A Teacher's War
Copyright© 2025 by P. Tango
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Mario’s shooting was supposed to look like a robbery. It isn’t. Now St. Mary’s is rattled, students are scared, and the balance of power is shifting. Peter should be preparing to take control. Instead, he’s fighting to keep the school from collapsing under pressure no one can openly name. Angela is pulling the students together. Vicky is tracking the shooter. Mrs. Durán is holding the trust at bay. If Mario wakes, they get answers. If he doesn’t, the next shot won’t miss.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Consensual BDSM
Cindy spent the drive gripping her knees so hard her fingers went white. She didn’t speak—not to Peter beside her, not to Mrs. Duran on her other side. She watched the passing streets as if cataloguing them for a test no one else had studied for.
Angela tried once to take her hand. Cindy allowed it but didn’t squeeze back. After a moment, Angela withdrew, her expression soft but resigned. Peter caught Angela’s eyes in the mirror; she gave him a small shake of her head. Let her sit with this.
Vicky drove without music, jaw locked, eyes sharp. Even the usually composed Mrs. Duran kept her purse tucked tight to her chest, thumb sliding again and again along the chain of her necklace.
By the time they turned into the hospital grounds, the silence inside the car felt dense, almost physical. A police cruiser idled near the entrance, lights circling lazily without sirens.
Cindy was out of the car before Peter even touched the door handle. He hurried after her, the others close behind.
Inside, the volunteer behind the desk straightened the moment she saw Cindy.
“You’re here for Mr. Ochoa?”
Cindy nodded too quickly.
The woman made a call. A moment later, a familiar figure approached. Mrs. Duran spoke first.
“Dr. McTavish.”
“Mrs. Duran,” he said gently. “I’m sorry we meet again under these circumstances.” His gaze shifted to Cindy, who looked as though she might shatter if spoken to directly.
“You’re his family?” he asked.
“I’m his student,” Cindy said immediately.
He nodded. “He came through surgery. He’s stable for now. Entry wound to the left chest—missed the heart by less than a centimeter. The bullet collapsed his lung, but we’ve repaired the damage. No head injury.”
Peter released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Cindy didn’t react. “Can we see him?”
“He won’t be fully conscious,” the doctor warned. “And he’ll be heavily medicated.”
“I just want to be near him.”
“This way.”
The corridor to the ward was too bright, every surface too clean. Mario lay near a window, paler than Peter had ever seen him. A bandage hugged his ribs, tubes curling out beneath it. His breathing was shallow but steady.
Cindy stopped only for a second before moving to his side. She placed her hand on his wrist where the IV line left space, her thumb hovering just above his pulse.
No one spoke.
Dr. McTavish checked the monitors, then murmured to Angela, “If he wakes, keep him still. No long conversations.”
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