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Subject: {ASSM} Teacher Passes the Test Part One: It Was Worth Breaking In by Shakespeare_I._Aint
Date: Tue, 11 Jul 2000 20:10:13 -0400
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Copyright (C) 1998, Shakespeare_I._Aint. ALL Rights Reserved
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit, or on another website
without the written permission of the author. The author may be contacted by
writing mrdouble@mrdouble.com or mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.
Original posting date:
Sunday AM, November 01, 1998
A Resident Author story from MrDouble's archive,
Filename: teacher.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com
(m/MF, everything)
=======================================================================
Warning: Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18. This story
contains elements of violence, Dominance and Submission, non-consensual sex,
bodily functions and sexual acts involving every orifice. Do not read this if
these things offend you or if they offend the standards of your local
community. Do not read this if you are under the age of 18.
=======================================================================
The parts, chapters, titles and text of this story cannot be archived without
attached author credit at the beginning and end of the text.
The story cannot be archived on any site where membership is required to view
this story.
***********************************************************************
Teacher Passes the Test,
Part 1 of 10,
It Was Worth Breaking In
by Shakespeare_I._Aint
(m/MF everything)
=======================================================================
My name is Damien. Not like the devil child in those movies from the
seventies--I've seen them, and I'm not like him. I'm pretty normal for a boy
who has been shuttled into various foster and group homes all my life. No,
instead of being the son of an anti-Christ, I'm the son of a crackhead mother
doing life for murder occurring during a robbery attempt. I doubt she could
name my father. Then again, I couldn't pick her out of a photo line-up either;
I don't remember her.
I've been moved around for the fifteen years of my young life. One year here,
six months there. Analyzed and assigned to places supposed to help me overcome
the circumstances of my birth. My "jacket", the dossier containing my profile,
contains choice phrases such as, "amoral", "lacking in empathy",
"manipulative", and my personal favorite, "classic loner". A yellow post-it
note stuck to my file during my last transit advises that, should I become a
serial killer, I would probably break Gacy's record long before I was caught.
High praise indeed, although such sentiments should be reduced to writing and
not appended to the my file in such a temporary manner.
I'm not a serial killer and I probably will never be one. I'm simply a victim
of the system. Yes, I do lack empathy, I am amoral, manipulative and I am
somewhat of a loner. So what? I get by. Actually, the "serial killer" tag
was placed by a in-residence psychologist shocked by my displays of friendly
gregariousness which I followed with almost autistic withdrawals. I was just
playing with her mind. I didn't like the way she needed to stereotype and
codify me for her professional and personal comfort.
I tend to test off the charts for intelligence just as I land outside the norm
of the psychological tests I've submitted to.
I'm five foot ten; weigh 155 pounds, and I have blonde hair and blue eyes. I
look Aryan. I am the loner described above, although I can get along just
dandy with my housemates, thank-you.
The story of my beautiful teacher, Cindy Van Horn, begins when I was
transferred to a foster home in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan. The home
contained 10 misfit boys, shepherded by a harried, middle-aged couple named
Bill and Cathy McGwire. By now they were only in the game for the money they
got each month from the state, and a tax break on their large ranch home.
They tended to trust me from the start as I quickly showed them how helpful and
trouble-free I could be relative to the other miscreants they housed.
I started my senior year of high-school at Clinton High. I was a senior
because some well-meaning administrator at one of the elementary schools had
seen fit to promote me ahead two grades years ago--they don't do much of that
anymore.
For whatever reason; and I can't always supply my reasoning--it defies my
analysis--I took a shine to one of my teachers, Mrs. Cindy Van Horn, a
late-twenties Humanities teacher in her fifth year of teaching. She stood five
foot two, and weighed about 105 pounds soaking wet, which is how I wanted to
see her. She had short blonde hair with a fresh, pretty face. Her breasts,
almost always hidden under a sweater, were delightfully heavy. The chick was a
full-blood thoroughbred with impeccable lines. She had cheerleader/prom
queen/college newspaper/graduation/marriage to "Mr. right" written all over
her. Her manner of teaching was impersonal at best. She lectured in an almost
uncaring monotone, never once getting sidetracked from the material at hand.
She graded hard, and most honor students avoided her classes religiously for
fear that their hard-won grade point averages would suffer should they land in
one of her classes. It didn't bother me, I had a free-ride scholarship comin g
anyway, as a ward of the state. And I never got hung up on grades or homework
for that matter
I believe I fell for Mrs. Van Horn for one simple reason. She appeared to
dismiss me. I imagine she knew that I was living in the group home. I seemed
to bring out her natural disdain. My essay answers were "superficial", my hand
was ignored when raised to answer a question. It was interesting. It didn't
hurt my feelings, mind you. It was just interesting. I had never been judged
such an inferior human being, and it was the first thing that had really caught
my attention in a few years. She had classified me and found me far beneath
the need for notice.
I don't like stereotypes. I didn't like being dismissed out of hand. I did
like Mrs. Van Horn though. I felt the need to make her notice me. To make her
respect me.
I began by following her home and finding that she lived less than 2 miles from
my own crowded house. A far nicer subdivision than the one I lived in. Don't
let anyone tell you teachers don't make good money because they do. And two
teachers make twice as much. Mrs. Van Horn was married to an older guidance
counselor in his late-thirties, Edwin Van Horn. He was apparently not working
because of an alleged back injury incurred when he slipped on an icy walk at
the school two years prior.
Their home was a large ranch-style on a heavily treed double lot. The house
wasn't even visible from the street. Perfect for me to hide in and watch
them. So I did. Every evening for a week. Stalking you say? Sure.
I found out some surprising things during that week. First and foremost, they
argued every night. What they argued about, I didn't know. Ed would disappear
down into their basement and, as often as not, return a while later with a pipe
full of weed, and they would smoke it, relaxing as they smoked the peace pipe.
Ed was a short, stocky individual, about 5'7" and 190 pounds. He had brown
hair, silver glasses and the beard high school teachers grow to look like
college professors. I noticed that he didn't seem very injured at all, unless
his pot belly was straining his back.
On Saturday, when I took up my post on their property, I saw Ed Van Horn slip
on a neck brace and grab his cane and limp out to the garage. First time I'd
seen him limp all week. Cindy followed and shortly the garage door slid open
and off they went, in her black Dodge Viper.
I didn't know where they were going, but I knew where they weren't. I walked
into their back yard. The doorwall was closed, but not locked. I walked in
like I owned the place.
I did a meticulous search of the premises, prepared at any time to dart out the
front door in case they came back. They were gone over two hours, giving me
the time I needed to seal their fate.
I went into the basement to find Ed's stash. I found more than I thought I
would. What I found shocked me. His stash wasn't immediately visible until I
looked up at the suspended ceiling. One tile showed repeated signs of having
been moved. I reached up and located a garbage bag. I pulled it down. Far
too heavy for drugs, I figured. I was wrong. Ed had two bricks of dope in
there along with some loose weed. About five pounds, I guessed. And an open
leather bank bag with a huge amount of money and a small notebook. And a
loaded semi-auto handgun. I made an appropriation right then and there. I
left the gun after making a modification to it.
I searched the upstairs of the home. I located Ed's lawsuit files and added
then to my garbage bag. Looking through their videotapes, I noticed several
unmarked videos. I ran them through the v.c.r., finding one nice tape of them
fucking. My teacher did have a beautiful body. The tape went with me.
I rechecked the home, making sure everything was pretty much as they'd left it.
I slipped out the back door to start a plan. The funniest thing was, as I
walked home with the garbage bag folded under my arm so that it would look less
like a garbage bag, the Van Horn's drove by. As they passed, I could see Cindy
saying something to Ed as they glanced at me. They both laughed. I grinned
and waved.
After renting a locker at the bus garage, I spent the rest of the day at the
public library, putting a plan into motion. When you live with ten other boys
in one house, the bathroom or a public library is the only place you can act in
privacy.
I was forty-three thousand dollars richer.
========================================================================
Chapter Two: I love it when a good plan cums together...
=======================================================================
On Sunday night, the day after my daring daylight burglary, I cut the phone
line at the side of their home prior to ringing the doorbell. My ground work
was done and it was time for the show. I had Ed's lawsuit files with me.
Edwin Van Horn opened the front door and stared at me. He looked worried and
distraught.
"Yes?" he demanded impatiently.
"I'm Damien North," I stated. "I'm here to talk to you and Mrs. Van Horn."
"Look, we're busy now. Go away", he said flatly, already making ready to close
the door on me. Then he saw the files under my arm. His eyes went wide and
his face turned red. "What do you got there?" he demanded.
"Where?", I feigned stupidity.
"Under your arm. Under your arm! Are those my files? ARE THOSE MY FUCKING
FILES?! he shouted.
"Yes, I believe they are" I declared, already feeling a distaste for Mr. Edwin
Van Horn.
"Give them to me", he demanded, already coming out and reaching for the files
tucked under my arm.
"Careful Eddie, you'll injure your back." His eyes went wide again with anger.
He was pissed.
"I said give me those files, you fucking punk". I was bigger than him and I
was a fucking punk?
"Let me in, Ed. I'm getting tired of your attitude."
His eyes glanced around the darkness behind me. "Get in here." He turned back
and held the door open as I passed inside, closing it behind me.
Ed was almost dancing on his heels. It was apparent that he didn't know what
to say, and didn't know what to expect. He stared wildly at me.
"Here's your files back Eddie".
I could tell that calling him Eddie would irritate him to no end. I handed him
the materials. He snatched them eagerly, but didn't so much as examine them
before tossing them onto the couch.
"What else you got for me? Who are you? I know you. You're that group home
kid Cindy pointed out yesterday!"
Before I could answer, Cindy's voice floated out of the kitchen as she
approached.
"Who is it?".
My libido jumped as she appeared. She was floating in like a goddess in some
casual jeans and a man's white button shirt. She stopped in surprise when she
saw me. Her eyes widened for a fraction, then she made a peculiar sniffing
sound of distaste. She glanced at Edwin, her protector.
"What's he doing here?" she hissed to him.
"I think I found the asshole who ripped us off", Edwin stated flatly.
"This child?--Damien whatever-his-name-is?" she said in disbelief.
"Where's the rest of the stuff you stole?" Ed stared at me, his hands clenching
into fists.
"Let's talk", I said reasonably. Edwin Van Horn was overdue for an ass kicking
but I wanted him to feel totally in control, totally masculine in front of his
wife. "I left you a bit of your stash--why don't you go load a bowl and we'll
spark it up. Then I'll tell you where the rest of your stuff is."
He considered briefly, staring at me like a macho man. Then he wheeled on
Cindy and told her he was going downstairs. He suggested that she change into
something more comfortable. She stared at him, then at me. She apparently
grasped that he might need her to wow me into giving them back their money by
showing some skin. She finally shrugged and told me sarcastically to "make
myself comfortable."
They left me alone in their living room. I cast my glance about, locating a
stout wooden cane in an umbrella stand. I grabbed it and placed it behind the
seat cushions of the couch. I seated myself and waited, my adrenaline rushing
now.
Cindy returned first. She flounced in wearing that same man's shirt and some
black spandex workout pants. Her body was first rate, her tits pushing the
shirt away from her chest; the spandex molded around her hips and ass. She
glanced idly at me, seating herself across the room in a rocking recliner. She
did not initiate a conversation and I could tell my presence in her beautiful
home was offensive to her.
Edwin clomped back up the stairs. He walked through the kitchen and out to
meet us. He glanced at Cindy, then took up a position behind her chair, like
Gomez used to stand behind Morticia for the family photo on the Addams Family.
He had walked stiffly, and I knew he was packing that gun on him.
"I realized downstairs that I didn't want to smoke with you," he said icily.
"I might want to smoke you though", he added.
I started the ball rolling, ignoring his threat.
"Ed. Cindy. I've got a confession to make. I stole your dope and your money.
I read up on your lawsuit."
"Fuck that--where's our money?" Ed snapped.
Cindy's eyes were bright at his words--he was her aggressive male protector.
I continued.
"I cannot tell a lie. It is my belief that you are buying and selling
marijuana while you wait for your bullshit lawsuit to be settled. I must state
that I think you're a perfectly healthy and capable man. And I must admit that
I have one hell of a crush on Mrs. Van Horn. There, I've said it. They say
confession is good for the soul and they are right." I gave an exaggerated
sigh of relief and settled back on the couch.
They stared at me openmouthed, wanting me to go on and explain myself. When I
didn't, Edwin slowly shook his head, grinning evilly at me, ready for his big
show in front of his wife. Little fuck.
"Next you're gonna tell me that if you don't leave here alive, someone is going
to the police right?"
Ed pulled the gun from the back of his waist and pointed it at me.
"For the last time, where's my stuff?!"
"Ed, if you were even man enough to shoot me, you'd blow your hand off first.
I stuffed the barrel with some of your marijuana. That gun will explode when
you pull the trigger," I remarked as casually as I could. It was true, of
course. I had fixed that gun.
Ed reversed the barrel and looked into it. When he saw the tightly packed
marijuana, he looked sheepish. I had made him look stupid. He dropped the gun
and charged across the room at me. I leaped to my feet, whipping the cane out
from behind the cushions. I caught him with a hard one on the side of his
head. Blood flew from the beautiful laceration I inflicted. His glasses flew
off his large head. Ed screamed and dropped to his knees. Cindy stood up from
her chair, shocked. Her hand fumbled for the phone on the end table. She
listened, puzzled as there was no dial tone. I slid over to her and pushed her
down hard back into the chair.
"Don't fucking move," I ordered.
Ed staggered clumsily to his feet, staring in my direction, his vision impeded
by the loss of his glasses. I picked them up. I threw the cane over near the
front door and approached Edwin Van Horn.
"Here's your glasses, Eddie. Can we discuss this like gentlemen?"
Ed put his glasses on with dignity. He did what he had to do in front of his
wife. He grabbed my arms. I brought my forehead crashing into his nose. It
exploded in a geyser of blood. He made a snuffling sound, trying to breath
through his nose. He clung to me like a injured boxer. I brought my knee up
and slammed it into his groin. He squealed and slumped to the floor. It
wasn't over yet. Ed needed his lesson and his wife had to see him get beaten.
I put the boots to him, striking his legs and unprotected back. He curled up
into a fetal position, the fight had gone out of him and survival of the
weakest was foremost on his mind. I finished by hauling him to his feet, as
though I was assisting him, then raining bitch slaps back and forth across his
cheeks. Ed was blubbering like a little girl. Blood coursed out of his nose
and tears slid down his face into his beard. He actually pissed himself as I
slapped him. I threw him onto the couch. As a last victory, I ripped hi s
shirt off him. I dragged his pants off and tossed them aside. I grabbed the
waistband of his sodden underwear and tore them off. His legs showed red
blotches where I had kicked him. His genitalia were shriveled with fear.
Cindy remained in her chair, her face pasty. She looked like she could vomit.
I gave them a minute, him sobbing and clutching his face; her frozen, making no
move to help him. I tossed him the remains of his shirt.
"Wipe that blood off your face".
He did, finally looking over the top of his makeshift bandage, looking at me
through his tears. He looked so pathetic, a short overweight teacher who
thought he was going to be a hero. It hadn't even been a nice try.
"You guys didn't let me finish. No one knows I'm here. I'm not like that.
I'm more of an 'classic loner'. I do things I don't understand. I don't
really even know why I'm here. Anyway, if you would have looked into your
precious files Eddie you would have seen that I've already mailed one letter."
Ed stiffened. I opened his files, extracting two copies of a letter. I gave
each of them a copy.
"This letter, I've already sent. It's an unsigned letter to the insurance
company for the school system. It says that I have reason to believe that you
sustained no permanent injury from your accident and that I've observed a
recent videotape of you fucking Cindy here--you embedded the date on the
videotape, dumb ass--and that your claim of loss of consortium is a lie. It
finishes with my suggestion that they send you a certified letter asking you
yet again to take an exam at a clinic of their choosing. It finishes with a
prediction that within a month, you'll be back to work and the lawsuit will be
dropped. It's pretty well written, don't you think?" I smirked.
A bomb of silence had been dropped in the room. It was quiet except for Ed's
tortured breathing. "Why?", he finally croaked.
"Well Ed, it's like I say. I can't always explain my motives. I do know that
I've taken a shining to Cindy here--her diffidence I find enchanting. When I
found your stash, I knew I just knew something grand was called for. But dig
this--I prepared another letter to the cops." I pulled two more copies from
the file with a flourish, providing them to Ed and Cindy. "This letter will
make you laugh because it's so honest. It's like a total confession of my
activities. The burglary, the drugs and money, everything is in there. I even
included a sample of your dope, Ed. I signed that one. The real one is
sitting in someone's mailbox, somewhere in this subdivision. The mailman comes
early--about nine in the morning. It will go out then, if I don't retrieve it.
Obviously, it implicates you as a drug dealer and Cindy as a knowing
participant. It even has the key to the bus garage locker I stashed your stuff
in. Since I was not an agent of a police agency when I wrote my confessi on
all of it can be used against you guys. They probably won't even charge me if
I actually testify against you. Even if they did, it wouldn't bother me. I'm
already a ward of the state."
"What do you want?" Cindy asked in a frightened whisper, the letters clutched
in her hand.
"Let's start with a kiss," I said sweetly.
Ed bounded to his feet. "No fucking way!" he squealed. I crossed the room and
laid into him, slapping his face repeatedly before knocking him onto his naked
ass on the floor.
"Shut the fuck up, Eddie--haven't you learned anything about yourself tonight?"
His hairy groin was unprotected for an instant and I sank my Nike into it. Ed
screamed and vomited onto the carpet, whining and muling like a child. It
could not have been good for Cindy to see him get beat like that. It would
make her realize that Edwin Van Horn could not protect her. It could also make
her realize that Ed had gotten her into trouble in the first place with his
bullshit lawsuit and drug dealing while he waited to score the big bucks. At
least that's what I thought at the time. I learned different later. My
teacher rose shakily to her feet.
"I don't want anything to do with you," she said tiredly. "I'm going to bed".
"You don't have a choice, Mrs. Van Horn. When you're convicted, you lose your
teaching job. You lose this house and your bank accounts under federal drug
forfeiture laws. You won't have anything, except a felony conviction to help
you get your next job after you leave prison", I said quietly.
Her troubled face began to cry. I slipped up to her and placed my arms around
her, turning her so I could watch Ed laying there, docile now, while I held his
wife. She stiffened as I touched her. I felt her large funbags pressing
against my chest. I pulled her face to mine and kissed her, tasting her salty
tears as she trembled. I forced her mouth open and tongued her. My penis
sprang to attention. I could still sense her revulsion. My tongue invaded her
mouth, forcing her tongue to move to avoid mine. We tongue fought for a
minute. I was ready for the next step.
"What I require for tonight Mrs. Van Horn, is a blowjob. This nightmare could
end for you in a few months. Or I could just let the mailman pick up that
letter, and it would end for you in a few years. In any case, my demand is a
now thing, so do it."
Mrs. Edwin Van Horn pulled away from me and broke down in sobs. "I hate you",
she screamed. Good thing all the windows were closed. I measured the distance
to her pretty face and slapped her hard twice, once on each cheek. My hand was
stinging. She gasped in shock and cried harder, protecting her face. I
grabbed her short blonde hair and led her slowly to the seat she had vacated.
Ed lay there staring myopically at us, making no further attempts to be a hero.
I sat myself down heavily in the chair forcing her to her knees in front of me.
Grasping her with my thighs, I unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped and pulled them
down my hips, along with my underwear. My cock sprang free from it's prison,
jutting up into Cindy's face.
"Get going," I ordered.
The fight gone out of her, she complied, taking me into her warm wet mouth.
Tears dripped onto my groin as she fellated me. I pushed her face down onto my
cock, reveling in her mouth while keeping an eye on Eddie, who looked and
listened from his beaten down position. The end approached all too soon. I
pulled my cock out of Cindy's mouth, using my hand on her forehead to raise
her. I shots ropes of semen onto her upturned face, striking her nose and
cheeks. Her mouth had immediately closed tight. I brushed my cock across her
face, feeling the pressure on my hand as she tried to pull away. My cock
stroked her face, coating her in my sperm.
"Clean me--open up," I ordered.
She resisted until I grasped her hair, tightening until she shrieked and opened
her mouth to my soiled warrior. I placed my cock back in her mouth. She
closed upon it, gagging on the taste of my semen in her mouth. It was a nice
feeling. What a pretty teacher.
I pushed her back on her haunches. Standing up, I rearranged my clothing and
stepped away from my chair. I strode up to Ed, who had recovered his glasses.
He shrank away from me as I approached. Good.
I ordered them both to stand up. They rose shakily to their feet; Ed stiff and
sore from his beating, Cindy sobbing and wiping my load off her face with the
hem of her shirt. Two badly shaken suburbanite educators. I made them hold
hands and face me as I addressed them.
"I'd say we're off to a good start. I've got a letter to recover while you two
have a new arrangement to come to terms with. I'd suggest you come to terms
with it quickly. It's gonna last a couple of months I'd guess--until I get
bored."
Ed finally croaked, "Then what happens?"
"You get your money and your dope back. You get your freedom back. I find
something else to occupy my time. Anyway, I'm going now. You guys clean up
Ed's fluids and get some sleep. By the way, you'll have to tape up the phone
line outside where I cut it. I'll see you tomorrow in school Teach..."
Cindy said quietly, "You're crazy, you know that? You're crazy."
"I never said I was normal, Mrs. Van Horn. I never said that." I let myself
out, feeling light in the loins from a good blowjob from my darling little
teacher.
======================================================================
In Teacher Passes the Test Part II, Mr. Teacher's Wild Ride, Damien reinforces
Ed's submission after he and his schoolteacher wife, Cindy Van Horn make a
critical error in judgment. Cindy is forced to help.
======================================================================
Teacher Passes the Test Parts 1-10 by Shakespeare_I._Aint
Part One: It Was Worth Breaking In Part Two: Mr. Teacher's Wild Ride Part
Three: Who Sleeps On The Wet Spot? Part Four: Nothing Like a Facial to
Tighten up those Pores Part Five: Kind Of Slutty For a Cheerleader... Part
Six: Spare The Rod And Spoil the Teacher Part Seven: What Have You Been
Eating? Part Eight: Now That's Entertainment! Part Nine: Walk This Way Part
Ten: All Good Things Have To Come Up Your End
=====================================================================
In Teacher Passes the Test Part II, Mr. Teacher's Wild Ride, Damien reinforces
Ed's submission after he and his schoolteacher wife, Cindy Van Horn make a
critical error in judgment. Cindy is forced to help.
======================================================================
Teacher Passes the Test Parts 1-10 by Shakespeare_I._Aint
Part One: It Was Worth Breaking In
Part Two: Mr. Teacher's Wild Ride
Part Three: Who Sleeps On The Wet Spot?
Part Four: Nothing Like a Facial to Tighten up those Pores
Part Five: Kind Of Slutty For a Cheerleader...
Part Six: Spare The Rod And Spoil the Teacher
Part Seven: What Have You Been Eating?
Part Eight: Now That's Entertainment!
Part Nine: Walk This Way
Part Ten: All Good Things Have To Come Up Your End
=====================================================================
--
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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