Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100
Sequel to my other police AU fic.
Warnings for trauma, past child abandonment, reckless behavior, police taking advantage of their position-sort of and past mentions of people prioritizing a fetus over an actually fully developed human being.
Ready for the fun to begin
The entire night and early morning had passed on by. Clarke Griffin, who was arrested and pulled off of the streets by her lovers, all of which, were police officers, was now absolutely and one thousand percent not intoxicated any longer.
There was a toothbrush and some toothpaste placed in her cell. So, she had brushed her teeth after sleeping in the cell during the night.
She now had better breath.
She knew what was going to happen next. She'd end up going to the bathroom. She would end up going into the shower in the bathroom and she'd bathe. Then she'd be ready to party.
The cameras, she knew, wouldn't pick up the areas where she was going to be fucked by her lovers. And the rest of the precinct wouldn't say a word about what their friends and coworkers were doing with her.
The rest of the precinct was trustworthy.
Frank opened the door of Clarke's cell and moved aside, gesturing for Clarke to move out and head to the bathroom to bathe herself.
"The soap and shampoo are all in the bathroom, baby girl," Frank said gruffly, "There are some new clothes out for you to change into."
Clarke nodded.
She had been fucked by her lovers enough times for them to know what size of clothes she needed.
She went past Frank and got to the bathroom. She had used the toilet in her cell, so she had no need of the bathroom in that way. But she would need to bathe herself now.
She got to the shower and grabbed the bodywash and shampoo, beginning to undress, pushing the curtain of the shower open.
She stepped into the shower, the hard, cool linoleum floor tiles against the soles of her feet.
She closed the curtain of the shower, and turned on the water, having become acquainted enough times with this shower stall, to know exactly how the shower worked.
She washed herself efficiently. Washed her hair and washed the soap out of it. Then turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, grabbed the towel and began drying herself off.
Clarke knew that ultimately, this relationship she had with her lovers, most likely would be considered by many "unhealthy."
And you know what? It probably was.
But she didn't care.
She loved them. As much as she could. She loved them.
For years, since her mother had abandoned her and since Murphy had abandoned her, both making it abundantly clear to her, that they cared more for a bundle of cells that hadn't even developed a brain yet, than for her, a fully developed person and who they were supposed to care about, support and love, no matter what, Clarke hadn't understood how to open herself up enough to feel love or feel love for others as well.
For her, at the time, all that had existed, was trauma. Pain. Sadness. Aloneness. Abandonment.
Anger.
Rage.
And it had all culminated in stupid actions over the course of seven years, since she first had become pregnant, and her mother and Murphy both had mistreated her and prioritized a bundle of cells over her, and had expected her to be happy about it, and finally when they had abandoned her after the miscarriage.
It had hit her so hard and painfully. She'd been hurting, traumatized from the miscarriage, from being told that she didn't matter as much as a bundle of cells that hadn't even developed a brain yet, and being threatened by two people who were supposed to love her, and then being abandoned by those same people.
So, after her mother had disowned her, Clarke, who had recovered after a few months, didn't even bother to wait for social services to come by. She had packed up everything that she still had access to and had run.
She had been hurt enough. And she wouldn't risk being hurt by anyone again. She wouldn't risk being thrown into the foster system.
She wouldn't be hurt by any possible future adoptive or foster parents or siblings. Or by any potential lovers or friends. She would be hurt by no one ever again.
She had stolen a lot of her so-called mother's money, and had run off. She had found a few cheap motels and had paid for them.
She had quickly found work. She'd been worried about the work that would be expected of her, given at the time, she'd been a somewhat pretty young girl, without a support system. But thankfully, the two people that gave her a job, Lincoln and his coworker, Nyko, just had her be an assistant at a hospital. They more or less had looked out for her.
Unfortunately, she only had cast suspicion upon them for all their good deeds for her.
To her, there weren't that many good people in the world. So, when Lincoln and Nyko had helped her? All she could feel for them was suspicion.
She was sure at the time, that they had some ulterior motive. Because, well, who didn't?
But no, to her eventual shock, Nyko and Lincoln, she realized, just wanted to genuinely help her and wouldn't try anything.
She still was in contact with them. She still saw them as her friends-her family, even.
They were the first people that taught her to trust again.
But love? No, Clarke still hadn't been able to bring herself to love anyone again after what had happened to her.
All of the romantic relationships she'd had before her police officer lovers, she had treated callously. Men and women alike, she'd cast aside as soon as she had sex with them. She'd fuck them, then leave them.
Better to have fun and not be heartbroken again, right?
But then, she had met these officers at this precinct.
Nyko and Lincoln had taught her how to trust again.
And her lovers? The many people in the precinct who more or less were taking advantage of the young woman they had in their custody? They had taught her how to love again.
Clarke didn't care how unequal the power was. They had saved her in a way. She would always be aware of that.
When Clarke was completely dried off, she grabbed her new clothes and pulled them on.
She saw that there was no bra there. And really, what would be the point? Were she to have a bra on, it would be pulled off of her soon. Besides, they'd drive her back to her place afterwards-and likely fuck her brains out there, too, after they were finished having their way with her in the station.
There was, on the other hand, underwear, which Clarke was guessing was placed there, more for her lovers benefit of getting to pull it off of her when the time came-before they made her cum.
She slipped the panties on and found that she was positive that she was right. The lacy panties that her lovers had gotten her were very revealing. Thin, with intricate designs where you could almost see the outline of her vaginal lips.
Clarke chuckled.
Her lovers really were a kinky bunch.
Seriously, they made her look like a nun by comparison.
When Clarke's pants and shirt were on, she walked out of the bathroom, not even bothering to wonder where the socks and shoes were, those she'd be given later, when it was time for her to go home.
As soon as she was out of the bathroom and was in front of her lovers, who'd been waiting for her, she was met with several leery smiles as Clint announced, "The cameras in the lobby are not working right now."
"Really?" Clarke said, feigning innocence, "Imagine that. I wonder how that happened."
"We wonder too," Laura said, snickering, "I think you should come with all of us. Check it out. And receive your punishment for misbehaving last night."
Clarke swallowed, feeling herself already getting wet in excitement at what her lovers were promising her.
"Why don't you make me go with you to the lobby?" Clarke teased, grinning.
There was a tenseness in the room, and for a second, Clarke wondered what they were waiting for, but she got her answer a second later.
Laura demanded, "Safe word?"
Clarke tried not to groan. Of course, they were going to make her deal with this safe word crap.
Fine.
"Waterfall," Clarke said, and yes, that was a sexual joke, but she seriously doubted her lovers cared any more than she did.
Without responding much, Laura just nodded and asked, "Color?"
Clarke fought a groan, as she said, "Green."
And that was when the signal was there for Clarke's lovers to pounce. When with a growl, all three Frank, Steve and Jessica moved, Clarke could only moan in pleasure, when Steve grabbed her around the waist, Frank grabbed Clarke's breasts and played with them and Jessica grabbed Clarke between her legs, pressing her thumb against Clarke's clit, Clarke was easily pliable enough for them to carry her along to the lobby.
They reached the lobby, and Clarke shivered in excitement, when she heard belt buckles being undone and heard zippers being pulled down.
"It's time to make up for upsetting your daddies, mamas, masters and mistresses, kitten," Steve said, in that snide tone that could easily be used for a motivational speech, assuring people that they could accomplish the tasks that they wanted to accomplish.
Only in this case, the task at hand that would be accomplished, would be Clarke being fucked to the point that she wouldn't be able to walk, likely for a week.
When Clarke and all of her lovers were in the lobby, only then did Jessica release Clarke's pussy. But that was only so that one of the others could get access to between her legs.
Frank was still squeezing Clarke's breasts, bringing more moans from her.
Clarke barely heard the footsteps behind her and felt hands grab her wrists and secure them behind her back.
It took her a moment to realize what was happening, when she felt the cold bite of handcuffs around her wrists and heard the snap around them, and heard the metal link of the handcuffs being wound around something metal, something Clarke figured was grafted into the wall or floor, which would keep her bound and at their mercy.
She then heard Bruce's almost vicious words as he growled, "Better get that tight pussy of yours ready, kitten." He walked around Clarke to her front, his fingers probing at Clarke's cunt, two fingers entering her and scissoring inside her, making Clarke cry out, squeezing her eyes shut.
Clarke's eyes were closed, so she couldn't see Bruce's face, but she could just picture his lewd grin as he fingered her.
With a sharp and powerful thrust, Bruce shoved his two fingers all the way in and twisted them both inside Clarke.
Clarke cried out, humping Bruce's hand.
Bruce moved his strong, powerful hand in and out of Clarke, making Clarke's hips buck back and forth, having no control of her body as Bruce fingered her and his thumb stroked her clit.
Bruce smirked as Clarke arched into his hand, but then caught Natasha's look as she approached.
(Wait,) the look Natasha gave Bruce, said, (Just a bit longer. We need to put it on, first.)
Bruce grunted, but nodded, and pulled his hand out of Clarke, causing Clarke to groan, forlorn.
"Really?" She whined, her eyes opening, as she stared at her lovers in accusation.
"Really," Wanda said, as she handed what was in her hands to Natasha.
Clarke looked at what Natasha now had in her hands and her eyes widened, a slight moan leaving her when she saw the item.
It was her collar.
Attached to a leash.
There was a ring at the front of the collar, where a long, thin, black leash was looped through.
Clarke swallowed. And nodded. She was giving her full permission.
When her lovers had first suggested to her to experience what it was like having a collar around her throat, at first, she had assumed that it was all about degradation. And while it was partially that, yes, it was so much more.
It was about protectiveness. Acceptance. Love.
So, eventually, when she was with her lovers sexually, she allowed the collar to be put on her. She even looked forward to it.
At Clarke's nod, Natasha came over, smiling, and she slipped the ends of the collar around Clarke's neck, and Clarke heard and felt the reassuring snap of the collar around the back of her neck, the ring and leash in the front of the collar.
"Now, then," Natasha said, pulling the leash carefully, "On your knees, slut."
Clarke moaned and did as Natasha said, sinking to her knees, Frank releasing her breasts and the link of the handcuff sliding down whatever metal object it had been wound around while being secured to her, and she was down on her knees, her arms just slightly lifted up by whatever they were handcuffed to.
Clarke lifted her head, her blue eyes filled with nervousness and excitement.
She could feel the heat between her legs.
She was so desperate for release right now.
She was happy, however, to feel soft carpeting under her knees when she was on the floor.
Whether it was to make their precinct seem less threatening and more inviting to suspects and criminals who they wanted confessions out of-without threats of any sort, and get the confessions out more by being reasonable, because this precinct did things differently and tried to be more hospitable to people, or because they just wanted this to be comfortable for Clarke-honestly, it could go either way with this group.
Natasha, Bruce, Steve, Wanda, Jessica, Elektra, Frank, Laura and Clint stood around her, leering hungrily, their police officer uniforms making them appear all the more imposing.
"Now," Natasha said as they all smirked, and the redhead held up the leash to Clarke's collar up, "How should we start fucking our kitten?"