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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 11 Feb 2003 11:35:50 -0600
From: Shakespeare_I._Aint@excite.com
Reply-To: Shakespeare_I._Aint@excite.com
Subject: {ASSM} RP from 1998: Teacher Passes The Test, Part One by Shakespeare_I._Aint
Date: Tue, 11 Feb 2003 17:10:02 -0500
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**WARNING**  This story contains sexual material and is intended for 
legal and mature adults in Countries where such material is permissible 
to view, download and/or possess.  If you are not a legal adult or the 
laws of your country prohibit these types of materials, do not proceed 
any farther!  Hit the "Back" button on your browser! 


Copyright (C) 1998,   Shakespeare_I._Aint.  ALL Rights Reserved

***********************************************************************
Teacher Passes the Test ,Part 1 of 10, It Was Worth Breaking In by 
Shakespeare_I._Aint (m/MF everything)

Comments/Critiques/Questions/Answers?
Email me at Shakespeare_I._Aint@excite.com

Other Storys and Parts available at: 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Shakespeare_I._Aint

It's All Free! 


=======================================================================
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 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.  

**********End of Part One*********************************************




Comments/Critiques/Questions/Answers?
Email me at Shakespeare_I._Aint@excite.com

Other Storys and Parts available at: 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Shakespeare_I._Aint

It's All Free! 



======================================================================
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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