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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
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 coming 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 his 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 confession 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
=====================================================================
=====================================================================