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Rainy day at home in my scrubby sissy clothes.  M4 underneath my cute PJs pants and a oversize sweater.

Maybe she will or maybe she won't. But I can tell you it will be a while before you find out

TRACY’S HALLOWEEN WITH THE HEADMASTER BY Joe Doe. When she looked at herself in the mirror, Tracy Smith was astonished. Although 29 Tracy’s youthful appearance still caused her to be carded at bars. To compensate, Tracy usually dressed to appear older, with her hair in a bun, dark, conservative suits with padded shoulders, and glasses that were more of a prop than a necessity. Appearances were of vital importance to Tracy. Desperately ambitious, Tracy always dressed for success and politicked relentlessly to advance her career. Her endless badgering had finally convinced the school’s Board of Governors to create the post of Deputy Headmistress, a decision that caused considerable consternation among the dozens of more experienced teachers that she had leapfrogged past. No matter! Tracy was now next in line, and as soon as she pushed Headmaster Chambers into retirement the school would be hers. Not that Tracy’s professional career was perfect. She knew the other teacher’s resented her youth and ambition. She was an excellent teacher, and well respected by her students, but hardly popular. She knew she was regarded as a prig and a know-it-all. Tracy thought the characterization quite unjust, as it was hardly her fault that she was smarter than everyone else. In Tracy’s scheme the post of Deputy Headmistress would catapult her to the top, but Headmaster Chambers would have none of it, and continued to treat Tracy like the greenest of rookies. Tracy despised the way that he patronized her, and always managed to work in a “young lady” or a “my dear” into one of his windy corrections of her performance. Nonetheless, each time he scolded her it gave her a deliciously naughty tingle, for as Headmaster Mr. Chambers held in his hands the greatest power in the school, the power of the rod. Perhaps because she had never experienced it, Tracy was fascinated by corporal punishment. Tracy had argued that the board should make her Deputy Headmistress so that she could cane the girls, but although she got the title Headmaster Chambers persisted in keeping his corporal punishment duties entirely to himself. This was no small annoyance for Tracy, for she was desperate to see the cane in the Headmaster’s cupboard, and had a deep and prurient interest in all matters related to corporal punishment. On numerous occasions Tracy had suggested that since she had never been caned herself, she should at least be allowed to watch a caning or two, so she understood what the students she sent to Headmaster Chambers would have to endure. Mr. Chamber’s response had left Tracy too flustered to even form a reply. “My dear,” he said with a tight smile. “The reason you never experienced the cane was because you were never my student. If you were, you would have soon found yourself in my study, with your skirt raised and your knickers round your knees.” Tracy had been horrified by the perversity of the remark and the leering look on Mr. Chamber’s face when he referred to Tracy’s “knickers round her knees.” Nonetheless she found Mr. Chambers threat tremendously exciting, and that night she nearly wore out the batteries on her vibrator. A few days later, Tracy was once again in the Headmaster’s office, this time for appearing before a parents group and flatly stating that “a change in leadership, starting at the Headmaster’s Office, is needed to effect any meaningful change.” When Headmaster Chambers once again chided his Deputy for trying to force him out, her answer was ready. “What are you going to do? Spank me?” she teased, in her sauciest tone. Tracy had though her smart answer would leave him speechless, since his remark about her “knickers round her knees” had done as much to her. But the Headmaster, entirely unfazed, blithely replied, “I doubt a single spanking would be sufficient to correct your cheekiness. It would take a full semester, in class, in uniform, and in this office, with your bare bottom wiggling underneath my cane.” Tracy felt herself go flush, but once again was unable to speak. Frustrated that the Headmaster had once again gotten the better of her, Tracy ended the meeting. That night, Tracy was haunted by the image of herself in class, in a real school uniform. If only! Alas, at 29, those days were behind her, but she could still fantasize…and pleasure herself as she did so. Tracy knew she had a cute bottom, and had often been told it was her best feature. When they were at faculty events Tracy frequently caught the Headmaster staring at her bottom whenever she bent over or reached for something. Tracy knew precisely what was on his mind. A month later Tracy had discretely purchased a school uniform for herself from the school’s supplier, not daring to go thru the school itself. She could have gone to a costume shop, of course, but that would never do. Tracy wanted authenticity, from the red sweater, gray skirt, and tie, right down to her white uniform knickers. The costume arrived on Saturday, which was perfect timing. Monday morning was Halloween. Yes, Halloween, the day when the faculty were allowed to show what good sports they were by dressing up as clowns, space aliens, or (most frequently) their favorite teacher from the Harry Potter books. Tracy, stuffy, arrogant, and repressed, had never dressed up in the past, having regarded the whole business of Halloween as unproductive silliness. But now Tracy saw Halloween as her chance to cut lose and make her deepest fantasies come alive. Halloween would allow Tracy to walk the halls as a schoolgirl. Tracy had read numerous articles from the educational establish suggesting that teachers must seem accessible to their pupils in order to relate to them. Tracy had regarded such demagogy as utter nonsense of course, since she considered herself as high above her students as the sky itself. Nonetheless, citing the numerous journal articles would give her something erudite to say if anyone inquired about why she had decided to dress as one of her students. When she looked at herself in the mirror, Tracy was astonished. In her bid for authenticity, Tracy had sent the company her actual measurements, and they responded by sending her a humiliating underwear vest which, together with the white collared shirt and red uniform sweater made her two A-cups disappear. As per Headmaster’s Chamber’s sexist pig regulations the gray uniform skirt came up to mid thigh, which left Tracy’s legs embarrassingly exposed. As she stared in amazement at her own reflection, Tracy realized that it wasn’t simply the lack of makeup and her school uniform that made her appear younger. The schoolgirl in the mirror seemed shy, awkward, and diffident, the mirror opposite of the brash and ambitious teacher who commanded the respect of others thru the sheer force of her will. Tracy felt seasick as she imagined Mr. Chambers ogling her in her school uniform. He knew that Mr. Chambers enjoyed treating her as if she were a recalcitrant pupil, and would be delighted to see her reduced to the status of a mere student. For if she were his student, Tracy would soon find herself in his office with her knickers round her knees! Was such a thing possible? Recovering, Tracy dismissed the thought as utter rubbish. No matter what she was wearing, she was still the Deputy Headmistress, educated, politically astute, and very much in control. In a way, the uniform was a feminist statement, Tracy reasoned. Tracy would dress precisely as Mr. Chambers most wanted to see her and still come out on top. Yes, that would show the old goat. Let the senile old lecher eat his heart out, look but not touch, and fantasize about what he would never have. Tracy’s Halloween holiday as a schoolgirl would be a fantasy come true, but also proof to the Board of Governors that she had a sense of humor and was very much ready to assume Mr. Chambers job. Yes, she looked like a teenager again, but that was the point, wasn’t it? She had to relate, didn’t she? Before she left for school Halloween morning, Tracy pushed the look to the edge by arranging her hair into two carefully braided pigtails. Unfortunately, Tracy’s first class was a disaster. What Tracy failed to realize is that the change in her appearance, and the change in her own manner, made it quite impossible for her to teach. When she sat on the desk several of the boys let out loud and piercing wolf whistles. When she turned to write on the chalkboard she was showered in spit wads and paper airplanes. When she told the class to open their books, they simply laughed. Tracy tried to maintain order. First she sent the 4 whistlers to the Headmaster’s office, followed by 3 of the more boisterous hecklers, and finished up by sending Penelope Pearce, one the snottiest of her students, down to the Headmaster for cheekily asking Tracy if she was “wearing regulation knickers.” Tracy was surprised when at twenty minutes before the hour the expelled students, still all smiles, returned to her class, accompanied by Mr. Richards, and old fogy of a math teacher that Tracy had never liked. “The Headmaster informed me that I am to take over the remainder of your class,” he said, in a voice that brooked no contradiction. “He also requested that I give you this.” Tracy’s eyes turned into saucers as Mr. Richards handed her a hall pass! The pass itself was unremarkable: It had the date and a TO/FROM time range, a checkbox indicating where Tracy was to report (the Headmaster’s office), and the Headmaster’s signature. Tracy was startled, however, to see her name written on the STUDENT NAME line, and the color of the pass, which was yellow. The hallway passes Tracy had given the students she had sent to the Headmaster’s office were white. Yellow passes were issued only by the Headmaster, and they were usually only used when a student was in serious trouble. As Tracy reluctantly accepted the much-feared yellow pass the other students barraged her with a sarcastic serenade of “oohs!” “A yellow pass! Looks like someone’s in a jam!” “He doesn’t use yellow passes for anything less than the strap!” Tracy ignored the students and spoke only to Mr. Richards. “I don’t understand. Why would I need a hall pass?” “Mr. Chambers felt that, dressed as you are, it might be easier for you to move freely through the halls with a signed pass. Now run along, Tracy, spit-spat, before your time expires.” Tracy looked at the time on the pass. She wanted to argue that the pass wasn’t necessary. She wanted to ask if she might go to her car and retrieve her clothes. She wanted to ask why the pass was yellow. Tracy looked nervously up at the clock on the wall. Tick-tock! Tracy ignored the tittering of her fellow classmates as she scurried out of the room and made haste to the Headmaster’s office. Miss Spice, the dried-up old prune of a spinster who served as the Headmaster’s secretary, greeted Tracy with the hostile, beady-eyed glare she gave every student who came to the office. However Tracy could tell from the tight smile on her face that she was pleased to see the arrogant teacher in a school uniform, where she might be dealt with in the proper way. Headmaster Chambers was busy, or so Tracy was told. Because of her uniform and incriminating pass, Tracy was not allowed to wait on the comfortable leather couch, but was instead relegated to the hard wooden bench outside the Headmaster’s office. The bench, bolted and chained to the wall, was more suited to Alcatraz than a school. It was hard and uncomfortable, and because of it’s special status as the place where naughty students awaited the Headmaster’s punishments, had been humorously nicknamed, “Death Row.” Tracy squirmed on the hard bench as she waited to speak with the Headmaster. It was no easy penance, for when the bell rang the hallway was flooded with students, all of whom saw Tracy in uniform and on the bench, with the incriminating yellow pass in her hand! Tracy stared straight ahead, trying desperately to ignore their impudent chatter. “Is that Miss Smith? Why is she dressed like that?” “Did you hear, dummy? It’s Halloween!” “Is that a yellow pass she’s holding?” “Sure is! One of the senile old geezers around her probably thought she was a student, and sent her down here for a hiding!” “Do you think she’ll really get it? I mean…a REAL swishing?” “You bet she will. Old Chambers won’t miss an opportunity like this!” “A yellow pass! Ouch! She’s going to get it good.” “Is that Miss Smith?” “Sure is. Cute legs!” “Cute everything. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when Chambers drops lifts her skirts!” Tracy blushed crimson as their laughter burned in her ears. “Is that Miss Chambers? What’s she doing dressed like that, waiting on death row?” “I don’t know, but I hope she gets it good. She certainly was eager enough to dish it out.” Tracy felt ashamed as she remembered all of the times she had taunted students waiting on the bench with a sly comment, or simply a satisfied smile. It had seemed just to her, part of their punishment, but now that she was on receiving end it seemed very cruel indeed! Tracy was relieved when the halls emptied and Miss Spice beckoned her to come into the Headmaster’s inner office. The timing seemed strangely coincidental, and Tracy found herself wondering if Mr. Chambers had deliberately pilloried her on Death Row in front of the other students just to embarrass her. Tracy had been in the Headmaster’s office countless times before, but now, dressed in a school uniform and with the dreaded yellow pass in her hand, the wooden walls, antique chairs, and hard wooden floor seemed strangely foreboding.  Tracy headed for the couch but the Headmaster, not bothering to look up from his paperwork, cut her off. “You will stand in front of my desk, Smith, until I’m ready for you.” Tracy recognized the voice as the voice he used when addressing naughty students. Well, she was not a naughty student, and had every intention of explaining that when the opportunity rose. In truth, her wait in the hallway and the comments from the other students had rattled her, and she was grateful for a moment to gather her thoughts. Mr. Chambers at last finished his paperwork. Rising, he walked around the desk to inspect Tracy’s new uniform. He did nearly a full circle around her, pausing to admire her legs and shapely bottom. Tracy, punishment pass in hand, squirmed helplessly under his appraising gaze. “Straighten your socks!” he barked. Tracy felt him ogling her bottom as she bent to obey his command. “Your tie should be tighter. A girl’s uniform should always be worn with pride.” Tracy adjusted the tie in the manner the Headmaster preferred, even though it did significantly decrease the oxygen to her brain. The Headmaster took Tracy’s pass and read it carefully. Sitting down at his desk, he leaned back in his chair for several moments, obviously relishing his position of power. At last, he spoke. “This is a marvelously intriguing situation, is it not?” he asked, smiling. “How so?” Tracy asked. “Do you recall telling Mrs. Jackson at the Christmas party that you wished you could go back in time and be a school girl again, so that you could find out what a genuine school girl punishment was like?” Tracy stared at him, mouth agape. Mr. Chamber’s face hardened. “Well, you’re not here to catch flies, girl. Did you or did you not say that?” “I may have,” Tracy allowed. “I was drinking and…” “Did you tell Mr. Darby on the Board of Governor’s that I was too old and too senile for my job?” “Well, I don’t recall using precisely those words.” “Did you tell Mrs. Tool that I was a dirty old man that like to cane girl’s bottoms, and the Board should fire me, and replace me with you?” “Well, I’m friendly with a lot of the Governors. You can’t possibly ask me to remember every conversation…” “If you had to choose a single word to describe your behavior, what would that word be?” Tracy dissembled. “I don’t know if there’s ONE word that…” “Could you please read what you wrote on the back of Penelope’s Pearce’s hall pass?” he said, handing Tracy the tiny form. Tracy, still quite nonplussed as to where all this was going, read the note aloud. “Penelope was grossly disrespectful today and repeatedly attempted to undermine my authority. I suggest six-of-the-best with Yellow Rod on her bare bottom, with 2 or 3 extra on the backs of her thighs where her fellow classmates might see them, might serve as an excellent deterrent to further insubordination!” “Hmmm…” the Headmaster said, taking the note from Tracy’s slightly tremulous hand. “Grossly disrespectful…repeatedly undermining my authority. Do you think that your concerted campaign to steal my job, and your repeated and tiresome accusations that I’m fat, stupid, and incompetent, might properly be described as insubordination?” “Yes, perhaps,” Tracy admitted, “But I don’t see what that has to do with…” Tracy stopped short as Mr. Chambers went to his cabinet, opened it, and removed an instrument that, to this moment, Tracy had heard about but never seen. The Headmaster’s cane was a bit over two foot long, thin, and murderously flexible. It’s anthropomorphous nickname, “Yellow Rod” derived from its cheerful yellow color and the tendency of both the student’s and staff to refer to the cane as a person rather than a thing. “I think Yellow Rod will have a thing or two to say about that.” “She’ll lose some of her ginger after she’s had a talk with Yellow Rod.” “You’re in luck, Mister, because Yellow Rod is also giving music lessons today. Take this pass to the Headmaster’s office, and Yellow Rod will help you hit the high notes.” Until this moment Tracy had always found the references to Yellow Rod’s personality to be an amusing eccentricity, and thought of him as something of a school mascot. But as she watched the Headmaster flex the wicked cane into a half circle, it truly seemed to her to be a living, breathing entity. “This is the instrument you suggested would cure insubordination, is it not?” the Headmaster asked. “Yes, it is, but you have no legal right…” Tracy’s objection was cut short as the Headmaster sliced Yellow Rod thru the air, creating a horrible whoosh sound that literally caused poor Tracy to reach back and cup her bottom cheeks in panic. “I have every legal right, young lady. Have you forgotten that you signed the consent form?” Tracy flashed back to that day several months earlier when she had been in the outer office talking to the Headmaster’s nasty old spinster secretary, Miss Spice, about her favorite subject: corporal punishment. Tracy, who had been called to the office to discuss her petition before the Board to lower the mandatory retirement age for Headmasters to 55, had been waiting to see Mister Chambers when she noticed a CORPORAL PUNISHMENT AUTHORIZATION FORM sitting on Miss Spice’s desk. “Is this the actual form?” Tracy said, eyeing widening as she spied the document. “It doesn’t seem very long.” “Oh, it’s not,” Miss Spice said. “And it’s very easy to fill out. Here, let me show you.” Miss Spice, who ordinarily was not very playful at all, whistled cheerfully as demonstrated how rapidly she could complete the form. Tracy’s heart had skipped a beat as she had watched the old crone write TRACY SMITH in on the student line and then cheerfully check off box after box: Hand – Check! Tawse – Check! Cane – Check! Over Skirt – Check! On Knickers – Check! On Bare – Check! Miss Spice turned the form around and handed Tracy the pen. “Go ahead, sign it! Then it will be official.” Tracy did not sign it. She stared at the tiny form in stunned disbelief. Could this insignificant slip of paper actually make her fantasies come true, and give Headmaster Chambers the authority to cane her? “Go ahead, sign it,” Miss Spice said, literally pressing the pen into Tracy’s hand. “That will make it official. I’ll give you the pink copy on the bottom. It will be great fun, and a wonderful souvenir of your time at our school!” Nothing about Miss Spice was “fun” but the form itself was mesmerizing. Tracy knew she had to have it, and take it home for further study. There would be no harm in it; Tracy would take the form with her, and it would be hers, and hers alone. Tracy, her hand trembling, singed and dated the form authorizing her punishment. As luck would have it Mr. Chambers had exited his office at precisely the instant Tracy finished signing the form. As she turned to look up at him, Miss Spice yanked the form out from underneath Tracy’s hand and rolled her chair over to place it in the outbox on the far side of her credenza. “I’ll mail you your copy after I get the Headmaster’s signature, and put it in the file,” Miss Spice explained. “Am I interrupting something?” Mr. Chambers asked. Tracy said nothing. She didn’t want to leave the form with Miss Spice, but she REALLY didn’t want to tell the Headmaster what she had just done. He already treated her like a schoolgirl, and the last thing she needed was the Board seeing her signed CORPORAL PUNISHMENT AUTHORIZATION form. Tracy followed the Headmaster into his office, where with badly feigned sincerity she explained that the mandatory retirement policy she was proposing was not aimed specifically at him, but at Headmasters generically. Unfortunately, by the time the lengthy meeting was over Miss Spice had gone to lunch, and (as near as Tracy could tell from her search of her desk) the form had mysteriously gone with her. Tracy tried to talk to Miss Spice, but there was a long holiday weekend and as luck would have it Miss Spice took the next two days off. The next time Tracy saw the form was when she received the pink copy in the mail. It was the form she had signed in the office that day, as Tracy recognized her signature immediately. But the form was different in one crucial, horrifying respect: Mr. Chambers had signed and dated the bottom of the form. Tracy had been aghast, as she expected Mr. Chambers to bring the incriminating document to the board as written proof that Tracy was a silly schoolgirl unworthy of the exalted title of Headmistress. But to her surprise the incident was never mentioned again. Tracy tried to tell herself that the Headmaster had signed the form without even bothering to read it, but she knew in her heart that corporal punishment was his passion and he’d never casually pass over a form with a girl’s name on it. Why then, hadn’t he mentioned it? Tracy was baffled. Tracy certainly had no motive for bringing it to anyone’s attention, as she was quite happy to pretend that the whole dreadful affair had never occurred. All that was left of the matter were a few forms in a file, and the pink copy, which Tracy read and re-read repeatedly as she pleasured herself late into the night. And so it was until this moment, when Tracy, standing before the Headmaster’s desk in her new school uniform, was reminded of the form legally authorizing the Headmaster to cane her. “But I’m not a student!” pleaded, in voice that made her sound far more like a whiny teenager than she intended. “Aren’t you? How does one become a student? It is not a matter of paperwork. One becomes a student by assuming the role of a student, by donning our uniform, and attending classes, and by obeying our rules. Did you meet anyone in the hallway today?” “Yes, I did,” Tracy said, fidgeting slightly at the memory. “Who?” “The Hall Monitor, Jeffrey Stoolie,” she said. “I see. Did Mister Stoolie ask you for your pass?” Tracy flushed slightly at the memory. Jeffery Stoolie, 18, was the perfect choice for a student monitor in that he was a sneaky little apple polisher who delighted at the misfortune of others. Tracy had him in one of his classes, and had given him a “C,” more for his attitude as his academics. When he saw Jeffrey saw Tracy in her uniform he didn’t recognize her at first. When he did recognize, her, his face registered absolute confusion. But when he spotted the yellow pass in Tracy’s trembling hand, Jeffrey burst into a broad, unbecoming smile. “What’s this then, Miss Smith?” he asked. “Uh, it’s my Halloween costume,” Tracy said lamely. “I’m on my way to see the Headmaster.” “With a yellow pass?” Jeffrey asked. “Yes,” Tracy said. “Well, hand it over, then, Missy. I am hall monitor, you know,” Tracy handed the grinning student her pass. Jeffrey, relishing his authority, examined the pass closely as Tracy shuffled her feet in front of his tiny desk. “Hmmm… a yellow pass,” Jeffrey said thoughtfully. “Did you do something wrong?” “Uh…no,” Tracy stammered. “I mean, I don’t think so. They must have been out of white passes.” “I don’t think Miss Spice ever runs out,” Jeffrey counters. “Yellow passes usually mean the strap, or sometimes the cane,” he added gleefully. “I’d hurry along if I were you. Yellow Rod doesn’t like it when students keep him waiting.” Jeffrey handed Tracy her pass back, and she scurried down the hall, trying to ignore the feeling of Jeffrey’s eyes burning into the back of her short uniform skirt. “I see, the Headmaster said, shocking Tracy back into the moment. “Did Mister Stoolie ask you to present your hall pass?” “Yes,” Tracy said. “And you gave it to him?” Tracy nodded. “And after examining your pass, he sent you on your way, the same as he would any other student?” the Headmaster said. “Yes, I suppose,” Tracy said, unsure as to the point. “Would you agree that at that moment, at least, for purposes of that exchange, you assumed the role of a student?” “Well, yes, but…” “Would you agree that once you become a student, you are a student, and that a student can’t declare they are not a student simply to avoid punishment?” “Yes, of course,” Tracy said. “But let’s be reasonable…” “Quite. You teach mathematics, philosophy, and logic, do you not, Miss Smith? Very well, let us confine ourselves to a summation of the relevant facts, which I will summarize now. At the conclusion of my summary, I wish you to give me a simple “yes” or “no” answer, without commentary, stating whether or not I have stated the facts correctly, so we can logically determine whether I should cane you. Do you agree?” Tracy, ever confident in her abilities, acceded to his terms. “You have come to school dressed in a school uniform, and have admitted to me that you have voluntarily assumed the role of a student. In assuming this new role you have clearly rendered yourself unable to fulfill your teaching duties. You have signed a corporal punishment form authorizing me to punish you as if you were a student, legally binding you to accept whatever punishment I deem proper. The form has been approved, and it is now on file.” “You agree that once one becomes a student, one cannot claim not to be a student simply to avoid punishment. You have confessed to your insubordination, and have given me a written statement suggesting that the best way to deal with said offense is six-of-the-best with golden rod, with a few extra clearly visible across the back of your thighs so that others can benefit from your example. Have I stated the facts correctly?” Tracy was aghast. She considered herself the Headmaster’s intellectual superior, and had readily agreed to his terms because of her confidence that the facts were on her side. But the Headmaster, long schooled in such exchanges, had skillfully created a rhetorical trap from which there was no escape. Tracy could not disagree with his facts, as they were entirely correct. But if she said “yes” she would be agreeing to an old-fashioned schoolgirl caning! The silence was deafening, and the Headmaster, relishing his triumph, beamed at her like the Cheshire Cat. She was astonished by his cleverness, but her awe of his total mastery over her did nothing to resolve her dilemma. After examining the conundrum from every conceivable angle, Tracy at last spoke. “Yes, sir” Tracy said quietly, conceding defeat, and feeling very much like the schoolgirl she now was. “Very well. Tracy, please hold out your hands, palms up.” Tracy was acutely aware of the fact Yellow Rod was in the Headmaster’s right hand, ready to strike. She very much did not want to place her tender palms in such a vulnerable position. But what choice did she have? Tracy, clenching her teeth, obeyed. To her surprise, the Headmaster did not strike her. Instead, he placed the rod in her hands, balancing it so the cane was resting against the center of her palms. Tracy remained motionless as the Headmaster picked up his leather binder and prepared to leave. “Since you rendered yourself unfit to attend your classes today, at least as a teacher, I will need to work out an appropriate substitute. I will also work out your class schedule for the remainder of the day. I wish you to spend my absence contemplating your transgressions, your place in our school, Yellow Rod, and the authority he now has over you. Yellow Rod will deal with your insubordination when I return.” The door slammed shut, leaving Tracy, with her heart racing and her outstretched arms trembling, staring at the instrument of her correction.

Oh I did not know that thank you for telling me I'll look it up, but anyway how are you liking the stories I'm posting as I said I'm not the writer I'm just copying and pasting these stories for story preservation, but would still like to hear your thoughts.

Thanks to @TammyG for donating $63! hey, that rhymes!