Halloween Tutor / Elvira's Revenge

(Apologies to Cassandra Peterson, the real Elvira)

DISCLAIMER: Neither the author or the Elvira character promote the use of illegal drugs or condone the practice of unsafe sex. This is just a fun little erotic romp, so don't get your panties in a wad.

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It seems like a lifetime ago, but actually it's only been ten years since I last substitute taught at our local community college. Moving to our present location, I was yet to get state-certified to teach fulltime. Teaching was never that high on my list of career choices anyway, so I didn't eagerly pursue it. However, our leaky finances demanded I find some form of income, so subbing was a necessity. My background and certification in computer arts served me well. The pre-requisite course I was assigned would mean easy money, however I had never taught at the college level.

"It's kind of like teaching high school kids, without all the babysitting. You'll like it," claimed Jean, my new confidant. Jean, a tall attractive brunette about my age, was a lifer, with almost twenty years of teaching under her belt. The shapely math teacher knew the ropes, and she was eager to help orient me to life in community college.

Whatever negative premonitions or reservations I had proved to be unfounded. Jean was right, I was enjoying myself and the extra money, of course. For the most part, the kids were hard-working, courteous, and even respectful. My course, "Intro to Digital Photography & Editing," was a pre-req class for students to see if the subject held any interest to them at all.

"So, what's the verdict, Barb, think you'll stick it out?" Jean asked, after several weeks into the new school year.

"It's not bad. The kids are so enthusiastic. It's fun!" I replied.

"Glad to hear it," smiled Jean, crossing her long gams, and taking a sip of hot coffee.

"There is this one sophomore, Denise West. She's could be a challenge," I remarked.

Jean's eyes opened wide at the mention of Denise's name. She physically led me to a more secluded area of the teacher's lounge. "Barb, you need to be very careful with the West girl. She has a bit of a history. She's not the world's best student, but she knows how to get what she wants, if you catch my meaning?" Jean disclosed, casually brushing back a stray strand of my blonde hair from my brow.

"Hmm, she IS having a hard time getting past the basics. She seemed so nice though, I told her I would help tutor her, until she felt more confident. Was that wrong of me?"

"All I'm saying is watch yourself. She is quite the manipulator," Jean warned, as we parted paths to head back to our classrooms.

I was glad to get the inside info on Denise, but I found it hard to see her for anymore than what she appeared. The petite blonde sophomore turned every guy's head within viewing distance. Back in my day, she would have been a cheerleader captain and/or prom queen. If her affable, bubbly personality was a put on, she sure fooled me.

I had discovered some time ago (probably half-learned in teachers college) that focus and consistency were critical components, if any tutoring was to be effective. With flighty Denise, those components were definitely required. Her tutoring was scheduled immediately after school, in my home classroom, and with the least amount of distractions. She did fairly well with the consistency concept, but staying focused was not her strong suit.

"Brad is so medieval! I mean, he has the brain of a walnut, but he fucks like a total machine," Denise pouted, tossing her books all over her desk. She had that ability to alter the aura of any room just by entering. It was simply the two of us in a stark, boring classroom, and she'd done it again.

"Please don't use that, you know, language, Denise," I lightly prompted.

"Cool Missus B. I have no idea what Medieval means anyway. Some of the girls started using it," she replied, with all the clueless innocence of a blackboard eraser.

No, I won't say she was the epitome of a blonde joke. Save a healthy dose of ash, I'm mostly blonde myself, damn it. In many ways Denise was the typical narcissistic, self-centered, "whatever" type. Normally, ditzy little tramps like her hold little interest for me, but there was something else inside this seemingly empty vessel. A generous part of her personality was magnetic and tantalizing. She also carried the weight of a subliminal sadness that women twice her age might project; something in, or beyond, her too-made-up eyes. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I had a degree of compassion for her.

"So Denise, are you ready to go over some aspects of photo scanning we discussed in class today?" I asked, trying to keep her on task.

"Sure, tell me why that damn Brad is spacing me off. He hasn't even asked me to the Halloween dance. Just pisses me off!" She ignored me, and reached for her Chemistry book.

"Denise! First of all, this is not Chemistry. Second, this isn't high school. I'm sure Brad will get around to asking you soon enough," I affirmed, taking a cleansing breath. "Now, let's discuss the difference between dots per inch and lines, okay?"

"Oh yeah, sure. God, but he's such an idiot. If he didn't have such a huge cock..."

"PLEASE, let's not discuss c...such things," I interrupted.

This was a fair example of how each tutoring session started. I was glad in one respect, that she felt at ease enough with me to mention such personal things. However, it kind of put learning anything on a back burner, until she vented. Believe it or not, by the end of that particular session she had partially mastered most aspects of scanning. As usual, before the session ended, she poured over me with appreciation for taking the extra time to help her. It was hard to be upset with her for any length of time.

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The Bakers' Halloween party was one tradition that both my husband and I looked forward to attending every year. Each party held the distinction of being rather risqué; not generally PC for school teachers for sure. There had been toga parties sans underwear; a nursery rhyme-themed party with only the skimpiest outfits allowed, etc. Basically, it was the one event when spouses really shed their inhibitions and openly flirted to the point, but just short of, swapping. It was all good-natured sexy fun, but not the type I would advertise, least of all to my fellow teachers.

This year's Halloween theme was scary characters in cinema or television. When hubby opted to go with the traditional Dracula costume, I guessed I would go as his emaciated, blood-dripping (but extremely seductive) female victim.

"I was just thinking how delicious you'd look as Elvira," Donny suggested, with an evil grin.

"The vampire gal that does all those beer commercials? That 'The Mistress of the Dark' TV gal from the '80's? Oh, I see. So, you want everyone to see my tits," I hit him.

"Sooo, is that a problem?" He challenged.

"Okay damn it! If you can handle it, I have no problem," I shot back.

"Good!" He got his wish.

Shit, now I've got to find a costume. I was committed to the challenge. Thank God for this Internet thing. Ninety-five dollars plus shipping covered the costume and over-sized beehive wig. I was ready for our sexy Halloween party.

Side Bar: Now, if you're not familiar with the Elvira costume, what planet are YOU from? Without going into a vivid description, try elvira.com and you'll get the idea. At 36-D, I certainly have the necessary attributes to fill the bill. The trick with the costume would be to reveal my entire cleavage, neck to navel, without showing my nipples. Sure, I could have bought a tamer version of the steamy vixen's costume with a simple plunging neckline. (I could also wear Army boots with it, instead her intimidating 4-inch stiletto heels.) The plunging neckline wouldn't be nearly as effective; this had to be authentic. We're probably talking industrial-strength hydraulics here, but more on that later. "The invite says 6:30, Donny," I remarked, doing a double-take at the Baker's colorful flyer. "That's my night to tutor. There's no way I can be ready by then!"

"You mean that little ditz can't give you ONE night off?" Hubby quarreled, referring to my tutoring session with Denise.

Focus and consistency flashed through my brain, "I HAVE to do the tutoring; get over it!" I fought back.

"Just doesn't seem fair to US," he pleaded.

"I'll see what I can do. I'm sure George and Becky (Baker) will understand, if I'm a little late," I answered, fully aware of how amorous Becky gets with my hubby after a few drinks.

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"Look Missus B, I DID IT!" Denise screamed as I entered our designated classroom for our next tutoring session.

"What's that Denise?" I smiled, caught up in her excitement.

There on her computer screen was a scanned photo of big Brad, the jock, and petite Denise posing for the camera. "That's great Denise! You scanned it," I joined in her exhilaration.

"And look, I can change the background too, see!" She exclaimed, clicking a toggle to switch backgrounds in the graphics program.

"Wow, editing too, I AM impressed!" I smiled and squeezed her shoulder from behind–the equivalent of a pat on the back for a job well done. "That's a great picture. You guys look good together," I added.

Denise looked into the screen for the longest time. I guessed she was drinking in the sense of accomplishment, when suddenly she burst out in tears. "That fucking bastard. THAT FUCKING BASTARD!" She bawled.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" I begged, as her sobs dissolved into sniffles and snorts.

"He's not taking me to the dance, the prick!" She pouted.

After listening to her unraveling of inconsequential events leading to Brad's lack of sensitivity, Denise's tears had pretty much dried up. "At least we can still have our session," she remarked, acting like that was her sole consolation.

"About our next session, I'm afraid," I started to explain about my pending party, but stopped.

"Oh, the early close thing? That's no problem; we can still get together," she half-smiled.

"Early close?"

"Yeah, I thought you knew. School is shutting down early, like 5:00, on Halloween. But that's okay; you can come to my place. Well, it's actually my folks' house. Hey, you'll get to meet Tony and Sharon," she glared.

"Hmm, I didn't know anything about the early dismissal. Must have missed another E-mail," I shook my head.

"You CAN come over to the house, right?" Denise asked, batting her heavy eyelids.

"Ah yes. Yes, I suppose that won't be a problem," I answered, not wanting to further disappoint her, after the Brad thing.

"I mean, if you have other plans," she fake-pouted.

"To be honest Denise, I DO have plans to attend a costume party around 6:30, but," I started. She interrupted.

"That's okay. You can change into your costume at our place and still make it there on time. I promise," the little vamp crossed her chest.

"Okay then, we'll make it work," I agreed and got directions to her house across town.

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Halloween week turned into a timing disaster. It seemed like every appointment was either rescheduled or cancelled. By the time Halloween came, I was sure something was sure to misfire or fall apart. I had tried and re-tried my costume on so many times, I was afraid the revealing gown would fall apart. (By the way, the boob trick I discovered [at least, what worked best for me] was a cut-out, push-up bra with a hidden under wire; not the most comfortable of fits, but very effective.)

Gathering up the costume, the pitch-black wig, a pair of sheer black pantyhose and 4-inch black pumps, I threw in the fake dagger and headed for school. When classes ended early, I phoned my hubby and reminded him I would probably be late to the party, and I would meet him there. Winding my way out of the college parking lot, I almost ran down Jean going to her car.

"Where are you headed in such a hurry, Barb?"

"Sorry Jean, didn't mean to run you down," I conjured up a nervous smile. "Donny and I are going to an early Halloween party, but first I have a tutoring session with Denise," I sighed.

"Not at HER house?" Jean asked.

"I'm afraid so."

"Well you just watch your back over there. Her parents are, shall we say, rather "open"."

"I'll be okay. It will be a short session. Besides, I promised," I shrugged and headed out for an upscale neighborhood I was not familiar with.

Par-for-the-course, it took much longer to find Denise's house than I expected. This left me totally frazzled. "Hi, you must be Tony?" I said, extending my hand to the tall, dark, mustached man still dressed in a business suit in the doorway. "I'm Barb B..."

"Missus B sure, Denise has told us all about you," he interrupted, and practically pulled me over the threshold. "She's in the den, but can I offer you something first–coffee, soda, or maybe something stronger? Look like you've had a long day," said Denise's handsome father.

"Oh God, does it show? I'm sorry, it HAS been one, crazy day," I admitted, brushing my shoulder-length locks back.

"Champagne it is then. We always celebrate the holidays with champagne," said Tony, like it was a rule of the house. His captivating smile and hospitality seemed anything but threatening.

"Well okay, maybe one quick one before our session," I graciously accepted his offer.

As we approached the den, Denise came bounding out to wrap her arms around me. This was a bit over-the-top behavior, even for gregarious Denise. "Missus B! I'm so glad, you're here!" She hugged me, like some long-lost relative.

"Wow, and look at you, Denise!" I remarked, viewing her tight fitting country-style blouse, tied up to reveal her midriff, and much tighter jean cut-off shorts.

"I decided to dress for the dance, just in case asshole Brad finally decides to take me."

Her long blonde hair curled and cascaded down her back, as the short-shorts nestled tightly into her snatch, leaving the lower cheeks of her bare ass quite visible. Her sexy ensemble featured a pair of cowboy boots (shit-kickers for sure). Gleaming, she made a model's turn. With one hand to accentuate her hip, she waited for an expected response. It was all I could do to take it all in.

"DAISY DUKE, Barb!"

"Oh sure, I'm sorry! I knew the outfit should look familiar," I sank, and then quickly turned to receive a long-stemmed glass of bubbly from Tony. "Thanks," I smiled back at Tony, and immediately took a cordial sip.

"Oh, don't feel bad, Barb. I didn't even know who Daisy Duke was, 'til Daddy had me watch some old show from, like 1979. He says the classics never die," she stated, with all the sincerity of a 'Father Knows Best' zealot.

"Well I think you make a simply charming Daisy Duke!" I exclaimed and took a healthy swig of champagne.

Glancing once again at Denise, her expression did a complete 180. She almost gasped, as I took a bigger swig of the somewhat bitter drink. It had been a while since I'd done champagne; don't remember it being that tart. Oh well, I thought. I caught a glimpse of Denise shaking her head, as we turned to enter the finely decorated den.

"You have a beautiful house Mister West," I observed for conversation sake, while the dark gentleman automatically refilled my glass. "OH, that's quite enough. Denise and I should get to work," I noted, and covered my glass.

"Thank you, and might I say Denise's description of you was understated, to say the least. You're much younger than Denise described. And, please call me Tony," he said, loosening his tie.

"Th-thank you," I blushed. "And Missus West, is she..." I started to ask, trying to dilute any nuance of impropriety.

"Sharon will be back soon. Shopping, you know," he rolled his eyes. "I'm SURE she'll want to meet you."

"Look Missus B, I've scanned some other pictures," Denise announced.

"Well, I'd better get to tutoring. Thanks again for the drink," I said and downed the rest of the glass.

"Here Baby, have some champagne," her father offered.

"I don't really," Denise began, as her father handed her a full glass.

"Oh don't be silly now, Honey. A little bubbly never hurt anybody," Tony urged.

"But Daddy," she almost pleaded.

"Nonsense, it will help you relax," her father towered over her, until she had finished her drink.

"There now, I'm sure you ladies have plenty to keep you busy. I'll be back to check on you later," Tony said and left us to our studies.

I took a chair next to Denise to begin our session and suddenly felt flushed and light-headed. Catching my breath and trying to focus on the computer screen, I figured it must be way too early for me and champagne. "Well now, where were we; you have new scans to work with?" I asked, letting my arm rest on the back of Denise's padded leather computer chair.

"Oh these aren't the scans. I used Daddy's new digital camera last night and he showed me how to put the photos in the computer," she said, pulling her long hair back and shaking off (what I imagined were) similar effects from the champagne.

"Don't you have a Halloween party tonite?" She turned to ask. "If you have your costume, you could dress here and save some time," Denise offered and slowly reached over to soothe my cheek with her little hand.

Like in some sort of time-warped daze, by the time I reached to ward off her (perhaps innocent) sign of affection, her hand was back in her lap. That's weird, I thought. "Yes I DID bring my costume. It's in the car. I could dress here and save some time," I repeated her words. Gosh, did I say that out loud?

"If you get on your knees, I'd love to fuck you."

"WHAT? What did you SAY?" I asked, totally bewildered at what I thought I heard.

"If you give me your keys, I'll run and get it for you," Denise repeated.

"Huh?"

"Your costume, I'll get your costume," she said, going through my purse for my keys.

"Yes, it's... in... the backseat of my car," I said.

"I know Barb. You just sit here and watch the little slide show, and I'll be right back," she said, and turned my head toward the computer screen.

Refocusing on the screen, I watched, as if in a trance. Digital photos of people having sex faded from one photo to the next. Something about viewing them seemed so natural, like they were people I knew. Of the two couples, one pair (a man and woman) looked quite familiar. The fact they were performing sex acts didn't faze me, as much as their anonymity. "I should know who these people are!"

"So you're dressing up as a witch–no vampire, right?" Denise asked, holding my black satin, floor-length costume up to admire.

"No...Elvira, Mistress of the Dark." I corrected, never breaking my concentration from the screen. "I give up. I can't figure it out! I know I've met some of these people, but I just can't remember," I shook my head.

Denise (Daisy Duke) stood next to me and watched with me. Letting her hand comb nonchalantly through my hair, "Well, that's Sharon and Brad in that one. You haven't met her yet, but you've seen Brad on campus, haven't you?"

"Why yes, that IS Brad. My goodness, now I recognize him. And, they're having sex," I underscored, like it was something they routinely do together.

"And see, this one is me and Daddy," she noted, and pointed to the next photo of her on her knees sucking Tony's dick.

"Oh my God, that IS you... and your FATHER!?" I shivered then went flush, as a rabbit scampered over my grave.

"Daddy wants to fuck you too, Barb, I can tell," she whispered in my ear and then tongued it.

"WHAT?" I questioned, and felt a twinge of arousal between my thighs.

A voice deep in me whispered, "This is terribly wrong." However, it was like my command of conscious behavior completely shifted to the back burner, while my subconscious thoughts seem to be in control. I was free of any inhibitions, and unable to say "no" to any suggestions. Whatever Denise mentioned sounded entirely reasonable. At that point, I sensed I had been drugged, and was at the mercy of whoever I came in contact with.