Mercy: She’s supposed to teach you medicine — but her mouth teaches lessons you’ll never forget [EXTRA, 76 pics] (Patreon)

You spot her crossing the lecture hall in that scandalously short skirt and crop top, every step a lesson in self-control you’re already failing. Behind her, the students slump, but you sit up — your exam crumpled in your hand — because when Mercy’s high-heeled click echoes down the aisle, you know exactly who’s grading you next.

In her office, she bars the door and circles the desk like a predatory nurse. “You failed,” she purrs, voice clinical and cold, “but I’m a generous professor.” She perches on the edge, legs crossed so tight the hem of her skirt threatens to betray her. Her stethoscope dangles, but it’s her fingers — trailing over your exam, then down your chest—that administer the real test.

When she leans in close, you taste peppermint and warning. Her thighs press against your hips as she whispers, “Show me you’ve learned.” One hand grips your tie, the other slides beneath your shirt, skin on skin. Every beat of your heart feels like a wrong answer — yet every gasp pushes you closer to passing. And by the time her mouth finds you, you’ll be begging for extra credit.