Intro to Goddess Theory Shrunken First Semester: (S)Mothered chapter 9 by maximally

Monday he rode in the tank. Victoria’s position was that college meant being present, and present meant cleavage, not the crack, whenever they left 201. In theory that let him hear a lecture. In practice he spent Intro to Psych buried to the waist in warm skin, counting down to five o’clock, and trying not to make eye contact with anyone who had seen Crystal’s photo.

 

Izzy had headed north at dawn with a hickey and a promise to come back soon. Zeke had walked like a man who had learned a new fact about his spine. The old room was quiet again. The new one still smelled like Victoria’s shower and last night’s walk home.

 

“That brings us to Freud.”

 

Professor Riya Chandra wrote the name on the board and turned, smirk ready. Six-four, two-seventeen, one of the more physically intimidating people on faculty: Indian, silver hair, a beauty mark on her chin, double-D chest, legs like tree trunks, an ass that had single-handedly broken at least two couches in the Psych break room. Smooth brown skin. Frilly green blouse. Black chinos that had given up being modest. Every time she moved, the clothes admitted they were in on it. Campus rumor said she picked the tight ones on purpose. Campus rumor said a lot of things about her that lined up with the way she looked at a room.

 

She taught like she knew exactly what the room was looking at.

 

“Just out of curiosity. What associations come to mind. Yes, Crystal?”

 

“Guys who want to fuck their moms?” Crystal, back row, delighted. “Like Tori’s guy. Max.”

 

“Pfft.” Victoria did not miss a beat. “In his horny little dreams.”

 

The room laughed. He grimaced into cotton. Unsurprisingly, his stepmother was already more popular than he had ever been on this campus. Her arrival had raised his profile. The reputation that came with it was not the one he would have picked. A week ago nobody knew his name. Now they knew him as Victoria’s shrunken plaything.

 

“Very good.” Riya nodded. “For those who don’t know, Crystal is groping at the Oedipus complex. It’s a little more nuanced than that. Not by much.” A glance at the tank. “Sorry to put you on the spot, Max.”

 

“Oh, he’s fine.” Victoria squeezed. “Right, sweetie?”

 

“Y-yeah.” Muffled. “It’s f-fine.”

 

“Good.” Riya checked the clock. “That’s five. Reading for Wednesday is on the portal.”

 

The class emptied like it was on fire. Victoria stayed in the seat. So, after a look, did Riya.

 

“Tori. Do you mind sticking around a second?”

 

“Sure. What’s up?”

 

The door closed. Riya came down to the desk and smiled the professional smile that was not only professional. “I wanted to see how you’re settling in.”

 

“No complaints.” A little shake of the tank. “What about you, sweetie?”

 

Two giant women looking at him. He shrugged. “Y’know. It’s an adjustment.”

 

“I’m sure. If you’d ever like to talk it over, I’m also a counselor at the Wellness Center. Door’s always open.”

 

“Thanks.” He meant it more than he wanted to. “That actually sounds kinda nice.”

 

“I might have to take you up on that too,” Victoria said, and let her eyes do a slow lap of Riya’s figure. “Bea speaks very highly of your… skills.”

 

“Please do.” Riya’s grin said the skills were not only clinical. “I assumed you’d tag along.”

 

“Assume away.”

 

Max sighed into the tank. Of course the counseling pitch had a second agenda. Everyone at this school did, once Victoria walked in.

 

“I’ve got some availability right now,” Riya said, voice dropping. “If you’d like to come back to my office.”

 

Victoria almost said yes. He felt the yes in her chest. Then she glanced down at him — weekend, liner, contest, Bea, Izzy — and the helicopter won by a hair.

 

“Not today. He’s had a weekend. If I take him into your office in this mood I’m going to say yes to something I should read first.”

 

“Smart.” Riya did not look offended. She looked interested. “Walk with me anyway. I’ll give you the pamphlet.”

 

Her office was three doors down: wood panel, leather chairs, claw-foot table, diplomas. Riya pulled a stack off a shelf and set it on the table with a thump that made Max flinch in the tank. Dust. Gothic lettering. Embossed backsides and feet.

 

An Introduction to Goddess Theory. Under it, Five Studies of Mixed-Size Relationships. Domination and Submission for Dummies. A dog-eared paperback called Odor & Obedience.

 

“Popular with my daughter’s friends,” Riya said. “Kali. Juno. You may have heard the name.”

 

Victoria had. Max had. Campus boogeywoman, four years running.

 

“Controversial,” Riya went on, flipping Goddess Theory open as if she were showing a syllabus. “If feminism is equality, this is fifty steps past it. Men as support structure. No real personhood of their own. The founder of this school was a fan, which is a fun fact for Parents’ Weekend.”

 

She turned the book so Victoria could see a spread headed POSTERIOR WORSHIP. Six etchings: a large woman, a small man, a bow, a crawl, a kiss on each cheek, a face pressed into a crack. The last panel was the woman mid-climax with him underneath.

 

Victoria whistled, low. “That’s… thorough.” The grin arrived a half-second late. “I’m not going to pretend I haven’t thought about putting him back there on purpose. I already did that part. This—” She tapped the crawl, the script, the last panel. “This is out there even for me. And that is a sentence I do not say often.”

 

“They recommend it for mothers with rebellious sons.” Riya’s tone stayed counselor-warm. “Or any woman who wants a more obedient companion. They also note that too much repetition can ‘break’ the male partner’s constitution. Render him unsuited for life without a female guardian.”

 

Max went white in the shirt. Victoria’s mouth did the sold-look anyway, because a limit and a shopping list had always lived in the same face.

 

“Still,” she said. “Especially that last part. I’ll read it before I run it. That’s the deal.”

 

“I thought you might say that.” Riya closed the book and left it on the table, a physical object they would have to walk past on the way out. “I’m not going to run you through it today. He’s fried, and you said you wanted to read first. Take the title. Come back if you want a supervised session. Or don’t. The exercises work either way.”

 

“What about dinner?” Victoria asked, because she could not help herself.

 

“I cook a mean curry.” Riya winked. “When he’s ready. Or when you are.”

 

“Rain check,” Victoria said, and this time Max heard himself in the phrase. “Same as last night.”

 

“Two rain checks in two days. You’re going to spoil him.”

 

“That’s the idea.” Victoria tugged the tank up so only his hair showed for the hall. “Thanks for the reading list, professor.”

 

“Anytime. Max — be a good boy for Mama, okay?”

 

“Same time next week, maybe,” Victoria said, already at the door.

 

“It’s a date. I’ll text Bea too.”

 

He did not answer. The poster-worship page was already behind his eyes. Victoria walked them out with the book title in her phone notes and two invitations sitting next to Crystal’s, unused, which was as close to mercy as Monday was going to get.

 

*

 

Campus was already tipping into Monday night. Weed on the air. Music from open windows. The walk from faculty housing to USD ran through people who still had parties to be late to. Max hid as deep as the tank allowed and watched, when he dared, the version of college that did not include a bra.

 

Victoria slowed. The voice that cut the quad was candy over a blade — a candy-coated razor she’d been practicing for cameras.

 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

 

Victoria’s chest bounced with a chuckle. “Hello, Crystal.”

 

He peeked. Five-two of Fortuna in the pink-and-white shirt and blue shorts, phone already up, makeup glittering under the streetlights. Next to Victoria she looked like a different species. Sharp. Small. Hunting.

 

“Sup, Tori? Where are you coming from? You look… satisfied.”

 

Another chuckle. “I suppose you’re not wrong.”

 

“I knew it. One of my sisters saw you going into Chandra’s earlier. Group chat’s been losing it.” A full-body scan: mussed hair, shine on the chest, lazy mouth. “And you walk out looking like that? Iconic.”

 

“I aim to please.”

 

“No, for real.” Crystal stepped in close enough that the bubblegum breath hit the tank. “Me and my sisters have been talking. Like, seriously talking. I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but there’s a really good chance we’ll ask you to pledge soon. We all think you’re Fortuna material.”

 

Max’s stomach knotted. His stepmother in the Hot Girl House was a sentence that did not fit in his head, even after the weekend it had been.

 

“Well. I’m flattered.” She sounded like she meant it. “Tell them I’m looking forward to the invitation.”

 

“Totally.” Phone flash, almost a reflex. “Speaking of Fortuna material — Izzy’s a riot. We’ve been texting nonstop. Half the comments on the shoot from this weekend have been about her.”

 

“That’s my girl. Always making friends. Apparently she’s already got a deal with Max’s old roommate for next time she visits.”

 

“Really?” Crystal laughed. “His funeral. I saw him coming out of USD this morning and he was still walking funny. Izzy did a number on him Sunday night.”

 

The humiliation landed hot. Victoria’s chest puffed.

 

“She takes after her mother. We know how to leave a lasting impression.”

 

“Seems like it.” Crystal’s eyes dropped to the tank and caught the movement. “Ooh, is the little guy listening? Hey, Maxie.”

 

He flinched deeper.

 

“Aww, don’t be shy.” Back to Victoria. “So did you, like, take him with you? While you were—” She made a ring with one hand and pushed a finger through it.

 

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” A wink. “Let’s just say it’s nothing he isn’t used to.”

 

“You’re wild. Seems like he had a pretty good time, though. At least based on that teeny tiny tent he’s pitching.”

 

He went red enough to feel it in his ears. Five minutes in the tank had not killed what Riya’s office had started.

 

“Anyway. Listen.” Crystal put on the syrup. “Totally random idea. Feel free to say no. I’m about to head back for a collab stream with JJ. Pretty regular, just reacting to videos from the Diana kegger. Would you maybe, possibly, be willing to let me borrow him for a couple hours?”

 

Borrow. Like a book. Like a prop. The quad noise dropped out of his head.

 

“My chat would literally die. And JJ would LOVE to meet him. I’d take, like, super good care of him. You’d never know he was gone.”

 

Victoria’s hand came up and traced the lump he made against her chest. Possessive. A ruler considering the fate of a subject. He tried to catch her eye. She was looking at Crystal.

 

“I don’t know, Crystal.” Finally. “I’m sure Max wouldn’t mind a little time away from the old ball and chain. But we just had a very intense session with Riya — Professor Chandra.” A lip-bite. “I think he’s had enough excitement for one day.”

 

She glanced down. He nodded hard enough to shake the cotton.

 

“Aww, c’mon. Just an hour. Ninety minutes, tops.”

 

“Another time.” Gentle. Firm. Two fingers pressed him deeper into the tank. “When we’ve both got a little more energy. Then you two can have a proper playdate.”

 

“Ugh. Fine.” Crystal was already turning. “I gotta go get ready. See ya around.”

 

Designer sneakers on pavement. Sweetest sound of the day. Victoria started walking again. He stayed in the shirt and let himself have the win. She had chosen him. Or she had chosen to keep him. Tonight that was close enough.

 

“You’re welcome,” she said, like she’d felt the relief.

 

“T-thanks.”

 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her thumb stroked the outside of the tank, right over him. “That offer was tempting. Do you know how easy it would have been to drop you with Crystal and go back to Riya’s?” A beat. “I don’t usually tap out after one round. So unless you’re willing to do me a big favor when we get home, you owe me one.”

 

He swallowed. He knew that sentence. He had known it in Sunnyvale. He knew where it pointed.

 

“Okay,” he said, because the alternative was Crystal’s stream, and he had already picked once today.

 

“Okay.” She smiled into the dusk. “Then let’s go home.”

 

*

 

USD smelled like stale pizza and cheap beer. Victoria climbed the stairs, unlocked 201, and shut the weekend out. Dark. Quiet. She kicked the flip-flops off, hit the bedside lamp, and only then reached into the tank and peeled him free.

 

“Home sweet home.” She lifted him to her face, clocked the sheen on him, and smiled. “Phew. You are a mess, sweetie.”

 

“Yeah.” He smiled back before he could stop it. He was. She had not said it mean. “S-so. Pledging House Fortuna, huh?”

 

“Maybe.” Arms over her head. The tank rode up. “I guess we’ll see.”

 

“Y-yeah. I guess so.”

 

She set him on the bed and turned toward the bathroom. Water on. Steam. Clothes in a wet heap. Naked again, not as a threat this time — as logistics.

 

“Alright.” She tested the spray and picked him up. “I figured out how you’re going to pay me back.”

 

The shower stall. Her grip adjusted until he understood he was the bar of soap.

 

She started at her chest. Slow circles over slick, enormous breasts, face mashed past nipples bigger than his head. Then the rest of the upper body: neck, shoulders, the soft of her belly, her back. Then the pits. Hot. Sour. A day’s worth of quad and classroom and Riya’s office packed into a damp hollow. When she peeled him out of the right one she laughed at the look on him.

 

“Good. Hold your breath for this next part.”

 

She turned away from the spray and put him where he had spent Saturday night. Soap made the crack a slide. He tried, once, to brace against being pressed into the hole and only got laughed at and pushed deeper. She ran him up and down the fold until the lather went gray.

 

“You can open your eyes,” she said, amused. “It’s just me. I know that’s not what you used to picture when you thought about this particular assignment.”

 

He made a noise that was not a word.

 

“Don’t play dumb. Junior year. Your birthday. Izzy bought you that knockoff Bella Hart thong off some garbage site — the print of her ass, the little bow, the whole stupid thing. You hid it in a sock. I found it because I do your laundry, sweetie. I wore it around the house for an hour before dinner. Same size as mine, more or less. You walked into the kitchen and for one beautiful second you thought the real thing had shown up in Sunnyvale.” She snorted. Water hit her shoulders and ran into the fold around him. “Then you saw the rest of me attached to it. Izzy filmed your face. I told you some of us got laid in high school and didn’t need merch. You didn’t talk at dinner. I felt a little bad. Not enough to take it off before dessert.”

 

She pinched him out of the crack, held him up dripping, and squinted at the look on him.

 

“What. You look like you just met Mount Lady. I’m speaking your language, right? Big lady, bigger backside, you hide under the furniture?” A beat. “I did look that one up. Izzy said I had the silhouette.”

 

She finished on hips, thighs, calves, the broad damp plains of her feet.

 

He went slack in her hand. Tool, not person, except when she checked his face and found him still tracking. The intimacy of being her loofah sat next to the kitchen memory and did not lose. The thong had been cheap print. This was the real estate it had been joking about. He had known that in the kitchen. He knew it worse now.

 

She rinsed them both, killed the water, toweled herself, toweled him, and walked them back to the king bed.

 

She sat. The mattress took her the way it had taken her every night since Saturday. Then she turned her back and the shorts were gone, and the view was the one from the nightstand after the kegger, clean now, still the same geography.

 

“You know,” she said, and gave her hips a little shake. “I hope you appreciate how tempting that offer was.”

 

He stared.

 

The compulsion arrived without a meeting. Not Riya’s voice, not Victoria’s. His feet, moving. Off the towel. Across the sheet. Arms out. He pressed himself into the crack like the etchings in the office book, except nobody had told him to kneel, and there was no line to repeat. He kissed the outline of her pucker through nothing but steam and skin, once, then again, then like he was trying to prove a point he did not have words for.

 

“Whoa there.” She chuckled, startled in a way he almost never heard. “What’s the plan, Romeo?”

 

It took him a few seconds to hear the question and a few more to stop. His face was still in the fold. What was the plan. What had just happened.

 

PPPFFFFFFFRRRRRRRTTTTTTT

 

Not a septic-tank blast. Softer. Warmer. Almost polite, if you squinted. It rolled out of her with a velvety rumble, filtered by nothing, and bloomed on his mouth. Digestion. Heat. He staggered back with his head ringing.

 

Victoria burst out laughing. “Wow. Maybe there’s more to those exercises than I thought.” She wiped an eye. “You know I was just kidding about the favor, right, sweetie?”

 

He rubbed his face. Kidding or not felt beside the point. Whatever had moved him had not asked permission.

 

She turned. The look softened when she saw the confusion.

 

“No judgment. I mean it. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

 

He managed a smile. None of this was normal. Crystal’s stream had been the other door. “Cool,” he mumbled.

 

“Cool.” She leaned over him like a one-woman mountain range and picked him up for a goodnight kiss that covered more of him than his mouth. Then she giggled at what was still happening south of that. “Night night, sweetie. Sleep tight. Don’t let the butt bugs bite.”

 

She rolled onto her side, spread her cheeks with two fingers, and tucked him in. The canyon closed. Humid. Dark. Familiar.

 

Inside, the only sounds were her gut and her breathing. He lay under the relaxed weight and went back to the sheet — the inexplicable urge to kiss her. To subordinate himself. To go further. Riya’s book. The forced lines they had not even said yet. Or the book as a key that had only unlocked something already buried: years of her in the doorway and him failing at every normal version of this.

 

Her sphincter gave a sleepy pulse against his face. A goodnight of its own.

 

The first night fart seeped out silent and warm and wrapped around him like a blanket.

 

The thought that followed was simple and worse than the book.

 

The conditioning might be fake.

 

This might just be him.

 

Outside the crack, clocks kept time he could not see. Crystal’s clip was still live. Fortuna was still going to ask. Izzy was already planning the next drive. Riya’s curry and her supervised session sat on a calendar. The Juno waiver and the Proserpina waiver were still unread in Bea’s stack. There was no hospital appointment. There was no cure on the nightstand.

 

There was the fold, and the heat, and the fact that when she had given him a chance to pick a tissue box he had missed it, and when nobody had told him to kneel he had done it anyway.

 

He slept there anyway.