“Jack,” said the instructor impatiently. Jack gulped, wondering if the charade was already up, but the only pupils who paid any attention were new and, thus, just as nervous.

“Sí, Professor Covarrubias,” Jack whispered in halting, clumsy Portuguese. This was such a different environment and the protocols were different.

“Stay after class,” he snapped.

Jack wanted to be sick, right there on the floor.

After class, once the other pupils had filed out, Professor Covarrubias strode to the door and locked it. Jack’s mouth dropped open.

A whipping? For what?

And in two strides, the instructor was in front of Jack, grasping Jack’s face and pulling until—


“Oh, God,” Jack managed to whisper and went with the kiss … Too relieved it wasn’t a whipping.

“What’s your name, girl?” he rasped into her mouth.

Jack stilled. “Ah … ”

“Don’t try to lie to me, girl,” he growled against her lips as he tugged at the tie that held her shirt on, let it drop and revealed the bindings of her breasts. “I know a body built for childbearing when I see one. What’s your name?”


“How old are you?”


“Have you your courses?”

“Now?” she squeaked, appalled.

“No, not now. Are you a woman?”

“Yes—sí. Sí, Professor.” She could barely think, barely breathe, as he went about unwrapping her bindings.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Aye, sir.”

“You came here off a pirate ship and you’re clever enough to fool everyone else with your brave boy talk, so I have to assume you know something about the dealings between men and women?”

“I—I thought— You were—”

“A pederast? No. But the fact that you know what that is encourages me that, virgin or no, your education has not been lacking.”

Finally her full breasts were bare and he moaned softly as he looked at them, lifted his hand to cup one. Celia caught her breath, and her nipple tightened. He brushed it with his thumb.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, still staring, and Celia decided that there were worse ways to lose her virginity than to a golden Spanish god who touched her so reverently.

“Professor,” Celia murmured, arching her back slightly to press her breast into his palm.

He looked into her face, then smiled wolfishly. “You know what to do with these, I see.”

“I’ve seen,” she said low. “Watched people.”

“Wanted to try it?”

“Aye, sometimes. Not at all some other times.”

“Gather your things and bring them to my garret. You shall not be defiled by those adolescent miscreants while I’m around.”

“I shall be defiled by you instead?”

“Breasts and hips like these deserve to be defiled by a real man, not some clumsy little pup straight off his mama’s tit.” He paused. “Tell me. Have you ever seen women together?” She nodded hesitantly. “Ah, that doesn’t amuse you.”

She shook her head.

“And men together?” She nodded again. “And?”

She shrugged. “I don’t matter there, do I?”

He laughed. “Ah, and wise, too. Mind, body, and soul. My God, I’ll have to thank Dunham.”

“He’ll kill you for this.”

“No he won’t,” Professor Covarrubias said with a wave of his hand. “He’ll hate me, but he won’t kill me. There is a reason he sent you to me, love. If he didn’t have half an expectation that I would seduce you, then he’s not as smart as I thought he was.” He touched his forehead to hers then and whispered, “I am the best astronomer and mathematician and navigator who has ever sailed. What I have up here—” He tapped his temple with a fingertip. “—keeps me safe from everyone who might wish to take me to task for a trespass.”

He pulled away from her then, picked up her wrappings off the floor and shoved them at her. “Put those back on and go about your day. Bring your things to my apartments after the last meal.”

She gestured weakly toward the door. “Won’t they—”

“Oh, my love, no. They won’t. I just told you why. You shall be here as a woman, as my woman, and you shall learn to cipher and navigate. Because you are brilliant.” He looked at her torso once again. “And beautiful,” he whispered.

• • •

That night, he held her when she cried. He stroked her back and pressed tender kisses on the top of her head. Celia knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but … he was so big and she was so tight. And now she couldn’t even go back to the dormitory with the boys because it hadn’t taken long for word to get out that she was a girl and, moreover, would be spending her school years as Professor Covarrubias’s mistress as well as his star pupil.

She was still hiccuping when he left the bed and shuffled across the room to his washstand. He brought the bowl and pitcher to the bed, put them on the floor, then pulled a chair to sit. “Come,” he said softly, and gestured that Celia should sit facing him on the edge of the bed. She did. “Lie down.” She obeyed, and felt his big hands against her bare knees, gently spreading them apart and putting her feet on the arms of his chair. “Relax. Get a pillow. Put it under your head. There’s a good girl.”

Celia sighed when she felt a soft, warmly wet cloth against the skin of her thighs, cleaning her. She gasped when it touched her quim and it seemed Professor Covarrubias was caressing her as much as cleaning her. She swallowed because …

… that felt really good.

“It should only hurt the first time,” he murmured, his low voice rich and heavy with Spanish, his native language. Celia spoke little Portuguese, although her Spanish was adequate to get by. He must have known this, for his rigid insistence on Portuguese in the classroom had given way to Spanish once he’d welcomed her to his bedroom. “I should have been more careful, my love, and I apologize.” He trailed his fingers lightly through the curls and she shivered. Sighed.

Yes, she had been completely enthralled with him, with his caresses and kisses, until the moment he had breached her for the first time—which felt as if she’d been run through by a sword.

It wasn’t too far off the mark, either.

But now she was starting to feel those delicious feelings again as he touched her and cleansed her.

She felt suddenly cold when he moved away from her, but he was back again before she could even whimper. She lifted her head to see him with a vial of something he poured into his palm, then rubbed what felt like warm oil into her skin. It had a rather pleasant scent to it.

“This is lavender oil,” he murmured. “It should help you to move more freely tomorrow.”

“Move more freely?” Celia asked.

Professor Covarrubias chuckled. “My dear, had I done my task correctly this evening, you would not be able to walk for two days.”

That confused her. “I thought you said you did not want to hurt me.”

“Ah, this would be the pain of a good night’s work, love. Have you never spent the night on deck battling a storm until your muscles froze and failed?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

“These,” he murmured, caressing, massaging her inner thighs. “These would have felt thusly after having them spread for me all night.” He chuckled. “That is, if I had done my part correctly. You and I are finished for the evening. We shall try again tomorrow when you have recovered. For now…”

He leaned forward, and Celia shivered with the feel of his warm breath on the tender skin. She gasped—a tiny gasp—when she felt him press a kiss upon her. A strong gasp when his tongue touched her.

“Professor … ” she squeaked. She had never seen a man do this to a woman, nor heard tell of it, either. She had thought this solely the domain of women pleasuring women.

“Lie still, Celia, my love,” he murmured as he kissed his way closer and closer to her quim. “I am going to make some amends for my clumsiness. You need to understand what reward there is for you, or you will become a reluctant lover. That would be a tragedy.”

With his fingers he spread her flesh wide and his tongue touched a spot that made her screech in…pleasure? It was not pain.

His deep chuckle made the bed quake slightly. “Beautiful,” he breathed.

There was a lurch in the pit of her belly when he opened his mouth over her folds and his tongue laved that spot. The feelings he had elicited from her before he had impaled her upon his prick were coming back, only bigger. Deeper. Her quim clenched because it was empty and she couldn’t imagine why she would want him inside her again.

But she did.

“Professor,” she sighed, digging her fingers into his coarse blond hair and pulling him up closer to her.

“Ah, I knew you would be amenable to this.”

With his mouth, he sucked and licked and kissed.

With his fingers, he caressed and kneaded and entered.

Celia felt … something … building inside her. It was a something that was bigger than anything she’d observed or felt while watching men and women fuck, bigger than what the Professor had made her feel at any time before this moment.

“Ahhh,” she screamed when it hit her, and she arched her back to get away from it and move toward it at the same time. She pulled the Professor into her as she panted and cried, wanting more, wanting it never to end.

His mouth!

What sweet torture!

Celia let her Professor’s hair loose to lay stunned and panting, staring up at the ceiling while he continued to chuckle and knead the insides of her thighs.

“Now that,” he murmured as he arose, caressing her with his fingertips as he turned away, “is what you can look forward to tomorrow. ’Tis what I failed at doing tonight.”

Failure? That was failure? Celia couldn’t imagine success—

—until the next night when Professor Covarrubias stroked her the same way, to a peak, without allowing her to go over, and he slipped inside her.

She sobbed with his entry, and he stilled. “Celia?”

“No, no, please. Stay, Professor. I— I am … Ohhh,” she sighed, and tightened her body around him.

“Ah, I see,” he murmured, though without an ounce of smugness. He pushed himself into her all the way and stayed. She felt the coarse hair surrounding his prick commingling with her muff. She felt his balls against her arse and sighed. She felt his prick filling her, filling some need she didn’t know she had…

He touched her then, spreading her open so that small bundle of pure sensation felt his body as he began to move in and out of her slowly, as the night before, but now slick with her juices.

It began to build again. Even better this time, with him inside her, moving, stroking that little spot in a way his tongue hadn’t.

When it came upon her, she screamed again and lifted her hips to meet his strokes, wanting more, ever more, wanting him to stay instead of stroke, to stroke instead of stay.

“Oh, God,” she moaned. Whimpered.

“Ah, and there is my signal,” he murmured, his voice strained and urgent. “I don’t want to hurt you, Celia, but … ”

“Go,” she choked, only hoping he would understand she was giving him permission to do what he would.

And he did.

He pounded into her and while he did give her pain, he also gave her pleasure—a different pleasure. The pleasure of knowing that he wanted her so much he could not control himself.

He growled when he reached his pinnacle and jerked. She felt his warm seed in her and then seep out of her, down her arse. She shuddered with sensation.

“That, my love,” he said, dropping to his back beside her in his bed, panting, “was what should’ve happened last night.”

She looked at him, this handsome golden god next to her, naked, his body taut and well-formed, sprinkled with golden hair. He turned his head toward her, noticed her staring, and grinned.

“Why me?” she whispered.

His grin faded. “Why you? A host of reasons, but in the main, because you have a brilliant mind and you are bold.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Bold?” she repeated, not understanding.

“Sí. Few women—ones half again and twice, thrice your age—would have the temerity to survive and thrive on the deck of a pirate ship, much less hold her own in a boy’s dormitory alone, unaided.”

She still did not comprehend. “The Iron Maiden is all I know after my stepfather sent me away. I did not choose it, and my father brooks no disobedience.”

“Ah, well, then. ’Twill take you time to realize how rare you are, but until then, I shall be the gemsmith who sees your worth and cuts and polishes you to perfection.” She stared at him, and he laughed. “That, my lovely, was a metaphor. I shall not cut or polish you in fact. I shall simply take what you have given me to work with and train you to be better than anyone—even your father—could have dreamed.” He paused. “He sent you to me to make a captain out of you, Celia, and I will do that. He simply has no idea how great a captain you will become.”

“What has this to do with becoming a captain?”

“Nothing at all,” he said immediately. “This,” he whispered as he leaned over to take one of her nipples in his mouth, “has everything to do with our mutual pleasure.”


2 thoughts on “Galatea

  • November 27, 2016 at 4:40 am

    …as always, you slay……

    • November 27, 2016 at 2:01 pm

      I see what you did there. 😉


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