The Teacher's Supernova Trap - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading The Teacher's Supernova Trap, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of The Teacher's Supernova Trap.
Sophia didn't hurry to undress. Instead, she propped herself up on her elbows, fixing me with a smoldering gaze before curling her finger in a come-hither motion.
"Come here, handsome," she murmured, her voice thick with promise—enough to make my pulse kick into overdrive.
I didn't think. I just moved. In that moment, even if the world had ended, I'd have chosen her—this fantasy made flesh—over survival.
She lifted one leg, balancing her stiletto on her toes, meeting me halfway. I slid the shimmering shoe off slowly, revealing delicate feet encased in sheer black stockings. When I cradled them in my hands, she bit her lip, a quiet moan slipping free.
Our eyes locked as my fingers traced upward, the smooth fabric whispering under my touch until I reached the hem of her pencil skirt.
Electricity shot through my veins.
Sophia's lips parted. "Take me." Two words, and I was lost.
That night, we burned through every ounce of passion, our hunger lasting until dawn painted the sky.
I woke at noon, aching and spent.
The room was empty.
If not for the tangled sheets and the faint scent of her perfume, I might've believed it was a dream—some long-held fantasy my younger self had conjured.
Groaning at the stiffness in my muscles, I forced myself up, showered, checked out, and drove home.
While waiting for takeout, I shot Sophia a text, grinning. "Still walking okay, sweetheart? Last night treat you right?"
Hours passed. Radio silence.
Probably busy streaming. Those influencer quotas don't meet themselves—miss a day, and the algorithm buries you.
I pulled up the app. Her page was dark, just a few old guitar covers—some filmed in her bedroom, others outside.
No big deal. Even if this was it, at least I'd crossed something off the bucket list.
The next few days blurred into work, beers with friends—normal life.
But something nagged at me.
Sophia had disappeared. No replies. No DMs.
I messaged her on every platform, even asked in the VIP Inner Circle group.
"New here," I typed. "Anyone know why the host's been MIA?"
A user named EastKing replied, "No idea. She's always been flaky."
Another added, "Miss her? Keep sending Supernova Gifts. I've dropped nearly a hundred—still no meetup."
More complaints rolled in: "Fifty grand deep, and she ghosts every time."
My gut twisted.
Sophia had sworn influencers always delivered after enough gifts—especially the private requests.
So why had she blown off these whales… but met me after twenty Supernovas?
Something didn't add up.
I pushed harder. "This is the VIP group—no exclusive content?"
A veteran member laughed. "You got played, kid. She's never posted here."
"Not even a selfie," someone confirmed.
"But she chats during streams," another pointed out.
"Listen, rookie," a user wrote, "chasing these girls takes real cash. Start with ten grand, then aim for a mil. The chase is half the fun—unlike those cheap girls who fold after one big tip."
If they knew she'd been in my bed days ago…
As the group debated strategy, Sophia finally messaged:
"Miss me?"
My heart raced—but so did my suspicion.
"Where the hell have you been?" I fired back. "Why ignore me? The group says you've never met anyone, despite their gifts."
The unspoken question hung between us like a guillotine:
Why me?
"Come here, handsome," she murmured, her voice thick with promise—enough to make my pulse kick into overdrive.
I didn't think. I just moved. In that moment, even if the world had ended, I'd have chosen her—this fantasy made flesh—over survival.
She lifted one leg, balancing her stiletto on her toes, meeting me halfway. I slid the shimmering shoe off slowly, revealing delicate feet encased in sheer black stockings. When I cradled them in my hands, she bit her lip, a quiet moan slipping free.
Our eyes locked as my fingers traced upward, the smooth fabric whispering under my touch until I reached the hem of her pencil skirt.
Electricity shot through my veins.
Sophia's lips parted. "Take me." Two words, and I was lost.
That night, we burned through every ounce of passion, our hunger lasting until dawn painted the sky.
I woke at noon, aching and spent.
The room was empty.
If not for the tangled sheets and the faint scent of her perfume, I might've believed it was a dream—some long-held fantasy my younger self had conjured.
Groaning at the stiffness in my muscles, I forced myself up, showered, checked out, and drove home.
While waiting for takeout, I shot Sophia a text, grinning. "Still walking okay, sweetheart? Last night treat you right?"
Hours passed. Radio silence.
Probably busy streaming. Those influencer quotas don't meet themselves—miss a day, and the algorithm buries you.
I pulled up the app. Her page was dark, just a few old guitar covers—some filmed in her bedroom, others outside.
No big deal. Even if this was it, at least I'd crossed something off the bucket list.
The next few days blurred into work, beers with friends—normal life.
But something nagged at me.
Sophia had disappeared. No replies. No DMs.
I messaged her on every platform, even asked in the VIP Inner Circle group.
"New here," I typed. "Anyone know why the host's been MIA?"
A user named EastKing replied, "No idea. She's always been flaky."
Another added, "Miss her? Keep sending Supernova Gifts. I've dropped nearly a hundred—still no meetup."
More complaints rolled in: "Fifty grand deep, and she ghosts every time."
My gut twisted.
Sophia had sworn influencers always delivered after enough gifts—especially the private requests.
So why had she blown off these whales… but met me after twenty Supernovas?
Something didn't add up.
I pushed harder. "This is the VIP group—no exclusive content?"
A veteran member laughed. "You got played, kid. She's never posted here."
"Not even a selfie," someone confirmed.
"But she chats during streams," another pointed out.
"Listen, rookie," a user wrote, "chasing these girls takes real cash. Start with ten grand, then aim for a mil. The chase is half the fun—unlike those cheap girls who fold after one big tip."
If they knew she'd been in my bed days ago…
As the group debated strategy, Sophia finally messaged:
"Miss me?"
My heart raced—but so did my suspicion.
"Where the hell have you been?" I fired back. "Why ignore me? The group says you've never met anyone, despite their gifts."
The unspoken question hung between us like a guillotine:
Why me?
End of The Teacher's Supernova Trap Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to The Teacher's Supernova Trap book page.