Page 58 of Silver

I sit on her chair and wait for her to reach me. “Kneel up, precious,” I order when she’s close enough.

She rises onto her knees, keeping her head bowed.

“Such a well-behaved slave girl.” I remove the collar from her neck and massage the tender skin. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stand for me.”

She pushes to her feet.

I reach for a fresh white tank top and panties and put them on her, smoothing the tight front of the cotton down so I can easily see the pucker of her nipples and their rosy color. “This will be your study outfit. I’ll keep several sets of panties and tank tops in your desk drawer. I want you to change into them before you sit down to study each day. I won’t ask you to do your homework completely nude, but I do want you to be comfortable and have the right mindset. Routine will help with that.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” I rise and help her to her seat.

“Are you okay to start your calc homework, precious? Or do you need a few minutes to reflect on your lesson from this morning?”

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

She’s a bit detached from me. I’m not surprised. She’s zapped. But she will have to learn to power through when she’s exhausted. It will happen sometimes.

I tap her calc book. “I know you’ve been working on this chapter for a few days. Read through it again. I’ve made you a supplemental homework assignment.” I lift the book so she can see the papers underneath. “Work through every problem. Show your work. Take your time. If there’s a pop quiz, you’ll know the chapter forward and backward. When you’re done, bring it to me. But make sure you have every single problem correct.” I lift a brow.

She looks up at me. “Yes, Sir.”

I kiss her forehead. “You may begin.”

It will take her a while to get through all those problems. Meanwhile, I have several things to do myself. I work about fifteen hours a week for a startup company that’s designing state-of-the-art computer software. It’s manageable. I’m just going to have to get creative with my time now that I have Daphne in my life.

I keep an eye on her, smiling at the way she sits while she works. She has good posture. She rests her bare feet on two of the spokes from her chair wheels, sits tall, and really focuses when I tell her to. I know she’s a bright student. She always has been. She scored amazingly on her college entrance exams.

I also know she chose Darkwell University for two reasons—it offers the degree she’s interested in, and she received a full academic scholarship.

She spends more than an hour on the calculus assignment I created for her before rising to bring it to me.

I spin around to watch her when I hear her move. She takes my breath away. The braid of thick blond hair has loosened, and several strands have escaped to hang around her face. Her breasts make my mouth water every time I get a glimpse of them, even partially covered. The thin white tanks and panties were a good choice.

Without any makeup—which she doesn’t need, and I’m not inclined to permit—she looks fresh and pure. A blank slate. Well, it was blank until I got my hands on her. Now it’s getting tarnished, but in a way that pleases me.

She holds out her papers. “I finished, Sir.”

I wrap my arm around her hips and pull her between my legs, meeting her gaze almost eye-to-eye. “Did you double-check your work?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Let’s look it over.” Keeping her close, I scrutinize every problem, one at a time. I find one error. It’s a simple math mistake that threw off the rest of the problem.

I look in her direction. “You got one problem wrong, precious.” I hand her back the pages. “You may go back and look all the problems over to find your error.” I tuck a stray hair behind her ear and smile. “What happens if you don’t fix it, precious?”

She shudders and clenches her butt cheeks against my forearm. “You’ll hit me with that evil stick.”

I chuckle. “It’s a cane. And yes. It will help you become the best student at Darkwell.”

“Yes, Sir,” she mumbles. Her shoulders aren’t as high when she returns to her desk, but this is good for her. I don’t want her to think she can rush through an assignment. It’s best for her to know right now that I only accept perfection. Anything less will end with discipline.

I know I’m fucked up. I know I’m letting my own past leak into my current relationship. I’m a smart man. Keagan, the asshole who ran the boys’ home where the five of us spent our teenage years, was a perfectionist. The difference between him and us is that he invented problems. Created them out of thin air. Made us make our beds over and over, even though they were already perfect. Forced us to clean toilets that were spotless, scrub grout that was already bleached. The prick got off on tormenting us for no good reason.