Chapter 13: Backdoor Education
The door clicked open. Marcus leaned against the frame, a bottle of cheap beer dangling from his fingers, his expression one of detached curiosity. Three-quarters of an hour drinking with the team had smoothed the edges off his own involvement, leaving him a spectator.
The scene in the dim, lamp-lit room was exactly what he’d expected, yet it still hit him with a visceral punch.
Emma Pillsbury was on her stomach, her face pressed hard into the tangled sheets by Big Mike’s enormous, splayed hand. The other hand was a massive clamp on her hip. Her red curls were matted with sweat. Thick, pearlescent trails of semen striped one pale cheek and clung to her chin. Her ass was tilted high in the air, a violent red from the force of the giant’s grip, and above her, Big Mike’s monstrous cock was a dark, brutal piston driving relentlessly into her asshole.
It was a tight, straining ring of pale flesh stretched obscenely around a thickness that seemed impossible. Each withdrawal revealed a glistening, reddened violation; each thrust buried that impossible girth deep inside her, making her whole body jerk forward. Her eyes, visible in the fractured mirror across the room, were wide. Not with pain, Marcus noted. There was a shattered, overwhelming pleasure there, a total surrender flooding her system.
“—goddamn, this married ass is something else,” Big Mike was grunting, his voice thick and labored. He hadn’t stopped moving. The wet, rhythmic slap of his heavy balls against her soaking pussy was a constant, lewd percussion. “Tighter than a fucking fist. You feel that, counselor? You feel how deep I’m in your married guts?”
Emma didn’t speak. A choked, gasping moan was her only reply, muffled by the sheets.
Big Mike noticed Marcus. His thrusts didn’t falter. His rhythm remained a steady, devastating metronome. He turned his head, a sheen of sweat on his broad face, and grinned.
“Marqu. ‘Bout time. Run out of beer?”
Marcus took a slow swig, his eyes never leaving the point of connection. “Nah. Just checking in.”
“Well, get a load of this,” Big Mike said, driving his hips forward with a particularly harsh snap that made Emma cry out, her fingers clawing at the mattress. “Been a minute since I ruined a pussy this tight. Mrs. Carter, remember her? Math teacher? She was a screamer. Mrs. Mitchell from History? She sobbed. This one…” He chuckled, grinding his hips in a deep, circular motion that made Emma’s back arch. “This one just takes it. Fucking loves it.”
He gripped Emma’s hair, yanking her head back so her tear-streaked, cum-smeared face was lifted from the sheets. “Don’t you, Red? You love this big black cock wrecking your ass?”
A strangled, “Yes,” escaped her lips, her eyes clenched shut.
“See?” Big Mike released her head, letting it fall back, and resumed his pounding. “I’m not stopping at this party, Marqu. Nah. I’m gonna find out where this sweet piece lives. Gonna show up one night when her husband’s at… a glee club thing, or some shit. Gonna bend her over her own kitchen table and fuck this ass raw. Again and again. ‘Til she can’t sit down without thinking of me.”
He was building now, his pace becoming more urgent, less controlled. The bedframe squealed in protest with every driving impact.
“Which room’s the Berry girl in?” Big Mike asked, his words punctuated by rough breaths. “The little brunette singer. Room at the end of the hall?”
Marcus nodded, finishing his beer. “Last door on the left. She’s probably practicing her scales or some shit.”
“Good.” Big Mike’s jaw was tight, his muscles corded. “I’m done with this one. Two weeks I’ve been wanting to drill that little diva. Time she got a real performance.”
With that declaration, he seemed to focus entirely on the woman beneath him. His movements became brutally efficient, a machine designed for a single purpose. He leaned over Emma, his bulk enveloping her, his mouth near her ear.
“You ready, counselor? You ready to take my load up your shitter? Gonna pump your married colon full. Mark it. Mine.”
Emma was beyond words. A series of frantic, nodding head jerks was her only response, her body trembling on the precipice.
Marcus watched for another moment. He saw the giant’s back tighten, heard the animalistic growl building in his chest. He’d seen this before. He didn’t need to see the finish.
He turned and left the room, pulling the door mostly closed behind him, leaving it open just a crack.
The sounds followed him into the hall.
Big Mike’s roar was guttural, a sound of pure, unadulterated conquest. “Take it! Take it all, you fucking whore! Here it comes!”
There was a final, deafening smack of flesh, a desperate, sobbing shriek from Emma that melted into a high, continuous wail, and then the sharp, frantic squeaking of the bedsprings as Big Mike emptied himself into her with a series of powerful, shuddering thrusts.
Through the crack in the door, Marcus caught a final glimpse: Big Mike collapsed over her, his body heaving, one hand still fisted in her red hair, his face a mask of brutal satisfaction. Emma Pillsbury lay utterly still beneath him, save for the faint, uncontrollable tremors running through her ravaged body.
Then, silence. Heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of two people trying to catch their breath.
Marcus walked down the hall toward the noise of the party, the image of his guidance counselor’s wide, pleasure-flooded eyes burned into his mind. He wondered, idly, if Will Schuester would notice the change in his wife when she finally went home. He doubted it.
Behind him, a door opened fully. Heavy footsteps approached.
Big Mike emerged, tucking himself into his sweatpants. He clapped a massive hand on Marcus’s shoulder as he passed, smelling of sex, sweat, and power.
“Your turn to clean up the room, Marqu,” he said, not breaking stride. He grinned, a white flash in the dim hallway. “Left you a present on the bed. Gotta go see about a songbird.”