Chapter 46: The Unexpected Visitor
The silence stretched, thin and taut as a wire about to snap. Catriona’s smile remained, a perfect, placid mask, but her green eyes were scanners, calibrating the humidity in the room, the dilation of pupils, the way her husband’s throat worked as he swallowed. Lucia stood her ground, but her defiant posture had softened into uncertainty under the weight of such polished, unnerving calm.
“Catriona,” Aidan finally managed, the name a dry click in his throat. “You’re back early.”
“The client rescheduled. Boredom is a powerful motivator to come home, it seems.” She didn’t look at him. Her gaze was fixed on Lucia. “You’ve had a journey. You look upset. Jenny, sweetheart, you’re shaking.”
Jenny was. A fine tremor had taken hold of her hands. She clutched them together, white-knuckled. “I’m fine, Mrs. Walters.”
“Nonsense. And please, we’re past that. It’s Catriona.” She finally moved, gliding past Lucia to the walk-in pantry. She emerged not with fabric swatches, but with a silk robe, ice-blue and shimmering. She held it out to Jenny. “Here. Go upstairs to the guest bath—your bath, now—and clean yourself up. Then come down. We’ll have lunch. All of us. We have much to discuss.”
The command was soft, maternal even, but it brooked no argument. It was a queen settling a disorder in her court. Jenny stared at the robe as if it were a snake. Her eyes, wide and terrified, flicked to Aidan, seeking something—permission, rescue, condemnation. He had nothing to give her. He was a statue.
“Go on,” Catriona urged, her voice a gentle push.
Jenny took the robe, her fingers brushing Catriona’s. She turned and walked, a slow, stiff-legged march, out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The sound of her footsteps faded.
Catriona turned her attention to Lucia’s suitcase, still by the front door. “You’ll stay, of course. We have plenty of room. Aidan, be a darling and take Lucia’s bag up to the blue room. Lucia, come sit. I’ll put the kettle on.”
It was so normal. So horrifically normal. Lucia, bewildered, allowed herself to be shepherded to the breakfast nook. Aidan, moving on autopilot, retrieved the suitcase and carried it upstairs, his mind screaming. He passed the closed door of the guest bathroom, behind which he heard the soft, choked sound of a sob quickly stifled. He kept walking.
When he returned, Catriona was setting a platter of sandwiches on the table. Cucumber and cream cheese, smoked salmon, egg salad. Neat triangles on bone china. The kettle whistled, a shrill note that made everyone jump except Catriona. She poured tea into three cups.
“Sit, Aidan.”
He sat. The marble chair was cold through his trousers.
Lucia stared at the sandwiches. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Don’t you?” Catriona asked, taking a delicate bite of cucumber. She chewed, swallowed, dabbed her lips with a napkin. “It’s quite simple, really. My husband and your sister have been engaging in a… private arrangement. One that, based on the energy in this room ten minutes ago, has moved beyond the theoretical. Am I wrong?”
Aidan’s teacup rattled in its saucer. Lucia’s face flushed again. “So it’s true? You’re… and she’s…”
“It appears so.” Catriona sipped her tea. “The question now isn’t about morality, Lucia. That ship has, as they say, sailed. The question is about logistics. And pleasure.”
Aidan felt the floor tilt. “Cat, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m not blind, Aidan. I’ve felt the distance for months. The routine. I designed it, in a way. My busyness. Your… frustration.” She set her cup down with a precise click. “I found the contract. The day after Jenny moved in. Under that very charming pebble.” She nodded toward the island. “It was rather thrilling, actually. To see your hunger written down so plainly. To see her agree to it.”
Jenny appeared in the doorway. She had washed her face and wrapped herself in the blue robe, which swallowed her slight frame. She looked younger than twenty, vulnerable.
“Join us, Jenny,” Catriona said, patting the chair beside her. “Eat something. You’ll need your strength.”
Jenny crept to the table and sat, pulling the robe tightly around her. She didn’t look at anyone.
“Now,” Catriona continued, as if discussing a paint sample. “The original terms seem… limited. A live-in assistant, at our pleasure. Vague. I prefer specificity. So, here are the new rules.”
The room held its breath.
“One: Jenny, you will continue your cleaning duties. However, you will perform them in the nude. It’s more efficient, don’t you think? No laundry, no constraints. This is a body-positive household.”
Jenny’s head snapped up, her eyes wide.
“Two: Aidan, you will be present for these cleaning sessions. To supervise. To ensure… thoroughness.”
Aidan’s mouth was desert-dry.
“Three: When and where we decide, these sessions will transition from cleaning to other activities. Aidan, you will make love to her. You will not use a condom. You will finish inside her. Every time. That is my pleasure.” Catriona’s voice had dropped, a husky note entering it. A faint pinkness touched her neckline. “Today’s session begins now. Jenny, stand up. Let the robe fall.”
Lucia made a small, shocked noise. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am profoundly serious, Lucia. You are welcome to observe, or you may go to your room. But if you stay, you do not speak. You learn.” Catriona’s eyes were bright, alive with a fervor Aidan had never seen. “This is my home. These are my terms.”
Jenny, her movements trance-like, pushed back her chair. She stood. Her fingers went to the silk tie at her waist. She hesitated, her eyes finding Aidan’s, swimming with a chaos of fear, shame, and a dark, undeniable thrill. The tie came loose. The robe whispered open, then slid from her shoulders to puddle on the floor.
The afternoon light gilded her skin. She was exactly as he remembered from their frantic encounters—petite, curved, beautifully bare. But this was different. This was a display. A sacrament. Lucia looked away, then back, her medical-student detachment warring with raw astonishment.
“Beautiful,” Catriona breathed, leaning back in her chair. “Aidan. The table.”
He was hard. Painfully, overwhelmingly hard. The guilt was still there, a sour knot in his gut, but it was being incinerated by a furnace-blast of desire, fanned by his wife’s chilling, exhilarating command. He stood, his own movements feeling foreign to him.
“On your back, Jenny. On the table.”
Jenny obeyed, hoisting herself onto the cool marble. The sandwiches sat just beside her head. She lay back, her black hair fanning out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She stared at the ceiling.
Catriona stood and circled the table, a curator assessing a piece. “Look at her, Aidan. Look at what is yours. What we own.” She stopped at Jenny’s hip, ran a single, proprietary finger down the inside of her thigh. Jenny jerked. “You see how ready she is? And she’s all for you. My gift.”
Aidan undid his trousers. He felt like he was outside his own body, watching a film of someone else’s degradation and ecstasy. He moved between Jenny’s legs, which she parted for him. Her tight, innocent pussy glistened, already wet for him—from fear, from anticipation, from the insane theatre of it all.
“Take her,” Catriona said, her voice now a direct order. “Slowly. I want to watch every inch disappear.”
Aidan placed the head of his gigantic, girthy cock at her entrance. He met Jenny’s eyes. In them, he saw a reflection of his own shattered control. He pushed.
She was so tight. A hot, velvet fist clamping around him. He heard her gasp, saw her back arch off the cold marble. Catriona watched, unblinking, her breath coming faster, one hand resting lightly on her own sternum.
He began to move, a deep, slow piston stroke, each thrust driving a soft, punched-out sound from Jenny’s lips. The obscenity of it was absolute—the domestic setting, the uneaten sandwiches, the sister watching from the corner, his wife directing the act with soft, urgent commands. “Deeper.” “Look at how she takes you.” “Now faster.”
Aidan lost himself in the rhythm, in the forbidden, sanctioned pleasure. Jenny’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in harder. Her whimpers turned to cries. Catriona’s composure finally cracked; a flush spread across her chest, her lips parted, and her hand slipped from her sternum to between her own legs, over her elegant trousers, pressing hard as she watched her husband claim the girl.
It was quick, intense, a volcanic building of pressure. “I’m gonna…” Aidan grunted, the warning torn from him.
“Inside,” Catriona demanded, her voice ragged. “Fill her. Let me see.”
With a guttural roar, Aidan slammed home and erupted. Jenny cried out, her body seizing around him, her nails scratching at the marble. He collapsed forward, bracing himself on his hands above her, spent, dripping onto her stomach.
For a moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths. Then Catriona stepped closer. She looked at the mess Aidan had made of Jenny, the proof of the new rules spilling from her. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face.
“Perfect,” she whispered. She turned to Lucia, whose face was a masterpiece of shock and arousal. “You see? This is how a household is properly run.”
She looked back at Jenny, who lay trembling, utterly conquered, a used and stunning tableau on her kitchen table.
“Now,” Catriona said, her business-like tone returning, though her eyes still glittered. “Jenny, clean that up. Then you can finish the windows. Aidan, you’ll supervise. Lucia… you should unpack.”