Clarence
Copyright© 2024 by P. Tango
Chapter 11
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 11 - When his father died, he went to live with his mother and sister... and their Master.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/ft Consensual Slavery Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Daughter DomSub
Clarence woke before dawn because his jaw hurt.
The pain wasn’t sharp anymore, just steady, like something pressing from the inside. He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, then gave up and got dressed.
Anastasia was already at the dining table when he came in. A gardening catalogue lay open in front of her, its pages creased and soft from use. She turned a page, then looked up as Clarence crossed the room.
Her eyes went to his face and stayed there.
“That looks painful,” she said.
Clarence pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “It’s fine.”
She watched him for another second, then looked back down and turned the page.
Clarence picked at the edge of the table, then pressed his thumb lightly against the bruise. The ache flared. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and let his hand fall.
Mrs. Rosewood came in from the kitchen with a plate balanced on her palm. She set it down in front of him — eggs, toast, still steaming — then reached past Anastasia to straighten a cup that didn’t need straightening.
“Eat,” she said, already moving away.
Clarence nodded and took a bite. It was hotter than he expected. He slowed down.
Anastasia didn’t look at him again until he stood to grab his backpack. When he did, she rose as well and stepped close, her hands going automatically to his collar. She smoothed it flat, tugged once, and dropped her hands.
She didn’t meet his eyes.
Clarence hesitated, as if waiting for something else. When nothing came, he shifted his backpack onto his shoulder.
He nodded once and headed for the door.
————————————————————————— Clarence gripped the cold rail as he stepped onto the bus.
The noise didn’t stop, exactly—but it dipped. Someone laughed and cut it short, like they’d forgotten the end of the joke.
He moved down the aisle, steadying himself on the seat backs. Marcus Henly looked up, saw the bruise, then dropped his gaze straight to his shoes. Dwayne, sprawled across the aisle like always, pulled his legs in without thinking about it.
Tina was already there. Same seat. She shifted her backpack onto her lap as Clarence sat.
“Jesus,” she said under her breath. She leaned closer, squinted at his face. “That’s nasty.”
“Good morning,” he said.
She ignored that. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so.” She leaned back. “Doug’s lucky the teacher stepped in. You didn’t look done.”
Clarence exhaled through his nose.
“He just kept at it,” Tina went on. “Talking, talking. Then he stepped right up like he wanted something to happen.”
Clarence watched the houses slide by. “He squared up.”
“Exactly.”
Across the aisle, Brittany whispered something to Jessica. Both of them glanced over, then snapped their attention to the window like it suddenly got interesting.
Tina hooked a finger in a loose thread on her jeans. Picked at it. “So,” she said. “You fucked me.”
Clarence turned. “You fucked me.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Okay. Sure.”
They sat with that for a second. The bus rattled. Someone dropped a pencil. Nobody said anything.
“That was nice,” Tina said finally.
Clarence nodded. “Yeah.”
She bumped her knee against his, light. “I know I told you not to read much into it, but...”
He stared straight ahead and didn’t answer.
After a bit, she said, “Nobody’s messing with you today.”
Clarence looked down the aisle. Faces turned away. Bodies angled just enough to give him space.
“No.”
“Good.”
The bus hit a pothole. Backpacks jumped. The volume crept back up—not all the way, but close.
Close enough.
—————————————————- Doug’s seat was empty.
Clarence spotted it as soon as he walked in. Second row, by the windows. No expensive blue jacket slung over the back of the chair. No Doug.
He dropped into his own seat, the chair creaking louder than he expected.
The teacher started talking about equations. Papers shuffled. Someone dropped a pen and muttered “shit” under their breath. It felt like every other morning.
About ten minutes in, the teacher pointed at him. “Clarence?”
He stood, gave his answer, and knew halfway through that it was wrong.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a laugh burst out from the back of the room and cut itself off. Someone coughed, badly, like that fixed it. Another student snorted and bent low over her notebook, suddenly very busy.
A few whispers moved through the room. Not loud. Not the usual kind.
The teacher corrected him and kept going.
Clarence sat back down. His face felt hot, but nobody said the things they usually did. No comments. No jokes. No one dragged it out.
He glanced sideways. One of Doug’s friends was staring hard at his desk, like he’d lost something there.
During group work, Clarence heard his name behind him. Once. Maybe twice. When he turned, two girls were deep into an argument about problem number three, voices way too serious for what it was.
When the bell rang, Clarence grabbed his bag. The usual mess in the aisle cleared faster than normal—not in a way you could point at, just enough to notice.
Doug’s seat stayed empty.
———————————————————- The cafeteria was louder than the hallway, like always. Trays clattered. Someone yelled across the room. Fries hit the floor and got stepped on immediately.
Clarence got in line.
A couple of kids ahead of him glanced back, clocked his face, then turned forward again. One of them shifted his backpack from one shoulder to the other, like he’d suddenly remembered how wide the line was.
When Clarence reached the counter, the lunch lady squinted at him. “That hurt?”
“Yeah.”
She slid his tray across. “Don’t start anything in here.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded like that settled it.
Clarence carried his tray into the room. He headed for the table he usually sat at, then slowed. It wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either. Two kids he recognized were there, eating fast, shoulders tight. One of them looked up, met Clarence’s eyes, then looked down and pulled his tray an inch closer.
Clarence stopped.
He scanned the room.
There were open seats. Plenty of them. Just not the kind that came with eye contact.
Tina waved at him from her table, already halfway through a carton of milk. He walked over and sat across from her.
She glanced at his jaw. “Still bad?”
“Less.”
“Good.” She stabbed a fry. “People are being weird.”
Clarence shrugged.
The table next to them went quiet when Clarence sat down. Not all at once. Someone cleared their throat. Someone else laughed too hard and then stopped.
Tina watched him for a second, then went back to her food.
Halfway through lunch, a kid Clarence barely knew stopped at their table. He hovered, tray in hand, like he was deciding whether to say something.
“Uh,” he said. Then, “You done with that?”
Clarence slid his unopened applesauce across. “Yeah.”
“Thanks.” The kid nodded too much and walked away.
Clarence finished eating.
When the bell rang, Clarence dumped his tray and followed Tina toward the doors. The crowd opened as he passed through it. No stares. No comments.
Just space.
——————————————- The hallway smelled like cleaner and sweat. Lockers slammed. Someone shouted a name from the stairs. It sounded normal.
They walked toward their lockers without rushing.