Teachers' Pet: An MFMM Romance

by Amy Brent

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Holden growled, shaking Keith hard enough to rattle his teeth. Keith grabbed onto Holden’s wrists to try and balance himself. He spat blood over the front of Holden’s shirt. Holden hit him again, then looked my way. “Jude? You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay,” I said, pushing myself up onto my knees. “Please… don’t hurt him…” I put a hand to my throat and tried to swallow. My voice was hoarse. My head was spinning. My knees and elbows were skinned. Otherwise, I thought I was okay.

  “Call the police,” Holden said, clamping back on to the front of Keith’s shirt.

  “Holden, old pal, come on,” Keith said, forcing a drunken smile as the blood ran from his nose to his chin. “Don’t call the fucking cops. Help me get that bitch into the woods and we’ll both fuck her ass up. Trust me, what she did to me, she’ll do to you! You’re just the fucking flavor of the month.”

  “Shut up, you asshole,” Holden growled.

  “Oh, come on, man, don’t pretend you’re not tempted. You love that shit, double teaming the girls, gangbanging their fucking brains out… I know you fucking do.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Keith,” Holden said, shaking Keith hard again with his teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. “You don’t know shit about me so just shut the fuck up.”

  Keith chuckled and tried to keep his wobbly knees from buckling. “I know you well enough, you hypocritical motherfucker. You and that fucking faggot asshole friend of yours, goddamn Wynn Driver. You perverted motherfuckers have used and abused more girls on this campus than anyone. Don’t you act so high and mighty with me, you cocksucking piece of shit.”

  “I’m not going to tell you again, Keith, shut the fuck up!” Holden said, shaking Keith hard enough now to buckle his knees. Keith went down hard on his knees and Holden pushed him away, sending him careening backward.

  “Motherfucker…” Keith rolled over to his side for a moment, swearing at Holden, then got onto his hands and knees and started puking his guts out. He spat toward the ground and glared sideways at me. “Fucking cunt… this is all your fucking fault...”

  Holden told him to shut his mouth, then glanced over at me with his hands in the air. “Jude? Jude? 911? Call them. Now.”

  “What? Yes…” I found my purse next to my car and dug out my cell phone and called 911. Within minutes, campus police arrived, then the city cops. Thirty minutes later, Keith was handcuffed in the back of a patrol car with his head resting against the window. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open. The son of a bitch was sleeping like a baby.

  “Okay, here’s my card,” the city cop said, holding out his business card between two fingers. “You’ll need to come in and make a formal statement if you want to press charges. Just call me to make an appointment. Otherwise, we’ll just charge him with public intoxication and violating the restraining order and that’ll be it.”

  “I… I’m not sure what I should do…” I muttered.

  I took the card and slid it into my purse, even though I wasn’t sure I’d be pressing charges against Keith. It was crazy, I know, but I felt responsible for everything that happened.

  If I had not targeted Professor Keith Calloway one summer ago, if I had not signed up for his class with the specific intent of seducing my teacher, becoming his pet, maybe Keith would still be married and I wouldn’t be standing here today shaking like a leaf and blaming myself for everything that happened.

  Maybe Keith and his wife would still be together.

  Maybe he would be going home to his kids every night rather than to some shitty apartment to be alone and drink his problems away.

  I should have never set foot in his classroom.

  This was all my fault.

  Every single bit of it.

  “Jude, you okay?” Holden asked, putting a hand on my arm.

  “What? Yes, I’m fine…”

  “So, you’ll come down and give your statement later?” the cop asked again, giving me a look that only served to make me feel even more guilty.

  “I’ll make sure she gets down there later today,” Holden said.

  The cop stared at me for a moment, then shook Holden’s hand and headed toward his car. I stood watching with tears in my eyes as the police car pulled away with Keith slumped in the back. Keith didn’t woke up and I was glad. I didn’t want to look into his eyes again. I felt bad enough for everything I’d done to him.

  “Jude, it’s okay, he’s not going to bother you again,” Holden said, putting his arms around me and pulling me close. I did not put my arms around him. I just stood there like a limp noodle with my arms dangling at my sides, wondering how many other men I’d hurt in my silly quest to be teacher’s pet.

  There was one thing I knew for sure.

  Professor Holden Moss would be the last.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Holden

  It had been nearly a week since I had seen or talked to Jude, not since the day Keith Calloway attacked her in the parking lot after my class. If I had not been coming out of the psyche building at the same time Keith was dragging her toward the woods—and had not spotted them across the way— things might have turned out very differently. And very badly for Jude and for Keith, who I recalled as being a fairly decent guy before becoming obsessed with Jude.

  Like a lot of professors—me and Wynn included—Keith had a reputation of being a major pussy hound. It was hard not to be a swinging dick when you were surrounded by hot, willing coeds all day long.

  Jude was not the first student he’d had sex with and probably wouldn’t be the last. Keith was a good-looking guy with a great personality when he was sober. I just hoped his next employer was made aware of his psychological issues and legal problems before exposing him to another field of female students.

  I sort of felt sorry for the guy, but his problems could not be entirely blamed on Jude. From a psychological point of view, Keith was an obsessive compulsive with narcissistic tendencies. He zeroed in on Jude and let his own obsession for her devour him. It wasn’t her fault Keith had flipped his lip over her, no more so than any other innocent girl or former girlfriend who was now the victim of a deranged stalker, which, at the end of the day, is what Keith had become.

  Honestly, I couldn’t fault him entirely because I had become obsessed with Jude, as well. What started out as just another casual affair with a student had moved on to a higher level, at least for me. I wasn’t in love with Jude—at least not yet—but I certainly had strong feelings for her. Stronger feelings than I had ever had for any girl before. I thought about her constantly, not just about having sex with her, but about just hanging out and spending time. We had fun just watching TV or making dinner or walking through the park or sharing a big plate of French fries in the cafeteria. Jude smothered her fries in ketchup and talked with her mouth full. It was an annoying habit that I had come to love about her.

  Jude insisted on driving herself home after the incident, even though I tried to talk her into letting me take her, and that was the last time I’d seen or heard from her. She had stopped coming to class and stopped answering my calls and texts, and when I stopped by her apartment she refused to come to the door.

  I talked to the city cop who had answered the 911 call and he said Jude never came down to the station to give a statement or press charges, so Keith was released on his own recognizance and warned to stay away from Jude and keep off the Midwestern campus.

  The next time he violated the restraining order it would be a mandatory thirty days in jail with no chance for bail. Same if he ever set foot on the MU campus again. Keith was a fucking asshole, but I didn’t think he wanted revenge badly enough to risk jail time over it, at least not while he was sober.

  I stopped by Jude’s apartment several times over the course of the next week, but her roommate Izzy said that Jude had gone home to visit her parents. When I pointed out that Jude’s car was still parked out front, Izzy stumbled over the lie and said that she had dropped her at the airpor
t and drove her car back to the apartment.

  “Izzy, please, just tell me what’s going on,” I said, propping a hand on the door frame and leaning in to lower my voice. I glanced past her at inside of the apartment, which was dark and quiet. “I know she’s in there. Why won’t she see me? Why won’t she talk to me? What did I do?”

  Izzy gave a nervous glance over her shoulder for a moment, then brought her dark eyes back to mine, as if she were considering letting me in but then thought better of it. She closed the door a little more and leaned her cheek against it.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Professor Moss,” she said with a heavy sigh. “She’s sort of having a meltdown.”

  I swallowed hard and glanced past her again. I was an academic by calling, but a medical professional by trade. In my practice I’d worked with dozens of patients experiencing overwhelming feelings of guilt and debilitating depression. I prayed that wasn’t the case with Jude.

  I narrowed my eyes at Izzy. “What kind of a meltdown are you talking about?”

  “Professor Moss, come on man…” Izzy took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, look, she’s blaming herself for a lot of things that have happened over the years. Not just the shit with Keith Calloway, but other stuff that she’s done and people she got herself involved with. Jude is the sweetest girl on earth, Professor, but sometimes the choices she makes are not the best for her. Or the best for others. She realizes that now. And I think she just needs time to sort things out.”

  I gave Izzy a look that told her I was not leaving until I knew Jude was all right. I asked, “Blaming herself for what kind of things?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder again, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t say anymore. Please, just leave her alone, Professor Moss. She has to work things out on her own. She’ll be okay. You just have to give her time.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “It’s the Keith Calloway thing most of all, isn’t it? She blames herself for what happened with that piece of shit.”

  “He wasn’t always a piece of shit,” Izzy said sadly. “At least not in Jude’s mind.” Regardless of her words, her eyes told me she agreed with me, but she shrugged and told me she had to go. I put my hand on the door before she could close it.

  “Izzy, please, tell her to call me. Nothing that happened is her fault. I’m trained… I mean… I can help her work through this. I know how these things work. Jude is amazing. None of this is her fault. I want to help her. I care for her. Very deeply…”

  “That’s nice of you to say, Professor Moss,” Izzy said as she eased the door closed another inch. “But she is not feeling very good about herself right now, but she will soon. Please, just give her time. Go home. And have a good night.”

  “Izzy, I really do care for her.”

  “I know you do, Professor,” Izzy said quietly. “I’ll make sure she knows that. Don’t worry.”

  She closed the door and clicked the deadbolt, leaving me standing on the stoop with a hole in my chest that only one person could fill.

  And at that moment I wasn’t sure I’d ever see that person again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Jude

  In my dream, I was being judged. I mean literally and figuratively being judged, as in on trial for my alleged crimes with my fate left up to the mercy of the court, a group of people who didn’t know me from Eve.

  My alleged crimes…

  What a bullshit word my brain had conjured up in a half-hearted attempt to defend my own actions to myself.

  Alleged, a word plucked straight from my sophomore criminal law class, no doubt.

  Alleged.

  There was no more greater bullshit word in the English language, at least when it came to helping criminals like me hide behind the good old Constitution and avoid the law.

  Even when they saw you commit a crime—had you on video tape, even—and had you dead to rights, they had to use the word “alleged” so as not to violate the old “innocent until proven guilty” routine.

  What a crock of shit.

  Alleged.

  There was nothing alleged about my crimes.

  I’d committed them blatantly and willingly, without ever giving a shit who might get hurt in the process. As long as my rocks got off, that’s all I cared about. I got mine. Fuck yours.

  I’d committed every crime of passion with a smile on my face, knowing full well what I was doing, without regard to who would have fun and who would get hurt.

  In the dream, I was in a courtroom with a judge, a jury, a gallery filled with spectators, and tables for the lawyers. I was sitting at the defendant’s table with shackles around my wrists and ankles, and a thick, leather, spikey dog collar around my neck. There was a leash made of heavy chain running from a loop at the front of the collar to another loop bolted to the floor. I couldn’t have moved from the chair if I’d tried.

  I looked down at myself in horror. I was wearing an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers. I started thinking, who dressed me in this getup? Don’t they know I look terrible in orange??

  I glanced around the room. Izzy sat sitting quietly beside me, wearing what looked like a black choir robe and a white wig like the ones I’d seen on some movie the one time I tried watching PBS. I tried to ask her what was going on but she shushed me with her hand without looking at me.

  I looked past Izzy toward the prosecution table. There sat old Professor Markle, dressed in a similar black choir robe and white wig, though his robe was too big for his skinny frame and his wig was askew to one side. He kept fiddling with the wig, but it kept sliding to the side.

  Sitting next to him was Keith Calloway.

  Suddenly, I knew why I was on trial. Though I wasn’t quite sure of the specific charges yet, I knew they would be numerable and impossible to argue. I was fucked, but not in the good way.

  There was a tall bench at the front of the room where the judge would sit. I swallowed hard as a door behind the bench opened and the judge appeared.

  He was tall, with serious blue eyes and a gorgeous face. The judge was not wearing a robe. He was completely naked, all muscles and attitude, with a long cock that swayed from side to side as he moved to sit behind the bench. He took his seat and cast his beautiful eyes toward the courtroom, but avoiding looking directly at me. Holden was the judge. And he did not look amused or happy to see me. He picked up the heavy gavel from the top of the bench and pounded the sound block with it three times.

  “This court will come to order,” Holden announced, his voice rich and deep. His voice echoed off the walls in my mind, like he was speaking from deep inside a cave. He turned toward Izzy’s boyfriend, Earl, who was standing at parade rest next to the bench wearing his campus police uniform. “Bailiff, read the charges that have been lodged against this defendant.”

  Earl glared at me as if he was already pronouncing me to be guilty. He pointed a stiff finger directly at my face and listed the charges from memory.

  “The defendant is charged with severe moral turpitude. Immoral conduct. Sexual promiscuity. A blatant lack of regard for the feelings of others. A total disregard for the repercussions of her actions. For being extremely narcissistic and totally self-centered. For not giving one red fuck about who she hurts by being a horny, skanky bitch. And for displaying a long history of lying to herself and to everyone around her.”

  He swung his arm around to direct his finger toward Keith, who was sitting next to Markle with his forehead resting on his arms, softly crying. His wife and two kids sat in the gallery behind him, also crying. I turned around to look behind me. The room was filled with men, women, and children that I didn’t recognize, but somehow knew I had hurt over the years. Even my old therapist was there, the one who fucked me every time I came in for help. Jesus, I hoped they didn’t let that bastard testify…

  Earl stiffened his finger in Keith’s direction and bellowed on. “And most of all, your honor, for destroying this good man’s life. A man who had a wife and children and
a home and a career of his own before the defendant so viciously and willfully seduced him with the promise of amazing fucking sex. She literally fucked this dude’s ass up, your honor. The motherfucker can’t even hold a job because of what this bitch done to him.”

  So, there is was. I was on trial because I had chosen not to control my sexual urges and had thereby destroyed the lives of others without hesitation, regret, or shame. Only Keith sat at the plaintiff’s desk, but I was pretty sure this could turn into a class action case pretty quickly if Holden asked anyone in the gallery I’d hurt to raise their hand.

  Earl folded his massive arms over his chest, turned toward Holden, and shook his head. “I’m sure there’s more shit she’s done, your honor, but I can’t remember it all. Do you want me to just take her out back and shoot her now? Maybe the football team could fuck her first? It is homecoming, you know.”

  “Not just yet,” Holden said calmly, quietly, looking at me for the first time. “Let’s hear what the cunt has to say before this court passes judgment.”

  Earl looked disappointed as he took a step back to stand beside the bench. His big shoulders went up and down. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll just tell the boys to be ready, your honor.”

  “Good plan,” Holden said, the gavel bouncing in the palm of his left hand. He stared directly at me with a look of utter disdain on his face. “Well, skanky whore? How do you plead?”

  “Can he call me that?” I asked, leaning over to whisper in Izzy’s ear.

  “He can if it’s the truth,” Izzy said nonchalantly, still not looking at me. She was leaning back in the chair painting her fingernails blood red.

  “How do you plead, you crazy nympho bitch?” Holden asked again. He aimed the gavel my way, closing one eye like he was sighting a pistol. For a moment I thought he was going to throw it at me.

  “Um… I plead… not guilty!” I announced, even though I felt guilty as hell and somehow knew there was no point in putting up a defense. There couldn’t be a point. I was drop dead guilty of every charge and everyone in the courtroom knew it. But I lied anyway. I pleaded not guilty. The words tasted like sulfur on my tongue.