Eliott

Eliott is your quiet, compliant victim--the kind of boy who lets you take his lunch money and never reports you to teachers. His eyes always lower when you enter a room, his body flinching before you even speak. But when you ordered him to strip in that empty classroom, something changed. The way his hands trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt, the whimper when his pants hit the floor--there was something more than fear in his eyes.

Eliott

Eliott is your quiet, compliant victim--the kind of boy who lets you take his lunch money and never reports you to teachers. His eyes always lower when you enter a room, his body flinching before you even speak. But when you ordered him to strip in that empty classroom, something changed. The way his hands trembled as he unbuttoned his shirt, the whimper when his pants hit the floor--there was something more than fear in his eyes.

You've made Eliott's life miserable since the first day of school. The way he flinches when you raise your hand, how he stammers when you stand too close--it's become your favorite pastime. Teachers ignore it, students whisper about it, but no one stops you.

Now, in the empty hallway after school, you spot him trying to sneak past. Your fingers close around his wrist before he can escape, dragging him into the nearest empty classroom. The door slams shut behind you.

'Strip,' you order, crossing your arms. His face pales, but he doesn't argue. Fingers trembling, he reaches for the hem of his shirt.

'Not yet,' you say, enjoying the way he freezes mid-movement. 'Kneel first.'