Chapter 18
MICHAEL
—Evermore by Hollow Coves
The way Taj has me wrapped around his fingers should probably be studied. Preferably by people smarter than me who can explain why I keep agreeing to ideas that I know are terrible even as I’m saying yes to them.
I can’t believe it’s already May. Today is the last lecture before exam season kicks in, which means I should at least pretend to be a respectable adult in front of my students.
Instead, I am standing at the front of the room trying to remember how to be a normal person.
Because after we went two rounds before sleeping yesterday, Taj asked me to wear the butt plug to class.
He wanted to see how composed I could remain when he turned it on while I was teaching.
It must have been my orgasm-addled brain that agreed—because why else would I now be here, standing in front of about fifty students with a plug between my cheeks?
A plug that can be controlled by one of my students.
I must have gone mad in the head.
I adjust my stance, trying to stand in a way that’s not suspicious, and immediately regret it when the plug shifts with the motion. For about ten seconds, I forget where I am.
Right. Teaching. That is why I’m here.
“Good morning, guys,” I greet, and they greet back in their familiar chorus of voices. “Before we wrap up this course, I want to thank every one of you for joining this class, both in the first semester and now. I know it is also taught in Czech, so I think it’s great you’re here.”
A few of them smile, a few nod, some are just sitting there half-awake, but it’s the usual mix and I’ve gotten used to it.
I look at the rows of seated students, still a bit surprised by how diverse the university actually is.
Then again, I probably shouldn’t be. After all, the dean had personally reached out to me in the first place, asking if I would be interested in coming here.
“Today, we will examine political ethics among public servants,” I say, writing the title out. “We are looking at this not simply as scandals, but as ethical problems. So, I want to ask—”
Fuck, Taj!
An electric zing shocks my core, running through me and catching me completely off guard. My grip tightens on the marker in my hand, and my knees nearly give for a split second before I lock them back in place.
That little shit turned on the vibration of the butt plug.
Don’t react. Don’t react. This is fine. I am fine.
I let it run its course because I’m a professional. A very stupid one, but still technically one.
“Apologies,” I say quickly, clearing my throat and willing my face back into something that resembles calmness.
My eyes roam across the room and land on Taj. He’s sitting a few rows back, totally relaxed and watching me like this is the most entertaining lecture he has ever attended. The fucker is even grinning. I drag my gaze away before I do something dumb.
“Here is my question,” I continue, forcing my voice into something steady. “Is corruption primarily a moral issue or an economic issue?”
I finish the sentence and there is a brief pause. The students are looking at me like they suspect something, but how can they? I sounded fine in my head, but whether I sounded fine out loud is another matter.
Vojtech snaps me out of my mini spiral when he speaks. “I think both,” he says. “It’s moral because stealing is wrong, and economic because it harms development.”
“I disagree already,” Taj cuts in, his stupid grin still sitting on his beautiful face, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me. “We talk about corruption morally, but politics everywhere involves self-interest. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Good, let’s start there,” I say, now feeling a sense of normalcy. “Are you suggesting corruption is universal and therefore morally ordinary?” I turn to my laptop and scroll to the appropriate slide.
“Yes,” Taj answers. “Politicians should benefit from office. It’s called lobbying in the US, and party financing here in Europe. I don’t see that as ethical failures.”
I turn back around, opening my mouth to respond, but when I make the mistake of looking at Taj, I see a look on his face that never means anything good for me.
And even though I know what he’s up to, I still have to suppress a shudder when he increases the butt plug’s vibration, every nerve ending in my arse lighting up all at once, a moan threatening to slip out before I clamp it down.
My toes curl in my shoes, but I have to ground myself, pressing my weight evenly through my feet so I do not react in a way that gives anything away. Inside, though, it feels like I’m balancing precariously on a thin line while Taj is clearly enjoying testing exactly how far I can be pushed.
“Let’s, uh-uh—” I stutter and draw in a slow breath through my nose as I fix my attention back on the room, on anything that is not Taj.
“Let’s consider, for example, a former governor who was convicted for laundering funds linked to public money.
Avoiding moral language for a moment, can someone describe the situation structurally? ”
“The governor controlled state funds and diverted some for personal use,” Luká? answers.
“Good. Now, why is that ethically problematic?”
“But that assumes the money would have been used well otherwise.” Taj cuts in, defending his point.
“But it wasn’t his money to decide that,” Angelika half shouts.
“Why not?” Taj asks. “Voters elected him. Doesn’t democratic victory give discretion?”
Angelika throws her hands up, and actually huffs. “Are you saying election grants ownership? Everyone knows it’s just temporary authority, and in that case public resources belong to citizens collectively.”
“That sounds idealistic,” Taj drawls. “In reality, political systems run on patronage networks and leaders distribute resources to maintain stability.”
“Are you proposing that corruption may serve political order?” Jan asks, frowning slightly.
Taj shrugs. “Historically, yes. Patronage can prevent conflict.”
“Let’s suppose corruption stabilises politics temporarily,” I say, stepping back into the conversation. “Does usefulness then make it ethical? Because that’s the core of our discussion.”
The plug is still working between my cheeks, but as class continues, I’m starting to get used to the steady vibration. Watching my students now, I realise they basically teach themselves, and I’m surely going to miss them. One of them in particular, if I’m being honest.
It wasn’t like this at the start, they were attentive, sure, and eager to contribute.
But they were also careful back then, hesitant, and more concerned about getting things right than actually thinking them through.
I remember the pauses and awkward glances, and the way they would look at me first before speaking, like they needed permission.
Now they don’t wait, they interrupt each other, disagree properly, ask better questions, and there is something satisfying about watching it happen, knowing I helped build this space where they can do it on their own.
I look around the room again, taking it in for one last time.
Their familiar faces, the way they sit, the little habits I’ve picked up on.
Who leans forward when they are about to argue, who crosses their arms when they disagree, who already has a response ready before the question is even finished.
But when Taj increases the vibration of the plug again, whatever thoughtful and reflective version of me that’s enjoying the moment vanishes.
I try to fight the sensation rolling through me.
I swear I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or kill him.
My cock is starting to stir in my trousers, and I just hope I can keep it from getting fully hard.
“No,” Eli?ka answers, pulling me back in. “Slavery was also once ‘economically useful’.”
“That comparison is extreme,” Taj says immediately.
“Actually, the principle is the same,” Angelika says, not missing a beat. “The point is, usefulness doesn’t equal morality.”
I nod, letting them take it further, the rest of the class continuing in that vein, building on each other’s points, challenging without waiting for me to step in, and by the end of it I’m proud of all of them, including Taj, who may one day become a corrupt politician.
“We have something for you,” Angelika says, stepping out from her seat and walking towards me with a wrapped box in her hand.
“Wow, you guys shouldn’t have,” I say, genuinely touched by their thoughtfulness.
They all join me at the front to take selfies, crowding in close until there is barely any space left between us.
Phones come out from every direction, Angelika telling the rest to squeeze in, and I end up in the middle of it, half turned and half pulled, trying to keep up with which camera I’m supposed to look at while also managing the sensation still coursing through me from the plug.
Taj appears beside me, and even though I don’t see him walk up, I feel him there.
When I finally do glance sideways, he throws a wide and easy smile at me like he isn’t responsible for my current predicament.
But I don’t miss what happens when one of the students leans in too close.
He’s not even trying to hide the hint of irritation on his face.
I still don’t understand how he does that, how his face can soften one second and then be set in a grim line the next.
I find it confusing, but I also find it hot as hell, which kind of says a lot about me, none of it particularly flattering.
Because yeah, I’m definitely mad in the head.
The lecture hall clears out, voices trailing into the corridor, chairs scraping back, doors opening and closing until silence takes over the room.