Chapter 20: The Verdict and the Queue
The click of the door latch echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence.Jada had left first, face composed, phone tucked securely away. Chloe followed minutes later, walking with a slight, tender stiffness, her borrowed sweater wrapped tight around her. She hadn’t looked back.
Now, the only light came from Megan’s phone screen, casting her face in a pale blue glow. Aidan lay on his back on the ravaged bed, the sheets damp and tangled beneath him. Every muscle trembled with a hollow exhaustion, but his cock, slick and glistening with the mixed fluids of two girls, still lay heavy against his thigh, stubbornly semi-hard. The room smelled overwhelmingly of sex—sweat, musk, and the faint, coppery tang of blood.
Megan scrolled, a faint smirk playing on her lips.“Listen to this,” she said, her voice cutting through the thick air. “‘It’s not AI, it’s really that massive.’ That’s the one with the linguistics girl, right? The one who kept reciting sonnets when she came.’”
She shifted, the mattress dipping as she rolled onto her side beside him. Her fingers trailed through the sticky mess on his stomach, then wrapped around his shaft, giving him a slow, possessive stroke.He hissed through his teeth.
“‘He’s so gentle, it felt incredible,’” she continued reading, her tone a mocking sing-song. “‘Makes you feel like a goddess, praising me even when I’m begging for my filthiest fantasy.’ They’re really leaning into that, aren’t they? The goddess thing.” She glanced at him, her dark eyes unreadable in the gloom. “You sell a good line, professor.”
Aidan said nothing. He stared at the water stain on the ceiling, shaped like a distorted continent. His mind was a numb void, populated only by the phantom sensations of clutching heat, the sounds of ripped vocal cords, the awe-struck terror in wide, dark eyes.
“‘Every black girl on campus should take Aidan up on his offer of sexual reparations,’” Megan read, and this time she laughed, a short, sharp sound.“Reparations. Fucking hell.That’s a new one. ‘No judgement, just bliss.’” She nudged his leg with her bare foot.“You’re a philanthropist, baby. A regular fucking missionary.”
“It wasn’t an offer,” Aidan said, his voice rough from disuse.“It was your idea.”
“Semantics.” She scrolled further. “Oh, here’s a good one.‘I only went to watch cause I was curious. Then told him my fantasy and was on my hands and knees taking every single girthy white inch for an hour, while he praised me and spanked my arse. I’ve never orgasmed so many times, perfect creampie finish.’ That was… what was her name? The chemistry tutor with the glasses.”
“Simone,” Aidan supplied automatically. Her skin had tasted like cocoa butter.Megan dropped her phone onto the pillow.It illuminated the curve of her cheekbone. “The queue’s already forming for tomorrow,” she said, her hand moving on him with more intent now, pulling him to full, aching hardness.“Private messages.DMs. A dozen, at least.All vetted. All hungry.” She swung a leg over his hips, settling her weight onto his thighs. She was still dressed in her jeans and crop top, a stark contrast to his total nakedness.“But first, I want my own reward. You’ve been giving everyone else their happy ending. Now it’s my turn.”
She unbuttoned her jeans, wriggled them down over her hips just enough, and shifted forward.She wasn’t wearing underwear. Her bare cunt, a neat strip of tight curls, hovered over his cock. She reached between them, guiding him, not with the careful precision he used on others, but with a blunt, ownership.Then she sank down.It was a slow, deliberate conquest. Her inner walls, familiar and fiercely tight, stretched to accommodate his girth with a practiced, possessive ease. A long, satisfied sigh escaped her lips as she took him all, until his pubic bone pressed against her. She was soaked—from watching, he realized.This was her true arousal.
She began to move, a slow, grinding roll of her hips, her eyes locked on his. She picked up her phone with her free hand, thumb scrolling one-handed as she rode him.
“They’re calling you the Great White Hope,” she murmured, reading another comment. Her pussy clenched around him rhythmically, a pulsing, vice-like grip.“Think you can handle a dozen more tomorrow?Maybe back-to-back? A little conveyor belt of grateful, gaping pussy.”
Aidan’s hands came up to grip her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He thrust upward, meeting her downward grind, forcing a sharper gasp from her.The bedsprings complained. “I’ll handle whatever you throw at me,” he grunted, the promise feeling both like a surrender and a challenge.
Megan leaned down, bracing her hands on his chest.Her phone tumbled onto the sheets. She kissed him, deep and dirty, her tongue exploring his mouth. He could taste the ghost of other girls on her, the salt of sweat, the bitter echo of his own come. She rocked faster now, abandoning the grind for a harder, more driving rhythm, taking him deep with each plummet of her body.
“Good boy,” she breathed against his lips.Her breath was hot. “Now fuck me like you mean it.Don’t you dare hold back. I want to feel it tomorrow.”
The permission, the demand, broke something loose in him. He flipped her over onto her back with a violence that made her yelp in surprise, then in sheer delight. He drove into her, no gentle professor now, just a raw piston of flesh and need. The headboard slammed against the wall in a steady, battering rhythm.
“This what you want?” he snarled, each word punctuated by a deep, jarring thrust.“Your own personal fuck-toy? A cocksmith for your little friends?”
“Yes!” she screamed, her legs locking around his back, her nails raking down his spine.“Your big fucking white cock is mine to lend out! And I want it back like this! Used and fucking furious!”
He pistoned into her, the wet, slapping sounds obscene in the tiny room. He thought of the forum, the queue, the endless, hungry eyes. He thought of Catriona’s perfume, still lingering somewhere beneath the reek of sex and curry, a ghost of a different life. He channeled it all, every confusing, degrading impulse, into the physical act of claiming Megan, of being claimed by her in this twisted, perfect symbiosis.His orgasm built, a crushing tide. He saw Megan’s eyes glaze over, her mouth slacken as her own climax ripped through her, her pussy spasming around him in frantic, milking waves.It triggered his own.
“Where?” he growled, poised on the edge.“Inside!” she demanded, her back arching off the bed. “Fill me up!Mark it! It’s yours but it’s fucking mine!”
With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the root and erupted. A hot, endless stream of cum flooded her, a claiming she had ordered. He collapsed atop her, spent, their sweat-slick bodies welded together.
In the heavy quiet that followed, broken only by their ragged gasps, a new sound surfaced.Not a phone notification. A distant, metallic buzz from the dorm’s main entrance downstairs.Then Megan’s phone, vibrating on the sheets, lit up with a new message.
She stretched a languid arm, her fingers brushing the screen. She read it, and a slow, victorious smile spread across her face.
“That’ll be Neve,” she said, her voice hoarse.“She said she couldn’t wait till tomorrow. She’s downstairs.” Megan nudged him off her and sat up, wincing slightly as his softening cock slipped out of her, followed by a trickle of his release. She looked at the mess on the sheets, then at Aidan’s exhausted form.“Better get the door, professor. Your public awaits.”