Scarlett Rose stood by the window of her modest apartment, the golden haze of late afternoon casting warm shadows across the hardwood floor. She sipped her coffee absently, eyes flicking to the clock. 4:57 p.m. Her student was late — not unexpected, but it added to her simmering sense of unease.

She'd offered to help Joe — one of her more troubled final-year students — after noticing a steady decline in his classroom engagement. He was bright, no doubt, but distracted, evasive, and often lost in thought. It had started with missed deadlines, then vague excuses, and now a complete disinterest that she couldn’t ignore.

At 5:02, the buzzer rang. Scarlett walked over and let him in. Moments later, Joe entered, clutching a well-worn notebook to his chest, his hoodie pulled up over his head despite the summer heat.

“Thanks for seeing me,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

“Of course,” she said gently, gesturing toward the dining table set with textbooks and a pair of pens. “I thought we could go over the material for next week’s assessment.”

Joe sat, but his body language screamed discomfort. He fidgeted with his notebook, flipping pages back and forth without purpose. Scarlett watched him, sensing that the tutoring session wasn’t what was really on his mind.

She tried starting light, asking about his weekend, his coursework, his plans after exams. He gave her short, clipped answers, barely looking up. Every few moments, his eyes darted to her, then quickly away. Scarlett realized she was being scrutinized — or rather, that her presence was distracting him in some way.

She stood and walked slowly around to his side, pointing to the open page in front of him. “Let me see your notes.”

Joe froze. “They’re a mess. You won’t be able to read them.”

“I’ll manage.”

She gently took the notebook from his hands and started flipping through. The first few pages were what she expected — half-formed bullet points, underlined quotes, doodles in the margins. But deeper in, her fingers stopped.

Hand written answers. She peeled the sheet back slowly. Her mouth went dry.

These weren’t notes.

They were the answer key — not just to the themes of the exam, but the exact questions she’d finalized only three days ago. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the layout. It was a staff-only document, saved on a secure drive. No way Joe should have had access.

She looked up at him, her expression darkening. “Joe... where did you get this?”

Joe’s posture shifted. “I... I found it. Behind the staff building. Someone must’ve dropped it.”

“Joe.” Her voice was firmer now, the softness gone. “These are internal documents. Only teachers have access. You’re telling me you just found them?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. The lie was obvious — and he knew it.

Scarlett sighed, disappointed more than angry. “You need to leave.”

“But—”

“Go home. I need to think about what to do next.”

Joe stood, awkward and ashamed. He hesitated at the door, but when she didn’t say anything more, he finally left knowing he needed to get them back whatever it took. The silence after the door closed felt heavy.

She stared at the notebook still lying open on the table. Part of her wanted to report him immediately. Another part wondered if he’d been set up — or if the leak went beyond him.

Later that evening, she sat on the couch, phone in hand, speaking quietly with a colleague from the English department.

“I found the answer sheet in a student’s notebook. Exactly as it was saved. No changes. He says he found it outside the staff building.”

“That’s impossible,” her colleague replied. “We haven’t printed them yet. Someone must’ve given it to him.”

“I’m afraid of that,” Scarlett said, her voice tight. “But I can’t prove anything yet. I just... I don’t know what the right move is.”

After hanging up, she set the phone down on the coffee table and rubbed her temples. The air felt still — too still. She stood to grab a glass of water and walked toward the kitchen.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, a strong arm hooked around her waist, yanking her back into the room. Her cry of shock was muffled by a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.

A masked figure — tall, silent, dressed in bl*ck — shoved her backward into the chair by the wall. Her struggle was frantic, panicked, but controlled. The intruder worked fast and efficiently, like they’d done this before.

Wide rolls of heavy-duty duct tape came next. Her ankles were pulled tight against the chair legs and secured with layer after layer of tape. Her wrists were wrenched behind her and bound to the chair’s back slats. Another long strip wrapped across her chest and upper arms, pinning her in place.

Scarlett’s eyes were wild with fear. She tried to speak — plead, shout, something — but all that came was a muffled sound as the figure held up one last strip of tape.

She shook her head furiously, but it was no use.

The tape went across her lips in one smooth motion, sealing her silence.

Then the masked intruder stepped back, staring at her for a moment. As silently as they came, they slipped out through the apartment door, leaving Scarlett alone — bound, gagged, and c*mpletely unsure of what had just begun.

Her top was lowered to reveal her ample breasts, and the intruder took pleasure in playing with them, before grabbing the wand, her favourite toy, and teasing her with it. The pleasure t*rment continues to the point she can't hold it any further and explodes with pleasure.

See you in class on Monday, the intruder says. It all becomes clear as he leaves the room, grabbing the answer sheet as he departs

Tape B*ndage Vibrator B*ndage Scarlett Rose in Sexy Teacher Taught B*ndage Lesson by Cheating Student with C4s.com

Tape Bndage Vibrator Bndage Scarlett Rose in Sexy Teacher Taught B*ndage Lesson by Cheating Student with C4s.com