O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Walter's Biology Lesson (mm mc celeb oral anal)

by Wersgor

A Message from the Principal

Attention! I wish it to be clearly understood that the following is not, repeat not to be read by any persons below the age of consent. It is a shameless display of homosexual behavior and mind control, and utterly unfit for the eyes of impressionable youth.

Now I know what you’re thinking, in your devious little adolescent minds. You’re thinking that you can furtively print out a copy of this story, and read it by flashlight later beneath the covers. Well, GET THAT THOUGHT RIGHT OUT OF YOUR HEADS!

That is all.

Osgood Conklin, principal

* * * * * * * * * *

Greetings, all! Walter Denton here, class of '50. Yep, two more years to go here at dear old Madison High, and for a while that prospect was looking pretty grim. As you may have noticed, my voice hasn't entirely changed yet. It's hard enough to get a guy's attention without the whole school finding out that you're a flit, but it's even tougher when, well, let's face it, few of today's men equate "cool and sexy" with "nasal and squeaky". They start to notice my looks, which I do modestly feel are ravishing, but then I open my mouth and they flee my presence the way the road runner flees the coyote.

This morning, as usual, I barely had time to check the mailbox before I had to rev up the ol' buggy and head to school. You see, I make a slight detour each morning to give a lift to our favorite English teacher, Miss Connie Brooks. Her own car is forever in the shop with some problem or other, and I'm glad to help her out. It's the least I can do for a warm, friendly, fine human being, who almost certainly would be flunking me if I didn't have a special "in" with her.

When I reached her landlady's modest address, I rang the bell and went right in, since I knew I was expected. As usual I heard the voice of Miss Brooks from the kitchen: "Oh, that must be Walter. I won't have time to eat. Which is actually a good thing, Mrs. Davis, because I think you've gotten my breakfast mixed up with Minerva's."

As I walked in, Mrs. Davis was shaking her grey head. "Oh, nonsense, Connie - hello, Walter - why on earth would you think I got your plate confused with the cat's?" Of course, for those who know Mrs. Davis's cooking, the real question would be, how can you tell?

Miss Brooks frowned. "Because cat food doesn't come with a prize in the box. Minerva, stop flaunting that Captain Triumph decoder ring!"

"My gracious, where did she get that?" the landlady wondered, as Miss Brooks quickly swallowed her coffee and said, "Never mind, I'll get something on the way to school. Come on, Walter." I gallantly took her arm, stifling a snicker as she whispered, "Before I find out what she meant to serve me."

We piled into my old jalopy and were on our way. "What's this package I almost sat on?" she asked.

"Oh, don't sit on that!" I exclaimed. "I just found that in the mailbox as I was leaving the house. It's my voice changer."

"Voice changer?'

"Yeah. I spotted one of those ads in the back of a comic book. Change your voice. Sound deep and manly overnight. I thought, heck, what've I got to lose, so I sent off my fifty cents to the Munsey Novelty Company."

She smiled. "I hate to burst your bubble, Walter, but I somehow doubt that fifty cents is going to buy you the larynx of Frank Sinatra."

I sighed. "Oh, I know. But anything's worth a try. I'm sick of sounding like Woody Woodpecker."

"Harriet Conklin doesn't seem to mind."

"Hah? Oh. Yeah, that's true, I guess she's smitten with me anyway." At any rate, she makes a good cover for my real inclinations. The way her parents have raised her, I don't think Harriet knows there is anything more to a hot date than holding hands.

"Knowing her father, I'm surprised he approves."

I grinned at the thought of Old Marblehead - I mean, our beloved principal. "Knowing her father, I'm surprised she was ever conceived. But so far, he hasn't had a negative word to say about it."

"So he still doesn't know."

"Heck, no!"

 

I dropped Miss Brooks off a block from Madison High - not supposed to fraternize with students, you know - and drove the last stretch alone. Speaking of which, there he was waving to me from the sidewalk. Fabian "Stretch" Snodgrass. All together now: Si-i-i-igh! Stretch not only is my best buddy, he's the biggest dreamboat this side of Gregory Peck. Arms of steel, legs of steel, chest of...let's say chalcedony just for variety. No wonder he's Madison's all-around athletic champion.

He grinned as I pulled up. "Hiya, Walter! You give Miss Brooks a lift again? I was gonna ask you for a ride myself, but then I remembered I was already here."

Okay, so he also has a head of concrete. But who cares what he's got upstairs? I've spent the last two years wishing I could get ahold of what's downstairs!

"Hey, Stretch," I said, "c'mon down to the locker room. I want to test out this gimmick I got in the mail." One good thing about driving a teacher to work, you get to school with time to kill before home room begins.

His eyes lit up. "The voice thingy? Gosh, I hope it works! You've been waitin' a month for that!"

We hurried down to the boys' locker room in the basement, which at that hour was completely empty. If this thing didn't work, I didn't need anyone around to witness my embarrassment. Stretch didn't count, of course, since he would never make fun of me. Or probably anyone, for that matter.

I sat down on a bench and tore open the package. It wasn't much to look at - just a little flat metal oval, about an inch on its longer side and maybe a quarter of an inch thick. One of the flat sides was lined with some funny soft stuff that stuck to my fingers. The other side was tinted flesh-tone. There was no instruction book, just a little slip of paper that said:

INSTRUCTIONS
1. Place sticky side to throat and press on.
2. Tap with finger.
3. Sound like a new man!
IMPORTANT: Do NOT pry open! Do NOT drop or place heavy objects on top!

It sounded too good to be true. It probably was. But... "Okay," I breathed. "Here goes." I carefully positioned the little device next to my voice box and gently pressed it against my skin. Sure enough, it clung like a bandage. I could see that it matched my skin tone so well it was almost invisible, unless you looked carefully. Cautiously, I gave it a tap and said, "Um...do I sound any different?"

Damn it! I could tell that I didn't. Stretch's face fell with disappointment for me. I angrily tapped the thing again repeatedly, saying, "Testing. Testing. Does this thing work at all? C'mon, just work a little! Anything." I tried to think of something I could be doing wrong.

"Maybe if you put it under your tongue - " Stretch suggested.

"Oh, dummy up, Stretch, I'm trying to think," I snapped. But I couldn't think of anything. The stupid thing just didn't work, that's all.

I sighed and looked at my friend sadly. Then I blinked. Stretch was standing with his mouth hanging open, with one hand raised in an unfinished gesture. He looked for all the world as if he'd stopped dead in the middle of saying something.

"Stretch?" No response. I waved a hand in front of his eyes. They didn't move. "Stretch!" I grabbed his hand and shook his arm. It shifted position stiffly, then stayed where I left it. "Stretch, snap out if it! Say something! Do something!"

He suddenly relaxed, lowering his arm. "Gee, thanks, Walter! I was gettin' really tired of not blinkin'!"

I stared. "But...but...why were you doing that to begin with?"

"Well, you said to dummy up, so I thought you meant I should be like a dummy. You know, a mannequin."

"No, no, Stretch, that's just an expression...Wait, why would you do that just because I said to, anyway? I mean if I said...oh, I dunno...'Quack like a duck'...you wouldn't - "

I stopped short, speechless. Stretch was quacking like a duck. Pretty accurate, too, since his Dad owns a pet shop. His eyes had a funny glazed look, like someone in a -

"Holy cow!" I gasped. "He's in a trance of some kind! Stretch, stop it. Tell me why you're doing this!"

He scratched his head. "Gosh, I dunno. It just sorta felt natural. There's somethin' about your voice, I guess."

"My voice? My voice is the same as it's always..."

No. It couldn't be.

I slowly, gingerly, reached up to touch the tiny "voice changer" device.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Stretch babbled obliviously. "I mean, we know that little doohickey didn't work, and you still sound just the same, so - "

"Do a hundred jumping jacks," I interrupted.

His eyes got that blank look again, and he began to obey, as mechanically as some robot. Those hard, toned muscles rippled in a perfect rhythm, each jumping jack exactly identical to the last. Sweat began to drip from his underarms and slide down his broad chest. I just stood there taking it in, breathing hard as the...possibilities...unfolded in my mind.

Oh, the wheels were turning!

 

At that moment, our Miss Brooks had almost made it past the door of the principal's office when a familiar pompous voice boomed out, "Miss Brooks! Just the person I wanted to see! Step into my office, please."

With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and marched into the lion's den. "At ease," said Mr. Conklin stiffly. "Now then. I called you in here for two specific reasons. One is to inform you that I've succeeded in procuring a new biology instructor to replace poor old Mr. Wills. In fact, he starts this morning. So I want you, and all the other teachers, to make him feel welcome."

"Well, sir," she said diplomatically, "I do have a very full schedule today. I'll help the dear old gentleman if he asks, but I don't have time for - "

"Excuse me," said a deep voice from the doorway. They turned, and Miss Brooks' baby blues widened. The tall, square-jawed, square-shouldered man who stood there was a ringer for gorgeous cowboy star Jeff Chandler. Only better looking.

"Sorry to interrupt," the newcomer said smoothly. "Just wanted to let you know I've arrived."

"Splendid," replied Mr. Conklin. "I was just telling Miss Brooks of your enlistment in our ranks. Miss Brooks, Mr. Boynton."

Mr. Boynton flashed her a dazzling and frankly interested smile. "I'll look forward to...getting acquainted, Miss Brooks."

Miss Brooks found herself giggling like a schoolgirl. "I'll look forward to being gotten," she blushed.

"Fine, fine, now get to your classroom and start preparing," said the principal brusquely. Mr. Boynton nodded his classically handsome head to them both, and left.

"As I was saying," Miss Brooks said eagerly, "I'll be delighted to make the dear old gentleman right at home."

"Good. Today, however, I have another and more important task for you. As soon as your free second period starts, you will report to this office for special duty."

"But, Mr. Conklin, a 'free' period, by definition - "

"Forget it! A little bird has informed me that I'll be receiving a surprise visit this afternoon from the Principal of the Year committee. As you well know, I've been cheated of that well-deserved award for three years by the principal of Clay City High. But not this year! I'm going to review and eliminate every possible problem before they arrive, and you are going to be my sounding board."

Miss Brooks sighed. "Do you really think this year will be any different, sir?"

Mr. Conklin rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Oh, yes! This year I've got an edge on the competition. Because one member of the committee is your very own landlady, Margaret Davis! As a loyal, devoted friend of lo these many years, that dippy old bat is bound to vote for me!"

 

In the gym showers, hot water cascaded across our naked shoulders as Stretch slowly, sensually ground his crotch against my ass. His cock, as big and as hard as all his other muscles, slid along the edges of my buttcrack, teasing, never quite going in, as his powerful hands stroked my torso. He bent his head to kiss my shoulder, and I sighed happily. "Remind me of your orders again, honey."

"I'll always be your slave, Walter." Kiss. "I'll always love bein' your slave, Walter." Kiss. "I'll always love you, Walter." Kiss. "My body will always be your toy, Walter." Kiss. "Did I forget anythin'?"

"No, baby, that's perfect." The last word became a moan of pleasure. The hell with foreplay! "Now. Fuck me."

I gasped as that huge rod finally plunged in, shaking my body with its force. Stretch was new to this, and didn't know his own strength. And I loved it! His unbreakable grip pressed me to his chest as he pounded me from behind again and again, the sheer force of it lifting me an inch off my feet. I was like a baby in his hands - yet all that power was mine to control. In any way I wanted. Forever.

I let it go on for what felt like a long time, in such ecstasy my mind was a blur. He came inside me, an explosion like a rocket, and I felt his hot seed filling me, and my own jism shot from me and splattered the wall, mingling with the water. Still he kept ramming into me, over and over. It finally crossed my pleasure-fogged mind that he really couldn't stop till I told him to. With some effort, I managed, "Okay - uh! - you can stop - uh! - now, slave! But stay inside me."

He slumped back against the dripping wall, rubbing his cheek against mine happily. His cock was still hard as a rock within me. I wondered if it could get soft without my permission. "Anything else I can do for you, Master?" he murmured.

"Hmm...My hair's all wet. How about a shampoo? I've got a little jar in my jacket pocket."

He reached over to where I had hung it, careful not to dislodge his dick. "Gosh, Walter, you use Lustre Creme?"

"Of course. Lustre Creme glamorizes my hair as I wash it. It's not a soap, not a liquid, but a dainty cream shampoo. Leaves hair fragrantly clean...free of loose dandruff...glistening with sheen...soft...manageable."

"Wow!"

"Try some yourself, you'll see. And let me feel you rubbing it into my tender scalp with those big, strong hands of yours." I sighed as I felt his fingers do their work. Slowly, we rocked from side to side, our bodies glued together, and as we rocked we sang:

"Dream girl, dream girl,
Beautiful Lustre Creme girl,
We owe our crowning glory to
A Lustre Creme shampoo..."

No one was scheduled to use the gym till third period, so we took our time cleaning up. (Okay, I admit it, having Stretch scrub me clean got me all, um, messy again.) I wasn't too worried about missing our classes. With my new voice, straightening that out should be a charm.

However, I wasn't sure it would work on the entire third period gym class at once, so well before they could arrive we got ourselves dressed and out of there. We were about to pass the principal's office when Harriet Conklin emerged and gave us a quick warning gesture. Stepping closer, she uttered the words I'd heard a hundred times from her sweet, girlish voice: "Gosh, Walter, you'd better get out of here! Daddy's really on the warpath today!"

"Who's he scalping?" I asked.

"Right now, Miss Brooks. I stopped in because it's my free period, but he shooed me out. Poor Miss Brooks, at this rate she may never get to know Mr. Boynton!"

"Mr. who?"

"Mr. Boynton, the new biology teacher. She flipped the moment she saw him, and I don't blame her. He's tall, dark and handsome, and totally dreamy!"

I exchanged a sly look with Stretch. This sounded interesting!

At that moment we heard a door opening, and Mr. Conklin's voice griping, "Oh, very well, I suppose I've drained your mind of whatever feeble sparks of insight it may possess. Be off with you, then!" Harriet rolled her eyes and hurried away, as Miss Brooks came rushing out of the office, threw us a quick look, and hastened away before the old tyrant could change his mind.

A moment later Osgood Conklin himself peered out into the hallway. At the sight of me and Stretch, he scowled ferociously. "Denton! Snodgrass! Why aren't you in class? The Principal of the Year Committee is coming, and the last thing I want them to see when they arrive is two juvenile scapegraces lollygagging in the hallway!"

A slow, wicked smile spread over my face. "You know what I think, Marblehead? I think that when I finish talking, you're gonna go back into your office and forget that you ever saw us. And you know what else?" The roulette wheel of my mind spun wildly. "I think that when that committee arrives...you're going to greet them in a lovely taffeta gown!"

Mr. Conklin - or should I say slave Conklin? - snapped to attention, his face going blank. Like a windup toy soldier, he spun on his heel and marched back into his office without a word. After a moment we heard his voice from inside: "Hello, Francine's Finer Fashions? Yes, I'm calling because I'm in need of a gown - right away! It's got to be taffeta. And I want only the best." Pause. "What are my wife's measurements? What's she got to do with it?!"

Stretch and I exchanged looks, and simply nodded at each other, taking pride in a job well done.

"What next, Walter?" he asked eagerly.

"Shh!" I put a finger to my lips. "Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting Boynton!"

 

Of course we hadn't actually seen him yet, so we couldn't be sure. And we had to wait a little, because it was only a few minutes before his next class began. But I didn't mind spending the next couple of periods in the halls of learning. To be precise, picking the most scrumptious guys from my classes, slipping notes to Stretch about them, and learning from his replies which ones had the finest, um, drilling equipment. After all, as the school's star athlete, he'd seen them all in the shower!

And no one would think it was the least bit strange if he invited them over, one by one, and I happened to be there when they arrived...

But when the bell announced the coming of lunch period, it was time to launch our investigation. With Stretch carrying my books, I sauntered toward the biology lab at the other end of the building. I had a pretty good idea what I wanted for lunch!

The door was open when we arrived, and a female figure was just stepping into the hall - Miss Enright, who, if you'll pardon my French, is a total B-I-T-C-H. "Delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Boynton," she was purring.

"Call me Phil. And I'm sure we'll see each other again...very soon," said a voice that sounded even more feline than hers - but feline like a hunting tiger. Whoa! I thought. This guy is on the prowl!

Then he stood in the doorway, and the sudden pounding of my heart almost deafened me. Holy Moley! Philip Boynton was a Greek god! That face! That build! I made up my mind right then and there that I wasn't sharing this one with anyone.

Miss Enright sauntered away, and Mr. Boynton glanced at us. "Hello, boys. What can I do for you?"

I glanced around. No one was nearby. "Go back inside and stand at attention," I ordered quickly.

The Greek god turned and marched into his lab, where he stopped and stood motionless, his face as empty of expression as a store dummy's. I circled his still figure, admiring the merchandise, squeezing a bicep and pinching a buttcheek, while Stretch closed the door behind us, grinning gleefully. My buddy wasn't jealous; he couldn't be jealous. For him, it was all about what I wanted now. An assortment of frogs, mice and guinea pigs watched with interest.

"You know," I mused, "I think we can do this very simply. Sure. From now on, you're going to live by two basic commands:

"One: Whenever we're alone, not counting Stretch here, you gladly obey my every wish.

Two: I'm not gonna change your sex drive, I'm just gonna switch it around. Every thought and feeling you had about sex with women, you now have only about me. Every thought and feeling you had about sex with men, you now have when you're around a woman. The more attractive she is, the more you shrink away.

"Got it? Say 'Yes, Master'."

"Yes, Master." God, even toneless and robotic, his voice was sexy! Come to think of it, maybe that made it even sexier.

"Great. Now...snap out of the trance and do what comes naturally."

Phil Boynton shook his head, dazed. Then his eyes lit on me - and lit up like traffic lights. "Well, hello," he grinned. "Whose little boy are you?"

I fluttered my lashes. "How about yours, big boy? Or how about you being mine?"

"Whichever way you like. I'm...flexible." He reached out to shake my hand, and wound up practically massaging it. "Phil Boynton. Your wish is my command."

"Walter Denton. And I wish you to kiss me, beautiful."

He obeyed so eagerly I almost lost my balance! If my back hadn't hit the lab table, we would both have been on the floor. As his tongue explored every corner of my mouth, I decided that might not be a bad idea, either. His fingers were kneading my butt like he was preparing to bake a cake.

From the hallway came a voice: "Mr. Boynton? Anybody home?", followed by a knock.

Boynton jumped to attention a split-second before the door swung open and Miss Brooks stepped into the room. "Oh, there you are" she smiled coyly. "I'm sorry to interrupt you when you're with your students, but I wanted to take this opportunity to welcome you to Madison High. We met in Mr. Conklin's office earlier, remember? Constance Brooks?"

Phil gulped. "Oh, um, of course. It's...very nice of you to say hello... Hello." He sounded more like he was saying goodbye. His large hands, which had been feverishly groping me a moment before, were twitching nervously.

"Have you had lunch yet?" she asked hopefully. "I was thinking I could show you our cafeteria. Otherwise you might easily mistake it for something else."

"Oh, um, I don't know," he answered awkwardly. "I usually save money by bringing my own lunch..."

"Well, it's your first day, so how about if I treat?" Miss Brooks persisted.

For a second Phil's eyes lit up, but he couldn't break free from my power - not even for a free lunch. He blushed frantically. "Oh, well, that's...very thoughtful of you, but...I have a great deal of work to do today. McDougal, my prize bullfrog, hasn't entirely gotten settled in his new surroundings, and it's essential that I make him feel at home..."

"Glunk," McDougal offered.

"You see? He's very distressed!"

"Oh, let me take a look at him," Miss Brooks said gamely, but as she stepped closer Boynton took a step back. He fidgeted with his tie as though he was having trouble breathing. "No, please," he stammered, "he's very sensitive - "

At that moment Harriet rushed in. Her eyes were wide as saucers. "Oh, Miss Brooks! Miss Brooks, you have to come quickly! Daddy's acting very strange!"

Stretch and I exchanged glances, trying not to snicker.

Miss Brooks looked annoyed. "Couldn't it wait, Harriet? Mr. Boynton was just about to ask me to lunch!"

"But, Miss Brooks, you don't know how he's behaving! Golly, I can't even begin to describe it!"

Miss Brooks sighed. "Could you excuse me for just a moment, Mr. Boynton? And boys, shouldn't you be at lunch yourselves?" She led Harriet out into the hall, and the door closed on her, "Now, Harriet, what's this all about?"

The instant it shut, Phil Boynton turned to me with a wolfish grin. "Yes, Walter, isn't there something you'd like to eat?" He leaned against the table with his crotch thrust provocatively toward me.

I could barely restrain myself from grabbing ahold, even with the two female figures silhouetted against the window of the door. "Any ideas for someplace we can go?"

Surprisingly, Stretch came up with one. "Hey, how 'bout the supply room?" The lab had its own, and its door didn't contain a window either.

"Per-r-r-fect!" Phil exclaimed. He reached for me, practically drooling.

Miss Brooks popped her head back in. "I'm sorry, Mr. Boynton," she said, obviously meaning it, "but it looks like I'll have to go and see what's got Harriet so upset. Can we take a rain check?"

"Oh, um...I suppose that would be all right," he fidgeted. "That is, if McDougal gets settled in. And you're still treating. That way people won't misinterpret it as - " he turned bright red " - a date."

"Gosh, Miss Brooks," I asked innocently, "is something wrong with our beloved principal?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure. Harriet really couldn't begin to describe it."

With that she was gone. A second later Phil's hands were around my waist, pulling me toward the supply room. "Lock the door, Stretch!" I called, then impulsively added, "And come join us!" After all, he deserved a reward for his suggestion. I felt a little sorry for Miss Brooks, but I'd do something nice to make it up to her. Maybe I could fix her up with Harriet.

"Glunk," quoth the abandoned McDougal.

"Shut up or you're frog legs," was Phil's reply.

Inside the little side room, Phil started to tear at my belt, but I decided to take command. "Ten-hut!" I ordered. He sprang to attention, ramrod-straight, hands at his sides. My perfect soldier. "Now," I told him, "you're going to learn what it means to be a bottom, boy. And you're going to stay at attention all through your lesson. No moving. No talking. No nothing. Got it, slave?"

"Urmm," he said through tightly closed lips.

"Good boy." I slowly pulled my pants off, then lowered his, savoring the moment. "Stretch, you will kneel and give slave Boynton a blow job. And you'll enjoy it, you big cockhound."

Stretch grinned. "Thanks, Master!" He got down on his knees and wrapped his lips around Phil's ten-inch cock, which was already hard as a rock just from being in my presence. For a guy who had never even imagined tasting dick until that morning, Stretch was quickly turning into a pro. He always was a good team player. I advanced on our helpless toy from behind, letting my own rod stroke his butt and thighs to work up his excitement even more. Then I suddenly plunged in, ramming with all my might. Phil gasped, but he didn't budge from his military pose. His wide eyes stayed focused straight ahead, not even blinking, as I pounded him like a jack-hammer and Stretch slid back and forth on his cock. Phil was sweating like a pig, moaning softly through his locked lips. I realized he couldn't cum until I let him, and I decided to prolong it for a while.

I don't really know how long I made him wait while he kept getting it from both sides - I was too busy to think of looking at my watch. But finally I felt my own orgasm building irresistibly. For the hell of it, I cried out, "Stretch, freeze! Phil, cum!" My buddy obediently went stiff as a board, as my jiz exploded into Phil and his exploded into Stretch's mouth. Phil whimpered faintly, but didn't move a muscle.

Biology was my new favorite subject.

 

Meanwhile, Miss Brooks walked into the principal's office - and stopped dead in her tracks. "Miss....I mean, Mr. Conklin?"

He frowned over his glasses. "Yes? Did you want something?"

"I just saw the Principal of the Year committee coming up the walk!" she gasped.

"Splendid!"

"But, sir...don't you think you ought to change before they get here?"

He preened. "Nonsense, Miss Brooks. A well-dressed man projects an air of distinction. Let 'em in."

"But - "

"LET 'EM IN!"

A grin slowly spread across Miss Brooks' face. "All right, Mr. Conklin. It's your funeral...and I'll gladly be a pallbearer."

She stepped back into the hallway, where Mr. Stone, Mr. Michaels, Mrs. Elkins and Mrs. Davis had just arrived. "Hello, Connie," her landlady smiled. "We're here to see your boss."

"And are you going to get an eyeful. I mean - he says you can go right in." She held the door open for them, forcing herself to keep a straight face.

Mr. Conklin stood up behind his desk, a vision of feminine beauty in his frilly pink taffeta ballroom gown. "Ladies and gentlemen of the committee - welcome to Madison High!"

Mr. Stone froze in amazement.

Mr. Michaels' jaw dropped.

Mrs. Elkins screamed and ran from the room.

"Hello, Osgood," beamed Mrs. Davis. "My, don't you look lovely!"

 

And that was when the great tragedy occurred. I was strolling down the hallway, flushed with the thrill of conquest - walking on air, you might say - when Mrs. Elkins, still screaming, tore around a corner and slammed right into me. As she dashed out of the building in hysterics, I sat up from where she'd knocked me on the floor, dazed, and saw my little voice-changer lying on the tile. Or rather, what was left of it. The impact with the floor had broken it into two pieces, and one of those was cracked. A mess of tiny wires and metal parts was spilling out onto the floor. It was ruined.

I tried writing to the Munsey Novelty Company again, but my letter came back marked "Not known at this address". I'm still scanning the ad pages of comics every week, hoping against hope that I'll see their ad again. But it looks as if they've gone out of business.

It isn't a total loss, though. The effect on Stretch and Phil has never worn off; they're my slaves for good, and, oh boy, is it good! Their beautiful bodies are at my command whenever I want, in any way I want - and I want them a lot. There's a reason Phil rarely invites Miss Brooks to his home, despite all her hints; Stretch and I are usually already there!

Sadly, the commands I gave to Conklin weren't phrased right to be permanent. The next day he was back to his old self, as Miss Brooks found out when she stopped by his office to check.

Back in his usual dark suit, he greeted her with, "Miss Brooks! You've got to help me! You've got to!"

"You're still here," she said with disappointment. "I mean, I take it you're not getting the award?"

Old Marblehead wiped his brow with a sweat-soaked hanky. "It's worse than that! Mr. Stone and Mr. Michaels are pressuring me to join their 'private club' - and model a new outfit for them every month! Miss Brooks, what am I going to do?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Conklin," she said brightly. "I have the perfect solution."

"You - you do?" he quavered. "What is it?"

She pulled a newspaper from her pocketbook. "It's a display ad for Francine's Finer Fashions - they're having a big sale all next week!"

* * * * * * * * *

Palmolive Soap, your beauty hope, and Lustre Creme Shampoo have brought you Our Miss Brooks starring Eve Arden! Mr. Conklin was played by Gale Gordon, and Mr. Boynton by Jeff Chandler. Others in the cast included Dick Crenna (Walter), Leonard Smith (Stretch), Jane Morgan (Mrs. Davis), and Gloria McMillan (Harriet). This is the CBS Broadcasting Network!

Stay tuned now for Mr. and Mrs. North, the glamorous adventures of an amateur detective and his fun-loving husband...

END

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