1. Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 7


    Date: 9/23/2015, Categories: Cuckold, Author: blin18, Rating: 4, Source: LushStories

    the victory dance you’re going to pay for when I get out of here!” Uncowed, I did another little lap of high-fives and danced an arms-in-the-air backside-wiggle to the universal cry of the poor winner: “Oh yeah-eah! Uh ha-aa!” All of this to the great delight and cheering from every boy who had ever been ordered by Mr Mitchell to run extra laps before they hit the showers. I watched a few more kids try to hit him with varying degrees of success, and then Mr Smith approached carrying a large, flat cardboard box. This would be my surprise, I suppose. “You’re excused, Mr. Mitchell,” the principal said in his most commanding baritone. “We need to prepare the booth for the soon-to-be Mrs Marsh.” All eyes were on me now, but I wasn’t nervous; it was a good kind of attention and everyone was smiling and having fun. They all gathered around the principal to see what was in the box, but I already had a fair idea; it looked like exactly the type of thing you might use for long-term storage of a dress. A wedding dress, for instance. Sure enough, Mr Smith lifted the lid and drew from within an atrocity of white tulle and satin that we can only pray time will forget. With enormous puffy sleeves and every square inch fairly bristling with frilly adornments, it was almost physically painful to look at. “Why Mr Smith,” I said as deadpan as I could manage. “That looks just like the one I’ll be wearing next month!” “Then my sympathies go to your fiancé, Miss Granger,” he shot back with ...
    Dumbledore-like understated mirth. “This belonged to my dearly departed maiden Aunt Beatrice. And yes, before you say anything I do understand the paradox of a maiden aunt with a wedding dress.” In the bottom of the box was a hammer, a few two-inch nails and a pair of bulldog clips. As he was talking he began to hammer nails into the Sponge Toss booth at the top of the painted clown’s shoulders. “It was Aunt Bea’s great unfulfilled dream to have an enormous fairy-tale wedding,” he continued. “And to that end, in her impetuous youth, she bought this enormous fairy-tale wedding dress, anticipating the day when a dashing young man would sweep her off her feet and make her his bride.” “Dare I ask what happened?” I offered. This had all the hallmarks of a funny story, but with references to a dead aunt whose dreams were unfulfilled, I think we were all waiting for permission to laugh. “Well, my sainted mother had a saying about how their parents’ genes had been divided,” Mr Smith finished hammering in the nails and began hanging the dress on bulldog clips beneath the hole from which my head would soon project. “She would say that she had inherited the good-looks …” “Whereas Aunt Bea had inherited the brains?” I finished for him. “Well, that’s what I used to think,” Mr Smith turned and smiled through his false beard. “But my mother tactfully never finished that saying. When I received this dress and some other items from Aunt Bea’s estate, I began to understand why not. Perhaps we can ...
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