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Subject: {ASSM} Ann The Hapless Crossing Guard
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Date: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 20:10:20 -0500
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Ann The Hapless Crossing Guard

   by Scott



   Miss Berrybush was furious.  School had just let out, the children were
streaming out the door -- only to be brought to a halt at the street corner
for lack of a Crossing Guard.  At a recent School Board meeting this post
had been eliminated, due to budget cuts, leaving the children to cross the
street on their own.

   But there was a false premise here: the assumption that 21st century
drivers would yield to pedestrians in the crosswalk.  Clearly this was not
the case, Miss Berrybush observed with disgust.  From her classroom window
she saw car after car whoosh past, not only showing absolutely no courtesy
to the children waiting to cross, but also clearly in violation of the 15
mile per hour speed limit.  What was society coming to!

   Fed up with this dangerous situation, the noble teacher decided to do
the right thing and volunteer to serve as a provisional Crossing Guard,
until the bureaucrats on the School Board could be made to see the error of
their ways.  She would stop traffic, to allow the children to cross, write
down the license plate numbers of speeding vehicles, and in general shame
those who refuse to yield to the children.  After a life of shame, she
looked forward to being the shamer rather than the shamee -- especially
since these SUV encased soccer moms with the cell phones glued to their
ears, eminently deserve to be shamed, given their arrogance.

   But first she needed a uniform, to exude an air of authority that would
induce drivers to defer to her.  "What to wear?" she wondered as, later
that day she stood before her closet in a white full-slip dripping with
lace.  Up her legs she slid black stockings, then planted her feet into 3
inch heels, reasoning that her height should be maximized, to make her more
salient and intimidating.  Then over her slip she buttoned up a crisp white
cotton shirt, to which she added a olive-green men's tie.  After pouring
herself into a below-the-knee olive-green skirt she had purchased at the
Army/Navy Store, part of a vintage World War II Army uniform, she added a
matching blazer with four gold buttons, all of which she did up.  An olive
green beret completed her ensemble.  "Very dignified," she nodded,
beholding her new military look in the full-length mirror.  "Drivers will
think twice before speeding past the school, when they see me dressed like
this, standing on the corner."

   The next day Miss Berrybush brought her new uniform to class in a
suit-bag, as well as a folding screen that was six feet high and wide
enough (when extended) for her to change her clothes in privacy.  The
screen (which was painted with a scene of Mt.  Fuji) was necessary because
when school let out at 3 o'clock, the kids immediately rushed out onto the
sidewalk in front of the building, giving Miss Berrybush no time to change
clothes after class.  She had to be out there, on the street stopping
traffic, at 3 o'clock sharp, necessitating that she slip into her uniform
while class was still in session.  So at 2:50 PM, after commanding her
students to sit quietly at their desks and work on their voluminous
homework, she went behind the screen -- set up in front of the classroom,
diagonal to the room's left-hand corner - and unzipped her floral print
light blue dress.  Unfortunately, the undoing of the dress zipper was so
loud that there was no mistaking what was going on -- or rather coming off
-- behind the screen.  Amber and Brandi leapt into action.  Without leaving
her desk, Amber cast forward a fishing line, hooking the top of the screen.
A yank of the cord sent Miss Berrybush's `modesty shield' crashing to the
floor.  The wide-eyed teacher found herself seated on a stool before her
students, clad only in her white slip, with the lacy hem tucked into the
front waistband of her white long-leg girdle, for she had been in the
process of clipping her black stockings to her girdled thighs.  The
classroom exploded into cheers, jeers, and laughter.  Miss Berrybush hit
the floor (like Hotlips when unveiled in the shower in the film 'MASH')
and, after grabbing her suit bag, crawled across the front of the room
toward her desk; alas, in her panic she neglected to untuck the front of
her slip, so all the students saw their teacher not just in her slip, but
in a hiked-up slip that failed to cover her white-girdled bottom, which
protruded prominently as, on her hands and knees, she disappeared beneath
her desk.

   Somehow, in the cramped space under her desktop, Miss Berrybush was able
to put on her shirt, tie, and jacket, and wiggle into her skirt, so when
she finally emerged to quiet down her class, she was bedecked in her
vintage US Army uniform.  "Silent!" barked Miss Berrybush, and to her
surprise her sassy class complied.

   "Must be the uniform," thought Miss Berrybush, reveling in her newfound
power to intimidate.  "I should have thought of this years ago.  Come to
think of it, I should have gone into the military, for I have always craved
order and discipline.  Yes, this uniform defintely suits me."

   Putting on the beret, and noticing that it was now 3 o'clock, the
smartly dressed teacher said "Class dismissed!" and headed for the door.

   * * * * * * * *

   On the sidewalk in front of the school there were already a flock of
children waiting to cross.  Miss Berrybush stepped into traffic and turned
to face the oncoming vehicles.  But instead of stopping the big silver
Hummer swerved around her, right through a puddle, splashing her uniform
jacket with muddy water.

   "The nerve of that woman!" said Miss Berrybush, chin down, all aghast at
what she beheld.  Her immaculate tunic, ruined!  "She didn't even slow
down!" she marveled, returning to the edge of the street, where the
children giggled at the mud-spattered teacher.

   Amber and Brandi came running with a large octagonal piece of poster
paper on a wooden stick.  "Miss Berrybush, here's a sign we made that says
`STOP'," said Amber, handing it to her teacher, who was so busy brushing
off her jacket that she did not notice what was actually written on the
sign: `STRIP ME.'

   Miss Berrybush walked halfway across to the median line, and held up the
sign.  Toward her came a high school boy on a motorcycle.  He slowed down,
to read what the sign said; then, after giving it a double take, he floored
the pedal and zoomed past the uniformed crossing guard, grabbing her skirt
in the process.  The skirt tore away so violently that Miss Berrybush did a
360, causing the hem of her slip to whip around and shoot up well past her
girdled thighs, before falling back to its just-above-the-knee length. 
Dizzy from her spin, the dazed teacher staggered back to the side of the
road, between two parked cars, where, impelled by the delirious laugher and
the excited pointing of the children, she looked down to find herself clad
in her jacket, shirt and tie, and a white nylon slip, its lacy hem
fluttering in the afternoon breeze.

   "Oh no!" she screamed, bending forward and crossing her hands in front
of her slip-covered thighs as he face reddened.

   "Miss Berrybush!  I must protest the laciness of your underwear!" said
Brandi over the merriment, seeing in Miss Berrybush's frills an opportunity
for belittling her teacher even further.  "Is than an Army Issue slip?"

   "Not exactly, Brandi.  But I'm not in the Army --"

   "But my father was.  Are you making fun of him, lampooning his sacrifice
for our country, by prancing around half-dressed in an army uniform?"

   "No, of course not!  I respect the military immensely.  Now if you
please, I must dash back into the classroom, so I can get decent again."

   "Stand up straight!  Eyes front.  arms to your sides!" Brandi roared, so
loudly it made Miss Berrybush flinch.  In her jacket and slip, the
discipline-loving teacher did as she was ordered, for such was her
reverence for what her uniform represented, and the sincerity of her desire
to make amends for disgracing that uniform by losing its skirt portion.  To
show that, despite appearances, she was not cavalier about military
matters, she would submit to Brandi's drill, in the process teaching the
gathered children a lesson about the importance of doing one's duty, even
when it goes against one's natural inclinations.

   So, in front of a crowd of bemused students, Miss Berrybush strained
every sinew, ramroding her spine, stiffening her legs, and pulling in her
bottom, while Brandi commenced an embarrassingly thorough inspection of her
person, checking that her uniform was correct in every detail.  Miss
Berrybush felt utterly degraded and insignificant as Brandi even checked
her stockings for runs and the lace of her slip for loose threads.

   "Stand up straight -- straighter!" Brandi bellowed, now standing behind
her, with the rest of the students gathered before her, trying not to
laugh. "Head up, shoulders back.  Berrybush, you're a disgrace to your
uniform!" The schoolgirl hoisted her teacher's slip up over her hips,
exposing the front of her girdle to the laughing children.

   Miss Berrybush's normally efficient mind was in turmoil.  Should she
object to this unorthodox inspection, or should she grit her teeth and
suffer it?  "Brandi, this charade has gone on long enough.  It's clear now
to everyone how much I honor the U.S.  Army."

   "QUIET!  Grab your slip and keep it up round your hips.  I want to see
the target area."

   "T-target area?"

   "Your backside, Miss Berrybush.  Bend forward.  Palms on the hood of
that Mercedes."

   The bewildered teacher did what she was told, so frightened was she of
gaining the reputation of being anti-military.  Leaning forward in her
jacket and hiked-up slip, her bottom thrust out, her face aflame, eyes
moist with shame, Miss Berrybush looked back over her shoulder and pleaded,
"Please, punish me back in the classroom, not here, on the street!"

   "Silence!" Brandi pulled the wooden stick out of the sign and used it to
hoist the bent-forward teacher's slip even higher up her back to expose
fully her lushly curved bottom in its skin-tight white girdle that cuffed
her thighs with floral lace.  After twanging a garter strap with her stick,
Brandi ran it upward, skimming across her teacher's engirdled globes as
Miss Berrybush groaned with shame.  She wanted to keep still and take her
punishment like a soldier, but to her tremendous shame she discovered that
she could not help grinding her girdled pelvis into the Mercedes hood
ornament as Brandi drew back her well-muscled arm and brought the stick
whooshing sternly down.

   Crack!  Whack!  Thwack!

   Strike after strike fell on her girdled bottom.  Soon the crotch of her
girdle was moist, embarrassing her even further.  Perhaps it was
perspiration, she told herself as the jolting smarts sent startled little
shrieks leaping from her throat.  Another three hard hits struck what felt
like flames in her bottom, forcing her to wiggle her hips as if shaking off
sparks.

   "Stand up and turn around!  Let your slip fall back to your knees!"
Brandi ordered, tucking the stick beneath her arm like a drill instructor's
baton.  "Wipe off those tears!  If my father saw you like this, desecrating
his uniform, it would break his heart."

   "Yes, I'm sorry," said Miss Berrybush with a whimper, her scorched
bottom pricking and glowing beneath her girdle.  Meanwhile, drivers on both
sides of the street had stopped, all mesmerized by the spectacle of the
proud teacher's chastening by a girl half her height.  Though she did not
realize it, Miss Berrybush had passed -- with flying colors -- the
requirements of a Crossing Guard: she had arrested traffic, making the
street perfectly safe to cross.  But no one did.

   "You call yourself a soldier?" Brandi barked.  "I can't even stand to
see your wearing the uniform of the US Army.  Take off your tunic!"

   "Brandi!"

   "Now!"

   After fumbling with the gold buttons.  Miss Berrybush dragged her tunic
off, leaving her in her shirt and tie, and slip.

   "Take off your shirt and tie."

   Miss Berrybush complied.  The lacy bodice of her full slip gleamed in
the afternoon sun.

   "What's that you're wearing?" inquired Brandi.

   "My underwear," Miss Berrybush whispered.

   "Well, it certainly isn't Army underwear," Brandi growled, fondling the
slip's lacy hem.  "The next time you wear a uniform, you must respect all
the rules and regulations, including those that apply to what you wear
underneath.  Rules are important to you, aren't they?"

   "Oh yes!" agreed the slip-clad teacher.

   "As a teacher, you want your students to learn that, in any endeavor,
there are certain essentials that must be honored."

   "Yes!  Yes!"

   "Then you must teach by example.  Or be deemed a hypocrite.  Off, then,
with your ridiculously frilly slip.  Yes, OFF!  Look lively, soldier!"

   Convinced by Brandi's argument, Miss Berrybush flipped down both slip
straps, then withdrew her arms through the loops.  The slip fell into the
gutter, reducing the scrupulous-to-the-extreme teacher in her big white
bra, matching long-leg girdle, and black stockings & shoes.  The
rule-loving teacher stepped out of her fallen slip, almost tripping in the
process.

   "Turn around!" Facing the car, with her back to Brandi and the crowd,
Miss Berrybush stood trembling in just her underwear.  Though wracked with
shame, part of her was relieved to be out of uniform, for now there was no
chance she was disrespecting the military.  She no longer had to comply
with Brandi's commands!  All she had to do now was run away, into the
woods, where no one could see her.

   Yet to her dismay, Miss Berrybush found that she could not budge from
this spot.  For before her was the Mercedes' hood ornament, which moments
ago had felt so good, pressed against her girdled loins while she was being
spanked.  Now bent back, the ornament was perfect for slit-splaying and
clitoris-strumming, the only balm she knew for the unbearable pain of her
shame.  The ornament beckoned to her, gluing her to the spot.

   "Now the bra and girdle," said Brandi, pointing at them with her stick.
"Off."

   Miss Berrybush felt a flush traveling from her throat to the roots of
her hair as she unsnapped the back of her bra and let it flop onto the
Mercedes' hood, then peeled down her girdle and stockings.  Out of her
shoes she stepped, leaving her completely naked before the laughing crowd
-- save for her olive green beret.

   "You will place your hands on the hood and bend forward, presenting your
naked bottom for the thrashing you have earned by failing to live up to the
dignity of your uniform."

   "Yes, Brandi," Miss Berrybush whispered.  To the teacher's surprise, she
began to feel a rightness about what was taking place, as her sense of
discipline and love of reason rose to the fore.  Indeed, a part of her
seemed to stand back and join the joyous crowd, watching with approval
while she did as instructed.  Once her bare boobs plopped down onto the
hood, secretly but vigorously she pressed the Mercedes logo into her loins,
which were so searing that she feared the metal would melt.  Her upper half
draped atop the hood, Miss Berrybush kept her legs perfectly vertical, a
posture that caused her bare bottom to rise to prominence.  Awaiting
Brandi's strike, her mental image of her derriere expanded to ridiculous
proportions, eclipsing her consciousness of everything except the following
thought: that what was happening

   was correct, that she needed this disciplining as much as a train needs
a track to run along, as much as thought needs to honor the strictures of
logic.  "I so love submitting to the demands of the reason, that I have
fallen in love with submission, period," she realized, as the stick came
down and her orgasm came up, overwhelming her.
   The End 

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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