The long halls were empty. The classrooms were dark. The lunchroom was deserted. The administrative offices were closed. The only sound in the vast gymnasium was the steady drip of the leaky faucets in the boy's showers.

Montgomery High School was closed. The school year was ended. It was graduation day.

On the Civic Center stage, the teachers were performing their last duty of the school year. They sat in folding chairs as the graduating seniors filed passed them. Every teacher was there. Every teacher was there except Professor Russell Newton. Professor Russell Newton was on guard duty at the school.

The previous year the school was vandalized. The rowdy members of the Class of 1966 celebrated their graduation with a nocturnal visit to the school. They broke windows. They splashed paint on the walls. They smashed equipment. They destroyed files. Their celebration resulted in several thousand dollars in property damage. Their celebration resulted in several arrests. Their celebration resulted in a determination by the School Board that it would never happen again.

For the graduation night of 1967, the school board hired an off duty policeman to patrol the halls of Montgomery High School. His duty was to watch the school. They also assigned Professor Russell Newton to sit in his classroom. His duty was to watch the policeman. No one was going to sleep on the job. The school was going to be safe.

Professor Russell Newton was a perfect high school teacher. He hated teenagers in general. He hated teenage males in particular. He hated teenage male athletes especially.  Except for their feet.  For some reason he found himself attracted… sexually… to male feet just as often as he was to female feet.  He didn’t understand this about himself, and he really didn’t care to.  All he knew was that he could somehow love a ale athlete’s feet, and still loathe the male athlete.

He saw high school jocks as over privileged. He saw them as over rated. He saw them as over sexed. He saw them as they walked around the school in the arrogance of their youth. He saw them in tight tee shirts parading their hard, muscular bodies. He saw them in tight jeans displaying their bulging crotches.

They carried their brains between their legs. All they ever thought about was fucking. They sniffed around every girl like hounds after a bitch. They fucked any girl that said yes. They fucked many girls that said no.

They were crude. They were disrespectful. They were dumb. They never suffered the consequences of their actions. The school administration always bailed them out. If they skipped class, they were excused. If they were tardy, it was overlooked. If they failed a test, it was made up. If they insulted, it was a joke. If they beat up a student, it was justified. If they forced their dicks into unwilling cunt, it was covered up.

Whatever they did, the administration pressured the teachers into giving them a pass. Their eligibility could not be jeopardized. High school jocks had to play.

Newton Russell looked on teenage jocks with an undying malice. He was filled with envy. He was filled with jealousy. He was filled with spite.

On graduation night, a resentful Newton Russell sat in his classroom on guard duty. He passed the time by reading the records of his students for the coming year. He quickly glanced through the files of the girls. He set them aside. He took longer reading the files of the boy's. He sorted them into students and jocks. He set aside the files of the students. He carefully studied the files of the jocks.

The time was never too soon for Russell Newton to start planning how he could torment these arrogant young men. He would not give them a pass in his class. He would give them one hundred eighty days of misery. He would take them down a notch. He would make them suffer. He would ruin them if he could. He had ruined others before them.

Russell sat with his long, lean body hunched over. His elbows rested on his desk. He propped his chin up with one hand. With the other hand, he turned the pages of the folder lying open on the desk before him.

Russell was forty. He was considered gorgeous by the standards of high school girls. He dark black hair was long. His dark black hair was wavy. He had splashes of gray at his temples. His eyes were blue ice. His chin was square. His smooth handsome face had the faintest shadow of a beard. He chest was broad. His waist was slim. His ass was tight.

Russell worked hard to look good. He dieted. He worked out at the gym. He kept his ass tight. He kept his broad chest firm. He kept his biceps bulging.

He liked to steal the girls' glances away from the hormone driven hump athletes. He liked to intimidate the jocks with his mature physique. He was like a fully-grown bull intimidating the rutting calves. He let the youngsters know that he could have any of the heifers any time he wanted them.

Russell was so engrossed in his day dreams of the domination and destruction of the jocks in his class that he did not hear the sound of soft sneakers upon the linoleum lined hallway outside his door. He did not notice the door to his classroom open. He did not notice the entrance of three jocks dressed in mortarboards and graduation gowns. He did not notice the recent graduates approach his desk until a shadow fell across his files.

Russell looked up to see the three-man heavyweight wrestling squad of the Class of '67. They had been the victims of his daily spite for the last year. He thought that he was finished with them.

His face formed a mask of contempt. He spoke curtly.

"How did you boys get in? The campus is closed," Russell said.

"Someone left the front door open, Mr. Russell," Grady Bond said from the center of the group.

Grady Bond was always in the center of the group. He was state heavy weight wrestling champion. He was captain of the wrestling team. He was, despite Newton Russell's prejudice, smart. He was a natural leader. He was respected by his teammates.

Grady was built like a tank. He was heavily constructed. He was almost as broad as he was tall. He had the deceptive appearance of being smaller than he really was.

He was handsome. He kept his unruly dark brown hair cut short and often frosted, to make it more "free" looking. His near-white blue eyes usually sparkled with good humor. His full lips smiled easily. Girls liked him. Boys liked him. He could steal their glances even when Russell was in the room.

Russell knew from watching Grady wrestle that he was hairy. He knew that he was powerfully muscled. He knew from the straining pouch of Grady's wrestling trunks that he was hung like a horse. These things combined with his popularity and good looks made him a special target for Russell's spite. 

Russell was also into Grady’s feet.

Yes, the teacher had a sexual interest in feet. Sometimes he was sexually attracted to women's feet, and at other times he had a hankering for men's feet. Russell was well aware that males and females that have a foot fetish for same-sex were mostly homosexuals. He knew that this wasn’t the case with his particular brand of attraction.

Or was it?  Could it be that he just couldn’t accept the fact that hi attraction to male feet was at least a hint and burgeoning bisexuality?  And this overpowering attraction he had for Grady’s tootsies… was there more to it?  Could this be the reason he often felt an unnatural desire to hurt the young man?  A civil war inside his own soul?  Every time he’d catch the youth in his bare feet, the professor had to shake off the confusion in his head.  And he did this by directing some unnamed ire towards the young wrestler. 

Grady had not spent a day in Russell Newton's class that he did not feel the bite of the teacher's sharp tongue. Russell never missed an opportunity to use his heavy-duty yardstick on the young man. He cracked the narrow edge of the heavy wooden stick across his large hands. He cracked the yardstick across his broad shoulders. He cracked his yardstick across his massive thighs.

The school board called Russell's beatings discipline.  Russell called the beatings cutting the boy down to size.  Grady called the beatings torture.

The school board approved of the beatings.  Russell enjoyed the beatings.  Grady laughed at the beatings openly. In his heart he harbored a deep resentment.

"You boy's have no business here," Russell said.

He waved his hand at the young men to dismiss them.

"Get out!" he said.

Russell looked back down at his files. He expected to be obeyed.

The wrestlers did not obey him. Grady Bond stood his ground before the teacher. The other two wrestlers moved to opposite ends of the desk.

Russell looked up. He sat up in his chair. He threw out his broad chest. He lowered his voice.

"Tommy Dahl, Antwon Brown," he said, "don't let Grady Bond get you two into trouble. Get out of here, now."

Russell used the wrestlers' names purposefully. He wanted them to know that he could identify them. He was the old bull trying to intimidate the young calves.

Grady leaned forward. He placed both of his big hands flat upon the teacher's desk.

"We ain't going nowhere, Newt," he said. "You been riding us all year and tonight were going to return the favor. We're going to ride you."

Russell knew that he was in trouble. Grady Bond was serious. They were not going to go away with their tails between their legs.

Russell tried to rise from his chair. The heavy hands of the wrestlers at either end of his desk pushed him back down.

Russell licked his lips before he spoke again. He tried to sound threatening. He succeeded in sounding frightened.

"There's a police officer patrolling the school," Russell said, "if I have to call him, you will all go to jail. You're all over eighteen. None of you are juveniles. There'll be no slap on the wrist. You're adults and you'll be treated like adults."

Grady was not impressed. His upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Don't count on the cop, Newt," Grady said. "He's down at the other end of the school.

Xxxx"Even if he were here, he might not be much interested. He used to be on the football team and he was in your class. You got him expelled for a year. He lost his chance for a football scholarship and the NFL. He might not be much interested in helping you at all."

On the other side Antwon Brown menaced him. The shaved-head, beefy black youth was built like a bull. He was just about as mean.

Russell stood up. He was corralled. He was penned in. In a semicircle in front of him, three mountains of male muscle menaced him. Behind him the blackboard cut off all retreat. In the chalk tray beneath the blackboard lay his heavy-duty yardstick.

Russell pushed himself to his feet. He reached back for the yardstick. Before his hand touched the tray, Grady Bond leapt over the desk. He was on top of the teacher before he could cry out. Tommy Dahl and Antwon Brown charged at him from either side.

The big old bull teacher was dragged to the floor. The three bull calves were not afraid of the old bull any more.

The struggle was brief. Russell Newton tore his jacket. Tommy Dahl and Antwon Brown knocked off their mortarboards. Grady Bond ripped off his graduation gown.  When he kicked his shoes off, the professor almost grew light-headed.  He’d seen Grady’s bare feet before, but his current situation made everything all the more intense.  The boy’s feet were magnificent. And they were huge!  Russell’s light-headedness increased as the scent of the jock’s tootsies began wafting up to his nose. He struggled. He cursed. He found himself pinned to the floor by Grady Bond who’s feet were beginning to drive him batty.

The big wrestler sat astride the teacher's broad chest. His knees rested on the man's shoulders. The bulging pouch of his wrestling tights, which he had worn under his gown, pressed into Russell's cleft chin. Tommy and Antwon pinned his legs to the floor.

Russell turned his face away from Grady's bulging crotch. He squirmed. He tried to roll his shoulders. He tried to kick his legs. He could not break the wrestlers' control of him.

"Get the Hell off me, you fucking jocks," he shouted. "You'll all go to jail for this. I see your fucking asses in prison."

Grady smiled mockingly. He shook his head. He tutt-tutted derisively,

"Such language, Professor Newton! Wouldn't the School Board be shocked to know you use such language in the classroom?"

Grady mocked the teacher and the other wrestler's laughed.

Russell had no hope of breaking the wrestlers' hold on him. His only hope was to make enough noise to attract the patrolman's attention. The police would rescue him.

"Get the fuck off me, you mother fucking son of a bitch," Russell shouted at Grady. "I'll get you and your cocksucking buddies for this."

Russell bucked. He twisted. He writhed. He rubbed his face over Grady's crotch in his struggles.

Grady leaned forward. He pressed the pouch of his wrestling trunks more firmly against the teacher's face.

Russell's big, hard gym trained muscles proved useless. They were big enough to impress high school girls. They were no match for the massive muscles of Grady and his friends.

The three wrestlers were younger than Russell was. They were stronger. They were trained to control men with the strength of their bodies. He could not throw Grady off his chest. He could not free his legs from the trained grips of Antwon and Tommy. The patrolman did not come to his rescue.

Russell surrendered.

To be continued….