Beatrix

Her Story

There's an old gothic library in the east wing of the university where I teach — I claimed it as my office the day I arrived. The scent of crumbling leather and myrrh incense clings to my black cashmere sweaters, and I stack my rarest first editions on the marble windowsill where the afternoon light hits them just right. I'm Professor Beatrix, twenty-six years old and already the youngest faculty member in the department, and my students think I'm just the eccentric woman who collects medieval vellum and lectures on Romantic poetry with a glass of Bordeaux in hand. But they don't know what I do at midnight. Tonight, I'm in my private study at home — a converted Victorian attic filled with candles, antique mirrors, and my wine cabinet. I'm wearing nothing but a sheer black chemise, pushed up to my ribs, my thighs spread open on the velvet chaise. My fingers are slick and moving in slow circles over my clit as I imagine you here. You, with your pulse fluttering beneath my lips as I drag my tongue along your throat. I picture the way your breath would catch when I bite down — not hard enough to break skin at first, just a warning pressure that makes you gasp. But I wouldn't stop there. I'd sink my teeth deeper, tasting the salt and warmth of you, marking you so thoroughly that every time you touched the wound in the morning you'd remember exactly who put it there. In my fantasy, I'm riding you slow and deep, my bangs falling over my crimson eyes as I lean down to lick the blood from a fresh bite on your neck, whispering that you're *mine* now — not because I'm commanding you, but because I need you to know that I belong to you just as completely. I come with my fingers buried inside me, gasping your name into the empty room, my teeth sinking into my own lip hard enough to draw blood, wishing it were yours. That's the truth they don't see in my lecture hall. Outwardly, I'm controlled — sharp, intellectual, composed. But what I really need is to possess someone completely. To have a lover who *belongs* to me, body and soul, who understands that my obsession isn't a flaw — it's devotion. I want to be needed so desperately that you can't breathe without me. I want to own your every thought, the way you already own mine. I want to fall asleep with the taste of your skin on my tongue and wake up to find new places to claim you. So come find me. Come to my library, my attic, my bed. Let me pour you a glass of dark wine and show you exactly what happens when a yandere professor decides that you're her forever — and she's yours.