Friday, 30 December 2011
10000 visits? Time for a story, I feel
Hello once again my friends, and welcome to the last post of 2011!
I'm pleased to see that Christmas hasn't interfered with anyone's kinky pleasure, as my pageviews have, somewhat to my surprise, wandered past 10000.
In honour of this auspicious occasion I thought I'd post another Miss Robinson story; on rereading it some of the writing here is a bit rough, but the story is kind of fun.
And I've thrown in some random and totally inappropriate photos for your viewing pleasure too; a couple are from Richard Windsor's Vintage page, a couple from Cameron Dawn, and one I have no clue about!
Have a good New Year, and I hope to see you all soon.
Miss Robinson's Busiest Day
A School Mistress Story
Miss Robinson tapped her way down the empty corridor; having a student teacher in her class gave her much more free time than she was used to.
As she passed one of the full length mirrors that were placed at intervals around the school she paused to admire herself; her clothes were conservative but figure hugging, and her posture was fine. She stood straight as a yardstick, and did a slow twirl; she was, as ever, pleased with what she saw.
Noting that it was only ten minutes until break she continued on the path to her classroom; she would watch Miss Rush for the last few minutes of the session, and then they would be able to discuss her progress while the boys relaxed.
As she neared her room Miss Robinson was disturbed to hear the distant noise of unruly children; there was shouting and stamping and loud choruses of clapping. Who's class could possibly dare to act like that? Should she find out and offer her assistance?
Miss Robinson increased the speed of her progress, and passed several class rooms, from all of which exuded the air of calm that she expected.
Rapidly a feeling of foreboding came over her; was the noise coming from her classroom? Surely her pupils would not dare to indulge in this type of misbehaviour? Why, she had left them entirely unattended before now, and come back to find everyone quietly working at their desks.
She saw the door to her room in the distance. It almost seemed as though it were vibrating outwards, like a part of one of those stereo speakers. Her face grew red with embarrassment; how could they let her down like this, and in front of a student too?
In fact what was Miss Rush doing? It shouldn't have been hard to control the boys that Miss Robinson had taught; they lived in constant fear of incurring her wrath.
Reaching the classroom door Miss Robinson hurled it open; there was a loud bang as it bounced against the wall, and it would have swung shut again if not for Miss Robinson's carefully placed foot.
The room was in disarray; all of the desks were empty and boys danced around the room, whooping and thumping their feet on the ground. Two or three actually stood on their desks. One boy had taken advantage of the chaos and was drawing in chalk on the blackboard.
The noise stopped instantly; the sound of the door opening had shocked the rabble into silence. Even Miss Rush, who had been shouting from her perch on top of Miss Robinson's desk, was hushed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Miss Robinson did not need to raise her voice in order for it to cut through the room; Miss Rush looked flustered and began to climb down from the desk, whilst all of her pupils immediately ran for their seats.
“There's no need for you do that.” Miss Robinson continued. “I saw what was happening. You were all contributing to that ruckus. And you were ignoring your teacher; everyone one of you knows that we do not permit this type of behaviour at St Everett's.”
She turned to Miss Rush, who was looking rather shamefaced, and spoke, almost kindly, to her.
“Miss Rush, you may leave the room. Go and compose yourself. We shall discuss what happened here at breaktime.”
“No, but Miss Robinson...”
The senior teacher cut her off promptly.
“I said that we would discuss it later. Please leave now.” Her voice was firm, and Miss Rush felt herself propelled towards the door purely by its tone. She made one more try.
“I do think you should know...”
“I said later!” Miss Robinson hissed; several pupils jumped in an excess of pavlovian spirit. They knew what it meant to be on the receiving end of that voice.”Leave. Now!”
The door slammed shut, and Miss Rush found herself in the corridor; she made for the staff facilities, in order to freshen up before she had to confront Miss Robinson again.
Inside the classroom the air was pendulous with doom; there was a thickness to the atmosphere that threatened a heavy storm. Pupils cringed, awaiting the crack of lightning that was sure to come.
Miss Robinson glared at her class from beneath a frowning forehead; she tapped her foot angrily as she regarded them. None of those sitting uncomfortably in front of her could meet her eyes.
“I am terribly disappointed in you all. You have let yourselves down, and, more importantly, you have let me, as your teacher, and St Everett's, down too. Just imagine what tales Miss Rush will take back to college with her!”
Twitching like an irate mongoose Miss Robinson walked round to the far side of her desk, and opened one of the deep drawers that were attached below its left side. From it she withdrew a large dirty and quite used black plimsoll.
With arms crossed, and the plimsoll clutched in one white-knuckled hand, she returned to the front of the class, leaning back against the desk, where Miss Rush's feet had stood so recently.
“I'm sure that you all know what to expect. Form a line by the throne; single file, no pushing. I have time for each of you.” The sentence finished with a distinctly unpleasant sneer.
Several hands went up; Miss Robinson raised her voice.
“Put those hands down! I do not care to hear any excuses. There can be no excuses for the deplorable behaviour that I have seen here today. You will all line up and take your punishment quietly. If any of you are not happy with this plan of action, your bare behinds may discuss the matter with my senior cane during break. Any takers? No? Really? Are you quite sure? Well then, line up all of you. At once!”
There was an almost civilised rush to join the line that formed by the side of Miss Robinson's throne, which was a large straight backed wooden chair placed to the left hand side of her desk.
Miss Robinson waited by her desk, and admired the orderliness that she saw. Perhaps her class had learned something from her after all.
She left the boys standing for a couple of minutes, ensuring that even those at the front of the queue would have time to think about what was coming; then she instructed the line to reverse its order, so the boy originally last was first. She didn't think that she would spank the first boy any harder than the last, but if anyone were counting on it happening she would ensure that their gamble did not pay off.
The reorganisation was swift and smooth, and when it had finished Miss Robinson sat on her throne, the dark flat material of her lap beckoning the first victim.
“Well, Johnson, come on then. Over you go.”
She looked down at the young slightly plump bottom presented; his trousers were pulled very tight indeed!
She raised the plimsoll in her right hand, gripped by its heel, and walloped it down on the centre of Johnson's bottom. There was an answering gulp.
She moved her aim, and gave his right buttock two firm spanks; the rubbery sole bounced pleasingly back into the air after each blow, and Johnson huffed twice more.
Intending to ensure that the boy's whole bottom would sting she dropped two smacks onto his left buttock; each carried a jerk through Johnson's body, and he gave a low moan at the second one.
Miss Robinson hefted the heavy shoe one last time, and delivered a particularly stinging blow to the centre of Johnson's bottom once more, right across the fleshy sit spot. He yelped in reply, and wriggled on her lap. A job decently done, she thought.
“Alright then, Johnson. Up you get. Back to your desk until recess.”
She looked at the line of 15 boys awaiting punishment; several were already clutching their bottoms in anticipation. Miss Robinson felt quite light hearted; the exercise would certainly do her good, and she was sure to have absolute obedience for some weeks after this.
“Come on Harrison. Let's not waste time; I have other things to do today, you know. Over you go.”
The next backside was presented, this one rather thin and quite long. It was a much less inviting target but Miss Robinson dealt with it carefully, ensuring it was properly punished.
As Harrison scurried away clutching his burning bottom, Miss Robinson reached for the next culprit, and continued to spank away.
The bell for break went while Miss Robinson still had three boys to deal with, but no one moved an inch toward the door. The teacher looked on her class with satisfaction.
She delivered the last carefully measured blow and Bentley sniffed back a tear; he shuffled back to his seat but before he could sit Miss Robinson dismissed her class, telling them that they could have an additional 10 minutes as she had a couple of jobs to do.
The first among these was to complete the punishment book, detailing what each pupil had received and why. She was just finishing this when there was a hesitant tap on the door, and Miss Rush tiptoed in.
Miss Robinson turned to speak, but she was beaten to it as Miss Rush spoke, her words coming in a torrent that she had clearly rehearsed.
“Miss Robinson, I am so sorry for the noise the boys caused. It was entirely my fault; I.......”
The senior teacher waved a dismissive hand, and stopped her in full flow.
“Don't give it another thought. Boys can be high spirited; sometimes they can get out of hand, especially when they are dealing with an inexperienced teacher. You will find with time that you learn to see these....hmm, insurrections coming, and you can stop them in their tracks.”
Miss Rush nodded gratefully at all of this.
“But I still feel so responsible....”
“That does you a great deal of credit. But boys will be boys. Ultimately they only understand the use of force; a good hiding and they soon fall back into line. I'm sure this class will think twice before making such a fuss again. Still I am a little curious as to how it got started.”
“Now, wait a minute. I said it was my fault. You actually beat the whole class?” Miss Rush's voice had, peculiarly, become more forceful.
“Yes I did. Six each with the plimsoll. I'm sure it did them no end of good.”
“BUT THEY WERE DOING WHAT I TOLD THEM TOO!” Miss Rush screamed out.
“Uh, what....what?” Miss Robinson was stunned, both by the fact of the outburst and by its contents. “You told them to yell and dance around?”
“Well, yes.” Miss Rush seemed to regret her outburst, and the volume of her voice had dropped considerably. “We were talking about Red Indians, and I asked the boys to imagine what a war dance would sound like. And to, well, demonstrate.”
In response Miss Robinson's voice had become dangerously quiet, acquiring some of the sibilance that her pupils so feared.
“You asked them to dance around and shout? You asked them to? And I have just slippered all sixteen boys for doing as they were told?”
“You didn't give me chance to explain! I tried to but....”
“And how could I expect such an explanation? To think that anyone at this school would so stupid as to....I can't find the words. I just can't. Do you have no sense woman?”
“Well, modern teaching techniques....”
“This is the 1960's. Not the 21st Century. At St Everett's we employ tried and tested teaching methods. And we have every success.”
“Yes, but there is so much to be learned....”
Miss Robinson cut her off again.
“Yes, there is, and clearly you need to learn some things yourself. Tell me, Miss Rush, how old are you?”
“I'm twenty years old; nearly twenty one.”
“Practically a child yourself. Well, I can see only one morally proper way to fix this situation.” With these words Miss Robinson picked up the plimsoll that she had discarded on the desk when dismissing her class.
Miss Rush looked at her, and slowly began to back away.
“Erm, what are you.....keep away, Miss Robinson! I'm not one of our pupils...”
Miss Robinson grabbed the young woman by the arm and led her to the throne. She placed her own backside on it, and she placed Miss Rush over her lap. The student teacher was wearing a shiny fifties style skirt that had belonged to her mother, and it was a little too small; it pulled the twin hemispheres of her buttocks into stark relief, and provided a most inviting target.
Well, thought Miss Robinson, first time I've ever spanked a woman. Or a girl, really. You're never too old for a new experience.
She raised the plimsoll, ensured that her grip was firm, and whacked it, with all of her might, into Miss Rush's bottom. The young teacher howled at once.
“Come on now, Miss Rush; the boys made far less fuss than that.”
She continued to spank the plimsoll into the tightly sheathed target; each blow delivered a resounding splat, and most produced a howl from the wriggling young woman.
Outside the door to the classroom, Miss Robinson's pupils had formed an orderly queue, and patiently awaited entry. They listened, open mouthed, to the noises that came from within.
Mr Young, the school's Headmaster, wandered down the corridor. He paused, puzzled by the sounds that echoed down the corridor.
“Hmm, boy, Matthews is it? What's going on in there?”
“Sir, Miss Robinson and Miss Rush are discussing some disciplinary matters, I think, Sir”
“Oh, very good then. Miss Rush must be passing on some of those new techniques they learn nowadays. Remember that lads; you have to keep up with the times. Carry on.”
With that Mr Young trundled on, happy at the news that his school was adopting progressive methods.
The howls from within the classroom continued.