1. Goodbye, Miss Granger - Part 7


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

    just say that Aunt Bea was an impetuous woman and an ambitious woman, however she was not a woman especially blessed with either looks or brains.” There was polite laughter all round. “Why did you keep it?” I asked. “It was simply too hideous to donate to Good-Will,” he shrugged. “And you never know when something this unique will come in handy.” “Today being a case in point,” I said flatly, imagining the moment a minute from now when I would be appearing to wear it. “Precisely,” he answered brightly. “Now get thee into that Sponge Toss booth, Miss Granger. These students have money burning holes in their pockets and the Building Fund is a few thousand shy of buying us a new technology centre.” ~~~ I suspect that our school’s Sponge Toss booth was built and donated by a civic-minded parent, one with a tendency towards over-engineering would be my bet. I’ve seen Sponge Toss games before and they’re just a vertical wall with a hole cut in it. Ours really is a “booth” though and it’s built with a much grander vision in mind. It’s a small, self-contained, collapsible room with a door in the back, and instead of a hole to show just the victim’s face, it has this recessed box in the front wall with a hole in the bottom. From the front it looks a bit like a ticket-window. From inside the booth, you duck underneath the box and pop your head up through the hole, then fit a couple of foam batts around your neck to stop the sponges dropping down through the gap. From the outside, the ...
    effect of a disembodied head sitting on a shelf is quite creepy, but it’s mitigated by the painted clown body underneath. I let myself in and shut the door behind me. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but then I wasn’t exactly there for a zumba class, either. There was a bar stool to sit on with a gas lift to get you positioned just right regardless of height. Over-engineered it may be, but it looked like you could sit there comfortably for half an hour or more, and that’s not something that can be easily said for a simple hole in a plywood wall. Ignoring the stool for the moment (it was wet and carried the imprint of Mr Mitchell’s ass), I ducked down and popped my head up through the hole like a tank commander. I was almost the perfect height; I just needed to stand with my feet apart and didn’t even need to stoop. “Peek-a-boo!” I called to the small crowd. “There she is!” someone called in a Monty Python angry-mob voice. “Let’s ge’ ‘er!” “Wait a minute,” I stopped them. “I’m not ready.” This whole disembodied head thing reminded me of one of those stage magician tricks with the woman in the box, and I’m always a sucker for a visual gag. “Hey,” I called out, casting my eyes down through the hole. “I wonder what this button does.” I pretended to press something. “Uh-oh!” I widened my eyes in mock panic and slowly twisted my neck to the left. “Erk! Help!” When I couldn’t twist my head any further, I moved my feet to keep my head rotating from the crowd’s point of view, twisting in a ...
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