Ms. Carter and Miss Candy

Brief Description:

A teacher and her son become ensnared into a love triangle with the school bully.

Longer Description:

A blackmailed teacher fulfills her blackmailer's final request, only to be recorded by the school bully. The teacher and her son become ensnared into a love triangle with the bully. A nice, NonConsent/Reluctance - Incest/Taboo - Transgender & Crossdresser - Mature - Anal - Fetish kind of story.

All characters in this story are 18+.

NonConsent/Reluctance, Incest/Taboo, Mature

Mitch After Class

"Hey, Teach," Mitch said, as he walked up to my desk after class, "I was hoping you could help me with something."

It wouldn't be strange for any other student, but Mitch had no interest and no chance of graduating. When he wasn't bullying other students, he was sleeping in class. He should have dropped out when he turned 18, but he kept coming to school for no apparent reason. Still, he was a student.

"I'm always happy to help," I told him, "what can I do for you?"

The last students filed out, and it was just the two of us left in the room.

"I wanted to show you something," he was doing something with his phone. "Don't worry, I'll keep it on mute."

My eyes narrowed.

"What is this about?" I started to ask, but then stopped abruptly when he turned the screen to face me.

Mitch looked around to make sure no one else was around, then spoke quietly. "Did you know that there's a hole in the wall between the men's & women's locker rooms? I paid a nerd for a tiny camera. I installed it myself." I stared at the video as he leaned in closer to me, "I've seen a lot thanks to that tiny camera, and I must say your performance was the best."

"God damn you," I said.

Mitch looked authentically hurt.

I continued, "You know why I did that. You said it would be all over and you'd never bother me again."

No, not hurt. Confused. Mitch was authentically confused. Then he understood, and he started laughing.

"I should have known," Mitch smiled maliciously. "You didn't seem like the type that would just pop down to the gloryhole and suck off some students for an hour." I sat there looking confused. "You were what? Being blackmailed?" He suddenly got dangerously serious, "Tell me about it."

I didn't want to say anything, but Mitch's phone was still facing me. I watched myself sucking a penis through the hole in the locker room wall. I looked up into Mitch's eyes and saw the cold cruelty of a lifelong bully. If I were smart, I would have walked right out of that classroom and immediately handed in my resignation. However, if I were smart, I never would have been in this situation.

"My ex-husband was a cruel, abusive bastard," I said. Then I realized I made a mistake. I just told my newest blackmailer that I wasn't married. I could still pretend like I remarried, or had a boyfriend, or something. Yet that would require an outright lie. I've always been a terrible liar. "When we were married, he would do things to me, and he took photos of it. I thought I had destroyed all those photos, but apparently I was wrong."

Mitch interjected, "This ex-husband... is he your kid's father?"

I shuddered when he brought my son into the conversation. "Yes," I said, "Dusty was Russell's father."

I always thought Mitch was dumb, but now I could see the calculations happening behind his eyes. Maybe he was using an abacus, but he was paying close attention to every word I said.

"Go on," Mitch told me, "tell me how this blackmail happened."

"Someone got ahold of those old photos," I said, "from back before Russell was born. They said they would publish them online unless I did things."

"What did they make you do?" he asked.

I really didn't want to answer, but I didn't have a choice. On the video playing in front of me I was giving my second blowjob. This one was different because whomever was on the other side of that gloryhole was a black man. That narrowed it down to about a dozen students at the school, and only one or two if he was a senior.

"Well, that," I replied, "obviously."

"Obviously," Mitch sneered at me, "but that wasn't it, was it? I noticed you've been dressing differently lately."

"It's true," I relented. "The first order was that I couldn't wear panties anymore. They said they didn't like to see the lines in my pants."

"The second order came a few days later," I continued. "It made a crude joke about 'Two for Tuesday' and said that I couldn't wear bras on Tuesdays anymore."

"The third order required that I only wear skirts or dresses when teaching class."

I paused, until Mitch verbally prodded me, "What happened after that?"

"I refused the fourth order," I stated. "It was vulgar and would get me fired."

"How did you refuse?" Mitch asked me.

I panicked. I had made another mistake talking to this boy, and I couldn't think of any way out of this. I could see where this was going, so I pulled my phone out of my purse and handed it over. Mitch put his own phone away, and then he started swiping through mine.

"The messages came from an untraceable number," I said, "but I flagged all the conversations with B.M."

Mitch told me he found them, and he sat down on my desk reading through the whole sordid mess. I sat there feeling disgusted with myself.

Finally, Mitch finished reading. "You're a dumb cunt," he said to me. "I mean, I've known some dumb cunts, but I never thought a teacher could be this stupid."

I wanted to berate him for language, but I knew he was right. I just lowered my head, defeated.

"He was bluffing," Mitch said.

My head jerked up, "What?!"

"Look," he said, "he's a student in one of your classes that is clearly obsessed with you. He wouldn't do anything to hurt you." Mitch paused to smirk at me, "Well, not intentionally." He had put his phone away, but I knew he still had that video.

"The best part of this is where he threatens to post those photos of you online," Mitch continued, "Which means he didn't find them on the web. In fact, I've got a pretty good idea who this kid is."

"What? I don't understand," I was so confused. "Who is he?"

Mitch ignored my outburst and kept talking, "And finally, when you refused his fourth order, he backed down. He didn't want to do anything that would risk your career. Instead, he arranged for a private meeting through a hole in the wall for himself and his three closest friends."

"No, he said he was doing this by himself," I challenged, "those other boys weren't involved, they were just..." I was about to say lucky but shut my damn fool mouth.

Mitch laughed at me and handed me back my phone. Then he stood up and started to leave.

"Wait," I called after him. "What are you going to do?" Was Mitch going to help me or blackmail me?

"Don't worry about it, Teach," Mitch said. Then he walked out the door.

Bruised, Beaten, and Blackmailed

I'm a high school teacher. Most people don't realize how much effort that requires. The students don't have to arrive until 7:15am, but teachers arrive somewhere between 6:00am and 6:30am. The students leave around 2:30pm, but teachers usually don't leave until after 5:30pm. Then we go home, cook, then eat dinner. After that I sit down to do more paperwork. Grading papers, creating class schedules, there's a never-ending supply of paperwork. If you're lucky and it was a light day you might be able to watch an hour of television before going to bed. Then the next morning, it all starts over again.

Being a high school teacher and a single mother, requires twice as much effort. Yet, I've been a single mother since the day my son was born, and a teacher since he was old enough to start elementary school. My son, Russell, is 18 years old. He's a senior and is even in my 5th period A.P. History course. He's responsible enough to wake up, make breakfast, and get to school on time every morning. He's had perfect attendance every year. We see each other for dinner every evening and spend our weekends together. My only concern about him, is that he's never had a girlfriend or boyfriend--at least not that he's told me.

That's probably my fault. I've been too busy being a teacher and mom to go dating. It could also be my ex-husband's fault. He was an abusive bastard, and probably the reason I never wanted to risk dating again. Russell was born prematurely - probably because his biological father had beaten me. That was the last straw. When the police came to talk to me after the delivery, I told them everything and pressed charges. Dusty took a plea deal that would have him out again in five years. Two years later, we were officially divorced; and a year after that, he had what I was told was a prison accident. I debated whether I should bring Russell to his father's funeral, but decided we could both stay home.

I got home from school around 6:00pm that day. As worrisome as Mitch's meeting had been after class, there was work to be done. I almost forgot all about it by the time I walked in the door and kicked off my heels. I'm not a short woman by any means, but when dealing with high school students every inch of confidence matters. I was slightly surprised to find Russell standing in the kitchen cooking dinner. I was more surprised when he didn't turn around to greet me.

"Hi, Mom," he sounded like he was sulking.

"Hey, Russ," I tried to make a joke, "has your old mom gotten so ugly you can't even look at her anymore?"

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said in a deadpan voice, but continued facing the stove.

"Honey," I asked more cautiously, "What is it? You're worrying me."

"I'm sorry, Mom," he repeated. Then he turned to face me.

I'm almost certain that my son had never been in a fight before, but there he was with a black eye and tears running down his face. There was a small cut along his cheekbone. I turned off the stove, led him to the kitchen table, and had him sit down. Thirty seconds later, there was a damp washcloth wrapped around an ice pack pressed to his face.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," I whispered to my little boy, "it's okay. You'll be okay."

"I'm sorry, Mom," he just kept saying, over and over. I held him close and comforted him. His tears finally subsided. I asked who did this to him.

"No," he said, "it was my fault."

I told him that I was certain that wasn't true. I was certain that couldn't be true.

"No, Mom," he said, "it really was. I did something bad. Then I got caught. It's my fault."

I comforted him again. I hugged him close to me. He assured me it was just a one-time thing. It would never happen again. He was tearful, remorseful, but confident whatever it was that happened was over and done.

He was already 18 years old. I decided it was time that he knew the truth about his father. I started telling him about those days when I would get beaten and abused and convinced that it was my fault. I stood up and went to the stove. I kept talking. I finished cooking dinner. I kept talking. We sat down to eat, slowly picking at our food, while I kept talking. It was late by the time I finished talking, and I started cleaning the dishes. Russell just sat there, listening, and paying attention.

Afterwards, I gave Russell a big standing hug, and he went to his bedroom. When I walked by he was on his computer surfing for porn with the door still open. I closed his door silently so that I didn't disturb him. I didn't think anything of it. After hours of listening to me talk, and brooding over his recent beating, I guessed my son just needed something to distract himself.

The walls are thin in our house. From my bedroom I could hear him fapping away while I undressed for bed. Laying there alone with my thoughts I could have used some other distraction. I stayed there in bed wide awake for hours, unable to think about anything other than what Dusty used to do to me and what Mitch might do.

It wasn't too late yet. I still could have resigned from school, moved away, found another job, and started over. Instead, I decided that I had survived Dusty, and I could endure whatever this dumb bully had planned for me. In the wee hours of the morning, I finally fell asleep.

----

The next morning, I woke Russell up early and had him get into the shower first thing. After he toweled off and dressed, I sat him down at my makeup table and made all the bruising disappear under layers of cosmetics. No one would notice that he was even wearing makeup; but, more importantly, no one would notice his black eye.

I paused when I was getting dressed and decided to wear one of my comfortable pantsuits. Since I no longer had to follow the blackmailer's orders, I relished the opportunity to wear my preferred style. Personally, I think a smart pantsuit looks better with my pixie cut. I liked to look young, hip, and powerful. Something about wearing skirts and dresses seemed out-of-date and old-fashioned. Of course, I wore equally comfortable underthings.

While teaching my classes during the day, I noticed three students with bruises on their faces, all of them friends of Russell. I assumed it had something to do with whatever 'bad thing' they got caught doing, and left it be. If it happened again, I could put pressure on each of them and one was sure to break and tell me what was going on. If it didn't happen again, it wasn't my place to get involved. Aside from my son being involved somehow, I didn't think it had anything to do with me. I definitely did not suspect that it directly had to do with me.

At the end of the day, as the last class filed out, Mitch remained seated. Once everyone else had left, Mitch finally walked up and tossed a folder on my desk.

"Hey, Teach," he said, "I think these belong to you." It was an old folder, and I trembled at the thought of what was inside. "Don't worry about damaging it," Mitch said, "I already have scanned copies of everything, in case."

In case of what, I didn't want to know. I opened the folder and was surprised to see that it was just records of Dusty's arrest and conviction. I had never seen anything like this before. When I got to the back of the folder I found the evidence photos. There were photos of me in the hospital, and private photos Dusty had taken of me over the years we were together. Dozens of explicit, disturbing, sexual, and degrading photos of me.

"It seems that your son had some questions about his dad," Mitch told me while I was staring at a photo of my face in a toilet while Dusty peed. "He convinced one of his friends to steal that file from the court archives, or something." I stared up at Mitch with confusion.

"I guess you didn't know that," Mitch smirked at me, "but here's the real kicker. Who do you think you sucked off in that hole?"

I just stared at him bewildered, confused, and not understanding. I shook my head. Then it dawned on me. "It must have been that kid who stole this," I said, "and I guess three other students."

"How did you get so dumb, and still be a teacher?" Mitch asked me. Then he said something impossible, "No, you dumb cunt. It was your son and his three friends."

I don't know what possessed me, but I stood up and slapped Mitch right across the face.

"Hit a nerve," he asked, "didn't I? Don't want to know that it was poor little Rusty getting suckled by Mommy..."

I struck him with my closed fist. "Get out!" I yelled and pointed at the doorway.

"Sure, Teach, sure." Mitch smiled as he walked to the door. "I'll be seeing you again tomorrow."

"I don't ever want to see you again," I barked out, as Mitch left into the hallway.

Twenty seconds later, Mr. Addison, the math teacher down the hall, came rushing to my doorway. "Is everything okay?" he asked. "Should I call the police?"

I looked down at the photo on my desk and flipped the folder closed, "No, thanks Tom," I said calmly, "just one of those things." I smiled and laughed, hiding all my fear and rage. Mr. Addison and I spoke about nothing for a while, then he returned to his classroom.

I ended up working late that night. Around 7:00pm, when the janitorial staff was cleaning up, I decided that I had completely forgotten whatever Mitch had said about my son, and I went home. I got home to find a note from Russell saying that he was staying over at his friend's house, working on some school project. I called his cell phone just to hear his voice and make sure he sounded okay. Then I ran myself a bath and brought a bottle of wine into the tub with me.

I woke up the next morning naked on my bed with one hell of a hangover. I debated calling in sick to work, but I had never done that before and wasn't planning on starting now. I had just finished getting dressed when Russell walked by my door. He said he already showered and just needed to change his clothes. I stood there nervously, realizing how awkward it would be if he had gotten home just a few minutes earlier. Then, I got more unsettled, and remembered Mitch's accusation.

I skipped breakfast and drove into work early. I couldn't handle looking at my son that morning. I pulled into the empty parking lot, placed both feet firmly on the brake pedal, and screamed at the top of my lungs.

Inviting a Guest to Dinner

Somehow, I made it through the day. At the end of my last class, Mitch once again remained in the classroom; but this time, he just sat in his chair playing with his phone. After a minute, my own phone vibrated letting me know I had a text. I checked and found a new message from a new contact.

Master -

Unlike UR son & his friends, I dont plan to play games with you here

I read the message and glared up at Mitch, who was sitting there happily playing with his phone like nothing was happening. Another message appeared in the conversation.

Master -

What time is dinner?

I stared at my phone. I debated whether to text him back, but instead just spoke aloud.

"We eat around 6:00pm every day," I said, "Why?"

Master -

Invite me over tonight. I will have dinner with both of you at your home

"Absolutely not," I said again to the boy playing with his phone in the corner, "You will leave my son out of this."

Master -

U dont understand

Mitch stood up and put his phone away, then walked to my desk.

"What don't I understand?" I asked.

"Unlike your son and his friends," Mitch started, "I don't care about you. I don't care about your job. I don't care about your life. I don't even care about your son."

There was real venom in his words, but his expression was calm as if we were discussing the weather.

"I could ruin your life just for a laugh," Mitch continued, "but I won't, as long as you are useful to me. So, think about it real hard, Teach. How can you be useful to me?"

Finally, he said, "You can start by doing whatever I say, when I say it, as if I held the power of life and death. Now, be a good Teach and invite me to dinner."

"Mitch," I said, "Would you please come over to dinner at my house tonight?"

"Sure, Teach," he responded, "six o'clock, as usual?"

"Of course," I sighed out.

"Looking forward to it," he told me. "I sure hope your son will be there, too. I would be very disappointed if he couldn't make it."

Mitch and I stared at each other. I didn't want to put my son in any danger--and this was definitely a dangerous person--but Mitch was holding all the cards. I didn't have any other choice.

Maybe I could go to the cops? There had to be some way out of this.

Mitch broke off the stare and sauntered out of the room whistling. He was actually whistling. I just stared after him wondering what the hell I was going to do. After maybe fifteen minutes I called my son's cellphone. It went to voicemail.

"Hey, Russ," I said, "This is your mom. I just wanted to make sure you would be home for dinner tonight. I've invited someone over and..." My voice trailed off, but I recovered, "I invited someone over for dinner and really need to make sure you will be there, too. That's it. Love you."