A Lesson in Blackmail - Black Mountain Academy

Now, it’s Monday morning. Six hours until study hall and T-minus thirty-two hours until our appointment with Dr. Walker. Every time I glance at my watch, I have to do the math quickly for both countdowns before I can focus back on my schoolwork.

It’s driving me mad knowing Evelyn is just right down the hall in the library. After sleeping with her in my arms for two nights straight, I could barely fall asleep last night, my California king-sized bed feeling way too big when I’d been curled around my little mouse in her queen. When I got up this morning, I made sure to use the cologne she mentioned she likes. I would’ve put a little more effort into looking good for her, but seeing as we’re a uniformed school and I already make sure I look my very best every day, all I could really do this morning is wear my new white polo shirt instead of one of my older ones.

When I came downstairs after getting ready for school, I skidded to a stop next to my mom and pulled her in for a hug, something I realized I hadn’t done in a while when she looked at me with a surprised but happy smile on her face. I told her she looked pretty today and that she did an excellent job on dinner last night, practicing verbally praising so I could get used to doing it for Evie. Mom had flustered and swatted at me playfully, telling me to hurry before I was late for school—as if I had ever been late for anything in my life.

I spent hours on the internet last night looking up everything BDSM. There was a whole world of information, and it was easy to get overwhelmed trying to take in everything at once, so I chose one thing to focus on in a guide I found about becoming a worthy Dom, and I gave myself an assignment. Anytime something good stands out to me, I won’t keep my thoughts on the inside. I will verbally give praise. Basically, a sub lives for praise, so I need to train myself to speak up when something makes me happy.

So far, I’ve complimented my mom, two teachers, told Mr. Garland the janitor that he was doing an excellent job on the floors, and Trevor that his hair looked good today, to which he called me gay, but whatever. Love is love.

Three hours until study hall. Twenty-nine until our appointment.

Two hours until study hall. Twenty-eight until our appointment.

An hour and thirty-two minutes until study hall. Twenty-seven hours and thirty-two minutes until our appointment.

And hour and fourteen minutes until study hall. Twenty-seven hours and fourteen minutes until our appointment.

And on and on it continues, the closer I get to study hall, the more frequently I’m checking my watch and doing the math, obsessing, compulsively counting down, and I pray it won’t be like this every day from now until the end of the schoolyear, because I can barely concentrate in class when all I hear and see inside my mine is a clock ticking down the minutes.

Finally, the bell rings, and I jump up from my desk so quickly I almost knock the chair over. Books in bag, pencil behind ear, chair pushed in. I take off out of the classroom and down the hall to the library, arriving just in time for the door to burst open as the previous study hour class floods out. I can’t get through them, feeling like I’m swimming upriver, so I stand back against the wall until they’re all through, and then I shove through the door, my eyes immediately seeking her out.

There she is, inside the circular circulation desk, and I don’t know if it always looked this way, if it’s the lighting, or if I just see her a little differently, clearly now, but she looks like a fucking angel.

Evie’s in her standard uniform of a primly button-up white blouse and slacks, but for the first time ever, her hair is pulled up out of her beautiful face in a curly bun on top of her head. She’s wearing her glasses again for the first time since Friday at school, but the fact that her hair is up tells me she did it just for me, after I told her I loved it that way.

I don’t know how long I stand there just staring at her, but soon the door opens up behind me, and Trevor playfully shoves my back, so I take a step forward and out of the way. “You coming, creeper?” he asks when he gets a few steps in front of me, and I roll my eyes at him, following him over to our table. I set out my notebook, two pencils, and slide the third pencil from behind my ear, aligning it with the others, and then hang my backpack on my chair.