Chapter 12: Second Course
The mirror held her.
Emma’s eyes, blurred with tears and pleasure, kept drifting back to the fractured glass. Marcus moved behind her with a powerful, rhythmic grace, each thrust a vivid spectacle in the reflection. She saw the sweat tracing the channels of his back, the powerful clench of his jaw, the way her own body yielded to his. Her red hair was a wild mess against her neck. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry with every deep drive.
She tried to shut it out, squeezing her eyes tight as the sensations threatened to overwhelm her. But the angle of the bed, the position on her hands and knees, made it impossible. Her gaze, seeking an anchor, kept finding the mirror. And what she saw there excited her even more.
This wasn’t Emma Pillsbury, guidance counselor, wife of Will Schuester. This was just a woman being fucked. A body being used. The prim cardigan and pearl necklace she’d worn into this house were gone, replaced by sweat-slicked skin and the dark, possessive hands of a student gripping her hips. She was no different from Quinn Fabray, the cheerleader she’d once overheard being fucked in a bathroom stall during a glee club party—a gasping, animal thing reduced to pure feeling. The thought should have shamed her. Instead, a fresh wave of slick heat coated Marcus’s cock as he slid into her.
While Marcus was fucking her, the bedroom door opened.
Emma froze, a jolt of pure terror cutting through the haze. Marcus didn’t stop. His rhythm didn’t falter for a second.
The hulking man who had greeted him at the front door entered the room. He was even larger than she remembered, his frame filling the doorway, blocking the light from the hall. The man was much larger than Marcus. Thick-necked, with arms like loaded hamstrings under his tight white t-shirt. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look away.
He approached the couple, not the least bit embarrassed.
“Well, goddamn,” the man said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. He watched, openly, as Marcus’s hips pistoned, as Emma’s body shook with each impact.
On the contrary, he congratulated Marcus on having managed to sleep with the school guidance counselor.
“Got yourself the little red-headed counselor, huh, Marqu?” the giant said, chuckling. “Knew you had it in you. Proper little milf.”
Marcus, too, didn’t seem bothered by the hulking man’s presence. He grunted, his focus still on the tight, wet heat he was plunging into. “Told you she needed it.”
He continued to fuck Emma Pillsbury while the hulking man spoke to him.
Emma buried her face in the comforter, humiliation burning her cheeks hotter than any pleasure. But she couldn’t block out the sounds: the wet slap of flesh, Marcus’s strained breaths, the giant’s low chuckle.
The hulking man said that a certain Joey was waiting for him downstairs so he could fuck her ass.
“Joey’s gettin’ impatient downstairs,” the giant mentioned casually, as if discussing the weather. “Says her ass is ready and waiting. You promised her a proper reaming, man.”
Marcus replied that he had to finish with Emma first, and he picked up the pace, which brought Emma Pillsbury to her first orgasm.
“Gotta finish here first,” Marcus panted. His hands tightened on her hips, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more focused. The change in angle was immediate and brutal. The coil in Emma’s belly, wound so tight by shame and fear and relentless friction, snapped.
A broken, sobbing cry tore from her throat as her climax hit. It was less a wave of pleasure and more a seismic surrender, her body convulsing around his driving cock, her vision whiting out at the edges. She shook, her arms giving way, her chest hitting the damp sheets.
The giant sat down next to her on the edge of the ruined bed. The mattress dipped heavily under his weight. He placed a massive, calloused hand on the small of Emma’s back. She flinched.
He told Emma he was going to take good care of her right after.
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” the giant said, his voice too close to her ear. “Big Mike’s gonna take real good care of you next. Got you all warmed up for me.”
He commented on his size and how his cock matched his.
He leaned back, and Emma, through hooded eyes, saw him gesture down at the formidable bulge in his grey sweatpants. “See that? Matches the rest of me. You’re a tiny little thing. Gonna feel every fucking inch.”
He added that what he liked best were married milfs’ pussies.
“Love a married pussy,” Big Mike mused, his hand stroking up her spine. “Best kind. Always so tight, like they’re tryna stay faithful.” He laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Too late for that, ain’t it?”
Marcus ended up ejaculating inside Emma at the same time she came, collapsing onto the bed, her pussy dripping with the young black man’s sperm.
Above her, Marcus’s rhythm shattered into a final, frantic staccato. A guttural roar erupted from his chest as he slammed home, burying himself to the root. Emma felt the hot, pulsing release flood her already stretched channel, a thick, endless rush that seemed to echo her own diminishing spasms. They collapsed together in a heap, Marcus’s weight pressing her into the mattress, his release spilling out around him, soaking the sheets between her thighs.
Marcus quickly pulled up his boxers and pants, then left the room, saying he was going to take care of Joey’s ass.
Without a word, Marcus rolled off her. He stood, breathing heavily, and yanked his boxers and jeans up in a few efficient motions. He zipped his fly, not even looking at Emma as she lay trembling and ruined.
“Joey’s waiting,” he said to Big Mike, clapping the giant on the shoulder as he passed. “Have fun with the counselor.”
They left the giant and Emma Pillsbury alone in the room, catching her breath.
The door clicked shut.
Silence, thick and heavy, flooded the room. The only sounds were Emma’s ragged, wet breaths and the faint drip of fluid from between her legs onto the mattress. The smell of sex and sweat and cologne was overpowering.
Big Mike’s hand was still on her back. It moved, rough and possessive, stroking her flank, then gripping her hip.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a hungry whisper. “Let’s get you flipped over, Red. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”