The story so far: Angry over being given 5 day's detention by the gorgeous but evil English teacher, Becky "Ballbreaker" Beakman, David Finch (that's me) devised a plan for revenge. I borrowed a video camera from the AV lab of my high school, and went to Beakman's house after dark. The idea was to get video of her naked, and share it with the whole school. What I got instead was steaming footage of my English teacher being whipped and fucked by her dominatrix, transsexual lover! As I drove home (after a narrow escape) I realized that a whole new set of opportunities were open to me.
As soon as I got home, I ran up to my room, popped the tape in the VCR, rewound it, and hit PLAY. And there she was, the infamous Becky "Ball Breaker" Beakman, stripping down for my viewing pleasure. As I watched, my cock began to swell in my jeans. Pretty fast recovery, considering I had shot my load all over Becky's azaleas not ten minutes ago. But considering the stimulation I had before me, I wasn't too surprised. I undid my belt, popped the snap, pulled down my zipper, and worked my jeans and boxers halfway down my thighs. I lazily stroked my rapidly growing member, while Becky's surprising partner scorched her succulent ass with the whip. Watching Becky writhe in pain and pleasure, I felt my balls begin to tighten. I barely had time to grab a handful of tissues before my second load of the evening burst forth in an orgasmic wave of release.
As I continued to view my pornographic masterpiece, plans began to form in my head; daring plans, deliciously evil plans. This was too good to simply hand out to the masses. This was a treasure, a source of power. Becky Beakman was mine! By the time Becky's curiously endowed girlfriend was done flooding her well-fucked pussy with she-male spunk, I had worked out every detail of my plan, (as well as cumming for a third time).
The next morning I surprised my Mom by appearing at the breakfast table at the crack of dawn. She usually has to pry me out of bed with the help of an air horn and a bucket of ice water. I mumbled something about cramming for finals, sucked down a bowl of Cheerios in record time, and was pulling into the school parking lot at 6:45, just as the custodian was unlocking the front doors. I parked back around the side of the building, and waited a few minutes before entering. No one was in sight as I made my way safely to the AV room. I locked the door behind me and set to work. I hooked the camcorder up to another VCR. Then I went through the door that connected the AV room to the library.
From the video racks, I pulled the copy of "Romeo and Juliet", a BBC production that Beakman was scheduled to show us in class that day. Back in the lab, I fast-forwarded the tape to a pre-selected spot. I hit PLAY on the camcorder and RECORD on the VCR, copying a segment of my masterpiece onto the BBC tape. After 30 seconds, I stopped the copy, rewound both tapes, and put "Romeo" back on the rack. Cleaning up any sign of my presence in the lab, I sneaked back to my car and drove over to the diner around the corner, to await a more appropriate arrival time.
English was second period, and first period trig seemed to last forever. At the bell, I raced to my locker and retrieved my text, and a large manila envelope. As I entered Beakman's classroom, I was greeted by the sight of her ass. She was bent over behind the video cart, fiddling with the patch cords connecting the VCR to the monitor. Her long legs lead to a tan shirt that stopped not quite halfway down her shapely thighs. As I stared at her butt, a vision of the more intimate view I had recently enjoyed flashed into my head, making my already swelling cock throb urgently. Suddenly she stood up and turned, catching me in mid-gape. She gave me a disapproving scowl, which grew more severe when she noticed the unmistakable bulge in my pants. "Sit down, Mister Finch." She commanded.
I took a seat in my customary spot, back row right, as the rest of the class filed in. Beakman began telling the class that, while Shakespeare's prose was sometimes difficult to understand, if we paid attention to the play we were about to see, we would find it very rewarding. If she only knew! With that, she dimmed the lights and started the tape. After adjusting the sound, she moved to a desk at the back of the room, where she had a stack of term papers that needed grading. While pretending to watch the TV, I surreptitiously glanced at Becky. Her workspace was illuminated by a desk lamp, which shone like a spotlight on her chest. Her pearl colored blouse was opened just enough to display an ample cleavage.
About 40 minutes into the film, my attention returned to the screen. The famous "balcony" scene was coming up. I looked around the room. Half the class was on their way to sleepy-bye land, while the other half had already arrived. Juliet delivered her immortal line, "Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" Suddenly the scene changed dramatically. There was a loud "Crack!" followed by a muffled cry. The scene showed a leather clad dominatrix from the chest down, lashing mercilessly at the upturned ass of a voluptuous blonde who lay bent and spread over a bed, her gaping pussy literally dripping. The blonde's head was turned away from the camera, so only a tangle of golden locks were visible. Those who had been half asleep were now fully awake, many prodding the sleepers with a "Wake up! Lookit that!"..
From the back of the room came a bloodcurdling shriek, followed by a crash as Beakman leapt to her feet, tipping over the table. Term papers flew everywhere as the desk lamp hit the floor, the bulb breaking with an audible POP! She raced to the front of the classroom, and started hitting buttons on the VCR. She was in such a panic that she didn't realize that she was bent over so far that the whole class had a clear shot up her skirt. She sure picked a bad day to wear a thong! The perfectly rounded cheeks of her ass were bisected by a thin strip of white cotton, printed with tiny roses, the bulge of her pussy lips clearly visible through her slightly spread legs. If my classmates only knew that the delectable derriere they were now ogling was the very same one that had been so thoroughly reddened on the screen, the entire class would have simultaneously creamed their jeans.
Before she could get the tape stopped, the scene changed back to the Bard's star-crossed lovers. She finally shut off the monitor and turned, glaring at the class. Outrage, panic, fear, and anger fought for control of her features. She wanted to yell "WHO DID THIS!", but couldn't. The answer might prove too dangerous. A dead silence stretched for an eternity, as the class waited for the wrath of Beakman to rain down upon them. Finally, her labored breathing slowed, and she said in a quavering voice, "Class is over. Everyone go to the library for study hall." As the class filed out, I waited behind, slowly gathering my books. Every guy who walked out was discretely adjusting his pants to a sudden stiffness. I filed in after the last one. Beakman was sitting at her desk, staring straight ahead. As I passed, I placed the manila envelope on the desk. She looked at the envelope, then her eyes raised to me. As she glared at me with fear and loathing, I smiled and left the room.
In the envelope was a copy of the full video, and a note which read "I hope you enjoyed today's preview. Unless you want the rest of that performance to become the number one best selling video in town, you will tell the vice-principal that you have changed your mind, and are canceling the rest of my detention. I will stop by tonight at eight to explain the rest of my conditions."
By lunchtime, word of the video had spread throughout the school. As I walked through the cafeteria, every table was abuzz with speculation about who had done it. I heard my name several times, and was even approached by my friends. But I played dumb. If they found out I did it, they'd want to see the tape. And I had other plans for it.
Classes dragged on interminably. After the last one, I dutifully headed to the JUG line, only to be told that Miss Beakman had rescinded my detention. Surprise, surprise! I ran to the field in time for practice, but found it hard to concentrate. After practice, I went home, had dinner, showered, and waited. At 7:45, I hopped in my car and took off. I pulled in down the street from Beakman's house at five of. I sat, waiting, preferring to arrive exactly at eight. Every minute or so, the front curtain would pull back, and a nervous Becky Beakman would dart glances up and down the street. 7:59. There she was again. I waited till the curtain closed, and got out of the car, walking quietly up to the front door. My heart was pounding as I knocked on the door. There was only a moment's hesitation before the door swung open. There stood my victim goddess. She appeared pale, somehow smaller than she did at school. She hadn't changed clothes, still wearing the tan skirt and pearl blouse. Without waiting for an invitation, I walked in, catching the scent of her perfume as I passed.
"Mistress" was standing against the far wall of the living room, arms folded across her chest. She glared at me with undisguised hatred. The front door slammed shut, and Becky walked around and stood in front on me, mimicking her friend's defiant stance. "Al right, Mister Finch, let's get this over with." She began. "What is it you want?"
I smiled at her. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" I asked, nodding toward the brunette.
