Chapter 30: The Goddess's First Command
The damp patch on the floral armchair had cooled, a sticky reminder against the back of Catriona’s thighs as she shifted. She reached for her phone, which had slid between the cushion and the chair’s arm. The screen lit her face in a blueish wash as she thumbed it open.
Aidan watched her from the floor where he’d slumped, his back against the leather chair. The taste of her was still in his mouth, the smell of their sex a dense layer in the room’s still air. His cock, spent and heavy, lay against his thigh. But watching her—the fierce concentration, the possessive set of her jaw—stirred an ember deep in his gut.
“Right then,” she said, her voice practical, as if organising a grocery delivery. “I’ve got three. All from my hot yoga class. Bendy, curious, and from what I’ve gleaned over green juice, terminally under-fucked by boyfriends with the imagination of a teaspoon.” She smirked, not looking at him, scrolling through photos. “All have mentioned you. The ‘fit professor’. They’ve seen you picking me up. They want a go.”
She turned the phone towards him. Three faces smiled up from a studio wall, slick with sweat and flushed from exercise. They were, as she’d said, curvy. One with dark curls, one with a sharp blonde bob, one with a shy smile and freckles.
“Pick one,” Catriona said, her green eyes glinting in the phone’s light. “I want to watch you train her tonight. I want to see you explain it. Be all patient and Yorkshire and calm while you prepare her tight little arsehole for that monster.”
Aidan’s hand drifted to his own thigh, then to her ankle, which was within reach. He rubbed his thumb over her bone. His own desire, a dormant beast, raised its head. Not just for sex, but for the specific, long-denied script she was offering. The audience. The permission. The worship in the gaze of another woman, mirrored and amplified by the gaze of the woman who owned him.
“What about Freya?” he asked, his voice rough. “The blonde from cosmology. The one who stares like she’s trying to solve me for dark matter.”
Catriona’s expression darkened, but not with jealousy. With a hunger so profound it looked like anger. She lowered the phone. “Freya,” she repeated, tasting the name. “Nineteen. All legs and nerve endings and blushing every time you say ‘periapsis’. Yes. She’s perfect.” Her fingers flew across the screen. “I’ll text her now. From your phone. Say you need to discuss her last paper. Private tutorial. She’ll come running.”
Aidan felt a jolt, part anxiety, part electric thrill. This was crossing a line with a student, a real one, in his actual department. The risk was a cold splash of reality. But then Catriona stood, her naked body a pale, magnificent curve in the lamplight, and placed his phone in his lap. The screen showed a draft text.
Freya. Aidan. Could use your perspective on your Roche limit diagram. My place, 9pm? Discreet.
He looked up at her. “Discreet?”
“She’ll know what that means,” Catriona said, her voice low. “They all know what it means. The rumours about you aren’t all about your research, Professor.” She knelt then, straddling his legs, her knees on the worn rug. His half-hard cock stirred against her stomach. “You’re going to fuck her virgin ass while I watch from that chair. You’re going to make her cry with it. And when you’re done,” she said, leaning forward to lick a stripe up his neck to his ear, “you’re going to come back to me and fill my pussy with whatever’s left. You’re going to tell me how tight she was while you’re sliding back inside me.”
She reached between them, her hand firm around his thickening shaft. A low groan escaped him. His hips jerked upward.
“But first,” she whispered, her breath hot, “I want a taste of what’s mine. I want to feel you get hard for her, inside me.”
She rose up, guiding him, and sank back down in one smooth, devastating motion. Her cunt, still loose and slick from their previous fucking, accepted him with a wet, welcoming heat. She took him to the root, a full, deep possession that made his toes curl against the rug.
She didn’t move immediately. Just sat there, impaled, her internal muscles flexing gently around him, a slow, possessive milking. Her eyes were locked on his.
“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?” she murmured, beginning a slow, circular grind of her hips. “That blonde hair. Those young tits. That tight, untouched arsehole.”
“I’m thinking of you,” he gasped, his hands flying to her waist. “Always you.”
“Liar.” She smiled, a wicked thing. She leaned back, bracing her hands on his knees, changing the angle. His cock dragged against a sensitive spot inside her, and she moaned, her head falling back. “You’re thinking of her fear. Her shock. The way her eyes will widen. You’re thinking of my eyes watching you do it.”
Her pace quickened. She rode him with a focused intensity, each rise and fall a deliberate act of claiming. The wet slap of their joining filled the silent room. Aidan could only watch, mesmerized, as the woman he loved used his body for her pleasure, her face a mask of ecstatic concentration.
“Tell me,” she demanded, her voice hitching as she slammed down. “Tell me how you’ll do it. To her.”
The words tumbled out, broken by his own ragged breath. “I’ll… I’ll have her bend over the desk. The one by the window. I’ll use so much lube… I’ll rub it into her, around that tight little ring…”
“Yes…”
“I’ll tell her to relax. That I’ll go slow. And I will… at first. Just the head. I’ll push until she gasps…”
Catriona’s rhythm became erratic, frantic. “And then?”
“And then I’ll hold her hips and I’ll sink in. All of it. I’ll fill her up until she screams. Until she feels split open.”
“God… Aidan!”
She came with a sharp cry, her body seizing around him, a series of violent, fluttering contractions that pulled his own orgasm from the depths. He thrust up into her, once, twice, burying himself as he emptied with a guttural shout, his seed pumping hot into her already-claimed depths.
They collapsed together onto the rug, a tangled, sweating heap. The clock on the wall ticked in the silence. Twenty past eight.
Catriona disentangled herself first. She stood, his cum dripping down her inner thigh. She picked up his phone from where it had fallen, tapped the screen, and showed him.
Sent.
“She replied,” Catriona said, her voice flat, cleaned of all passion. “A heart emoji and ‘See you soon, Professor.’” She tossed the phone onto his chest. “Get showered. You smell like me. I want her to smell your soap, not your goddess. I want her to walk in here naive.”
Aidan looked at the phone, then at Catriona, who was already walking towards the hallway, her magnificent arse swaying with purpose. The reality of it settled on him, heavy and dark and exhilarating.
It was happening.
He was going to fuck a student’s virgin asshole.
And his goddess was going to watch.