Gorgeous but dumb jock Todd Sanders finds himself in trouble again and at the mercy of his sadistic math teacher who plans another humiliating session for the abused student in the privacy of his home. Story & art by Amalaric. (Page 1)


Todd Sanders 2: An Evening Appointment
by Amalaric
Art by Amalaric
Series: Todd Sanders

Carl Brewster did not have a photographic memory, which was probably a good thing because, if he had, the events that transpired for one hour on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon in his Beginning Algebra course would have driven him insane with remembered lust. Even so, the mental image of Todd Sanders’ muscular naked body and the pulsing feeling of invincible power as the math teacher bent the tall young stud to his will were, well, utterly intoxicating and, to take the analogy a bit further, that one taste had made him an addict; Brewster simply couldn’t get Todd out of his mind. Matters were made worse by the fact that he had to ‘rub shoulders’ (so to speak) with the ambling buck most days of the week at precisely 1:00 in the afternoon- for Beginning Algebra; the very place, forever seared on everyone’s mind, where the cocky muscle jock was taken down and made to endure his fast and furious ordeal. After being stripped and beaten Todd had had the good sense to call in sick for the rest of the week and that had given everyone, both math teacher and student accomplices and witnesses, a welcome chance to calm down a bit and also to process what had occurred. For his part, Todd seriously considered dropping out of school. His hatred of Langton High and, in particular, Beginning Algebra was nothing if not incandescent…but his daddy’s threat was a real one; it was a choice of a diploma or to hit the streets and, with only eight months to go before graduation, well, that seemed like a no-brainer. And so Todd Sanders, against every animal instinct that he possessed, continued his courses, even the despised math class taught by Mr. Brewster.

All of that being said, things were, however, slightly different than they had been before the memorable day of his humiliating ordeal. When in Brewster’s Algebra course, the normal easy swagger that characterised the handsome nineteen year old’s gait disappeared, understandably replaced by a kind of embarrassed shyness and need to keep a low profile. He often imagined the other students looking at him strangely and usually chose a seat in the back of the classroom, almost never making eye contact with the teacher, which suited Brewster, himself driven by powerful memories, just fine. For his part, Carl Brewster never called on Todd to solve an equation at the blackboard again and, though both he and his students shared vivid memories of the big jock’s abject humiliation and brutal punishment, the event was never mentioned and, true to his word, the incriminating CCTV footage that had ensured the muscular buck’s unwilling cooperation was duly destroyed. Todd Sanders had nothing more to worry about in that area and he had since avoided Debbie Kessler like the plague. Both he and his algebra teacher seemed content with the probability of a D grade, which would count as a pass and inch Todd toward the coveted diploma…only eight months away.

For all of these reasons Todd was startled six weeks later when, the bell having rung the end of the period and most of the students drifted away, Brewster casually motioned for him to remain behind. At six foot two and padded with well-defined muscle, Todd Sanders towered over the portly math teacher and, though necessarily wary, still exuded an easy going sense of physical authority, like one utterly comfortable in his own skin, radiating good health and the kind of erotic vitality only possessed by the young. Taking a seat at an empty desk, his clear face was shadowed by perplexity. ‘Sorry I was late getting my assignment in, Mr. Brewster, I had a lot of work to do at home last weekend…but it won’t happen again.’ Brewster merely shook his head; gazing at nothing with a sleepy, glassy-eyed stare, his body language, however, told a different story; tense and wound up, like a loaded spring.

Struggling to control what could only be described as a kind of giddy expectation, his senses seemed suddenly overloaded by the proximity of the big jock, seated a mere three or four feet from where he stood. Clearing his throat, Brewster paused for just a few more seconds with his nostrils dilated, as if he were a hunting carnivore, savouring the clean smell of laundered clothes just tinged by the merest hint of honest sweat, soap lingering from Todd’s morning shower (Or maybe the slick communal tableaux of wet, late teen nudity as the oblivious and uncaring jock scrubbed down following his mid-day PE class?)…and that indefinable rutting, musky scent peculiar to young men in their prime. ‘You OK, Mr. Brewster?’ Almost reluctantly emerging from his tingling fugue, the math teacher nodded assent but then inscrutably added, ‘I’m fine Todd, but it does seem as if there might be some sort of a problem.’


The next ten minutes sent Todd Sanders reeling into a fresh abyss of shock and near-despair. ‘See,’ Brewster intoned in a kind of hoarse whisper, ‘it appears that several of the students on campus have been scamming the local bars using phoney IDs purchased downtown from some fly by night printing racket.’ Todd waited silently for the axe to fall, suddenly pale and lightheaded with anxiety. ‘Yeah, you guessed right Todd,’ Brewster’s tone somehow took on an added air of betrayed trust, ‘the authorities have positively fingered several of the perps- all, I might add, from Langton High- and, that’s right, your name’s at the top of the list.’ ‘Ah, shit…’ muttered under his breath, feeling a sick fear deep in the pit of his stomach and suddenly vertiginous with a rushing sense of déjà vu. Even so, Todd tried to reason his way out of the closing trap, ‘Really, Mr. Brewster, there was no harm done…I mean, I’ll be legal anyway in just over a year.’ ‘That’s not the point, boy, and you know it!’ Brewster was suddenly a whirl of offended energy, ‘Rules have been flouted, a poor example given to all, and this school’s reputation, perhaps, irreparably damaged. That, Sanders, adds up to one hell of a lot of trouble you’ve managed to get yourself, sure, and also the rest of us into.’ Shocked by the math teacher’s words but even more so by his vehement tone, Todd felt like his entire world was imploding and, rendered speechless, hung his head of short cropped blond hair waiting for the inevitable sentence to be pronounced. Bastard’s going to see to it that I get expelled. No diploma, all of the fucking work, putting up with the bull shit…for nothing. And what’s my dad gonna have to say about all of this? Brewster let the demoralized jock drift on a dimly imagined tide of dark possibilities for a minute before clearing his throat and, in a voice carefully modulated to sound suddenly compassionate but justly stern, and, above all, reasonable, presented Todd Sanders with a pair of choices.

Three days before Carl Brewster’s conversation with Todd in the empty classroom, the math teacher had received an unexpected but very interesting phone call. As a single man with a lot of time on his hands, he had the freedom and the finances to indulge in some shadowy networking, maintaining contacts with like-minded sorts, many of which, perhaps oddly, happened to serve on the local police force. Often ‘clubbing it’ with these types of friends, Brewster and his small, very select circle, regularly indulged in a little rough play with thoroughly terrified young offenders, abducted hitchhikers, handsome drifters…all (relatively) safe, no one was ever (too) seriously hurt or ever killed; it was all, really, in good fun and the victim, after being briefly and anonymously used and abused, was eventually released- with a stern injunction (underscored by vague threats) to strict silence- back into the wide and sometimes dangerous world. The phone rang at twenty past six. ‘Carl, this is Chuck Orford…say, you remember that big lumbering blond stud you were telling us about last weekend? You know, the guy you made to strip down in front of the whole fucking class and then beat black and blue? Damn, what I would have given to be a fly on THAT wall!’ The disembodied voice laughed through a sudden haze of static. ‘Sure, Chuck, that was one hell of a fine day,’ Brewster was beaming with pride and suffused with the warmth of remembered pleasure. ‘Well, hold on to your seat, Carl…because you won’t believe what just landed on my desk.’ That was the first time that Brewster had entered the now familiar fugue state of focused obsession…because he knew exactly what the kinky cop was going to say even before the words came, super-heated, from the telephone receiver to his fevered brain. ‘Got himself into, ah, some sort of sticky situation…big dumb fuck that he is…and, let me guess, Chuck, you’re willing to hand him over to my not so tender loving care- make sure that the paper work remains on hold, maybe even filed somewhere real dark and deep- in return for, um, I would imagine…a piece of the action?’ The cop seemed nonplussed. After a pause, he replied in a dry voice, ‘Well, yeah, Carl…I guess, you kind of hit it on the head; I deliver Todd Sanders- every six foot two inch, hairy, hulking bit of him- in return for a streamed video with option to record, live, from your state of the art basement. Sounds reasonable, don’t you think?’ Brewster barely nodded, lost again in tingling reverie, before suddenly remembering where he was and whispering, ‘Very reasonable, Chuck…count on it,’ and hung up the phone.

‘So, Todd, as usual you seem to be in luck.’ The big jock could only shake his head, thoroughly perplexed; he felt anything but lucky. ‘Officer Orford, who is handling the case, is an old friend of mine; we regularly partner for bridge or canasta at our local parish every other Wednesday night,’ Brewster lied, ‘and, well, it seems that when he found out you were a student here at Langton High…he immediately thought of me.’ At that moment Todd Sanders felt like the most unfortunate man on earth. Brewster continued, ‘I hope you appreciate what I am about to say, Todd, because Officer Orford has really put himself on the line- offering to indefinitely hold back the warrant for your prosecution (yeah, asshole, you are over eighteen; too young to get drunk, but old enough to be busted as an adult)- IF you agree to undergo remedial treatment.’ ‘What’s that?’ Todd was thoroughly confused but his intuition, and that gathering sense of déjà vu, were sounding a dull alarm. Suddenly all business-like, Brewster replied, ‘Oh, something similar to what was done in the classroom over the Debbie Kessler affair…you do remember?’ Fully aware of the understatement, he continued, ‘Of course, a repeat performance in the classroom may be…ah…somewhat inappropriate (Brewster had actually received a mild reprimand from the Vice Principle and a warning against repeat performances in such a public venue) so the session would take place at my home, say, in the early evening, around half past six?’ ‘I dunno, Mr. Brewster…I mean…’ Todd was cut off in mid-sentence by the impatient teacher, ‘That does seem to be the only language young men like you understand. Both Officer Orford and I agree that consequences for one’s actions and, hopefully, a lesson learned are in order,’ he paused, ‘but, naturally, there is an alternative.’ Todd looked up hopefully and Brewster smiled, ‘Certainly! If the prospect of physical punishment is too much for you (was there a slight taunt in his tone?) then it is perfectly reasonable to choose the route of full prosecution.’ ‘Oh,’ Todd’s fragile hope collapsed like the proverbial house of cards. ‘Absolutely!’ Brewster was relentless, closing in on his prey, ‘And I don’t think you would land more than a few months in prison, but unfortunately that would also mean expulsion from Langton…and (he feigned grave concern), so close to graduation…’ ‘Shit, Mr. Brewster, can’t you cut me some slack? I mean, I’ve worked hard for all of this, I’ve just gotta graduate!’ The young jock’s heartfelt vehemence was genuine and a lesser man than Carl Brewster may have at least considered the humiliating plea for mercy, savoring the remembered sound of deep masculine desperation and the sight of the dejected athlete standing in the empty classroom- as a sort of consolation prize- in those private spaces and places when he needed to get his rocks off. Instead, he merely shot back, ‘Don’t swear in my presence, Todd Sanders, unless you want to make things even worse for yourself! You have a decision to make and I expect an answer now!’ Trying one last gambit, Todd muttered, ‘But you won’t make me strip down like last time, will you? I mean, use something heavier on me if you want to make up for the difference my clothes might make, but it’s just not right forcing a grown guy to get naked and all…’ he trailed off. Brewster’s snorted reply was both clear and ambiguous, ‘You’ll do exactly as you’re told, Todd, and if I say you will take it on your bare ass, or anywhere else on your big, lumbering frame…well, then, that’s exactly what you will do. Is that understood?’ Cleverly, the short conversation had suddenly shifted; from a clear presentation of choices to a frightened nineteen year old, to the clear supposition that he would, indeed, keep his appointment at Carl Brewster’s suburban home. ‘OK, yeah, I guess so,’ Todd mumbled, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but the empty Algebra classroom. ‘Very good. I will see you at my home (and he handed Todd a scrawled address) at half past six this Friday evening. You may go now.’ Todd Sanders gratefully turned and, crossing the room, nearly ran for the door.


1 Comment

  1. Session3 - June 26, 2021, 4:33 am

    Love how much we get to see into Brewster’s (the Dom’s) mindset. It makes him human, and ups the stakes on his side of the takedown. Again and again, we’re shown how he’s so disturbed, so hot for Todd, but has to control his own outward behavior to maneuver Todd into the trap. Love the step-by-step details. I’m living it with them in real time.

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