The Conqueror's Rise
INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 1
“You’re insane.” The blonde woman seated beside me scoffed. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!”
But as I sat on the edge of Mrs. Goodman’s desk, the grin remained fixed on my face. Insane? No. Fixated, perhaps. With one leg dangling alongside her chair, I looked down at her.
Although the official school bio said my US government teacher was thirty-four, she appeared much younger. More like mid-twenties. Plus, the sleek toning of her limbs screamed workout beast. With thick honey-blonde hair done up and perfect curls lining reddening cheeks, her gaze remained on the laptop before her.
More specifically, she was inspecting the pair of side-by-side frames frozen on its screen. It’s a very rare thing in life to uncover a key. But two? That was truly a sign. Which meant as soon as I’d discovered them on a sketchy internet site, I’d snatched them before racing to confirm my hopes.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Porter?” she said, while pulling her brilliant emerald eyes from the images to look up at me.
In an off-white scoop-neck blouse beneath a deep green blazer and matching mid-length skirt, she was far different from the younger woman in the frozen video frames. One depicted her dancing topless in a poolside bikini contest. While in the other, she was guaranteeing her victory. Although grainy and blurred, it was definitely her, squatting before the judge, surrounded by a raucous, drunken crowd.
Oh, it wasn’t her thigh-wide pose, offering a delectable view of the tiny crimson swimsuit bottoms. Nope. But how, with a half-empty beer mug sloshing in one hand and his cock in the other, her head was caught in mid-bob.
“Well, Mrs. Goodman.” After making a point of glancing into the top of her blouse, I returned to her face. “Hmm, if that’s not you”—I shrugged—“you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Before she could reply, I tapped the play button. When the liquidy sounds of rapid glug-glugging and hungry wet slurps, along with drunken cheers, erupted from the speaker, her eyes flashed back to the screen. Although trembling, she made no move to stop it. So, I let it run, waiting.
Patience is a virtue, right?
Besides, there was little risk of being heard. Not only had my planning been impeccable, but Coach Myerson also announced a team strategy meeting for the afternoon of a teacher’s workday. Boom, opportunity. Which I considered another sign. Add in my snapping off the lights upon entering the classroom, and anyone would assume it was empty.
How her eyes had widened when I’d entered. With the filtered sunlight slanting across her, the ensemble she’d chosen complimented those wide eyes. One thing about her, she was always so well put together.
So there we were, after all my time and effort. Despite confirming and reconfirming it was her, I’d been hesitant. From the start, my scheme had been an enormous gamble. But if it worked?
“How much do you want?” she whispered with her eyes locked onto the screen.
Bingo.
Just as I pressed the “Pause” button, my rod surged again. Any remaining doubt vaporized. I had been correct; it was her.
Over my eighteen years, a lot of folks had made the usually painful mistake of attributing my bulk with slow wits, to their detriment. Momma hadn’t raised a fool. Not by any measure. That single positive trait, she at least admitted.
In addition to my primary focus of escaping town, Mrs. Goodman had become a bit of an obsession. Besides, one didn’t turn away from such signs. Keys? Gifts? Whatever they were. Yes, it’d required hard work. But, hmm, the rewards would be worth it. As the words I’d rehearsed formed in my mind, my cock further stiffened.
“No money,” I said with a smirk while noting the yellowed threads glinting in her hair.
“What?” With sculpted golden eyebrows knitting, she gazed up at me. “Then, um, what do you want?”
“You.” At my fingertip landing on the shallow scoop of her blouse, she jolted.
“W-What do…?” Her voice, already high, raised an octave when I dragged my finger along the neckline. “Um, what do you mean, Mr. Porter?”
“It’s simple, Mrs. Goodman.” After halting my digit, I pressed on her warm breastbone, nudging aside a thin golden cross. “Call me nostalgic. I want you to replicate those videos for me.”
At first, there was utter silence. Then she gasped while dropping to my coal-black digit on her pale chest. When she returned to me, a much deeper crimson flooded her cheeks.
“No way!” She shook her head, sending shiny tresses whirling in the dim sunlight. “Nuh-uh. That. Is. Never. Going to happen. Not in a million years, Mr. Porter.” She lifted a shaky hand to point at the screen. “That was a long time ago.”
“Okay.” With a shrug, I surged from the desk. A sharp gasp left her as she tracked my towering mass. As a varsity linebacker, I had presence. After a curt nod, I scooped the laptop from her desk. “I’ve attached the videos to a rather well-written email. It details the profound shock and disgust of an anonymous, concerned citizen. First thing Monday morning, it’s scheduled for release to the local school board.”
On the way to the exit, I halted to glance back at her. In the dimness, she was trembling. A glittering trail slithered down one cheek to gather at the corner of her twitching pursed lips.
“Oh, and a copy for the Hillsville Observer.” I flashed her a broad smile. “After all, an informed press is crucial for a well-functioning democracy, right, Mrs. Goodman?”
When she didn’t react, I turned and reached for the locked door. The direct approach had been a gamble. As had such a compressed timeline. With a heavy breath, I flicked open the lock.
“No! Stop, please. There must be something, Mr. Por—. Uh, Damon.”
With her high-pitched voice echoing across the room, shivers raced along my spine. A quick flick of my wrist and the door creaked open. Nobody was in a dark hallway lined with lockers. When I looked at her, her trembling arms were stretched towards me, as if to draw me back to her side.
“I’ve told you what I want, Mrs. Goodman. You’ve got until six Monday morning to decide.”
“Damon!”
With her voice, followed by a hitching sob resounding behind me, I marched for the high school’s main exit. Although I never whistled, I did that day.
And once outside, walking into a brisk fall breeze, I laughed aloud. By God, I’d done it. After all that dedication. Precise planning, endless preparations, and even alternate plans. The previous month and a half, observing her in class. Had she known what I’d found?
Over and over, I’d hesitate. That tiniest niggle of doubt. Not whether it was right or wrong. Fuck that. I wanted her. It was that simple. Nope. Instead, would I get caught? And how could I ensure nothing blew back on me? Or onto momma? Those were my only concerns.
So, despite the heat inside me growing, I’d waited. Day after day, double and triple checking everything.
Until that historic Friday, when I’d rolled the bones.
Later that afternoon, right on schedule, she called. But rather than answering, I only smiled and walked into the school gym. After clambering onto a treadmill, I thudded my way across the mountains of New Zealand on its video display. Dark country music had always struck a deep chord within me. Which meant “Devil’s Gonna Come” was blasting in my earbuds while I tore those hills to shreds beneath my pounding shoes. Yeah, not only big, I was also fast.
Right as I stomped from the machine, a kid behind me flew from my path. Yep, as I’d said, a huge fucking presence was also my gift.
The second call, I also ignored. With a chuckle, I tossed the phone back into my locker and headed for the showers.
At home, when it rang once more, I lifted the phone to my ear. In a clapboard house my mom was renting at the edge of town, I was eating at the kitchen counter. Okay, it was time to play with my other food.
“Porter. Speak.” With a grin, I hit her with my usual curt greeting.
“Could we meet? My husband is taking the boys to T-ball practice tomorrow at ten.”
“Excuse me?” As my smile widened, I restrained a laugh. “May I help you? Who’s this?”
“Uh, Damon? Is that you?” Her voice wavered and at her confusion, I covered the phone to let the laugh escape. God, she was already fun. After a quick cough, she tried to harden her wavering tone. “Mr. Porter, this is Mrs. Goodman. Your high school government teacher.”
“Oh, hey, there, Mrs. Goodman.” I devoured a forkful of gray, tasteless TV dinner Salisbury steak. “Umm, how nice of you to call. Uh, what were you saying?”
“I’d like to talk about”—a loud gulp echoed from the speaker—“you know, those, um, films.”
With the phone covered, I lifted a glass of water and drank. After draining it, I walked to the sink and placed it inside. Still, I remained silent.
“Mr. Porter!” Her voice was so shrill, my cock twitched. “Did you hear me?”
“Oh, sorry.” With my pulse easing upward, I cleared my throat. “Uh, something about talking?”
“Yes!” At her shout, my face hurt from such a wide smile. Her perfect, high-boned cheeks were probably darkening to a wondrous shade of deep crimson. With a quiet chuckle, I shifted my hard-on. “Please, Damon. Stop it. You know what I’m—”
“If you yell at me again, Mrs. Goodman”—I sighed—“I’m gonna add The First Baptist Church of Hillsville to that distribution list.”
For a long time, there was nothing but silence. Well, other than heavy breathing on her end. At last, her lips smacked.
“Sorry, Damon,” she said in a much calmer tone. Okay, perhaps not calm, but quieter. “Can we meet? Um, to talk.”
“Yes, Mrs. Goodman. Ten AM tomorrow. The Denny’s by the interstate.”
“Thank you, Mr. Porter.”
“Oh, one more thing, Mrs. Goodman.”
“Yes?”
“Tick, tock.”
Just as she gasped, I ended the call. While skidding the phone across the counter, I bent over, laughing. Sure. No problem. I’d chat with her. As often and for as long as she wanted. That’d been accounted for in the plan.
But it made no difference; she had forty-eight hours to squirm and beg. To dream. To fear. To wait. To wonder. God, I was so hard. With a groan, I yanked aside my shorts and ran a tight fist up my stiff shaft.
“Soon,” I murmured.
While staring out the kitchen window towards a scruffy patch of distant woods, I stroked ever faster. Oh, such luscious memories returned. In the dim classroom, her silky-smooth skin under my fingertip. The way her racing heartbeat had battered my digit. Those glossy green eyes. Pleading.
“Oh, and those videos,” I muttered, then moaned.
Those perfect pendulous tits swinging to the music as she’d danced. The drunken dullness in her eyes. The ravenous slurping as she’d squatted on her glossy black heels before that judge, drinking his cum. Well, most of it. Some had trailed to the floor from her shiny chin. With a growl, I flung my gaze to the ceiling while thrusting my hips forward to unleash my load across the kitchen sink.
Yeah, I had big plans. She was only a distraction. But as I’d said, one doesn’t turn from gifts.