Emma Pillsbury witnesses an altercation between Marcus, a particularly burly Black football player on the high school team, and another student. She takes them to the principal's office, who decides to punish Marcus with a two-day detention. Upon his return, Marcus finds himself in Emma Pillsbury's office. He blames Emma for his punishment. She retorts that he knocked the other student to the ground, but Marcus tells her that it was the other student who had insulted his mother and sister. He tells Emma that she is simply racist and doesn't like Black people. She declares that this isn't true. Marcus suggests that to prove it to her, she come to the "Black is Better" party organized by the Black members of the football team. Emma tells him that she is a member of the school staff and cannot go to a student party. Marcus retorts that she is making up a false excuse. After hesitating for a moment, Emma Pillsbury agrees to go to the party but says she'll only stay a short while. Marcus says nothing but suspects that Pillsbury isn't likely to return to her husband, Will Schuester, anytime soon. The characters Tina, Quinn, and Rachel are to appear in this story during the party. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

Chapter 8: The Taking

Marcus continued to push his thick cock into the guidance counselor's mouth. The stretch was brutal, an intrusive pressure against the back of her throat that should have triggered panic. Instead, a traitorous warmth pooled low in her belly. The further it went, the wetter Emma felt her pussy get, a hot, slick pulse that bloomed between her thighs. She even started moaning, a humming vibration against his shaft, the pleasure flooding her body foreign and undeniable. Her moans were muffled by the cock in her mouth, thick and unyielding. She had never felt anything like this with Will. Never this raw, consuming electricity, this shameful, consuming need that tasted like salt and sweat.

She looked up at him, tears she hadn’t felt forming clinging to her ginger lashes. Marcus was staring at her hard, his jaw set, his own breath a ragged rhythm. For Emma, the feeling was stark: Marcus was treating her mouth like his pussy. A vessel. A hole for his use. It should have horrified her. It should have made her wrench away, vomit, scrub her skin raw. But instead, the thought itself excited her, sending a fresh, clenching shiver through her core. He placed his hand on the back of the redhead's head, his fingers tangling roughly in her curls. The pressure wasn’t violent, but it was absolute. She understood immediately. Wanted it.

Now, there was no going back.

"Take it," he growled, his voice a low rumble above her. "All of it, Mrs. Pillsbury. Let's see that prim little throat open up for my shit."

He encouraged her, a subtle push that became a demand. And she complied. Little by little, gagging reflex swallowed down, her jaw aching, his full length disappeared down her throat until her nose was buried in the coarse hair at his base. She could smell him, pungent and male, the scent rooting itself in her ruined senses. He held her there for a long, eternal second, her throat constricting wildly around him. Then he pulled it out slowly, the wet drag exquisite torture, and immediately pushed it back in. Now, he was moving his cock back and forth in the redhead's mouth, setting a rhythm. In and out. A practiced, lazy claiming.

"You see that?" Marcus was commenting, his tone conversational amidst the obscene, wet sounds. "You're a fast learner. Doesn't matter how many rules you put on a whiteboard. Body knows what it wants. My body knows what it needs."

He fell into a steady pace, his hips rocking, driving himself deeper with each pass. The slurping, guttural noises echoed in the dim room. Emma’s hands, which had been limp at her sides, crept up of their own accord, finding the hard muscles of his thighs and holding on. She let her tongue flatten and slide along his underside, a hollow ache growing in her own untouched sex. He started grunting louder and louder, a staccato counterpoint to the rhythm.

"That's it… fucking take it, counselor."

His fist tightened in her hair. His movements turned sharp, jerky, no longer a rhythm but a frantic drive towards climax. He was hammering into her throat now, her world narrowing to the thick intrusion and the building pressure behind her own eyes, the flood between her legs.

"Gonna fill that smart fucking mouth," he snarled.

Holding her head firmly, the guidance counselor felt a powerful first spurt land at the back of her throat. It was hot, viscous, an explosion of salt and bitter tang. She swallowed convulsively, the warm liquid coating her gullet, something she had never done with Will. Will who asked permission, who came with a whispered apology. Just when she thought it was over, a second, even more powerful spurt flooded her mouth, overflowing and dripping down her throat in a heavy stream. She tried to pull her head back on instinct, the sheer volume overwhelming, but Marcus held her firm, his grip immovable.

"Uh-uh. Swallow."

The command brooked no argument. She fought her own gag, her throat working. The flow of semen he released in a third spurt was too much for the redhead to swallow. It spilled out along his black penis, a thick, pearly rivulet that dripped onto her chin, onto her cleavage, seeping through the silk of her blouse to wet her skin beneath. The sheer mess of it would have sent her into a spiral of anxiety a day ago. Now, she could only feel it, hot and sticky on her.

Finally, he released her hair. Emma slumped back, gasping for air, strands of red curls plastered to her damp cheeks with spit and come. Her lips felt swollen. Her throat was raw.

Marcus looked down at her, his cock glistening and softening only slightly. He surveyed the mess on her face and clothes with a dark satisfaction.

"You see what just happened?" he commented, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "That's you. That's you getting a taste of the real world. You, the guidance counselor, staring up at me with my jizz on your stupid, pretty face. You're beginning to realize what your future holds. You think this is one time? It’s not. It’s every time I want it. Just like Tina figured out. Just like Quinn learned to love it. Just like fucking Rachel begs for it."

He took a half-step back, his shadow swallowing her.

"Now," he said, the word a final, punctuating order in the quiet room. "Undress.All of it. Lie down on the bed."

Emma stared, the weight of his command and the cooling stickiness on her skin cementing a new, terrifying reality. Her hands, trembling again but for a different reason, rose to the first button of her ruined blouse.