Chapter 4: Relapse
The door to Maya’s dorm clicked shut with a soft, final sound, sealing Ethan in the warm, perfumed air. The room was exactly as he remembered: the soft glow of the salt lamp casting long shadows across the plush rug, the scent of sandalwood and something uniquely Maya clinging to the fabrics. But now, another presence shifted the atmosphere. Natalie sat on the edge of Maya’s bed, one leg tucked under her, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. She wore a loose tank top and shorts, looking utterly at home in this space that felt both familiar and alien to Ethan.
Maya didn’t look at him, her attention on arranging bottles of bath oil on her dresser. “You texted that you were sorry,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth he’d foolishly hoped for. “Sorry doesn’t fix your shit technique, Ethan. You heard what I said at the party. It’s embarrassing.”
Ethan’s throat tightened. The memory of her laughter, the casual cruelty as she compared him to someone else, washed over him again, hot and shameful. He could only nod, his eyes fixed on the pattern of the rug.
“Natalie’s going to help you,” Maya continued, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were sharp, assessing. “Consider it a remedial lesson. You’re going to make her come on your face. At least three times. Don’t stop until she tells you she’s done. I’ll be in the bath.” She picked up a towel and walked toward the small attached bathroom without another glance. “Nat, yell when he’s managed it.”
The bathroom door closed, and the lock slid into place with a quiet thud. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the room. Ethan stood frozen, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Natalie’s smile widened. She uncrossed her legs and patted the space on the floor in front of her. “Well? You heard her. We don’t have all night.”
His knees felt weak, but he moved, the cheap beer from earlier souring in his stomach. This was the price. This was always the price. He lowered himself to the floor, the rough texture of the rug biting into his knees through his jeans. He looked up at Natalie. Her gaze was cool, expectant.
“You know the drill, right?” she said, her voice a low purr. “Or did Maya have to draw you a diagram every time?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hands were trembling as he reached for the waistband of her shorts. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him, a queen granting an audience. He hooked his fingers into the soft fabric and her panties beneath, pulling them down her legs in one slow, deliberate motion. The dense, dark curls of her pubic hair were revealed, a neat, untrimmed triangle that held the faint, musky scent of her arousal. It was a smell he was becoming accustomed to, a scent that meant submission.
“Go on, then,” she murmured, spreading her legs wider. “Show me what you’ve got. Though from what Maya says, that’s not much.”
A hot flush of humiliation spread across his neck and face. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over her skin. He could see the glistening pink folds peeking through the dark hair, already wet for him. Or for this, for the act, not for him. Never for him. He closed his eyes for a second, then pressed his mouth against her.
The taste was immediate and complex—salty, tangy, deeply organic. He started with slow, tentative licks, tracing the outer lips before delving deeper. Natalie let out a soft sigh. “Yeah, that’s it. But don’t be so fucking gentle. You’re not kissing it, you’re eating it. Get your face in there.”
He obeyed, pushing his tongue harder, lapping at her, trying to find a rhythm. His nose was buried in her coarse pubic hair, the scent filling his head. He focused on the little nub of her clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue the way Maya had once, impatiently, shown him.
“Faster,” Natalie commanded, her hips beginning a slow, subtle grind against his face. “Use your fucking tongue, Ethan. Make me feel it.”
He increased the pressure, flicking and sucking, his jaw starting to ache. He could feel her body tensing, her breath coming in sharper hitches. One of her hands came down and tangled in his hair, not caressing, but gripping, guiding his movements. “Right there,” she gasped. “Don’t you fucking stop. Oh, god, yes.”
Her thighs tightened around his ears, muffling the world. Her grip on his hair became painful, yanking his head hard against her as her back arched off the bed. A low, guttural moan tore from her throat, and he felt the hot, sudden pulse of her release against his tongue, a flood of wetness that coated his lips and chin. She held him there, grinding against his mouth until the waves subsided, then pushed his head away, breathing heavily.
“One,” she panted, looking down at him with glazed, satisfied eyes. His face was wet, his lips swollen. He knelt back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste of her lingering, a stark reminder of his role.
She didn’t let him rest long. “What are you waiting for? An invitation? Round two. And don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you this time.”
He leaned in again, the task feeling more mechanical now. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a numb determination. He had to do this. For Maya. The thought was a bitter pill. He serviced Natalie with a focused, desperate energy, his tongue and lips working over her sensitive flesh until she was writhing and cursing again, her second climax sharper, quicker, her fingers digging into his scalp hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
“Two,” she announced, her voice hoarse. She looked at him, a sheen of sweat on her upper lip. “You’re getting the hang of it. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
Ethan’s body was trembling with fatigue. The room felt unbearably hot. He could hear the faint splash of water from the bathroom, a reminder that Maya was just on the other side of the door, listening, or perhaps not listening at all.
“Last one,” Natalie said, her tone shifting. It was softer, almost predatory. “Make it good. I want to really feel this one.” She rearranged herself on the bed, lying back fully and opening her legs wide in a blatant, challenging display. “Come on. Earn your way back.”
He moved in, his body screaming in protest. His tongue felt thick and raw. He dove back into her, past the point of skill or technique, operating on pure, desperate instinct. He licked and sucked and probed, his world narrowing to the smell and taste and feel of this woman’s cunt. Natalie’s moans became louder, more ragged. She bucked against his face, her hands fisting in the sheets.
“Yes, you fucking bitch, yes, right there, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!” she screamed, her body bowing off the mattress in a violent, shuddering climax that seemed to go on forever. Ethan stayed locked in place, swallowing every pulse, every tremor, until she finally collapsed, boneless and spent.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then, Natalie lifted a limp hand and tapped twice on the headboard. “Maya!” she called out, her voice cracking. “He’s done.”
The bathroom door unlocked and opened. Maya stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin glowing and damp. She looked from Natalie’s sated form to Ethan, still on his knees, his face glistening and flushed, his expression hollow.
“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice devoid of any approval. She walked over to the bed and handed Natalie a glass of water from the nightstand, ignoring Ethan completely. “Was it at least decent?”
Natalie took a sip, a slow smile spreading across her face as she looked at Ethan. “He’s trainable.” She swung her legs off the bed and started pulling her clothes back on. “I’m gonna head out. Thanks for the… lesson.”
Ethan remained on the floor, a discarded tool. He watched as Natalie left, the door closing behind her with the same soft click. Maya finally turned her gaze to him, her eyes critical.
“Get up,” she said. “And clean yourself off. You look pathetic.”
He pushed himself to his feet, his joints stiff, the taste of another woman a permanent stain in his mouth. He had done what she asked. He had passed the test. But as he looked at Maya’s impassive face, he knew with a sinking certainty that nothing had changed. The rules were the same. He was just getting better at playing a game he never wanted to be in.