Taking Over The School Pt. 08

The following very dark story has themes of non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

"Evan," Mrs. Hudson the Calculus teacher says my name as I try to solve the problem the class is supposed to be working on. At the moment I'm in Intro to Calculus at Willis High School, which is a 12^th grade only school meant to prepare us for the real world. Mrs. Hudson wrote an equation on the whiteboard to which we are all supposed to be trying to solve it.

I'm currently hunched over my desk, frantically trying to solve it as Calculus isn't a subject that comes easily to me. Math was never my jam, and no, that's not because I'm a dumb jock. Yeah, I play football, basketball and a few other sports, but I make A and B's on my own. I'm more of a Science person to be honest. So much more interesting.

"Mr. Evan," Mrs. Hudon repeats, a little louder now. The middle aged black woman gets that "don't mess with me boy" tone in her voice, to which I know I better not push it. Also, she's a really good teacher and good person. Strict and stern because she actually cares about all of us idiot 18 year olds. Unlike some of the teachers here, she wants to see us succeed.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson, I don't have the answer yet," I tell her honestly as I still try to solve for "xy". I hate not having the answer when you get called on, but she really didn't give that much time. It's been what, two minutes?!

"No Mr. Evan, seems you are being summoned to talk to the yearbook club about some story," Mrs. Hudson says. At this I look up at her very confused.

"The yearbook?" I ask, showing my confusion not just to her, but the class.

The yearbook club is a group of students here led by a teacher that, well duh, works on the yearly yearbook. They go around taking pictures, making lists and finding uplifting stories to cram in the stupid thing. Of all the people they would interact with, I'm not one of them. I'm not top of anything, nor do I win awards. I'm just...here.

When I look up, I see another member of the senior class standing next to Mrs. Hudson. Like everyone but myself at this school, the girl is black as the school is 99% black and 1% other. The other thing I notice about her is that she looks rather nerdy but is fighting against it. Like she knows she is a nerd but is taking steps to combat it. Whomever she is, it's easy to see she is a part of the yearbook club.

"Seems it is very important," Mrs. Hudson comments very sarcastically as she looks at the small green slip of paper that she must have been handed earlier.

"More important than you actually learning how to pass my class," Mrs. Hudson adds on annoyed.

Looking at the slip in her hands, I recognize it. Whenever you get summoned somewhere in the school, like by the principal, they send a messenger for you with a green slip. It's the "official" form to pull someone out of class.

Most of the class is looking at me now, with many snickering and whispering. A few are still trying to solve for "xy" but the others are very much happy for a reason to take a break. This is very much different from the math class I was previously in. Most everyone in that class would be laughing or clowning around.

You see, two weeks ago they moved me to Calculus from Pre-cal because my grades had improved so much. That teacher recognized that despite my hatred of the subject, I belonged in the advanced class. Come to think of it, a lot has changed in the past two weeks.

With people looking at me, it makes me feel out of place, but only for a moment. It brings back the feeling I had for so long at this school at being the only white guy. The feeling quickly disappears as a deep confidence moves over me at how I've changed that. How I've changed everything.

I stand up from my desk, somewhat happy to be out of the small seat. The desks at public schools aren't made with larger people like myself in mind. Too many times I have gone to stand up and ended up taking the desk with me because of my tall, muscular frame. What makes it worse is that of late I've been working out even more so I've added even more muscle.

"I would take ya stuff, this may take a while," the Messenger Girl next to Mrs. Hudson tells me. To this I pause, finding it somewhat odd. Class started what, 10 minutes ago? That would the yearbook group want that would take at least 40 minutes?

"Ok..." I say, showing my confusion. I proceed back to my desk where I dump everything in my backpack. I then hold it in my hand as I go back to the front of the class, taking the slip from Mrs. Hudson and looking at it. I look at it but realize there's no way I could tell if it is real or fake, so I just cram it in my pocket.

Normally Mrs. Hudson would slyly accuse me of trying to get out of class. Asking if I set this up somehow or paid someone off. But I think she can tell I'm even more confused than she is. Plus I like to think that she knows I'm a good student, never acting up and I try to do my work. Me skipping class would only make life harder for me.

"Don't think you are getting out of this. The entire chapter, tonight, for homework," Mrs. Hudson declares to me to which there are snickers from others.

"Yes ma'am," I say dejected as that will take hours. I then start towards the door, following the Messenger Girl.

I walk out of the classroom and into the empty hallway, where I slowly shut the door. There I look at Messenger Girl. Can't say I recognize her, but from the looks of it she and I wouldn't hang in the same circles.

Whomever she is, she's a really small thing, maybe five feet tall and a hundred and five pounds soaking wet. Her body type is small, but firm if that makes sense. Like instead of being soft to the touch she would be hard and muscular.

And her fashion sense is, well, odd. It's why I think she's trying hard not to look like a nerd. She's wearing a plaid skirt that goes to just above the knee over long black leggings. It is supposed to give the vibe of a punk chick when it actually makes her look like she doesn't like showing off her legs. In any case, that skirt and leggings clash horribly with the 80's rock band t-shirt that she looks like she got from a drunk uncle.

"You coming?" Mesenger Girl asks as she is nearly at the end of the hallway now. She sure is hauling ass. Is whatever is going on in the yearbook that important? Is she expecting me to walk that fast as well?

For a moment I wonder if this is some sort of trap. After all that I've done of late, it wouldn't surprise me if it was. There are a lot of people in this school that would love to get some revenge on me.

Hell, a teacher tried yesterday. She attempted to use her position as a teacher to get revenge on me for impregnating her daughter Diane. Well, she learned a very powerful lesson and is most likely going to end up just like her daughter. A lesson that left her naked and bent over her desk with a womb full of my seed after I fucked her silly.

I try to think if Messenger Girl looks like anyone I know. Or should I say, looks like she could be related to anyone that I've recently fucked. I'm quite proud to say that since I've turned my life around and declared I would have my revenge, I have had steady sex with the women here. Doing that has earned me quite a few new enemies, not from the women I've fucked mind you, but from their boyfriends, girlfriends, friends and family. Many because the girl loved it.

For too long I let myself be bullied because I was the only white guy in this school. I thought if I was the bigger man and ignored it, it would stop, but no. What it took was me revealing just how strong and dominate I could be with one of the bitcher girls for it to really stop. Since then, anyone that even tries to mess with me learns what happens. That I'm a Bitch Breaker. Yeah, that name isn't for me, but I'll think up something good to call myself.

"Why does the yearbook need me?" I ask Messenger Girl as I walk my normal walk towards her. I refuse to rush to catch up with her, just because something about this seems very odd.

I look at her as I wait for my response where I size up her small body. Despite her wearing an outfit that screams that she needs attention, she does have a nice little body. It's not my type, but is still sexy as she has no tits at all, but a fairly good ass.

"Dunno. You will have to ask them," the girl answers with a shrug as she waits for me at the end of the hallway, where the perpendicular hallway meets. She's standing in the intersection of both, which for some reason looks odd. Wouldn't she be to the left or right, depending on which direction she is about to go? Why stand there?

"What do you mean? Aren't you part of that club?" I ask, finding her answer to be very strange.

I approach the adjoining hallway now, in which I decide to put my backpack on my back instead of carrying it to my side. As I do this, Messenger Girl turns to my right and resumes walking. She walks fast again, disappearing into the corner as I follow.

"What the fuck?!" I yell out as the world goes black for me. I was looking down at my backpack and then everything goes dark, but not from losing conscious or anything, but because someone puts something over my entire upper body. I feel it slide over me from above, where the scratchy material rubs against my face as it is pulled down.

Multiple things happen at once, which knocks me off balance, mentally and physically. One, what feels like a chair smacks against my knee, leading me to think that someone literally jumped me as they jumped down off it.

Two, something tightens around my waist, pinning my arms to my side. When the object was slid down over me, both of my arms were at my sides so as it is tightened, they get pushed to my sides. The tightening happens so fast that I drop my backpack as I'm not sure what is happening.

Three, I'm being pushed to the right. I feel hands pushing at me at first, but they can't move me. Then it feels like someone literally rams into me to push me somewhat off balance. This happens a few more times, and since I can't see anything, I can't prepare or do anything about it.

"What the fuck?!" I yell as I stumble from being rammed into. My body then smacks against what can only be a wall. Since I play football, I am still on my feet, but since I can't see any of my surroundings, I'm really off balanced.

"Get him, get him!" I hear Messenger Girl demand.

Right after, I feel hands on me, though I can't figure what they are doing. I then feel that they are around my waist, to which I think they are trying to tighten whatever is pinning my arms to my sides. Or maybe they are trying to tighten something else to make sure my arms get pinned.

Now that I've had a second to catch my bearings, I begin to struggle. I flex my arms to pull against whatever is trying to pin my arms. Whatever it is begins to loosen immediately and it only takes a moment of doing this before I can start to try and remove whatever is over me.

"Shit. Shit! Get his feet. Knock him over!" Messenger Girl orders at seeing I'm breaking free. Whatever is over me is now close to my shoulders in which I'm about to fling it off.

I'm not sure why, but my body seems to move on its own now. When I feel someone grab whatever is over me and pull down, I bend over and move forward. Doing this allows me to get my head under their arms, to which I lift them with my shoulder by standing up.

Doing this lifts the body and sends them behind me in a back-body drop. As they fall, I feel them frantically grab on to me to soften or stop the blow of falling to the hard floor. A second later, they let go and I hear a thud, followed by a pained grunt.

Upset now, I use all my might to flex my arms and fling whatever is on me off. There's a moment of confusion as I realize they put a bag over me. A huge cloth bag. Of all the things, I would never have pictured this as it seems so stupid.

I am able to see again, to which I see I'm in some sort of storeroom with the door shut. They must have pushed me into here when they were ramming against me. It's an old storeroom by glancing around as the shelves are filled with all sorts of school junk, from binders to used erasers and more.

Then I see a new woman running right at me, only a few feet away. She's running with her arms out as if planning to grab me in a bear hug. The only problem with this is that she's no where near my size. There's no way on earth she would even get her arms around me, let alone pin me. And through she weighs much more than Messenger Girl, it is no where close to my own weight.

Again in reaction, I hold my open right hand out. This surprises whomever she is to which she tries to slow down as her eyes get wide. The problem with this is that she's moving very fast and her arms are outstretched so she can't bring them in front of her fast enough, to which my waiting hand grabs her right by the throat.

On purpose I let my right arm bend as she runs into my hand, otherwise I fear what damage it might do to her. She moves a little to my right side as my fingers start to squeeze. I don't squeeze hard, but enough to let her know that this fight is over. That if I wanted, I could do her real damage if she decides to keep attacking.

"Let her go!" I hear Messenger Girl demand. Looking behind me, I see the small girl on her hands and knees, trying to pick herself up off the floor. Seems she was the one that I sent over my back.

The small girl tries hard to stand up, but falling to the ground seems to have rocked her pretty bad. She moves very slow, as if shellshocked. Normal people can't take a blow without it doing that to them. One of the advantages of being in football.

That's why it is so easy to lean over a little and grab her by the throat with my left hand once she is in a standing position. My hand is almost too large for her throat, but I manage to grab her. I then make her stand up all the way.

Now feeling in control of the situation, I move Messenger Girl next to the other girl in front of me as I hold both by their throats. Squeezing both hands, I cut off their air in part, wanting any fight in them to be drained out, as well for them to be scared.

For her part, Messenger Girl hits my arm repeatedly and even tries to kick me in the balls. There's real fight in her even in her stunned state, but her problem is that there isn't much strength. Her blows connect, but barely hurt because she is so small. I have a feeling if she punched me as hard as she could, it wouldn't make much difference.

The other girl, who I have never seen before, clutches my hand that's on her throat. She is more focused on trying to free herself than fighting. Her eyes then dart to Messenger Girl, but it's not to check on her. The look on this new girl's face is clear, she was expecting Messenger Girl to be able to help her. This at least allows me to get a good look at her.

The new girl is much darker than Messenger Girl, as well as bigger. I wouldn't call her chubby or even thick, but she is average. Even her face is like that. Not overly pretty but not ugly. Just average.

And as if it is something that my brain has to look for on all women, I do notice she does have nice size breasts. Those are the only thing on her that may be bigger than average. Even now in this position, I see those large things jiggling under her top.

Not sure what else to do in this odd situation, I walk forward, forcing both girls to move backward. I keep walking forward until I'm able to get both girls with their backs against the wall. This is somewhat tricky as this storeroom is filled with junk, so there's not really that much clear space. Outside of a lot of shelving units, there are small desks, chairs and even a teacher's desk, all that look broken.

With my hands on their throats, I'm able to pin them again the wall, making sure they aren't going anywhere. For a moment I don't say anything and just listen. I listen to see if anyone caught what just happened. If anyone heard the thuds, fighting or even my surprised grunts of having that bag put on me. This is a bit hard as I hear the whimpers of Average Girl and the fighting sounds of Messenger Girl.

As far as I can tell, no one heard anything. Nor does there appear to be any others in their plan. There's no one trying to get in this room, nor any sound of running footsteps. Somehow no one heard. Or more likely, no one cares.

"What the fuck?" I growl at the two women, squeezing their throats harder for a moment. Both girls react to this at once as they make real choking sounds. I choke for just a moment then ease up as I'm not trying to really hurt them. At least not yet.

"You have exactly 4 seconds to tell me what the fuck you are doing before I chokeslam you both," I inform them, my voice sounding more worked up than I mean it to be.

Messenger Girl looks me in the eye, where I see the intense and fierce emotion behind them. She hates me. Hates me with a passion.

In what is actually a cute moment, I can see her brain playing out what being chokeslamed on the floor would do to her. Where her own imagination probably makes it much scarier than what I could. Yet even with that, she refuses to say anything.

"P-P-Please..." Average Girl croaks out, begging for me to let go as her hands paw at my throat.

"Put your hands up," I order the two women. This order seems to come out without much thought, as if it is some reaction to the situation. After I say it, I realize I want it because I can keep track of their hands. Who knows what more they may try to do. All it would take it a poke to the eye or a stab with a pencil or some other low tactic for them to be able to get the upper hand.

At once Average Girl lifts both of her hands up. When she does, I can't help but notice again her large bust. Those boobs of hers seem to lift a tiny bit under her shirt. This makes me wonder how badly guy's brains are wired for sex as even in this weird situation, tits are one of the first thing I notice.

Messenger Girl looks conflicted, showing she doesn't want to do as she is told. Average Girl then whimpers to which Messenger Girl looks at her friend. This is what ultimately makes her lift her hands. She puts them over her head where they rest against the brick wall tensed up. After doing this, she gets a look that shows she still very much is planning on fighting me. This alone makes my insides smile.

Since the two women did as I told them to, I stop squeezing. My fingers ease on their throats, allowing them to fully breathe. I don't remove my hands but ease up so if needed, I can squeeze again.

"Why did you attack me?" I ask them after a few moments so they can catch their breath. I hear how confused I sound when I asked this, as I don't get why they attacked me.

Neither girl says anything. I do notice Average Girl look to Messenger Girl as if wanting to follow her lead. Messenger Girl just keeps scowling at me with hate.

Not getting an answer, I look around the floor until I find the bag they put over me. It's a fucking canvas bag with a belt at the lip of it, sewn into the fabric. It's some homemade trap they made, which was never going to work.

Looking at it I can't help but think it looks like something a character in a cartoon would use to kidnap someone. It's downright stupid. It's beyond stupid.

"Why?!" I demand, looking back at them.

"Go fuck yourself," Messenger Girl hisses, showing she isn't scared. To this, I begin to squeeze their throats again. Instantly Messenger Girl brings her hands to her throat to try and peel mine off.