Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10563723.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_100_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Clarke_Griffin/Marcus_Kane
  Character:
      Clarke_Griffin, Marcus_Kane
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Daddy_Kink, Dubious_Consent, Underage_Sex,
      Dirty_Talk, Cunnilingus, Praise_Kink, Masturbation, Dominance,
      Schoolgirls, Age_Difference
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-08 Chapters: 1/? Words: 6987
****** Come to Poppa ******
by trashbucket
Summary
     Clarke tries to seduce her professor but he turns the tables. For
     The100Kinkmeme.
It was supposed to be a joke.
Octavia wouldn't shut up about it, how hot professor Kane is. At first, she
just rolled her eyes; at the end of the day, Professor Kane is just Marcus, who
used to buy her ice cream and liked to order his omelets without cheese.
She says as much and Octavia counters with the pictures someone had managed to
get off his Facebook, of just-Marcus shirtless, beer in hand.
"I could get him to make a pass at me." The words come out of nowhere, but once
they're out they feel right. Octavia cackles, and inspiration hardens into
resolve. "What? I could."
"Oh, Professor Kane!" Octavia moans in a high falsetto, ignoring the heads that
turn towards their table. "You're on. And I want proof."
--
She puts the plan into action on a slowly escalating timeline. Staying after
class when she doesn't need to ask anything that matters, casually touching his
arm when she says goodbye. Wells agrees to swap TA sessions so she can have
Marcus' third period class with the freshmen; after third period comes lunch,
and she can always find something to grade and keep her there until her next
class.
Two weeks after the switch, she wears a shirt mom keeps trying to get her to
toss, because she's had it since freshman year and it was tight then. She keeps
her sweatshirt over it until history. When she takes it off Marcus' eyes track
the movement, darting down to take in the cleavage spilling out of the deep v
before returning smoothly to their lesson.
It would be discouraging, but he carefully doesn't look at her again, until
class is over and her sweatshirt is back on, and he doesn't report her for a
uniform violation, even when she does the same thing at lunch.
It's a start.
--
That night, she dreams Marcus is in her bedroom, wearing the battered leather
jacket he used to hang up on a hook by the door every Friday. He throws it on
her bed, black incongruous among all the pink and frills of the canopy set mom
bought her and won't let her swap out for something more grownup.
Her teddybear watches with beady eyes as he crawls between her legs, covering
her body with his and blotting out all the light from the window. He touches
her pussy and says things that make her burn with embarrassment, filthy as any
porn she's ever seen. She wakes up as he unzips his jeans and thrusts her hand
between her legs and rubs off against the heel of her hand, biting her tongue
to keep from making any noise when one final hard pass makes her come.
She hikes her shirt up two inches higher for class the next day, and Marcus'
eyes rest on her thighs like he's thinking about something.
--
He hasn't tried anything after a month and a half, and Octavia's so smug about
it Clarke wants to scream. She's not stupid, she's caught him looking, but he
hasn't even asked her what the hell she's doing and that makes it even worse,
like he doesn't even take her seriously enough to tell her he's not interested
in a student.
She gets an idea doing laundry. One of mom's underwear must have gotten trapped
in the dryer, because while she's folding her clothes later one of them falls
out of the leg of Clarke's yoga pants. She stares at the purple satin and lace
and then lies when mom asks if she's seen them.
When she gets to class on Friday, she takes her customary seat in the front row
and when everyone else is seated, she looks up and catches Marcus' eyes. When
he arches an eyebrow in silent question she jerks her chin down, drawing his
attention to under the desk. The stolen underwear don't absorb like cotton, and
when she strains to spread her knees as wide as she can the soaked crotch
catches and rubs at her labia. She shifts uncomfortably and Marcus coughs.
The way he's staring at her makes her wetter, inner muscles fluttering like
they do when she's masturbating. Then he looks up again and she goes scarlet
with more than arousal, because he's just smiling gently, like he does when
someone asks a question they should already know the answer to.
Class passes in a tortured haze, because every so often when she thinks he's
not going to look again and she should stop acting like a stupid groupie and
close her legs he glances down and the cycle starts again. Thank God the
uniform skirts are dark wool, because she can feel the sloppy mess between her
thighs slowly leaking onto the scratchy fabric.
At least it's better than the chair.
"Class dismissed." Marcus shuts his laptop with a decisive snap, standing and
nodding at them all in approval. "Ms. Griffin, if you don't mind? Stay a moment
with me. Mr. Murphy, if you wouldn't mind telling Professor Sinclair she'll be
late to her next class for me? Thank you."
She nods, throat closing on a verbal agreement, and when he shuts the door and
locks it behind Murphy's mocking 'sucks to be you' expression Clarke makes to
rise.
"No, don't get up." She settles part into the chair, fidgeting under the weight
of what she's done now that they're alone and he isn't pretending nothing is
going on. "Spread your legs, Clarke. Show me your panties." She looks up at
him, shocked into stillness, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You wanted
me to see them, didn't you? Then you can show me."
Red spreads in blotchy patches all the way down to her chest, but Clarke slowly
parts her legs, skirt hem rising as her knees widen, exposing the crotch of her
panties to his intent gaze.
He smiles again, and his nostrils flare, but otherwise they could still be in
class. Needled, Clarke rolls her hips a little and lifts her chin. "Do you like
them?"
"They're adorable."
Like she's a kid. Like he knows she's playing dressup in her mom's panties,
because everything she owns is either too plain or too colorful. Clarke's
conscious of the lace scratching at her thighs, how the elastic is digging into
her skin.
Then Marcus kneels, eyes level with the crotch of her underwear, close enough
he can't miss the way the satin passed soaked half an hour again. "Just
adorable." Adorable means something else this time, and her cunt clenches
painfully around nothing. Being turned on wars with shame, coiling around each
other like snakes in her belly. "Did you dress up for me, darling? Put on these
pretty, grownup panties for my benefit?"
"Y-yeah." She can feel his breath on her knee, hot and warm. "Do you like
them?" It's supposed to be confident, like someone from the porn Octavia found
stashed on Bellamy's laptop, but instead she sounds needy.
He chuckles, and her cheeks flame. "Very much so. You always were a good girl."
He traces a line across the seam, a hairsbreadth shy of her clit and she
whimpers, thrusting up into his hand and whimpering again when he pulls it
away, fingertips wet. "Look at this." He clucks his tongue. "You've soaked them
through, Clarke. Is that for me, too?" She nods, too embarrassed to answer, and
stares down at her lap. "I asked you a question, Miss Griffin."
"Yes sir." The response is automatic, drilled in by years at St. Sophia's.
Clarke wants to disappear, to sink down between the floorboards and just die,
but then Marcus tips her chin up with two long fingers, the ones he'd touched
her with.
"Yes sir, what?"
"Yes sir, I..." Her head spins like that time she and Octavia got into
Bellamy's weed and spent the afternoon laying on the lawn, picking out shapes
in the clouds and then nothing like that at all, because clouds never made her
stomach writhe, or turned her on so much it hurts a little. "I soaked my
panties for you."
"Poor thing." He shakes his head, rubbing little circles in the sticky mess
she's made of her thighs. "Poor needy little thing. They're saturated,
Clarke–look, you've even gotten the chair wet now. How long has that cunt been
dripping for me?"
"Since before class."
He leans in, taking a deep breath, close enough he could touch her with his
tongue if he wanted. "Good girl." He kisses the front of her panties, just
above her clit, and her hands fly down to grab at his hair and try to force him
down, to breath hot over where she wants it.
A loud crack meets her ears before the pain hits, sharp and fleeting. Marcus
pats the red mark he's made on the meat of her thigh, all fatherly comfort.
"Hands to yourself, Miss Griffin. That's your first warning."
"Yes sir." He kisses her again, open mouthed this time and over the crotch of
her panties, tongue pressing in hard like he's trying to fuck her through them.
"Oh, god. Oh, fuck."
His mouth is wet when he lifts his head, eyes dark. "Take them off, Clarke." He
leans back on his heels and watches, not lifting a hand to help her, and she
burns with shame at the same time her cunt pulses, spilling down her thighs
unencumbered now that the barrier of her panties is gone. "Give them to me."
Clarke blinks, licking her lips. "I don't..."
"Hand them to me." Taking the sodden underwear from her limp hand, he drops it
on the next desk over. "Good girl. Now." He leans in again, examining her cunt
with an intensity that makes her want to close her legs. "A little young to be
waxing, aren't you?" He traces the bare skin, covetous, and tweaks one of her
inner lips gently. "Has anyone ever put their mouth here, sweetheart?"
"N-" Clarke's voice breaks, and she shakes her head. "No, nobody ever has."
"So I'll be the first person to eat this bare little pussy?" For the first
time, he seems affected by something. "Tell me what you want me to do, Clarke."
"I want you t-" she trips over the words, but Marcus already gave her the right
answer and she forces them out in a breathy voice. "To eat my bare little
pussy."
"Oh, that's a good girl." He licks a broad stripe up her cunt in reward, wet
and warm and Clarke nearly shrieks, only remembering to muffle it behind one
hand at the last possible second. "That's right, be sure to keep yourself
quiet. We wouldn't want anyone else to see you like this, would we? What would
they think." He nuzzles into her pussy like an animal and she bites down hard
on her arm, jerking her hips up towards his face. "Ah, ah. No moving, either."
The casual way he orders her around kind of makes her mad, but it makes her
wetter, cunt plumping up and reddening like it's showing off for him, as greedy
for his attention as she is. He rubs his stubble against her again and she
stops caring, lost in the feel of his tongue spearing into her cunt, fucking
inside and wiggling. He licks up, then, breathing hot over her clit before
taking it between his lips and tapping his tongue gently on the hood.
Nothing Finn had done ever felt like this, and her shitty Amazon vibrator
doesn't match up. Her hips thrust up without permission and he's gone again,
the air of the classroom cold on her pussy.
"No, don't, I'm sorry, I'll be good," she babbles the apology, hands fluttering
with the urge to touch him before landing on her own thighs.
He shakes his head, disappointed as he's ever been when she turned in a subpar
assignment. "I said no moving, Clarke. Don't make me remind you again."
"I'm trying." Hating the childish whine in her voice, she stares down at where
her skirt bunches up and reveals her thighs, swallowing hard. "I don't think I
can."
"It is your first time at this. I'll help you." He raises an arm and locks it
like a roller coaster bar over her legs, almost too tight. Clarke shifts
uncomfortably, but she doesn't complain. "You'll learn to control yourself
later."
I can too control myself, she wants to scream at him, but then he sets his
whole mouth around her pussy like he really is going to eat it, sucking hard,
and her animal grunt echoes off the tile before she thinks to cover her mouth
again, hips jumping under the hard muscle of his forearm and proving his point.
He pulls back, satisfied, and his face gleams from nose to chin under the
fluorescent lights. "Your mother was impatient, too."
The words pierce her bubble of confused lust slowly, the meaning lagging
behind. "Mom... what?"
He laughs, patting her knee. "I learned to do this with her. We were just about
your age, and your father shoved me down between her legs and told me I needed
to learn how to 'treat a woman right' or I'd never get one to look at me
twice." Marcus sounds fond, like they're in class and he's telling a story
about an old friend and not talking about how he used to eat mom out while dad
watched. "I got better at it over the years, but she never got any less
impatient."
Clarke goes cold and then hot in two quick pulses, sweat beading between her
breasts and at the backs of her knees and the bend of her elbows. She's seen
pictures of all three of them back then, so she can picture it, and it's so
unfair that he's doing this to her she sobs in frustration, fisting her hands
in her skirt and yanking just so she can release some of the tension.
"You really are just like her. Look at me, Clarke." Helpless to disobey, she
looks up, and he smiles. "Look at me and tell me you want me you make you come
just like I used to make your mother come."
"I can't."
"Of course, it's your choice." He strokes the outside of her thigh, right over
where he'd spanked her. "But if you don't say it, I'm afraid I'll have to
stop."
"No," she wails, angry tears pricking her lids. "You can't, Marcus. Please,
sir, you have to make me come." He cocks an eyebrow, shaking his head
condescendingly, and leans away like he's going to stand. "No! No, I'll say
it."
He settles back onto his heels, eyes hot. "Go ahead."
"I want you to make me come," she swallows hard, tasting the next words like a
belt of cheap liquor on her tongue, "like you used to make my mom come."
"Good girl," he purrs, leaning in again. "You've been such a good girl for me,
I think it's time you had a reward."
She babbles delirious praise when he seals his lips around her clit and sucks,
hard, free hand sneaking between her thighs to push two fingers inside her, a
little thicker than her vibrator and just this side of too much. It's like
being jumping in a pool and then the hot tub and then the pool again like she
and Octavia used to, she thinks deliriously, like the shock of temperature
change has pushed sound far away and shot her through with electricity. Then
Kane brushes her clit with the edge of his teeth and she's gone, sinking down
and down and biting hard on her arm to keep anybody outside from hearing her
scream.
Too soon, he pulls away, examining the way her chest heaves as she tries to
drag in breath and the mascara she can feel smearing around her eyes as he
wipes his face clean with a handkerchief pulled from his breast pocket. "Say
thank you, Ms. Griffin."
She could come again, just from that, and her thighs slam together with a
sticky sounding slap in instinctive response, making her whimper at the
pressure on her sensitive cunt. "Thank you." Now she sounds like one of the
girls from Bellamy's stash, all husky and wanting.
"Thank you..." He trails off, expectantly, and when what he wants hits her it
ties her stomach in knots again.
"Thank you, sir. For making me come." Hurriedly, in case he wants it, she adds,
"Like you used to make my mom come."
"I knew you'd learn fast." He nods approvingly and stands, cock huge and hard
and warping the line of his slacks. She reaches for it and he slaps her gently
away, picking up her underwear and retreating back behind his desk. "That's
all."
"But you didn't..." She gestures at his obvious erection and he waves her off,
sitting and sifting through papers casually. "It's okay, I want to do it. I've
done it before."
"You have a class to get to, Ms. Griffin." He nods towards the door. "Better
get moving."
She stands on legs that tremble, smoothing her skirt down her thighs and
swinging her backback onto her shoulders. Mom's panties sit on top of their
last round of term papers, crotch up and three shades darker than the rest of
the fabric. "Sir, my underwear."
"I'll be keeping them." Clarke tracks his hand as he picks them up and places
them deliberately where the handkerchief had been, tucked away in his breast
pocket where it could poke out, and then someone could see. "Professor Sinclair
will want to know what kept you so long. Tell him I had a question about one of
the papers you marked for me."
She nods robotically, then swallows. "Sir, what am I supposed to wear?"
"Ms. Griffin, you're a smart girl. Don't pretend otherwise." She goes red with
humiliation, taking in the critique and his meaning at once. "You've been
teasing for me for over a month now. Actions have consequences, and this is
yours." His lips quirk. "You'll have to find some way to explain the loss to
your mother."
Oh God, he knew. Clarke presses her lips together, then shakes her head slowly.
"She doesn't know they're gone," she explains through numb lips, and Marcus
finally looks up.
"Convenient for both of us, isn't it?" Nodding again, she turns away and makes
for the relative safety of another period and a half to go with no underwear.
Marcus' voice stops her as she reaches for the doorknob, metal cool in her
hands. "Ms. Griffin?"
"Yes, sir?" She doesn't look at him, but she can feel his eyes on her back.
"Once next period lets out, call your mother and tell her I need your help
after school. Oh, and tell her I say hello." When she doesn't respond, he
prompts her, "That's your cue, Ms. Griffin. I'll see you then."
----
The rest of the day goes fast. She’s terrified someone will find out and making
sure her skirt stays in place becomes an obsession, but then she shifts and the
wool scratches her bare cunt, or she remembers that she’s naked and everybody
could see if she spread her legs and she’s wet again. It makes everything feel
slow and then way too fast by alternate turns, each second on the clock a
reminder there’s only two more hours until Marcus wants to see her. He said
call mom before last period, but Clarke hurries to her next class instead, a
little defiant but mostly terrified if she doesn’t give it more space she’ll
blurt it all out once mom picks up the phone.
She does it after school instead, glancing at Marcus’ door and then veering off
towards the quad. The open air corridor between the two is windy enough that
keeping her skirt from flipping up is a real concern, but it’s the only place
with decent reception on this side of the school and Clarke grimly clutches her
skirt between her knees and braves it out. At least this way she doesn’t have
to deal with the distractions inside.
“Clarke, honey. How was school?”
“It was good.” Wells shoves her shoulder in goodbye, and Clarke waves with one
hand. “Listen, I have to stay after today and help Marcus with grading. I don’t
know when I’ll be home, but probably before dinner.” Some impulse compels her
to add, “He mentioned you, hanging out with you and dad.”
“He did?” She sounds pleased, and Clarke tries not to think about why. “Marcus
has never been particularly given to nostalgia. What brought that on?”
He ate me out like he used to eat you out, then he kept your underwear. And oh
yeah, I stole your underwear.
“I don’t know, but he said to say hi.”
“Tell him I said hello back, and that’s it’s been too long.” She’s rattling
around somewhere in the house, and Clarke spaces out for a second trying to
figure out where until she continues in the tone of someone intensely satisfied
with a new idea and blows any chance at unrelated thought out of the water. “In
fact, why don’t you invite him over for dinner? We have more than enough to
eat.”
Fuck. There’s no chance mom knows, no chance. But all Clarke can do is picture
it, Marcus’ head between mom’s thighs, and then his head between hers and it
all mixes up confusingly. She presses her thighs together, giving into the
impulse to get some pressure where she needs it most, and tries to sound like
she isn’t having a complete sexual crisis.
“I’ll ask, but he might have too many papers.”
“Next week, then. Don’t let him off the hook, honey, that man’s always been
stubborn.”
Clarke would say she has no idea, but she probably does and thinking about how
only brings her back to where she started, Marcus’ mouth on mom’s cunt, making
her feel as good as he had Clarke. “Sure, mom, I got it. I’ll make sure he says
yes.”
“I knew I could count on you. Listen, honey, I should get back to making dinner
after all this talking about it. I’ll see you when you get home, and I love
you.”
“Love you too, mom.”
“Don’t forget, any means necessary. Take no prisoners, baby.”
Clarke stares down at her blacked out screen after the line goes quiet until
Dax knocks into her from behind. “What the hell, Dax?”
Dax shrugs, pointing down at his backpack as if it rear-ended her on its own.
“It’s big. You were in the middle of the walkway. My bad.”
He’s not wrong, but still. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it. I was on
the phone.”
He just shrugs again, as if to say: so? “Don’t be in my way next time.”
“Whatever.” He flips her off and the mad propels her back to Marcus’ classroom
without thinking about mom, but once she’s there even Dax being a dick can’t
settle the flurry of nerves and anticipation in her stomach. This is it: he’s
going to let her touch him, she can tell. Why else ask her to come back today?
She resists the urge to knock on the door, because why should she? She’s one of
his TAs, everybody knows it, and he asked her to come. She doesn’t need
permission.
He looks up at the click of the handle, setting down his pen and taking a
pointed glance at the clock. She’s been in his classes long enough to look down
shamefacedly, digging a toe into the ground. “I had to call mom.” He looks
ready to remind her when she was supposed to do it, and she hurriedly tacks on,
“She said to say hi. And to invite you to dinner.”
It works. Marcus’ lips curl into a secretive smile, whatever annoyance he had
about the time forgotten in the face of a much deeper vein to mine. “How kind
of her. Lock the door, would you?” Throat sticking on a dry swallow, Clarke
nods and turns the lock, watching her fingers with fascination. “Now, come
here.”
Her stomach quivers as she closes the gap between the door and his desk. Marcus
pulls his chair out and sits back in it, then nods at the desk. “If you
wouldn’t mind.”
“...I don’t,” Clarke begins, staring at the papers still left in the way.
“I said take a seat, Ms. Griffin.”
It’s not fair how hot he sounds, like he knows now all she’s going to think
about in class when he hands everybody back their grades is where those papers
have been. Wobbling a little on unsteady legs, she hitches herself up on the
desk. She can feel the essays against her ass when she shifts, perilously close
to her sticky thighs.
“Pull your skirt up for me.” He sounds like he’s calling on her to explain
something somebody long dead did and why it matters, not do the hottest and
most embarrassing thing she’s ever done. Before, at least it was because he was
going down on her. Now it feels like an inspection, and Clarke licks her lips
before obeying. “Look at that.”
“Oh, God.” She can’t help the exclamation when he runs a gentle hand over where
she’s gotten her inner thighs and the skirt wet again, fingers glistening when
he pulls it free to examine under the light.
“Now, as much as I’d like to think this is all for me,” he licks his fingers
clean and arousal hits her so hard her belly cramps with it, “I know better.
What was it, sweetheart? What made that sweet little cunt of yours so wet?” It
wasn’t just what happened on the phone, so Clarke pulls her lower lip between
her teeth and looks down at him, trying her best at come hither so maybe he
won’t notice she’s holding some of the answer back. “During class, I liked it.
Being naked under my skirt, in front of everybody.” He doesn’t answer, just
looks at her expectantly, and she scrambles for more. “And I kept thinking
about you.”
Marcus taps a finger against his chin, studying her. “Hmm. I had hoped we
wouldn’t need to discuss what happens if you lie to me so soon, but maybe it’s
what’s needed.” He pats his lap, beckoning her to join him. “Come here, sit
with me.” He flips her skirt up when she rests on his knee, the tweed of his
trousers scratching at her thighs. “I don’t like repeating myself, Clarke. When
I ask you a question, I want an answer. If you don’t know, say that, but I’d
advise you against lying to me.”
“What happens if I lie to you?”
He smiles, gently, and reaches under her skirt to pat her ass, hand lingering
on the warm curve. “I’ll turn you over my knee and turn your ass red, Miss
Griffin, and if that isn’t enough to get the point across I’ll have to get
creative.” She and Octavia found this one video on Bellamy’s laptop where an
old guy tied up a girl who looked their age and used a crop on her, sharp
little flicks of his wrist that made her dance in place. Clarke had gone home
and locked the door and gotten herself off up against it, frantic and a little
ashamed.
Marcus might want to do that to her, she realizes.
She might want Marcus to that to her.
“Clarke?” He grips her chin in two fingers, bringing her eyes to meet his and
scanning them for reassurance he hasn’t scared her silent. “I’ll ask again,
what was it? Tell me the whole truth, or my original plans for this afternoon
will have to wait.”
“It was while I was talking to mom,” she blurts out, as panicked by the thought
of losing whatever he’d wanted to do as she is turned on by the implicit
threat. “I started thinking about… what you said, and picturing it again, and I
got wet.”
“What I said? I said quite a lot.”
He’s not going to let her get away with not saying it, and the words come a
little easier this time. “That you used to make mom come like you made me
come.”
“Good girl.” He smiles down at her, stroking her face fondly, and she feels
like she’s a beloved pet who just performed a particularly impressive trick. It
makes her preen, and he chucks her under the chin. “You’ve done so well,
Clarke. Would you like another reward?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gently, he eases her off his lap. “Get down on your knees for me, Miss
Griffin.” She hits the floor so fast she’s probably going to bruise, but it’s
worth it when her eagerness makes him laugh an approving little laugh that
makes her feel like he’s delighted, not making fun of how much she wants this.
“Now, ask for what you want.”
“Let me suck your cock, sir. Please, I need it.”
He pulls his zipper down and pulls his cock through his fly, casual as if they
really were just grading papers. He’s huge, even bigger than she thought he
would be from what she’d seen earlier, thick and flushed and purpling at the
head, already weeping clear fluid. Finn’s cock had fit all the way in her mouth
without much effort, but she’s not sure how to do that with Marcus and her
mouth waters thinking about it. “I’m not sure it is. I’ve heard the sound of a
woman who needs her mouth on my cock, and that wasn’t what I just heard.” He
could be talking anybody but she can’t help and picture mom, on her knees and
needing Marcus’ dick as bad as Clarke does. She’d walked in on mom and dad once
when she’d been blowing him, so it’s way too easy to picture that, too, and she
gulps. “So I don’t know, Miss Griffin.” He jacks his fist slowly; once, twice,
spreading his pre-come along the veined shaft, and Clarke follows the motion
with her whole head, feeling like a doll on a string. “Are you sure that’s what
you want? I wouldn’t want you to waste your reward.”
“No, I need it! Please, sir, I’ve only tried it once but I’ll be good, I swear,
good for you.” It’s a game, because he’s teased her but he hasn’t been mean,
but even in the game she can’t bear the thought of not getting to do what she’s
spent the whole afternoon fantasizing about. “Please, let me suck your cock,
sir, I need it.”
He stops her by threading a hand through her hair; not pulling, just resting
there on the back of her head, and urging her forward. She goes eagerly, trying
to take him deep and whining in disappointment when the hand in her hair goes
firm and keeps her in place. The bite feels good even though it hurts, and she
fights it a little bit longer than she has to before giving in.
“All right, don’t worry. You’ve convinced me you need it, but you said you’d be
good for me. So start out slow.”
Finn wanted her to just go all the way down and stay there, so Clarke huffs out
a frustrated little sigh and swirls her tongue a little, at a loss for what he
wants from her. After a moment, he chuckles.
“So, that ‘once’ was a typical teenage boy, hmm? Just eager to have his cock in
a warm hole, not at all concerned about how it happens.” She rolls her eyes up
to look at him, and he’s rolling his eyes. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll
teach you, like your parents taught me.”
She whines and his thighs jump, the first sign she’s done something that made
him feel good making her cunt clench greedily around nothing.
“That’s a good girl. First lesson: make all the noise you want around my cock,
darling, it feels so good.” He pets her face. “And I love the sound of a girl
enjoying herself. You do enjoy this, don’t you?” She’s seen enough porn to know
that there’s a whole thing about girls trying to talk around dicks, so she says
yes sir and Marcus stiffens, hissing out a short breath. “I should have known
you’d be an apt pupil here, too. Do you want to take me deeper now?”
She gives a garbled, enthusiastic yes and he pushes her down another inch,
until the the tip of his cock kisses at the back of her tongue when he lifts
his hips. “Hollow out your cheeks. And use your tongue to stroke me.”
Her face flames, and Clarke vows to track Raven down and ask her for tips.
She’d blown Wick behind the gym last year, before he turned into a total douche
and earned total social exile. She’d know better than to just sit there.
“Much better, Miss Griffin. That’s it, just like that.” He starts to slowly
move his hips and at first it’s weird to keep moving her tongue around because
it makes keeping a seal impossible and she drools in slow, thick strings onto
his chair, but he seems to like it so she keeps it up, even when her tongue
starts to hurt a little.
Like he can sense it, Marcus stops moving his hips. “I’d like to fuck your face
now, sweetheart. Is that all right? You don’t have to do anything but keep your
lips tight around me and let me have that beautiful mouth.”
She nods as best she can, rolling her eyes upwards and pleading with them at
the same time she lets out an incomprehensible encouragement around his cock.
He starts moving his hips slowly; when she leans into the thrusts and makes him
yank her hair to stop her again, he chuckles. “I should have known you’d be
like her here, too. So greedy for it, wanting to be filled up on your time, not
mine.” She moans, loud and embarrassing and his hips speed up, riding her mouth
in a controlled in and out that starts to feel a little like the rush she gets
meditating. All she has to do is keep her lips tight around him, that’s what
Marcus said, and now he’s calling her beautiful and a good little cocksucker
and she’s floating on it all.
When Marcus stops, she grabs at his waist, trying to spur him back on. “A born
cocksucker, and such a good girl. I’m a lucky man, but you’re not ready for me
to come that deep, darling, not yet. Suck on the head again, firm pressure. And
give me your hand.” He threads his fingers through hers when she does, using
their combined grip to jack him off. “I want you to swallow it all, Miss
Griffin, every drop or I’ll have to find a way to punish you that won’t make
that needy little cunt wet like a spanking does. No, not for a girl like you.”
I will, she tries to say, I’ll swallow everything, I’ll do it just like you
want me to but the words are a jumbled mess of syllables, lost in Marcus’ loud
groan as he comes, thick and salty and hot and better than she remembers from
Finn. She sucks tenderly until he firms his grip in her hair and tugs her away,
holding her face in place so he can lay a tender kiss on her mouth, stubble
rubbing at her puffy lips, bruised from sucking dick because she’s a natural
cocksucker, that’s what he said, and making her shudder. “Now, get on the desk
again.”
“Yes, sir.” Tottering on shaky legs she clambers up, creasing papers in her
haste, and he rolls the chair closer.
“Spread your legs.” She does, and he frowns. “Hmm. No, I think–” Taking her
right calf in one big hand, he drapes her leg over the back of the chair,
opening her up and making her clench and release, suddenly conscious of how
empty she is and how much she wants his fingers inside her, anything inside
her. “That’s much better. Look at you, poor girl. Look at that little cunt
clutch at nothing. I’ve made you wait long enough, haven’t I?” She nods,
pathetically eager, and he kisses her bare knee. “Ask me for what you want.”
“Can I come, sir? Please, I want to come, it made me so wet when you fucked my
mouth.”
His eyes flash. “You can.” She looks at him expectantly, and he just nods at
her hand.
“But…”
“Do it. I want to see how you touch yourself, Clarke.”
Swallowing the but I want you that wants to burst from her chest like she’s the
bratty kid he probably still remembers, Clarke nods and shoves her skirt
higher, working her thumb hard at her clit like she does at the end of touching
herself, conscious of Marcus’ eyes on her. Seconds stretches into thirty
seconds into a minute, and tears start to leak out of the corners of her eyes.
It feels good but it’s not working, and Marcus stops her hand, bringing it up
to his lips.
“Shh, it’s all right. We don’t have much time, so I’ll make you a deal. I’ll
make you come–”
“Yes, yes, sir please–”
“If you agree to complete an extra assignment for me.”
“...sir?”
He smiles. “The next time your mother is at the hospital at night and you’re
home alone, I want you to go into that huge bedroom of hers and rub off against
one of her pillows. Rock against it like the hungry little thing you are and
don’t stop until you’ve come twice.” Dropping her hand, he tweaks her clit with
louche confidence. “If you’ll do that, I’ll help you get off now, sweetheart.
If not…” He shrugs with one shoulder. “Then in looking at the clock, I think
our time today is at an end.”
“I’ll do it.” She doesn’t have to do it. She could always lie, or say she
changed her mind, but the sunburn itch feeling of doing that on mom’s bed means
she’s going to. “Please, sir, please make me come.”
“Good girl.” She’s so wet it makes audible squishing noises when he separates
her labia to slide a finger inside her cunt, and she blushes and tries to look
away. He stops her with his free hand, holding her head in place. “No, don’t.
Look.” He draws her head down and she doesn’t fight it, hot and cold in dizzy
waves as he shows her how wet she is, how easily she takes two of his fingers,
sighing happily at the slurp-suck sound that emanates from her body as he
pushes them inside. “Don’t be ashamed of wanting something, Clarke. Or of what
your body does when you want things.”
“It’s not… gross?”
He pumps his fingers, angling them so the sounds are louder as he fucks her
with them steadily. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He bends down to kiss
where his fingers meet her body, tongue flicking out to stroke the stretched
skin. “This cunt, and the way it spreads around me, is beautiful.” Still
licking at her swollen center, he takes her clit between this thumb and middle
finger, using his index to rub in firm circles over the hood. “The way you’re
going to come for me? Beautiful.”
She shatters on the last word. How could she do anything else when his hands
seem to know how to touch her perfectly and he whispers words like beautiful
and seems so pleased about all the gross stuff she thought you had to figure
out how to get rid of or pretend not to hear.
He pulls his fingers out of her and kisses where he’s left her open, tongue
darting out to feel the space he’s marked out. “Beautiful.” He says it into her
cunt and Clarke doesn’t come again but she does feel hazy, like everything’s
one of those dreams where you can float and then the shower turns into an
ocean.
She slumps forward and he tucks her into his lap, stroking her hair gently.
“That’s a girl. Such a good girl for me, Clarke, you did so well.”
“T’ank you.” She mutters the words into his shirt, dragging in long breaths
that smell like cotton and sweat and whatever aftershave he uses. “My mom wants
you to come over for dinner.”
He kisses her cheek. “I think it’s been a long day already, hasn’t it? Maybe
another time. Let you feel steady again first.”
“She said you’d say that.”
He laughs. “What else did she say?”
“That we could do it next week, and I should use any means necessary.”
“Well, you certainly did that.” He pats her knee, slowly pulling away and
putting physical distance between them by inches. “Tell her to call me, and we
can hash out the details for next week.”
Reluctantly, Clarke climbs off his lap, tottering a little before the pins and
needles leave her leg. “Yes, sir.”
“In that case, Ms. Griffin, thank you for all your help on these papers.”
The papers. Clarke’s head jerks down to the desk, to where she left a sticky
mess on the top fan of papers. “Sir, I didn’t mean to.”
“I said thank you, didn’t I?” He starts to put them back in order, unfolding
the ones she bent and smoothing a hand over them. “I meant it. Have a nice
night, Clarke.”
“‘Night, Marcus.”
She doesn’t bother to ask for the panties back again, and when she gets home
she tells mom she needs a shower first and gets off three times in a row, arm
shoved in her mouth to muffle the screams.
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