Obey me, Dean. (Erotica)
Bellmere University wasn't supposed to be a punishment. But it became one the second Aria Lancaster met him.
Sebastian Wolfe-the new Dean. Billionaire. Ruthless. And her father's oldest friend.
He's twice her age, cold as ice, and dangerously in control.
She's innocent, defiant, and off-limits.
One mistake lands her in his office.
One punishment strips her bare.
And one rule changes everything:
Obey him, or be expelled.
But what starts as punishment quickly turns into obsession.
And when secrets unravel and control slips, there's only one thing left to do:
Break the rules. Or break each other.
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Chapter 2
Aria's POV:
"Nowhere important."
"Mmm." She popped a bite of banana into her mouth. "You're going to explode one day, Aria. You know that, right?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Not when the thought of seeing *him* again made my stomach twist.
Dean Wolfe's office was less "administrator" and more "CEO who moonlights as a villain."
Dark oak bookshelves, leather chairs, and a glass decanter of something expensive on the corner of his desk. I stood outside for almost two minutes before knocking.
"Enter."
His voice didn't sound surprised. It sounded rehearsed.
When I stepped in, he didn't look up right away. He just kept writing with a fountain pen like he wasn't the same man who'd ordered me to my knees twelve hours ago.
"You've made quite an impression," he said flatly. I could sense in his voice that he meant more than that.
I didn't know if he was angry or trying not to be.
"I didn't know it was you," I said quickly.
"That's not the point." He set the pen down and finally looked at me. Same eyes. Same intensity. But this time, no leather gloves or blindfolds. Just power. The intensity in his eyes was telling me something else entirely; I could not understand. There was something in me that wanted more than what I was seeing.
The way he was looking at me from head to toe and then stopped at my breasts for a few seconds.
With a smirk on his face, I knew what he wanted. And my body responded in a way that indicated the answer to what he was asking.
"You could have ruined everything," he said. "There are rules here, Aria. Ones you don't get to break because you're bored or acting out."
I clenched my jaw. "I didn't mean to-"
"You meant to sneak into a private event, dressed like a whore and a stripper, your breasts pointing towards me, ready to be sucked, looking to be punished?"
My face flushed; I felt embarrassed, but with the way he was talking about how I dressed that night, I could feel the heat between my thighs, wetness pooling as he spoke.
"No. I didn't know what that room was."
"You knew enough to stay," he snapped. "You liked it."
My silence gave me away.
He stood slowly, walking around the desk until he was in front of me. Tall. Imposing. Familiar in a way that made my skin hum. I closed my eyes as he was about to touch my face. I was waiting for the moment to feel his touch. I should not be feeling this way towards this devil, but I couldn't control my body.
Instead, I felt nothing. I opened my eyes; his hand was still there, hanging in the air, and then he held back.
"I'm not here to teach you about curiosity," he said. "I'm here to teach you control."
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
"Then you won't last a week at Bellmere."
The silence between us was electric.
"You'll report here next Wednesday," he said. "A private session. You'll follow instructions, and you'll keep your mouth shut."
I stepped forward. "And if I don't?"
He smirked. "Then I'll find a punishment that fits."
I didn't breathe again until I was out in the hall.
What kind of punishment? I wondered. I couldn't wait to get out of the room so that I could come out of my fantasies of him touching me.
Dean Wolfe wasn't just dangerous.
He was addicting.
And I'd just walked into the fire.
**********
It was finally Wednesday. I couldn't stop imagining what he had in store for me. Bellmere's hallways were designed like a maze, but this morning, they felt like a funnel-every corridor pushing me toward the inevitable. Toward him.
Dean Sebastian Wolfe.
The name had been etched into Bellmere's glossy website and whispered through dorm rooms like he was a myth. Tech billionaire. War veteran. Academic savior. And now, apparently, disciplinarian of the year.
None of them knew what I knew.
None of them had knelt on the rug in his Red Room, tied up and blindfolded, mistaking domination for curiosity.
I should've worn something sexier, maybe something black and backless like the girls Sloan Maddox hung out with. But my brain short-circuited trying to dress for a man who had seen me on my knees. So I wore denim and a hoodie. The opposite of submissive.
When I reached his office door, it was already open.
"Close it behind you," Wolfe said without looking up. He was sitting behind the same dark oak desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pen in hand.
I shut the door. Click. Like the start of a countdown.
"Sit."
I sat. Hard.
He still hadn't looked at me.
"You've managed to attract quite a bit of attention," he said, flipping through papers. "Professors don't like surprises. Neither do deans."
"Guess I'm special."
Now he looked up. That silver gaze hit like frostbite. "You're not special, Aria. You're impulsive. Reckless. And infuriatingly entitled."
"And yet, here we are."
Something flickered across his face. Not amusement. Not quite anger either. Something in between.
I knew what his face was talking about, but I couldn't think that between us.
"I'm giving you a chance to stay here," he said. "That's more than you deserve."
"Why?"
"Because I saw something in you."
He stood, walking around to lean against the front of the desk. "Most students here follow the rules because they were raised to obey. You disobeyed on instinct."
He crouched in front of me.
"That makes you dangerous. And potentially useful."
"To who?"
"To me," with a lustful voice.
My breath caught.
"You'll continue to meet me here every Wednesday afternoon," he said. "We'll discuss your progress. Your behavior. And when necessary-your punishment."
"You can't be serious."
His smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, I'm dead serious."
I stood up, but he didn't move.
"Let me guess," I said. "You'll call it detention?"
"If you like. Or we could just call it obedience training."
I flushed. "You're insane."
"Only about things that matter."
"And I matter now?"
He stepped closer, voice lowering. "More than you should."
The room shrank around us.
He reached behind me and plucked a sealed envelope from the desk.
"Your first assignment."
I took it with shaking fingers.
"Read it. Complete it. Bring it to me next Wednesday."
I looked down at the envelope, then back up at him. "And if I don't?"
He smiled.
"Then we escalate."
******
I opened the envelope in my room with Jules peeking over my shoulder like we were cracking open top-secret files.
Inside was a single sheet of thick parchment.
**Assignment #1: Obedience Exercise**
**Instructions:**
1. Wear a dress with no underwear; your breasts bare , and your nipples exposed.
2. Submit a five-page essay on the experience: emotional, physical, psychological. Wetness.
3. Deliver it by hand-sealed-in my office by noon.
Failure to comply will result in formal disciplinary action.
Signed, Dean Sebastian Wolfe
Jules whistled. "Girl. That's not detention. That's foreplay."
I sat back on the bed, heart racing.
"This is blackmail, right?"
Jules shrugged. "Only if you didn't like it."
I didn't answer.
Because the worst part wasn't the envelope.
It was how wet I already was just reading it.
I imagined him looking at me like that. Dressed as if I were his whore, ready to be slain or fucked.
Friday morning, I stood in front of my closet with trembling fingers and a war in my head. I could wear tights and technically still obey. But I knew that wasn't the point.
Wolfe didn't want me to hide.
He wanted me exposed. Humiliated. Hyperaware of my body with every step I took.
So I chose the green wrap dress. Low-cut. Bare-backed. And made of silk that would stick to every curve.
I didn't wear anything underneath.
The walk to class felt like an out-of-body experience. Every gust of wind made me flinch. Every glance made me paranoid. But the worst part?
I liked it.
The adrenaline. The secret. The fact that I was obeying him.
By noon, the essay was printed, sealed, and in my bag. Five pages of raw truth, handwritten in careful script. I didn't sugarcoat it.
I told him everything.
The thrill.
The shame.
The heat between my thighs that wouldn't go away.
When I stepped into his office, he was already waiting.
"Close the door."
I obeyed.
"Did you complete your assignment?"
Wordless, I handed him the envelope.
His fingers brushed mine as he took it. Slow. Deliberate.
His touch sent shivers down my spine.
He placed it on the desk without opening it.
"Did you obey every instruction?"
"Yes."
His gaze dipped briefly to my dress, then back to my eyes.
"No underwear?"
I swallowed. "None."
He stepped forward, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of leather and bergamot.
"Lift your skirt," he said softly.
My heart stopped.
"Now."
I did.
The silk slid up my thighs, baring me completely.
He didn't touch me.
He didn't even move.
He just stared. Like I was something rare. Wild.
But I could see it in his eyes; he wanted something more than just to stare.
I couldn't think straight, or look at his eyes all I want is for him to touch me.
"Do you want me to-"
His jaw clenched.
"Lower it," he said finally.
I obeyed.
"This is the last time I ask," he said, voice hardening. "Are you ready for this?"
I nodded.
He stepped even closer, lips at my ear.
"Then next week, we begin."
And just like that-
I was his.
-
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7.4
My mother was dying and desperately needed a half-million-dollar deposit for an experimental heart surgery by tomorrow.
I swallowed my pride and begged my wealthy husband, Garrick, to save her life.
Instead of helping, he laughed coldly and threw a thick stack of divorce papers right in my face.
"A hen that can't lay eggs gets slaughtered," he sneered, ruthlessly poking my flat stomach.
He revealed that his secretary, my supposed friend Lacey, was already pregnant with his heir.
To him, our three years of marriage was just a business transaction, and now that my family was bankrupt, I was nothing but damaged goods.
He flicked a humiliating five-thousand-dollar check at me as his final act of charity, then locked me out of our townhouse into the freezing, pouring rain.
I had spent years enduring agonizing hormone treatments for a fertility issue that wasn't even my fault, only to be discarded like trash when I needed him the most.
Was my dignity, my absolute devotion, and my mother's life really worth nothing to him?
Driven by pure, reckless desperation, I threw myself directly into the path of a moving Rolls-Royce Phantom on Fifth Avenue.
It belonged to Holden Tillman, the ruthless patriarch of the Tillman empire—and the uncle Garrick lived in absolute terror of.
I thought I was walking into my death, but instead, I became his fiancée, ready to make Garrick and Lacey pay for every tear I shed.
9.1
For ten years, Ran hid in the shadows as Hollywood star Jincheng Lu's secret girlfriend and assistant, starving herself to pay for his acting classes.
On their tenth anniversary, she sat in a cheap apartment with $9.87 in her bank account, watching him slide a massive diamond ring onto a wealthy heiress's finger on live television.
When she called the number she had memorized for a decade, she only heard a cold busy tone. He had blocked her.
Despair swallowed her whole. She forced down a handful of sleeping pills with stale whiskey and died alone on the cold bathroom tiles.
His mother found her rotting body three days later, calling her a "filthy bottom-feeder" before ordering a cleanup crew to dispose of her existence like industrial waste.
Jincheng didn't even ask if she suffered. He just ordered his PR team to digitally erase her ten years of sacrifice from the internet.
"Make sure the press release is airtight. She was an unstable former assistant. She had a history of mental illness. That's it."
Until her heart stopped completely, she didn't understand. She had abandoned her status as the hidden heiress of the wealthy Qin family to build his empire from the ground up.
How could he erase every trace of her without a second thought, using her corpse as a PR shield for his perfect new life?
Opening her eyes again, the sharp smell of hospital antiseptic burned her lungs.
She hadn't just died. She had woken up in the body of a notorious, D-list reality TV influencer who shared her exact name.
Looking at her new face in the mirror, a cold smile spread across her lips. She was going to tear his perfect life apart, piece by bloody piece.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
7.7
In my past life, the bullet chambered in the gun on the desk was less lethal than the indifference of the two men standing beside me.
Dante and Matteo were supposed to be the future kings of Chicago, and I was their queen.
But they threw it all away for Sofia—a liar with a pretty face and a fake sob story about a gambling father.
They forced me into a gilded cage, making me serve Sofia like a maid while they played her saviors.
They let me rot in isolation until I swallowed a bottle of pills just to escape the coldness of their neglect.
They didn't even mourn me; they were too busy comforting the girl who would eventually destroy them.
I died realizing that my loyalty was my fatal flaw.
I had worshipped men who saw me as nothing more than an accessory, while they sacrificed their empire for a woman who played them for fools.
But the universe has a sick sense of humor.
It sent me back.
Back to the day that sealed my fate.
The Consigliere pushed the assignment papers toward us—the path to becoming Bosses.
"We are not going," Dante said, looking at me with cold eyes. "Sofia needs us. She is fragile."
In my past life, I begged them to stay.
This time, I stepped forward and picked up the pen.
"I will go," I said, signing my name in sharp black ink.
"I don't need your protection anymore."
7.2
My grandfather sold me to a man named Maverick to settle his gambling debts. I stood on the private platform at Union Station, a human payment waiting to be collected.
But he never came. An hour later, his assistant called to say the deal was off. I was told to disappear by morning or face the consequences.
My family blamed me for their ruin and threw me out onto the street. Homeless and disowned, I had no choice but to take a low-level job at Prosperity Group, the biggest investment firm in Chicago. I needed to survive.
I never understood why he rejected me. I had followed every rule, worn the red dress he demanded, and waited like a lamb for slaughter. Why would he agree to save my family only to destroy us at the last second?
On my first day, I was called into the CEO's office. The man behind the desk was Damien Maddox, the city's most ruthless billionaire. He looked at me with a chilling familiarity. He was the man who had bought me. And he was the man who had thrown me away.
9.8
I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.