Work Text:
This is, in the end, what their relationship amounts to.
Ethel is on her knees beneath Solomon’s desk. Her cheek is resting on his thigh, pleasantly warm, and his fingers card absently through her hair. He’s removed her claw clip again, put away in one of his desk drawers until he decides she can have it back. The pads of his fingers are gentle against her scalp, eliciting the occasional shiver.
She’s not sure how long she’s been here, how long he’s had her like this. He had told her at lunch to come by his office once her final class was dismissed; she hadn’t argued. How could she?
Solomon Laurent has yet to turn her into the Empire for being a blood mage. She owes him her life, in the most literal sense. And he can change his mind at any time.
His fingers drift from her hair to his belt buckle, then pulls the zipper down on his slacks. Her heart stutters; she knew this is what he would want, and yet she still feels unprepared.
Solomon pulls himself free, already growing hard. There’s a moment where no one moves, nothing happens. Ethel simply stares at him, too anxious to budge.
He reclines in his office chair, peeking below his desk. Her cheeks flush in humiliation.
“I–” she starts, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Embarrassed did not seem strong enough an adjective.
“Have you never done this with someone before?”
She shakes her head, careful to hold eye contact and not look at his lap.
Solomon simply studies her, eyes hungry but not so frenzied as their first time.
“Let’s take it slow,” he eventually says. One hand reaches for her, gently bringing her towards his now mostly soft cock, the other holds himself steady.
“Open your mouth.”
She obeys, and slowly, he pushes himself past her lips. Her eyes are wide, nervously looking to Solomon for more instruction.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for now, except keep me in your mouth.”
He twitches across her tongue, She can feel as blood continues to pool, and his erection slowly grows. It’s a strange sensation–to feel his excitement, not just see it.
Drool pools, she swallows to not make a mess. She feels Solomon respond to that as well, still growing, twitching at the sensation.
“I’m going to go back to work,” he runs his fingers through her hair one last time. “Remember–keep me in your mouth, no exceptions.”
He leans back over his desk. Ethel can hear the sound of his pen striking paper, grading essays or maybe planning the next semester's curriculum. It’s a strange thought, that he is in her mouth, he is excited, and yet he is otherwise ignoring her.
She swallows. His cock twitches.
It’s much bigger now, compared to when he first slipped inside her mouth. Her brows furrow in concentration, she adjusts her head to keep him from slipping out. She can’t fit all of him comfortably, but he doesn’t seem to mind, not correcting her as she gently holds the head of his cock, but most of the shaft is unattended.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to–”
A strange way to phrase the situation. What would she want to do?
She suddenly tastes a bitter salt, feels a small amount of precome gather at the head. Her tongue swipes at the taste before she can think better of it, swallowing compulsorily. His cock jerks again, this time the movement more substantial with him being fully erect. She has to follow the shaft to keep it from slipping from her mouth.
She settles, no more precome and Solomon’s erection securely in her mouth, or at least as much is comfortable while laying her head back on his thigh.
Her heart is fluttering. Is she scared? Nervous?
No, she realizes with disgust–it’s excitement.
Tears gather, blurring her vision though she refuses to let them fall. Instead, she lets her eyes fall shut, allowing herself to enjoy the heat of Solomon’s thigh, trying to ignore the fact he’s in her mouth.
Her mind wanders. She thinks about her own curriculum that needs adjusting, the essays left over that still need grading. She thinks about her apartment–the book she bought last week she wants to finish, the dinner she planned for the evening.
Ethel doesn’t realize she’s suckling until Solomon makes a small, breathy noise, his fingers slipping back into her hair as praise. She freezes, doesn’t know what to do. Drool pools, she swallows. He twitches, more precome–her tongue swirls around the head of its own accord, eagerly collecting every bit offered.
She forces herself to settle back against his thigh, mouth lax around the head of his cock, still only taking a small portion of his erection. Her thighs squeeze together beneath her skirt and it feels good. She’s wet, just from holding Solomon’s cock in her mouth. She’s wet and sensitive.
Her eyes screw shut, wanting to block out reality.
The door to the lecture theater opens and shuts. Ethel’s eyes fly open, the sound of foot steps approaching.
“Good evening, Jonathan,” Solomon greets his student calmly, as though he didn’t have his cock shoved into another professor's mouth just beneath his desk.
“Hey, Dr. Laurent,” the student goes off about a recent lecture, questions about a current paper, remarks about his classmates. All the while Solomon remains hard in Ethel’s mouth, his erection not flagging for even a second.
Fear sends her heart racing. What if it’s obvious? What if the student notices? What if he looks beneath the desk and sees Ethel’s mouth stuffed full of his–
She feels herself clench around nothing, feels as a warm wetness slowly seeps out of her. She squeezes her thighs together again and her eyes flutter. She is incredibly sensitive, even more than before. Is she turned on by Solomon? Or the idea of the student finding out what they’re doing?
She swallows, her tongue swirling around the head on purpose this time. It earns her precome, but no other reaction.
Careful to be quiet, to be as still as she can, Ethel angles her head to try and slip more of Solomon inside her mouth. She gets halfway before she has to stop, before she’s worried about choking. She closes her lips, forming as firm a seal as she can, before she suckles again, tongue playing with more of the shaft than before.
Solomon reacts, no matter how subtly. His legs stiffen, he adjusts minutely in his seat, hips nudging forward in an attempt to push further into the wet heat of her mouth. Jonathan drones on, unawares, and Ethel grows curious and bold despite herself.
I don’t want this, she thinks, and she doesn’t. If there were a choice beyond execution or fulfilling Solomon Laurent’s sexual whims, she would choose it. But there isn’t another option. It’s this or certain death.
She tenses her thighs again, allowing herself pleasure from the simple pressure. If this is her only option, so be it. She is resigned. But that doesn’t mean she has to be a perfect victim; it doesn’t mean she can’t derive her own carnal release from the situation too.
Ethel keeps one hand at Solomon’s thigh for balance while the other snakes down between her legs. She hikes her skirt enough for ease of access, and with unsure hands, applies a steady pressure where she feels the most needy. It startles her to find just how wet she is, how sensitive she is, just from taking the older man in her mouth.
Her eyes flutter shut and she enjoys the slow friction of rubbing herself over her silk underwear. More drool, she swallows. Her tongue is active now, swirling around the head and shaft more enthusiastically, without her even realizing she’s doing it. Caught up in the sensation, he slips further into her mouth, muscles relaxing and gag reflex adjusting to the intrusion.
“Yes, I have a copy here,” Solomon replies to some query from Jonathan, and she feels him shift back in his seat as he pulls open a bottom drawer, rummaging for something. Her eyes open briefly, and she sees his gaze locked on the hand between her legs, rubbing lazy circles over drenched silk. His cock jerks in her mouth, a pool of precome oozing from the head.
She swallows it easily, accommodating his movements so not an inch of him slips from her mouth.
He clears his throat, grabbing a small stack of papers from the drawer before handing them to his student.
“Feel free to keep these for reference,” his tone is relaxed, unaffected, but his thighs remain tense, the precome more frequent now. “Is that all? I’m afraid I have a lot to catch up on here.”
“Oh, yes, sorry Dr. Laurent,” they exchange papers, and Ethel can hear as the man trails back out of the lecture theater, closing the door behind him.
Solomon leans back in his chair fully the moment they’re alone. He allows himself a breathy groan, both of his hands trailing down and gathering in her hair. The pads of his fingers are gentle, a reward.
“You’ve been very good,” he peeks down at her, eyes dark where they study the way her lips stretch around his cock, at the way she pleasures herself while pleasuring him.
His fingers grow firm but not painful, using fistfuls of hair to direct her where he wants her. Ethel moves to her knees, now needing both hands on his thighs for balance, no longer able to touch herself.
“I’ll make sure to reward you soon,” he promises, as though he can read her mind. His hands and smile are gentle, a contrast to the heat in his gaze. “I’m going to come now. I want you to swallow all of it. Do you understand?”
Ethel nods.
“Good,” one hand grabs her more firmly at the base of her skull, the other rubbing gentle circles over her sore jaw. “This will be a lot at first, but I know you can take it. I’ll make it quick for your first time. Remember not to let me slip from your mouth, not even for a second.”
Her brows furrow, uncertain what he means, but she understands quickly enough. With the leverage in her hair, he forces her down the rest of his shaft, the head of his cock now at the back of her throat.
Ethel gags, drool running down her chin, unpleasant noises escaping her. She can’t breathe, she’s terrified she might throw up. Her hands dig into his thighs and she tries to yank back, to pull herself off of him. He relents, or so she thinks. He helps her back up, the tip of him just past her lips. She can breathe again, and she’s greedy with it.
Just as suddenly, he pulls her back down until her nose is buried in his trimmed pubic hair, his zipper digging into her chin. She chokes, throat working around the sudden intrusion, tears springing forth. She can’t breathe again.
Solomon starts a quick rhyme, and despite herself Ethel learns what to do. She bears the unpleasant gagging and choking, careful to keep her teeth away, and takes in as much air as she can when he yanks her back up.
Her face is a mess of drool and tears, blotchy and red from the effort. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to force her mind to go blank, while she waits for him to keep his promise and make it quick.
Her only warning is a hissed “Swallow it”. He pulls her down all the way, cock lodged in the back of her throat, and she can feel every inch of him pulse and twitch across her tongue as he orgasms. It’s a strange sensation, entirely unpleasant, having his come shoot directly down her throat. It’s warm, sticky, and no matter how much she swallows it doesn’t feel like it all goes down.
Solomon pulls her back by her hair again, just enough so she can breathe but not allowing his still-hard cock to leave her mouth.
“All of it,” he’s breathless, cheeks red, voice rough. Ethel listens. Uses her tongue to swipe away any lingering come, swallowing over and over until finally it feels like the sticky mess is no longer on him or stuck to the inside of her mouth.
He lets go of her entirely, rolling his chair back, and finally her mouth is her own again. Ethel hunches on the floor, still gulping down air and swallowing compulsorily, lips and jaw sore. She uses her blouse sleeves to wipe away the drool and tears, embarrassed of the mess he made of her.
“Come,” Solomon urges, holding a hand out for her. She takes it before she can think better of it.
He helps her to her feet and then spins her around, urging her to lay on her belly across his desk. It’s an unfortunately familiar position.
“Please,” she tries, voice a wreck. “We don’t need to do this.”
“I’m a gentleman, Ethel. What right bastard would I be if I left my woman wanting after she so thoroughly took my cock?”
Her mind lingers on ‘my woman’, confused. She doesn’t have much time to consider the phrasing before he pulls off her panties entirely and begins to press into her.
“Oh god,” her hands scramble for purchase, only her toes are able to touch the floor with how high the desk is.
It shouldn’t feel so good, but it does. The hot press of his cock, how slowly he pushes in. He doesn’t have to go slow, she’s slick enough he could bottom out quickly if he wanted. Instead, Solomon drags it out, forcing her to feel every inch take her cunt, the same way he did to her mouth moments before.
“You’ve turned me into a boy again, Ethel,” he plants a hand near her head to steady himself. “I don’t think I’ve been this hard in ages. Haven’t had to fight for selfcontrol since I was a freshman.”
Her eyes water with shame, her face flushing a bright red. It’s not her fault, she knows that. That doesn’t change the fact he’s fucking her now, or what she did beneath his desk while a student was there.
She is sensitive after touching herself, and if she’s honest, from the way he used her. Every movement sparks pleasure, and the slight burn from where he stretches her only fuels her neediness. Fully seated, he feels unnaturally deep, like nothing should ever touch her there. Pleasure mixes with the discomfort of something putting pressure on her cervix.
Even this feels good, in a way. Adding to the eroticism and intensity of their coupling. The ache just solidifies the sensation of how far he reaches inside her. Scratches some base itch Ethel did not even realize she had.
She doesn’t last long, the office quickly filled with her breathy, urgent moans; her voice stuttering with every harsh thrust forward. The desk shifts beneath her, scooting minutely across the carpeted floor from Solomon’s effort.
Her toes curl with her climax, as ridiculous as she feels with her legs all but dangling above the floor. Her vaginal walls collapse around the cock still fucking her; she can feels a warm gush of her own wetness leak down his hardness and her own thighs.
The sounds he wrings out of her should be embarrassing, but his pleasured groans as he empties himself inside her are a strange comfort. He is undone by her body as much as she is undone by his.
Much like their first tryst, he lingers while they catch their breath. Makes her hold his hand while he languidly fucks his come back inside until he’s too soft to penetrate her properly.
Solomon retrieves her underwear from the floor and helps slip them back up her legs. With surprising consideration, he helps her off his desk, righting her skirt and blouse, handing her back her claw clip to straighten out her hair. His hands linger everywhere they touch, warm and hungry, like he didn’t just take her twice in the same evening.
His eyes are considering when he reaches for her face. His thumb lingers over her bottom lip.
“Meet me in my private office Friday evening,” she eyes him wearily, but doesn’t tell him ‘no’. They both know she’ll do what he says.
“What’s different there than here?”
“Privacy, for one.”
She feels her face flush at the memory of Jonathan. It doesn’t make much sense though. Solomon didn’t care for privacy today, not even when they were interrupted by said student.
It makes her suspicious; uneasy. If privacy isn’t a concern for his sexual coercion–and it clearly isn’t–then what else could he want privacy for? Ethel thinks she knows, and doesn’t like the answer one bit.
He presses a light peck at her forehead, giving her another gentle smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Go on then, I’m sure you have your own work to catch up on. I’ll see you again Friday.”
Ethel accepts his dismissal, doesn’t press. She doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want her suspicion to be right. It’s insanity, but she would take comfort in thinking he simply wishes to degrade her person further, to use her for his fantasies, than what she fears he might want.
Her abilities. Her dark affinity. The genetic mistake that has marked her as good as dead by the Pearle Empire.
Her blood magic.