Confiscated
Avery Sam
Confiscated
by Avery Sam
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Confiscated
by Avery Sam
© 2026 Avery Sam
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Author: Avery Sam
Contact details: averysam.parachute371@passinbox.com
Book cover, illustration: Avery Sam
Editing, proofreading: Avery Sam
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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Lessons
The Importance of Female Pleasure
A Warrior Woman of Old
Also by Avery Sam
Lessons
I never intended to seduce my teacher.
It just happened, I swear. One minute, I was laughing to myself at the text Josh had sent me, and the next, Mr. Nash snatched my phone right out of my hand.
“Miss Mills, I thought I made myself clear,” said Mr. Nash, his beady eyes staring right at me. “Phones are not allowed in my class.”
A couple of the other students snickered.
“But Mr. Nash...” I said, pouting out my lip.
“You know the rules. You can get it back at the end of the semester,” said Mr. Nash, dropping my phone into the big drawer at the bottom of his desk.
“The end of the semester?” I spluttered. “But I need my phone.”
“You should’ve thought of that before bringing it to my class,” said Mr. Nash, his face granite and unyielding even though I really, really needed that phone.
These days, they frame the situation I was in with fancy phrases like “lower socio-economic status” and all that kind of jazz, but back then, we just called it being poor. I hated that word, but I hated being poor even more.
Half my clothes were hand-me-downs from my cousins, and our landlord was always coming over to yell at my mother about the rent being late. She did her best, but sometimes things were slow at the diner where she worked, and so we had to stretch every dollar that came our way.
The only reason I’d gotten that phone in the first place was because Mr. Greenbaum, my mother’s boss, insisted on having a way to call her in case he needed her to pick up an extra shift. Then, when we went down to the phone store, they were running a family plan special where you could get a second phone for just an additional $3.99 a month if you agreed to share your minutes.
These days, everyone has fancy smartphones that are more powerful than desktop computers used to be. I’ve got one myself, and it’s a really handy gadget, but I’ll never love it as much as I loved my first phone. It had a bright red exterior, a little stubby black antenna, and you had to flip it open to answer a call. It was lightweight, easily fit in my pocket, and best of all, the battery would last for days.
It didn’t have a touchscreen, but if you knew what you were doing, you could download music onto it. I must’ve spent hours dancing around my bedroom with my headphones on, listening to songs on that phone.
It didn’t have internet either, but you could exchange short text messages with people if you knew their number, and that’s what I was doing on the morning when Mr. Nash confiscated it. This boy Josh, who was on the basketball team, had been hanging out with his friends in the parking lot before first period when I walked by.
I was wearing this blue and white dress that I absolutely loved. I had found it in the bargain bin, but it was a genuine [redacted]. I think the clerk at the store must’ve goofed up because it was worth ten times what I ended up paying for it. It was sleeveless and kind of form-fitting and matched perfectly with my knee-high gray boots, which is what I was wearing when Josh called out “Hey, nice dress.”
Since Josh and I ran in vastly different circles, I’d never had any occasion to talk to him before, but he turned out to be really chill. I don’t know how long we stood there and chatted in the parking lot that morning, but it felt like it went by in the blink of an eye.
Best of all, he asked me for my number, and the first text he sent me read “Cutie :)” which got me feeling tingly all over.
So, now you understand why I was so worked up after Mr. Nash confiscated my phone. Not only was it irreplaceable, but it was my one path to flirting with Josh. I was pretty sure he had a girlfriend, but there was also a rumor that she had cheated on him at a party, but now there was no chance for the two of us to ever get together.
As soon as the bell rang after class, I went straight to the front to confront Mr. Nash, who was sitting at his desk.
“Look, sir, I’m really sorry about using my phone earlier,” I said, giving him my sweetest good-girl smile. “But I really need it back.”
“As I said, you can get it back at the end of the semester,” said Mr Nash, not even bothering to look up. “Same with all the other confiscated items.”
“But sir, I don’t think you understand,” I said. “My mother’s going to be really angry. She worked for months and months to save up for that phone.”
“Miss Miller,” said Mr. Nash, finally deigning to meet my gaze. “Your phone is in my desk drawer, which I keep locked at all times. I can assure you that no harm will come to it.”
“Please, sir,” I said, the desperation in my voice completely real. “It’s the only way I can stay in touch with my family.”
“Well, you should’ve thought of that before bringing it into my classroom,” said Mr. Nash.
“Plus, um...” I said, my mind whirling. “My grandma is, um, at the hospital. She’s very sick. There’s no telling when I may have to rush over there and say my final goodbyes.”
“Not my problem,” said Mr. Nash with a shrug, returning his attention to the papers on his desk.
“Seriously?” I said, throwing up my arms. “Come on, just give me my phone and I promise I won't tell anyone, you know, to protect your reputation and all.”
“No,” said Mr. Nash, looking me straight in the eye.
“All right, what do you want?” I said. “You want money?”
“What I want is to finish grading these papers,” said Mr. Nash. “Now if there’s nothing else, good day to you, Miss Miller.”
“Fine!” I shouted, storming out of his classroom and into the hallway just as the bell rang to announce the start of third period.
I was in a real funk for the rest of the day, fuming at the injustice of it all. Sure, I mean, yeah, Mr. Nash had told us all at the beginning of the semester that phones were not allowed in his classroom, along with chewing gum, radios, drinks of any kind, and portable music players. But I figured he would’ve at least given me a warning before snatching my beloved phone right out of my fingers.
He was kind of an odd duck, Mr. Nash. Some teachers at our school were fossils, dinosaurs with white hair who clearly hated kids and were just counting down the days until they could retire. Other teachers were fresh out of college, trying their best to seem hip and cool to the kids, even though most of the time they came across as complete dorks.
Mr. Nash, though, was in neither camp. For one, he was in his mid 30s, which theoretically put him on the younger side, but he always dressed very plainly in muted blues and browns, making him more similar to the older teachers.
Mostly, he was just quiet. In fact, that’s probably the word I would’ve used to describe him before he confiscated my phone. He never shouted or yelled. He just stood there in the front of the classroom and talked about sociology with a kind of understated seriousness that we were too young to really appreciate.
I mean, I don’t know how much you remember about high school, but the things we all cared about were clothes and boys and music and what cool movies were playing at the mall and which celebrities were dating, not the customs of some jungle tribe on the other side of the planet, and so I mostly just zoned out during Mr. Nash’s lessons.
With him confiscating my phone though, he quickly became the center of my obsession. I racked my brain trying to think of any scandals or rumors that I’d heard about him, such as how Angie Woodward once spotted Mr. Greggs coming out of a gay bar downtown or Coach Latham and his reputation for getting handsy with his female students, but there was nothing.
Mr. Nash was just a forgettable nobody, a teacher who excelled at fading into the woodwork. He was neither infamous nor popular. I’d never heard anybody complain that he assigned too much homework or gave too many tests. He was just a cipher, a nobody who kept to himself.
With no leverage to use and no possible clue on how I was going to persuade him to give me my phone back, I pretty much started crashing out.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I bumped into Jessica Dalton in the hallway, and she shoved me into a locker so hard that I saw stars. I also dropped my tray in the cafeteria, narrowly avoiding splashing my boots, but it also meant that I had nothing to eat for lunch.
Even worse, when I went to the girls’ room on the third floor, the waistband of my underwear snagged on the toilet paper dispenser, causing the elastic to break.
They were an old cheap pair that I didn’t really like, but now I had to go the rest of the day without any panties on. Luckily, my dress was long enough that no one was going to see up my crotch, but it was still a pretty awkward situation to be in.
Hungry, upset, and still seething with frustration, by fifth period, I had come up with a semblance of a plan of how to get my phone back.
I knew there was a janitorial supply room that had a busted lock, so I was going to go in there and find a tool, and then I was going to use it to jimmy open the drawer in Mr. Nash’s desk and get my phone back. I figured that, even if someone saw me, it wasn’t like I was stealing anything. That phone belonged to me after all.
All I had to do was wait for the school day to end.