Extra Lessons 2 - Miranda Vann
by Near-Fatal Neville, komkev@hotmail.com
The ultimate Games Mistress takes on three male colleagues. (Also features Kris.)

   "Come on, Tom, answer me," insisted Ralph Dominick, one evening after
five. "Who at this college is better suited to be head of sports than I
am?"
   Inwardly, Tom Duggall was affronted. Hadn't he himself been teaching PT
at this college, and refereeing soccer, for twelve years? Yet Dominick had
evidently dismissed Duggall's own claim for the coveted top position.
"You're forgetting Ms Vann," he ventured.
   "Pah! Miranda Vann!" spat Dominick. "She'd be fine if she concentrated
on college matters and less on her after-school activities; and she's only
worked here for eighteen months."
   Tom bit his tongue. Dominick had himself been at the college for all of
eight months, and his bravado was at odds with the folklore surrounding
Miranda Vann's "evening job".
   They were stopped dead in their tracks by the panorama which greeted
them on reaching the open doors of the gymnasium. Seats were arranged for
an audience of a few hundred people, and resplendent in the centre was a
professional-standard boxing ring. Decked out in red, white and blue, the
latter would have looked impressive if the men hadn't found the whole idea
so comical, for the boys at the college had no history of boxing prowess.

   "Admiring our set-up? " Miranda Vann had entered while the men were in
the ring, pulling at the ropes and pressing on the mat to test them.
   "Yours?" asked Dominick, still cynical. "What's going off?"
   "My girls have a wrestling tournament. Nine o'clock tonight." The games
mistress was into her thirties but fit, so that her age became immaterial.
   Ralph expelled air through his teeth in mocking fashion. "Wrestling!
That's hardly a sport!"
   "It is, the way we do it." Miranda remained serious. "A number of the
girls are into competitive submission wrestling as another way of staying
fit."
   "I'm sorry, Miranda," sneered Dominick, "but you can't expect people to
take this seriously."
   "Their parents are," asserted the woman. "They'll be here, tonight, to
watch."
   "They're as sad as you, then," growled Ralph. "Imagine erecting a fancy
ring so that a few of your senior girls can roll around."
   Tom Duggall kept out of it. He could remember a time two years before,
when three of those girls had taught older boys an object lesson.
   "All right," said Miranda, "I'll show you." The mood had changed. "Get
those tracksuits off."
   "Wha -- ?" The men were incredulous.
   "I'll take you on -- both of you."
   "Come on, Miranda." Dominick's attitude had mellowed, but only slightly.
"We've got work to do."
   "It's after five, and your evening classes don't begin for another two
hours." Miranda moved to the doors and locked them. Twilight was already 
falling outside, and the games instructress
adjusted the lights so that they shone fully, picking out the ring. "Give
me a chance to show you who should be head of sports."
   "So that's what's eating you," grinned Dominick.
   "Only partly," replied Miranda, returning to the ring. She secured the
key somewhere inside her clothing.
   "I'd like to stay out of this," worried Tom, wary of the rumours that
surrounded this woman's fighting prowess. "I can referee."
   "No, you can't," replied Miranda. "One of you has taken the rounders
posts from the store and not returned them. I paid for those. I intend to
coax out of you which one is responsible. This keeps happening, and I'm
getting tired of it. "
   The men went quiet. Both had indeed purloined the hallowed posts in the
past, but neither owned up to this current indiscretion. They found the
whole question somewhat petty, and hardly worth coming to blows over.
   "Let's go." Miranda peeled off her tracksuit and dropped both items of
clothing outside the ring. A dark leotard, which must have been small
enough to fit her daughter when off, was stretched about her excellent
frame. She was toned, but without the over-muscular look which too much
weight training can bring. White sports socks and trainers lent a quaint
addition to her overall attire, set off by the healthy look of her flesh,
which she had sunned to exactly the right hue.
   The men felt compelled to go ahead. Ms Vann had a manner which could
sell sand to Arabs, particularly when looking this good. She really was
attractive. Her dark, wavy hair hung to her shoulders and was flicked out
at the sides. Dominick began to warm to the idea of tussling with this
considerable adversary.
   Miranda stood in the centre of the ring, hands on hips, with a ready but
casual air. "Who, first?"
   Dominick sent Tom in against his female colleague, meaning to use this
initial skirmish to weigh up the size of the task.
   "Please," said Duggall, "I'd really rather not." But he was outnumbered,
and moved sheepishly to the centre of the ring. The journeyman games master
was unremarkable to look at. At five feet seven inches, was little taller
than Miranda. His dark hair was in a flopped-across non-style, rooted
somewhere in the 1970s. His fading yellow T-shirt and black shorts had been
pressed, but did not look especially smart. A single parent, he'd done
these himself. He wore black socks with white trainers, and his hairy legs
completed the overall nondescript picture.
   Immediately on Tom's arrival in the centre of the ring, the games
mistress took an arm and turned inwards, using her hip to flip him. This
was impeccably done. The male spun in the air, landing badly on his own
hip. Miranda repeated the move twice, throwing the man as soon as he
struggled to his feet. Duggall had a more than average fitness which went
with his job, but this was over-matched by Miranda's skill and evident
experience, which allowed her to nullify his comparable weight and strength
and use these against him. Tom had no real fighting experience since
schoolyard brawls in his early teens, and he was failing to get his feet
down on landing to absorb the impact.
   Her next move was a shoulder toss, looping Tom in a high somersault to
land supine on the mat, knocking a lot of the fight out of him. The ring
seemed to be of some tautened, synthetic material like the skin of a drum,
and coated so that each fall resounded more than usual, emphasising the
efficient drubbing that Tom was being subjected to. The smaller man looked
spent, but had done nothing but hit the canvas, hard, and struggle upright
again.
   Dominick watched from his corner of the ring as Miranda continued to
dictate, using a snap supplex to bring down her victim. She was better
than Ralph had guessed, and probably knew judo. She looked as proficient
as the experienced female professionals who compete in the States and
elsewhere, who could not nowadays get the jobs they deserved, and were
sometimes paid to let lesser wrestlers "go over". He wondered whether
Miranda had tried her luck in American rings. Her voivce held a faint
transatlantic twang. Her looks supplemented her skill and these, combined,
could have been a fair draw overseas. He was aroused by Miranda's display
at the expense of his colleague and drank in the ample views of her
rippling limbs. She now had Tom in a figure four, her thighs clamped about
his neck in a seemingly inescapable hold, and her captive was clearly
suffering.
   "The rounders posts, Tom! Where are they?" Miranda increased her
pressure.
   Duggall tugged vainly at the ensnaring thighs. "Really, I don't know!"
he croaked, and his refusal to concede the information raised him a notch
or two in Ralph's estimation. Dominick was bigger than Tom, and he assumed
that he was stronger -- more of a match for the whirlwind female attacker;
and he had been in the forces, where they taught you to look after
yourself.
   Miranda was rolling around the mat freely, moving Tom with her as though
at will. He was on the verge of submitting and allowing her to go one fall
up, when she mercifully released him and allowed him to crawl away in pain
to tag Dominick.

   Duggall was surprised by what happened next. Ralph came out of the
corner like a steam train and took Miranda roughly in a side headlock,
working his brawny forearms to cause the woman as much discomfort as
possible. Dominick was the elder of the two men by about five years, but
was larger and fitter. His thinning, wavy hair was sandy in colour and he
had the reddish face which sometimes traditionally went with it. His white
T-shirt and shorts were crumpled, and boasted the name of a lesser-known
sportswear manufacturer. "This will sort the men from the boys," he
growled, and went to the canvas, dragging Miranda down with him. "Army
training, baby. You're in the big league, now."
   He used his weight to scurf Miranda on the mat, rubbing her into the
canvas. Duggall began to revise his opinions of his colleague, who seemed
to be able to contain the girl that, only moments before, had been casually
tossing Tom around the ring. The fight looked like what it was: an under-
dressed female being overpowered by a larger and stronger person. Her
costume had begun to ride up, and Tom was afforded an excellent view of her
toned thighs and shapely rear as she struggled to right herself, using one
knee then another in her attempts to rise from the mat.
   Dominick allowed Miranda up, sufficiently to whip her into the ropes and
body-check her heavily, so that she hit the canvas again. "Locking us in,
eh, baby?" He repeated the treatment twice more. "If we'd been worried,
we could have gone out by the fire exits!" After ramming Miranda into one
of the posts, he sent her to the ropes again and used the momentum of
her rebound to hoist her on to his shoulders. Miranda had her back towards
the canvas, with Ralph's hands over her lower face and thigh, an effective
backbreaker.
   He paraded his helpless captive around the ring, a sight which Duggall
found mildly erotic. "What price now, the great Miranda Vann?" hissed the
assailant. "Head of sports, my arse! Submit, you tart."
   To her credit, Miranda withstood the punishing hold, with the result
that Dominick set her down again, meaning to try something else. He
propelled her into the ropes for the fifth time, and came off the opposite
ropes himself, again body checking her so that she again went down. He
grabbed a handful of her luxuriant hair and again piled her into the ropes
for a repeat of the same treatment.
   When he came off the ropes, Dominick was astounded to find that his
opponent had somehow shortened the space between them and was standing only
a yard away, feet firmly planted. A resounding "thwack" echoed around the
gym, and Tom Duggal winced. After a full-blooded sweep of the arm, the
cutting edge of Miranda Vann's flattened hand had connected with Dominick's
throat. It was a move sometimes seen in professional wrestling, except that
those exponents tended merely to slap the chest of the victim to generate a
fearsome sound effect. This genuine chop reversed Ralph's charge off the
ropes and lifted his feet off the mat. When he hit the canvas, Miranda
immediately dropped on him with both knees, using her full weight to knock
the wind out of her victim.
   Duggall began to sweat. Miranda had been "playing possum" and would now
deal with the larger man with measured ferocity. She repaid the hair
treatment, getting both hands on what remained of Ralph's sparse locks and
hauling him to his feet. Her knee slammed into his face. "Yes -- the big
league, baby," she snarled, turning Dominick's taunt against him, "but
you're rattling around in the third division." She repeated the sapping
series of throws which she had demonstrated on Tom, making sure that the
exhibition went on for even longer and tossing Ralph as high as possible
each time, so that he described an arc in the air and continually hit the
mat with his full weight. "I was planning to go easy on you, like I did
with Tom," advised Miranda, "until that last little display of bullying."
   Duggall was now amazed as the lighter woman hoisted his battered
colleague across her shoulders. "You need to graduate to the premier
league, baby, to stand a chance against me." The reference to football --
the men's province -- was deliberately hard-hitting. With the male in
position, she took a couple of steps then somersaulted, landing Dominick's
full weight on the mat, then dropping her own weight on to him. This was a
'Kamikaze Crash', but without any theatrics.
   With Dominick on his back and spent, it was comparatively simple for
Miranda to seize his legs and turn him smoothly on to his face in a full
Boston. With her excellent thighs straddling her larger victim's torso and
her trim seat resting in the small of his back, Miranda looked totally
dominant. "Submit, you tart," she hissed through gritted teeth, and
Dominick, almost crying with humiliation and pain, gave immediately; but
Miranda intensified the hold, bending Ralph almost double. "Those rounders
posts! Where are they?" Ralph wheezed that he didn't know, and Tom couldn't
understand why his team-mate wouldn't surrender the information she wanted.
Miranda exerted more pressure before allowing Dominick's limp form to flop
back on to the canvas.
   "That's sorted the boys from the women," she added, calmly.

   As though on cue, a girl in a silver-grey tracksuit appeared outside the
row of glass access doors which doubled as fire-exits from the gym.
"There's Kristine," observed Miranda, and slid from the ring to move across
and admit the young lady. "She's here for a lesson." Miranda appeared to
brief her pupil during the short walk to the ring. Kristine was taller than
Miranda and Tom, and was almost as tall as Dominick. Long dark hair was
piled up and fastened on top of her head, as though girded for action. She
was Eastern European in looks, with dark eyes and an attractive round face.
   "Kris is nineteen and an ex-pupil." Miranda introduced her as the girl
stripped down to a pink, backless leotard which made the most of her toned
figure. Kristine gave the effect of being large, but attractive and fit.
"She is one of my best-ever pupils. Not only is Kris a trampoline expert,
but she is also into martial arts and wrestling." Duggall's concern
increased as realisation crept in. "Kris -- kill!" concluded Miranda,
crisply.
   Immediately, the Yugoslav approached Tom and propelled him into the
ring, over the top rope. He would have preferred to stay down, but she
helped him up and began a rapid attack, combining the hip-tosses and
shoulder-throws which had characterised Miranda's earlier assault. For Tom,
this ordeal was no more pleasant, but the humiliation was heightened by the
age difference between the teacher and the teenager.
   Kris dispensed with Duggall and turned her attentions to Ralph, who
fared no better. Miranda left the two men in the loving care of her
protegee and allowed herself out of the gym. She moved to the changing
room and retrieved the bundle of rounders posts which she had placed in her
locker earlier, proceeding to the store cupboard to leave them in their
customary home.
   When Miranda opened the door she took Mr Coyle, the school caretaker,
totally by surprise. He had been peering through a small hole in the wall
of the gym, spying on the lascivious action in the ring, and had failed to
hear her approach. Over the years, the games instructress had learned to
move lightly and silently. On seeing Miranda, Coyle gave a start and dashed
automatically to his standard escape route, another exit at the back of the
store; but he rattled ineffectively at the handle of the door, which was
fast shut.
   Coyle turned in fear to meet his allotted fate, his arousal at Miranda's
appearance overridden by snivelling cowardice. "I locked that door,
earlier," advised the newcomer. "I'm holding the spare keys, remember?"
Miranda had freed two of the rounders posts from the strap which held the
bundle together, and set about the 46-year old, a post in each hand. She
did not use full force and her tormentee performed a comical dance in his
attempts to defend himself against the rapidly swinging posts. "My girls
want to take their lessons in private." She punctuated her words with prods
and flicks. "They don't want you gawping at them."
   Finally she discarded the posts, and sports equipment rained down from
the shelves as the lesson continued within the narrow spaces of the cramped
store room.

   When Miranda returned to the ring, Kris was sitting on top of both of
her male opponents, wearing her track-suit and casually filing her nails.
She had lain Dominick across the lighter Duggall in a cross press, then
used her own weight to count Tom out.
   "Good job, Kris," Miranda complimented her. "It's OK to go, now."
Miranda seemingly showed no after-effects from the evening's exertions, and
rubbed her hands with a small towel.
   A look of puzzlement clouded the younger girl's pretty face. "But - I
didn't have my lesson."
   "I asked you to come here this evening to take part in a lesson," smiled
Miranda. "I didn't say you'd be receiving one. Why don't you go and prepare
for tonight's event?" The girl in pink smiled cheekily and left by one of
the glass doors.

   When Dominick came to, assisted by a pail of cold water being emptied
over him by his female conqueror, he was half-sitting, half-lying in a
corner of the accursed ring, supported by the ropes. He seemed to be
wearing only his boxers, which were not exactly in pristine condition. The
scene had changed, and he wondered how long he'd been out of it. Tom
Duggall was nowhere in sight. The lights were off, except for a single spot
which picked out Miranda in the centre of the ring, looking magnificent,
and primed for action. The lady teacher was all in black, wearing spiked
rubber gloves, studded wrist-bands and socks rolled down in the style of
savate fighting. Apart from these, all she wore was a pair of black briefs.
The single light played on her topless look and added to her excellence.
She stood firm and proud, without the mannish pecs that over-exercise can
bring to some females.
   Dominick experienced arousal mingled with fear. He tried to scramble
away, under the ropes and out of the ring, but she seemed to be upon him
immediately, seizing his nearest leg and dragging him to the centre of the
mat. With the deposed sports supremo lying face down, his assailant
positioned herself astride his head, facing down his torso, and nimbly sat
on the back of his neck. The soft feel of her pants at his nape was the
only haven in this wildstorm of oppression. She lifted his head slightly
and tucked her feet underneath, so that his face rested on the soles of her
socks. His head clamped down by her considerable backside, he could feel
that her soles were protected by rubber studs. Placing her hands on her
hips as though to emphasise casual supremacy, Miranda began to roll her
butt from side to side, moving her captive's head and rubbing his face
against the studs. Rather than being agonising, this disrespectful display
was uncomfortable and belittling for the man who was now the underdog.
   After what seemed an hour to Dominick, Miranda released her grip on
Dominick and allowed him to roll on to his back. "We already lost two-nil,"
he croaked.
   "Kristine's fall didn't count," explained the woman from above him.
"That was merely an interlude." To emphasise her supremacy, she continued
to pin him, sitting on the lower half of his face and pumelling his ribs
with the spiked gloves, before standing up. She again took a handful of
hair. "Get up," she commanded, and Ralph obeyed meekly. Miranda seized an
arm and propelled her victim towards the apron of the ring. Dominick
swooned gratefully towards the ropes, but the protective bounce that he had
anticpated did not take place, and the whole structure sagged. Mr Coyle had
failed to erect the ring correctly! Dominick disappeared through a gap
into the darkness.
   Luckily feeling little impact, the oppressed sports master felt that he
would simply remain on the cold, hard floor and rest; but the relentless
Miranda followed him down, leaping from the height of the ring. Quickly
assuming a schoolgirl position by sitting on the male to pin him, she
subjected him to her studded wristbands, rubbing these against his face.
Again, the studs were of medium-soft rubber -- more for show than
aggression -- and the ordeal was effective rather than painful.
   "Now -- who is head of sports?" she queried.
   "You are," he groaned.
   As though to underline her capability to treat him exactly as she wanted
to, Miranda set about his face with the fearsome gloves, slapping and
cuffing him rather than subjecting him to the rubber spikes. After allowing
him up, she bundled him on to the apron. "Right -- let's end this," she
asserted.
   With both standing in the centre of the ring, she reached down and
inverted him magnificently, dropping to her knees to complete a
piledriver. There was none of the "let-up" allowed in television
wrestling, and Dominick's head hit the tautened material of the mat. He
flopped almost lifelessly on to his back, and it was simple for the
feminine grappler to kneel on his upper arm muscles, with her excellent
rear again on his face. The single spot highlighted Miranda's shoulders
and thighs. From inside her shorts she produced a small hair-brush and
began to pull this through her hair in relaxed fashion.
   After some minutes she said, "You can have the head of sports job. I
don't need it. I've too much on."
   The dark material of her briefs filled Dominick's vision as he
contemplated his predicament. This hammering would be sure to get
recounted around the college, he mused. The grapevine in a place like this
was too strong, and too accurate. There was no way he could apply for the
top job, now. They'd have to bring in someone else.
   Miranda's dominion was complete. She moved her butt further back on
the vanquished male's face and, for Dominick, the light went out.

   Her hair brushed and neat, Miranda left the ring and made for the exit.
As she left, she flipped the switches to bring all of the house lights on
fully.

   The sixty or so girls' parents in the audience, a few teachers, one or
two college governors and a local council dignitary all applauded
politely. The first item on the bill of this evening's demonstration had
been interesting, to say the least.


   [DO YOU KNOW A "MIRANDA VANN"? I AM LOOKING FOR PICS OF WOMEN WHO
RESEMBLE THE GREAT WOMAN AS DESCRIBED ABOVE, TO HELP ILLUSTRATE THE STORIES.
THIS CAN BE A SHOWBIZ PERSON OR ONE OF YOUR ACQUAINTANCES. MUST BE FAIRLY
ATTRACTIVE. NO HARD-CORE STUFF, PLEASE. komkev@hotmail.com]