced her. "Booked this suite just for us."
Rustling fabric. The floral scent of roses. Had this actually been their romantic getaway? Then why summon me?
Their murmured endearments turned my stomach. Would I spend the night trapped under here?
"Join me in the shower?" she cooed.
Thank heaven—my escape route.
The bathroom door snicked shut. I army-crawled across plush carpet, eased the suite door open, and fled into the mercifully empty hallway.
End of Bent Over His Desk：The Principal's Dirty Secret Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Bent Over His Desk：The Principal's Dirty Secret book page.