Chapter 6: The Chalkboard Fuck
The next day, the smell of Tyler’s skin and the relentless, full feeling he’d left inside her lingered in Emma’s mind like a stain she couldn’t scrub clean. She sat at her immaculate desk, fingers tracing the grain of the polished wood, seeing not the student transcripts before her but the predatory grin on his face as Will kissed her cheek, the secret wetness on her thighs. The pleasure had been a thunderclap, shocking and absolute. But the memory of his size, the brutal stretch, now filled her with a trembling dread. She loved Will. She loved their quiet, ordered life. She had gone too far. It was a mistake, a filthy, wonderful mistake that could not, would not, be repeated.
She decided to avoid the cafeteria, the crowded halls, any place he might be. But a forgotten file in the history wing forced her out. The distant, rhythmic thump and muffled cry that wasn’t quite pain halted her mid-step. It came from Mr. Heller’s empty classroom. The door was cracked open two inches.
A part of her mind, the sane part, screamed to turn around. To walk away. Her feet carried her forward silently, the pristine floors squeaking under her sensible heels. She peered through the gap.
Her breath seized.
Tyler stood, muscles coiled in his back and shoulders, driving into a girl bent over a teacher’s desk. Her pleated skirt was shoved up around her waist, a blur of navy blue. Her white blouse was torn open, and small, pert breasts swung with each brutal thrust. The sound was obscene—a wet, solid slapping of flesh, punctuated by ragged gasps.
“Take this fucking dick, you tight little bitch,” Tyler grunted, his voice thick and amused.
“Oh god, oh fuck, Tyler! It’s so deep!” the girl wailed, her voice hitching with each impact. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the laminated wood. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”
Emma’s hand flew to her mouth. The girl’s head turned, profile momentarily clear against the chalkboard scrawled with constitutional amendments. The heart-shaped face, the distinct brown hair. It was Rachel Berry. National Honor Society president. Finn Hudson’s devoted girlfriend. Broadway hopeful. Now, she was a writhing, sweaty animal being ravaged by a student in an empty classroom. The transformation was absolute, terrifying.
Emma should have been horrified. She was. But a hotter, darker current pulled at her. Her own core, which had ached all morning, clenched violently. Her hand, as if divorced from her will, drifted down over her tweed skirt. The rough fabric scratched her palm as she pressed it hard against herself. A soft, shameful moan escaped her lips as she watched Tyler’s immense, dark penis pistoning in and out of Rachel’s glistening pinkness, sliding easily through the mess he was making of her. She could almost feel it herself, the remembered invasion, the shocking fullness. Her fingers began to move in a small, frantic circle.
Tyler’s rhythm never faltered. But his head turned. His eyes, dark and knowing, locked directly onto hers through the gap in the door. A slow, victorious smile spread across his face. He winked.
“Well, look who’s come to watch,” he said, his voice conversational even as he powered into Rachel. “Mrs. Pillsbury. I owe you a thank you.”
Emma froze, her hand still pressed against her mound, caught.
“Your married pussy was so sweet,” he continued, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips that made Rachel sob. “Taught me I can have anything in this fucking school. Anyone. Look at this… this little starfucker begging for it.” He fisted a hand in Rachel’s hair, yanking her head back. “Tell her who owns this cunt now.”
“You do!” Rachel screamed, her eyes rolling back. “You own it, Tyler! Please, please make me cum!”
Tyler’s gaze never left Emma’s. “See? Confidence.” He began to fuck faster, harder, the desk legs scraping against the floor in a frantic shriek. “You’re next, Mrs. Schuester. I’m not done with you. That married pussy is mine. I’m gonna break it in proper.”
With a final, brutal series of thrusts, he roared, grinding himself deep into Rachel as she convulsed. He let her hair go, and she slumped onto the desk, a broken doll. Tyler stayed buried inside her, catching his breath, his eyes burning into Emma’s with a promise that felt like a sentence.
He pulled out with a slick, wet sound, and pointed a glistening finger directly at her hiding place.
“You’re next.”