[ENF] Reposting Primrose Dubois’s Disrobing Disasters

[tomb125]

Part 2d. Primrose’s Ruinous Recital, Continued


*All characters are over 18 years old*

*I have taken generous liberties with this skit; I hope you enjoy it*

(1) "Beginner's Luck" | Little Rascals Shorts | FULL EPISODE – YouTube


After an unplanned intermission, Primrose returned first to the conservatory, so-ready to be rid of this recital her mother dreamed up. “What a dog and pony show!” she huffed to herself as she stepped on the stage to the applause of the small crowd. Genevieve hurried through the guests, handing out a playbill. Prim was outfitted as a member of the American Colonial Militia; complete with an authentic French musket, a tri-corner hat, her hair drawn back into a ponytail, a top-coat with tails, shirt, vest, breeches, and stockings with polished, buckled shoes. She smiled and gave a small bow just as Regina appeared.


Regina rushed in offering apologies about the delay. Looking directly at her boss, Ms. Cockfoster, she blustered, “I am soo sorry about… those slight indiscretions…, I assure you I had no idea my intimate ensemble would make such an encore! I don’t know how it happened…, almost as if a maniacal force…was invisibly at work.” Cordelia returned an icy stare, as Al smiled broadly in his seat and patted the magnet back in his pocket, while others in the posse giggled at Regina’s discomfiture. Everyone else noticed with alarm, Regina was not quite ‘put so well together’ now. Her rushed repairs to her raiment were a bit obvious. She was hotly flushed, and her formerly severely styled hair, was now mussed and damp with perspiration. She had put her black suit top back on, but it was very snug, closed with the one remaining and straining button and safety pins standing in for the other two. Her bodice also looked a bit drooped, and her bosom pushed her jacket like a pair of puppies playing under a blanket. Sharp witnesses watched to notice Regina was careful to keep her back toward the screen, away from her audience. Her arms were pressed firmly to her sides and her fingers were out of sight behind her flank. This was ironically due to the fact, not at all lost on the imperious principal, she was now hanging on to her modesty by her manicured fingernails beneath her fitted gloves. Unfortunately, Regina’s rounded rear end was well reflected, and clearly visible to many spectators including all Prim’s pals, thanks to the room’s many windows. It was obvious to these goggle-eyed spectators; Regina had made very hasty repairs on her skirt. It looked like she had used straight pins, staples, and even a shiny skewer from the kitchen, to close the material across her broad backside and prevent peeks at her new hip-hugging, periwinkle panties, now tugged properly back into place.


After another applause for Regina’s return, although this one a bit awkward, Regina said, “I now present my daughter again, for your entertainment and edification, as she recites Paul Revere’s Ride, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Regina flashed a subtle glance at Primrose her daughter immediately understood to convey the importance Primrose’s delivered dictation was without defect. Primrose began:

“Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Mid…Middle……

Primrose then stalled, but Regina leaned in with an overly loud backstage whisper: “S-E-X!” followed by a few audible “PINGs” as some remaining stitches stretching to hold her clothes around her voluptuous curves, failed. Cordelia’s eyes widened to hear such vocabulary at this classy recital, while others simply laughed. Prim picked right back up:

“… Through every MIDDLESEX village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm
Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:”


Primrose, with this small cue, drove on and completed the poem splendidly as the audience erupted in applause. People clapped while Prim bowed, and of course Regina edged in to become the focal point, to overshadow her daughter. However, just like stated in the poem, her full, pale moon now rose inside her suit, putting a curious look on Regina’s smiling face. Al turned his magnet all the way up to the “even-more-than ludicrous” strength setting, as he prepared to pull all the pins, staples, skewers, and buttons holding Regina’s wardrobe together, straight off the curvy, full-hipped, big-boobed, broad-assed, bossy b***h! He was going to send this (wo)man-o-war, straight to the bottom, here and now!


Primrose waved at her appreciative audience and ducked behind the screen, anxious to change back into comfortable clothes. She most-imprudently leaned her ten-pound, Charleville musket against the inside of the dressing screen, and quickly began to disrobe, touching off what was very soon to be locally known as, The Revolutionary Unveiling!

[tomb125]

Prim had Beginner's Luck, but Regina was Undone, Fin.



*All characters are over 18 years old*

*I have taken generous liberties with this skit; I hope you enjoy it*

Commission Contest ends Midnight, 6 DEC23. See me on DA for more information.



Regina smiled like the Chesire cat, delighted at how her daughter had so pleased everyone in attendance. Her grip on reality liberally loosened by the abundant applause filling the open room, as well as the stiff brandy she imbibed backstage. Regina was now able to overlook her earlier embarrassing exposures as nothing but a little bit of what was referred to in the entertainment biz as burlesque. She focused on the very impressed audience, with some still clapping. She whispered to herself as she felt her large, moist, nipples tighten and tent her suit jacket, “This exposition, with the elegant background of my lovely home, will most certainly go down in our community’s history as one of the most high-brow, refined, and dignified displays of the season. I am the MPV here today! I should have invited that reporter from WENF… I think his name was T. Cheese, funny I remember that. Well, young Brooke Broadsheets did bring her Nikon and several rolls of Kodachrome. She’s considering transferring to the University of Maryland, or St. Mackenzie’s for photography. She has been snapping off lots of shots I can later post in our faculty newsletter, as well as add to the Institute’s yearbook.”



Regina stood, figuratively and nearly literally, bursting, with the pride and prejudice of her powerful womanhood, as she announced to everyone, “Please accept our sincere thanks to you all for attending and appreciating real talent displayed here today! I now direct your attention to the dessert cart Miles is wheeling in and please help yourself to more champagne, Genevieve will certainly be delighted to refill your flutes.” The elegant cart was laden with an enormous cherry trifle in a crystal trifle bowl, a large chocolate mousse cake, and a tureen of whipped cream, as well as plates, bowls, and silver spoons. Regina prattled on, hoping to curry as much favor as possible with her supervisor, and a leader in local society. “Ms. Cockfoster, I would be delighted if you would go first, followed by Mr. Bastermats.” Regina moved toward the cart, careful to keep her backside away from her guests. She said, “Look what gourmet goodies we have here for you all,” as Mr. Bastermats offered her a plate and gestured for her to go next. Regina prevaricated in a low voice only the closest could hear, “Thank you Ernest, but I must decline. I am carefully watching my weight before our big win at the Community Theater. There, before the populace of Puttyville, I must look my absolute best. Besides, I really don’t care one io-ta for such sweets, I’m more of a meat and potatoes girl!” Al leveled his magnet at his hoity-toity school head’s midsection, murmured, “This will befit a Bluetakes.” and firmly depressed the power button.



“What, what is that?” As an audible humming sound filled the room, everyone’s attention turned to Regina to see her expensive outfit take on a life of its own. “What’s happening?” She shouted as her smirk was replaced with a look of alarm. In a flash, all metallic items worn by Regina, were pulled toward the group of students, specifically Al Roper. Regina’s hair clip and earrings (eliciting a squealing, “OW!” just like you hear when using the ‘remove cursor’ while playing ‘UTW’), the buttons and pins holding her suit top in place, as well as her skirt’s entire zipper, and the rest of the staples, pins, and skewers holding it on her hips. All flew with an increasing velocity toward the rascal Al, who desperately dialed his magnetic device back before he was impaled. Regina’s suit top burst open, and slid off her creamy shoulders. Eyes wide, she stared down dumbfounded to see her massive, marvelous melons quivering in the humid hothouse air. “GAH!” she gurgled as her crinkled teats tightened. “My B…B…Boobies!!” She moved to clutch the ends of her bazooms, but her jacket, now pulled beyond her elbows, stopped her from covering anything, as her struggling hands waved with her whoppers. Gasping, she watched her pink-nosed puppies pouncing about in front of EVERYONE! All in attendance were delighted to see Regina had discarded her soaking wet blouse at intermission and buttoned her bare-naked breasts inside her suit top, unwisely choosing to ‘wear them loose’ for the rest of the recital.



As men’s tongues lolled, women tittered, and the students stared disbelievingly, the show got even more saucy when the entire back of Regina’s tight skirt failed with a loud ‘ZRRAZZZ,’ from the top, all the way down to the vent. The ruined garment slithered down her long legs and pooled around her high heels, revealing her brand new and so fashionable, lacy lilac lingerie to her shocked audience. With her brassiere left off, she was clad only with a lacy garter belt of the period, with six sturdy suspenders gripping a pair of fully fashioned stockings. This sweet nothing clenched her midriff from the narrows of her waist, to slightly above her panty line across her belly, and down to just where her ass divided around back. The matching panties hugged her full hips atop the garter belt. As mentioned earlier, they were not up to the task of completely covering Reg’s callipygian keister. Instead of girding her loins with the decorum demanded of the day, her knickers, were again sliding down, to expose nearly a third of her bare bottom, and a full inch of her fiery, frontal fur. Now Regina bitterly regretted buying these sexy undies as she wailed in dismay, unable to cover anything with her arms still tangled in her jacket sleeves. Then she saw Brooke level her camera lens directly at her. Regina screeched, “HOW DARE YOU?” as she was blinded by camera flashes. She spun around and pointed her barely pantied bottom at her guests as Ernest Bastermats, the ranking man in attendance, moved to help. He took off his suit jacket and approached Regina. Just as he took hold of her top, however, she spun around again and effectively stripped herself, coming to a halt with her moist mammaries comically in the hands of the shocked Mr. B! Time stopped for Regina; her face turned a bright red as she tried to comprehend her undoing as Ernest inadvertently tweaked her rock-hard nipples. Finally, brought back to her senses by her boobs and the laughter filling the room, she stepped back and took stock of her disheveled self.



She looked down and saw the lowered level her newly-purchased panties had descended to, and a bit of bush peeking up at her. “Oh no!” she said, as she clapped her hands across her panties. She then peered over her shoulder and ‘Yipped’ to witness how much of her backside cleft was on display before the now-drooling male audience and the laughing ladies. They all watched a fat bead of sweat glide down her back and disappear between the globes of her ass. Regina squealed in alarm and clicked about knock-kneed, grasping her totally Titian-proportioned tushy with one small gloved hand, and clutching at her regal rack, reminiscent of a Rubens rendering, with the other. She effectively covered nothing adequately and regrettably drew her audience’s onlooking attention closer to her near-naked charms! “OMG, WHAT… WTH!... NO, NO, NO... THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!!… Everyone is ogling my new undies and my tits are on display! This is an absolute disaster!” She was answered by laughing and smiling faces, more flashes going off, and Mimic screeching: “AUK, the big bird is stripped to her smalls, only her smalls! She’s nearly naked…Totally Undressed! ... AWK that’s a Pinup! Wow!”



Regina, realizing she was now the laughingstock at her own party, grabbed her tits, but they spilled over her arms. Now cowering in humiliation, as everything else was exposed, she stooped forward, and ran for the cover of the dressing screen, leaving the crowd a delicious view of her big, rolling ass. She nearly made it before her towering heels slipped on buttons from her blouse, rolling on the dance floor. Regina crashed into the dressing screen, as Primrose screamed: “MOM! What in the heck are you doing? And WHY are you in here… AND only in your underwear?” Regina implored, “Oh Primmy, you must help me…Everyone saw me out there, LIKE THIS!” The shaking screen immediately toppled over, pushed by the heavy musket, Primrose had earlier leaned against it. As it hit the tile floor with the first bang, Primrose was revealed in a very awkward moment. Her head spun around to see the smiling faces of her audience watching, including her crush and school pals, just as she was stepping out of her sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. She immediately felt her cheeks fire. She was before friends and family in the most ridiculous position possible. Besides her tights tangled around her ankles, Primrose wore only a pair of white panties, printed with teddy bears, now rolled half way off her smartly-shaped and tan-lined ass, with her bronze bush clearly visible as well. Miles watched in awe, her pert titties wobbling as his breeches tightened against his ‘arousal’ at this panty peek. Primrose screamed, as the second bang rang out. The fallen firelock discharged, sadly directed toward Regina’s hindquarters. Her eyeballs bulged as her bent-over, and bulging bottom, absorbed the blast from the .69 caliber weapon, thankfully loaded only with a powder charge for ceremonies. Everything was instantly obscured by a big cloud of grey smoke.



When the smoke cleared, Regina was howling and hopping about with both her hands swatting her own broad bottom, now literally ablaze. “AAAHHHHHAAA… Hot…HOT…HOT!!” she screamed. Her tits wobbled wondrously, glazed with a sheen of sweat and topped by half-inch throbbing nipples. Her panties were a smoldering wreck tangled around her thighs, several garter straps severed, and a stocking drooped. Clear observers noticed Regina’s well-trimmed and treasured fuchsia fur pie had been burnt off by the fusil, fired between her long but slightly parted plump thighs. Abandoning decorum, our panty-hobbled Regina sought the nearest relief possible, however indecorous it might be. She unceremoniously clambered atop the dessert cart, in her sky-high heels, providing a gorgeous glimpse of her scorched sn*tch. Her plump bare tits tipped into the clotted cream, and her nipples responded accordingly. She then gripped the sides of the cart, her hooters hanging topped with cream, and rolled over into a most indecent squat and plunged her smoking ass directly into her very own trifle. With a guttural “AAHHhhhhh” Regina stared skyward, her sweaty face the color of an eggplant. Her eyes bulged as she felt the cold dessert forced between her upper thighs and all around her bottom and most intimate regions.



A pin could be heard to drop in the conservatory. Regina climbed off her dessert cart wearing only her garter belt, stockings, and heels, as her naked sweater pies swayed and her panties descended to her knocked knees. Wiping the trifle from her bottom, she faced her audience leaning forward, unsteady on her heels, her arms clamped across her bulging breasts. Regina began, trying to salvage this s**t-show, her usually authoritative voice wavering, “I can assure everyone, Primrose’s performance at the Community Theatre will be well heeled, upscale, and nothing at all like this. If you please again excuse me, I need to...go and…” Cordelia, now standing, leveled her arm at the ruined Regina and said, “Ms. Regina Dubois, if you think for a SECOND you are going to leave before you properly apologize to EVERYONE for this this, this NC-17 rated vintage flash, then I have a mind to!.…”



Just then, Pete the pup trotted over and pushed his cold snout against Regina’s deliciously presented bottom from behind, and took a Scooby-sized lick of trifle. Regina shrieked in alarm and bolted upright; her unfettered breasts jumped forward as her hands sprang up in surprise. Petie pressed in again, and Regina pitched forward, planting her face and hooters directly into her chocolate mousse, her bare ass all the way up and her trifle-covered feminine charms prominently on display. Annie tugged Pete away, as silence again fell across the room. Regina slowly pulled herself from yet another dessert and tried to wipe herself off with a napkin as her trembling lower lip prevented any further protest. Cordelia resumed flatly, “As I was saying, I am going to assign you the additional duty of working in the Institute’s gymnasium, noticing your proclivity for sweets, recent weight gain, and well, your literal bursting out of your dress today!” Regina stood stunned holding the napkin over her pussy. Cordelia concluded, “Ernest I have had quite enough. I don’t want to see any more of this dirty, mousse-drenched wench who is supposed to be a leader at our school. I’m leaving and you are going with me!” Cordelia marched out with Mr. B. District Attorney Gao leaned to Father Thomas and asked, “Why do these Dubois women have so many embarrassing accidents?” He responded, “Well, I think the answer can be found in the writings of Leviticus.” Both Mrs. Batavia Modiste and Mrs. Henriette Fontaine were laughing uncontrollably. Henriette said, “Those desserts were from my shop, and I could not imagine a better pair of tits and butt-cheeks for them to be smushed all over!” Batavia, added, “As was that fine dress, now in tatters!” I told Reggie over and over; she could not hope to squeeze her expanding rear into my work of art! She’s been reading too many pages from the tight skirt magazines… but… as they say when you flop in the fashion world, YOU’RE OUT! And in this case sooo literally! Tee hee!”



As soon as the sound of their footsteps faded, a sniggering and giggling swept over the remaining attendees. Regina stood before all, her derriere dunked in trifle, and her face and tits smeared with mousse, still in her heels but arms now at her sides, hands clenched in fists of rage as she struggled to control her emotions. Al approached and spooned a cherry on each of Regina’s pointy nipples. “There, the perfect touch” he scoffed, patting her on the ass, while he mugged for Brooke’s camera as she took a burst of photos. Regina erupted like Etna, and bellowed, “AGGGRGGG… HOW DARE YOU?... I am going to make ALL your student lives a living H*LL!! I DEMAND you get this mess OFF OF ME THIS INSTANT!! AFTER ALL, I AM THE ONE IN CHARGE!” Like a bull drawn to a waving cloth, Genevieve needed no further incentive. She squared off on her target and approached well-armed. Regina’s wrath suddenly waned, as Gen queried, “How can you be in charge? You’ve lost all your clothes.” Regina scowled back, and then shook her head, “Wait… what are you doing? No, no, no you can’t, you mustn’t!” With a devilish grin, Genevieve opened the jeroboam of champagne, after shaking it wildly. With a loud ‘POP,’ the large cork sailed directly between Regina’s lips, ULG…ACK! instantly shutting her up, as she stared at Gen and everyone else cross-eyed. Gen then let fly the stream of chilled champagne, playing it first right into Regina’s mousse-covered face, then down to her breasts, ensuring each nipple was properly cooled. Next, she sprayed Regina’s singed sn*tch. Regina’s eyes bugged as if on stalks, her panties around her knees, as she minced about the room with a jet of bubbly hosing her down!



Regina, trying to avoid the spray showering her, hopelessly holding a hand out in front of her, turned and bent this way and that, while Gen directed the stream across all of Regina’s private parts as everyone remaining laughed and clapped along watching the women in fury. Regina could only scream silently to herself, “Stop this immediately. Stop or I’ll…” Then reluctantly, “I am begging you… PLEASE…” Regina then slipped on the wet floor and fell with a ‘splat’ as the cork popped out of her mouth. She floundered on her belly like a fish, with her bulging boobs squashed on the floor tiles, while her upthrust big bottom, framed by her garter belt, shimmied in the puddle of frothy champagne as she tried to wriggle away from the laughing crowd with her tits and hoochie hugging the wet tile. She reached for the table cloth atop the dessert cart to somewhat restore her modesty. Sadly, her flailing arm struck the cart propelling it across the room. She watched with chagrin as her only hope of hiding her nudity, rolled away. She bayed in disbelief, “No, NO… Come Back!” Looking up through the wet ropes of her ruined red hair reduced to a wet mop, she gasped to see the students laughing and pointing at her, and MORE flashes from Brooke’s nettlesome Nikon. She kicked her heeled toes on the tile and pounded her fists against the floor as she broke out in a temper tantrum. Completely befuddled by her mortifying wet and messy predicament, she unashamedly rolled onto all fours, and with her enormous hangers wobbling, and broad bare bottom wagging, Regina tried to crawl away. With the last blast from the big bottle, Gen sprayed Regina’s upturned bottom, wonderfully parted to exhibit her rosebud and smarting quim, with the freezing effervescent. Regina, experiencing a chilly douche and an icy-cold colonic simultaneously, shrieked, “This is SOOO UNDIGNIFIED!” She sprang to her heeled feet and began to run from her student adversary, ...but what happened instead, was very different. Lifting her heel to take the first step towards ending her embarrassing public exposure, Regina was immediately tripped up by her now not-so-new panties, wound around her ankles. Losing her balance, she spun about and most ungracefully planted her bottom squarely atop a large potted spiny succulent from South America, Billbergia Nutans, also known as, the ‘Queens Tears!’ Her mouth formed a perfect ‘O,’ telegraphing a trifecta of astonishment, discomfort, and mortification.



She looked owlishly through wet strands of hair at her guests, astonished by yet another pratfall. She now sat with her big butt wedged inside the large planter. Her stockinged legs hung over the sides, as did her arms, while her hands clutched her heaving heavies, still covered in bubbly froth, while SOMETHING was uncomfortably implanted below, where nothing should be. Regina exploded into tears, while screaming in denial, “This is UNTHINKABLE! MILES!!… Where are you? You had better not be out Geocaching or Geositing, or whatever it is called! GET ME OUT OF HERE OR SO HELP ME I WILL… EXTERMINATE YOU!!!” With Miles nowhere to be seen, the rest of Regina’s guests took the rather prickly situation in hand and eased the blubbering, ashamed, and down-fallen dean out of the planter and over to a wrought iron chaise lounge where they positioned her, the abused cheeks of her big ass asunder, and a plump boob on either side of the cool arm rest, while the doctors donned their bags from the car. Then as everyone looked away, save young Brooke who was well into her third roll of film by now, the doctors began using tweezers, to pluck the bits of saltpeter, charcoal, and sulphur, as well as many thorns, from the shrieking Regina’s buttocks and nether regions.



While Regina wriggled in response to the torment of the tweezers, the doctors cautioned her to be still, until one gave her a sharp spank on her rump, making the flesh on her big ass shake. She looked back and whined, “You are supposed to be helping me, not spanking my bottom!” They responded, “We are the professionals here,” as one grasped the fancy brass plant T-tag, plugging her heinie, and pulled it out with a loud ‘POP.’ “YYEEEIiiiPP!’ Regina squealed in discomfiture. She gasped when she looked up and began to hyperventilate as she saw two dozen neighbors and passersby, peering in her conservatory’s windows. She winced when she saw one had a movie camera and a press badge from WENF, in his hat. “Will somebody please put the screen back up! EVERYONE is looking at me, they can see my tits and ass, I’M NAKED HERE! I am sadly shamefully exciting my community!” “Indeed, you are, so please stop wiggling,”. The doctor ordered, as he gave her another firm hand spanking. “Don’t fuss to much Reg,” her mother Dominique directed. “When the doctors’ are finished, I am going to take you over my knee right here like I used to do when you were a bad girl, and soundly spank your bare bottom! Then Sig’s gang here will help you correct your missteps before I allow you to be featured at the Community Theater next month.” Tears of bitter humiliation and defeat streamed down Regina’s face, along with her mascara, as she pounded the armrest with one fist, while the other was at her mouth as she bit her thumb to ease the pain. “These shots will be the pièce de resistance in our yearbook. I will even see if WENF would like to buy a few,” Brooke said as she moved in for some close-ups.



Epilogue.



The nearly denuded Primrose and Miles had quickly disappeared in the cover of the smoke screen for the privacy of Prim’s bedroom. She knew her mommy dearest was painfully indisposed. Those sharp of hearing detected the sounds of bedsprings creaking, and bouncing youthful bottoms, dancing upstairs to the tune of the Horizontal Bop.

[tomb125]

Lacking Beginner's Luck, the Dubois Duo is Denuded, Part 1


*All characters are over 18 years old*

*I have taken generous liberties with this skit; I hope you enjoy it*

(1) "Beginner's Luck" | Little Rascals Shorts | FULL EPISODE - YouTube



Part One


Saturday Night, The Big Show


A pair of trailer-mounted searchlights provided by tonight’s generous sponsor, Bastermats Chemical Company, crisscrossed the starry sky in front of the Puttyville Community Theater. The amateur junior talent show, splendidly advertised in flashing lights on the marquee, was to be the gala event of this year’s holiday season. Tonight, seating over three thousand Puttyville’s citizens, the landmark Scuddy-Albeit-Sloly Theater was the creation of the Scottish-born architect, Thomas W. Lamb and exemplified the opulence and grandeur of the 1920s with a Mexican Baroque design style. Featuring intricate plasterwork, chandeliers, and balconies created an atmosphere of sophistication, along with cosmetic rooms, smoking rooms, and fireplaces for men and women in the restrooms adjoining the main lobby. The theatre, which cost a staggering two million dollars in 1928, was dubbed a “temple of amusement” by Puttyville’s newspaper, the Expose & News Fuse. This fun fact would prove most apropos tonight!


Inside the opulent theater, the house lights were still up, as the last arriving members of the audience found their seats with the help of usherettes while the full orchestra played a jazzy number. Leading the orchestra was the buttoned-down, but markedly MILFY, band director from the Ivy Industrial Institute, Ms. Bushyberry. She wore a floor-length black dress matching all the females performing, and waved her baton with authority. Primrose’s posse was tactically well-positioned stage left, seated directly behind the orchestra pit, armed to the hilt. There, they deviously waited to ruin her performance with a whole host of wickedly humorous pranks. They were determined to make Primrose’s performance an absolute disaster. Behind the massive burgundy curtain, a hive of activity buzzed as a host of youthful amateur performers excitedly milled about, and their mother managers moved nervously around trying to ensure all the details for their child’s performance were attended to. The MC, used to dealing with professionals, was now flustered by the youthful contestants and their pushy mothers. He tried to maintain a modicum of control of the backstage bruhaha, while the house lights blinked to signal the start of the show. Checking his list, he realized he was missing only one contestant, none other than Primrose Dubois. “If she doesn’t arrive soon, so help me, I will start without them,” he vowed to the other contestants.


One Month Earlier


The seeds of Regina and Primrose Dubois’s, disastrous denuded denouement was sown at the fashionable dress maker shop in Puttyville where Beth’s mother, Batavia Modiste held her final fitting session with the local self-proclaimed VIP, Ms. Regina Dubois. Beth had worked very hard to create Regina’s vision, an elegant scarlet velvet dress, with matching covered buttons from knee to throat. Regina had been very clear in her instructions as to her dress’s design. She insisted the gown be nearly bullet-proof and not show any shocking amounts of stocking or ANY of her bountiful bosom cleavage. All her formidable figure’s wobbly bits were to be securely supported and tucked away out of sight inside a modest holiday dress. She had even told Batavia, “I could never relive last month’s mortification at my house, especially not at the contest in front of thousands.” However, the vainglorious vixen craved both attention and media talent coverage, and was determined to show off and ensure SHE was the center of attention at the Community Theater. Regina contradicted her earlier instructions to Batavia and demanded the dressmaker literally paint her curves with luxurious antique rouge-tinted fabrics, which unfortunately lacked the elasticity of today’s materials.


During this session, the scarlet dress was found by both ladies to be very tight and straining the front-buttons when Regina swept in from the dressing room and stood before the mirrors. There were gaps in the fabric through which Regina’s flesh and lingerie peeked out. Batavia suggested, “Ms. Dubois, I should let this out…again…it seems you have gotten larger…I mean, if you had to bend over… I could not be responsible for…” Regina blustered right back, “How dare you Batavia? I am NOT fat, nor an I GAINING weight!” Regina insisted, “Take more in, I say! I AM losing weight,” and your creation ABSOLUTELY MUST show my figure most flatteringly. Besides, I have some new lingerie and foundations ordered from Europe and they will…, uh, take up any slack so to speak.” It is imperative this dress be perfect for the cast party following the competition where WENF and the newspaper photographers will be snapping stills and making movies of us all! It is so important to maintain MY REPUTATION!” “Well,” Batavia persisted, “I recommend you at least wear a coordinating-colored slip…, just in case.” Regina scowled in response, but nodded her head in concession.


Tuesday Before the Talent Contest


Our Gang was gathered at Primrose’s house to discuss her plight while she practiced her soliloquy. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears," Primrose declared, wearing a Roman general’s helmet in the conservatory of her mother’s elegant Italianate home. As it was a warm day, the room’s many windows were open and several of Primrose’s classmates overheard her reciting her speech for the talent contest. Primrose saw her squad’s high sign, so she stopped reciting and leaned out the window. They all ran up and Primrose said, “My mother is obsessed with my performance. She would not even let me choose what to do for the talent contest, and you will not believe the skimpy costume she expects me to wear in front of the entire town! She directs everything in my life!” Prim continued with a sob, “The only way I can stop these theatrics she keeps forcing me into, is to bomb so badly on Saturday night, my mother will never again try to put me on a stage!” As Miles consoled Prim, the kids all agree to make Prim’s performance flop. Miles reported Regina had even telephoned Alexandra Jameson, his mother, and insisted he compete in the show to compliment Primrose. Regina even went so far as to ‘suggest’ the poem, The Paperboy, for Miles to sing. The gang gasped in disbelief, as Primrose rolled her eyes, hearing her mother call out. “Primrose, I don’t hear you practicing!”


Regina was inside the next room, but just out of sight. She was all thumbs with her sewing machine as she struggled to finish her daughter’s costume, specifically a scandalously short red tunic. “I cannot get these seams right,” she muttered in exasperation. Regina had insisted Primrose recite Marc Antony from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar instead of letting her daughter portray Primrose’s favorite, Rosalind, from As You Like It. Regina ‘huffed’ at the thought, “Tragedy is a far more profound performance than comedy! After all, I hold a masters in literature and I should know, right Mimic?” The annoying bird answered from inside the conservatory where Prim was still with her gang, “AWK…, Yes ma’am, ma’am… you’re right again, AUK, always right, Always Right!” Regina smiled to herself and continued sewing, oblivious to the disastrous downfall being plotted in the next room.


Saturday Afternoon, Regina and Primrose Get Ready for the Big Show


Regina soaked in her luxurious claw-legged tub inside her Art Deco tiled bathroom. She rolled about in the steamy froth as she stroked her ruby locks, above and below board. She dreamt of a strong, young man having his way with her, maybe even giving her a spanking followed by some light BDSM play. Someone like Primrose’s crush, Miles Jameson crossed her mind as she swished in the suds with her fingers fully occupied pleasuring herself. She could almost feel his enormous young manhood pressed between her plump ass cheeks, as she sucked a fragrant finger fresh from her soaking sn*tch. After nearly boiling the bath water with her reverie, she was startled by the clock chiming and realized she must now get moving or she would be late. She toweled carefully, admiring her latest ‘jewelry’ adorning her glistening full figure. Each massive, perfectly formed breast was capped with a large pink nipple pierced by a gold bar. Looking down below her slightly protruding belly, she glimpsed the matching gold ring, piercing her clitoral hood. It was centered on her carefully groomed red carpet. She now took careful time tweaking her enormous teats and teasing her nether niche to very near a point of no return. “Oh, it has been so long since I have had a proper rogering,” Regina moaned. A yell from across the hall interrupted her self-pleasuring concentration. “MOooM! Where are my sandals?” Regina was refocused on the important tasks at hand.


After doing her hair and makeup, Regina opened the scented boxes from Europe containing her new underwear. She inhaled deeply and smiled, “As always, I have new lingerie to wear tonight, which obviously no one will ever see. It always makes me feel so special and confident. Fine foundations like these, firmly fitted, make me feel… well, naughty.” With a giggle, Regina stepped into the embroidered red silk panties and pulled them up her long legs. She immediately knew her money was most well spent indeed. The retro high-waist briefs were dotted with white flowers, and decorated with white lace trim. They hugged her hindquarters with security. Regina pushed out her bottom and patted her own ass observing, “No half-mast mishaps tonight. All my assets will be fully covered and deliciously sculpted.”


Next, she wriggled her full hips into a matching red open bottom shaper girdle, reinforced with spring steel stays. “These things are so hard to get on. I should have asked Primrose’s crush to help. After all, he always seems to have a hard on. I can just imagine him staring at me now, struggling to properly put me together, while ogling my topless, beautiful body. He would be as hard as a board… tee hee,” she tittered as she shimmied and tugged. Finally in place, the shaper was snug against the top half of her pantied bottom in back and rode from just above her crotch in front, up to just under her mammoth bust. It certainly pronounced Regina’s hourglass physique, enhancing her sexy belly as well. Six sturdy garter tabs hung loose at her ample thighs. Regina then lifted each bounteous boob into a matching and most sturdy, underwired, bullet-bra. Clipping the wide, three-hook backstrap, and tugging the shoulder straps tight, she quipped, “My snuggle puppies won’t be bursting out of this bomb-proof baby.”


Regina pulled on a pair of seamed, RHT black stockings, and tautly gartered them to her shaper. As she clipped the straps firmly in place, they seemed to be in a tugging match with her girdle, and deliciously dimpled the flesh of her thighs where they attached to her stockings. This sensation felt sooo sexy, a she could feel her panties moisten. Regina nearly had to call for Prim’s assistance as she then wiggled into a sheer, silk, demi-slip. “Like Batavia said, just in case of any potential ‘wardrobe malfunctions,’ I can remain modest before my community and my Institute.” Hearing another chime from the clock, Regina hurried to finish dressing. She slipped on her coordinated four-inch-high heels and buttoned herself into her dress. She donned a pair of emerald earrings, a matching bracelet, and choker, then checked herself in the full-length mirror. Reg was at a loss for breath looking at her reflection. She looked simply marvelous. Her new undies had worked miracles. Now at seventy-three inches tall and sculpted into a legitimate 44-28-44 fiery red hourglass, Regina looked amazingly provocative, even sexy in her new dress. As she pinned a crimson beret atop her salon-styled red hair, she joked, “I look just like a pinup for the Paras!” She smooched a kiss to herself in the mirror, and wagged her ass.


Just then, her doorbell sounded announcing the arrival of her driver. “PRIMROSE!!” Regina yelled, “Our ride is here, chop, chop!” When the door opened and the two ladies walked onto the tiled portico, the chauffeur nearly lost his breath. Regina’s heels clicked loudly as she walked to the car as he held the door open. Then Primrose emerged looking like a cross between a Sinbad movie hottie and one of John Norman’s gals from Gor! As she got in, he thought he heard a popping sound from Primrose as she slid across the seat, but could not be sure. He held his tongue, as Regina immediately began talking and silently drove them to the Theater.

Happy New Year!

[tomb125]

Lacking Beginner's Luck, the Dubois Duo are Denuded


*All characters are over 18 years old*
*I have taken generous liberties with this skit; I hope you enjoy it*
(1) "Beginner's Luck" | Little Rascals Shorts | FULL EPISODE - YouTube


Part Two


Saturday Night, The Big Show. The Dubois Dames Make Their Entrance.


Regina’s driver pulled to the curb of the glamourous Scuddy-Albeit-Sloly Theater, no less than ten minutes before curtain call. As Regina waited for her door to be opened, Primrose unceremoniously clambered out, her skimpy costume covered by her long cloak. She turned to remove her scutum (shield) and gladius (short sword) from the car. She bent nearly double, most unladylike, and reached into the large backseat. Her short tunic rode up to reveal quite a bit of her delightful peachy bottom, lusciously bisected by a pair of wispy-and-well-wedged, rosy panties. While the doorman drooled, cameras flashed, and the waiting reporters groaned to see such a spectacle, a lusty wolf whistle spoiled Regina’s exit, as her driver waited to help her from the car and onto the red carpet. Her smile and wave masked her fury as she screamed to herself; “How dare Primrose upstage me here! … of all places! I think she deliberately flashed her young ass for the cameras! We will see who has the last laugh!” She stormed from her car, foregoing her drivers proffered hand. With a loud ‘SWAT!’ she whacked her daughter’s nearly bare derriere. Primrose squealed, clutching her smarting glute, “Mom! You’re spanking me in public… like a little girl!” Regina spat back, pointing at Prim’s face, “Young lady! You are a Dubois, and as such, a professional. You maintain your decency, and don’t go wagging your tight bottom about like a trollop!” Thusly browbeaten, Primrose drew the long cloak snugly around her and huffed at her manipulative mother. Little did either woman realize; tonight decency, as well as their dresses, would desert them both, and tails and tongues would soon wag!”


They walked together into the theater, Regina smiling and waving at everyone she recognized from the upper echelons of Puttyville society. Once backstage, the MC, Rupert Mularkey, rushed up and declared, “Well it’s about time!” Little Miss Marc Antony here, is on in 5 minutes!” “Are you kidding?” Regina protested. “My Primrose is too much of an artist to open the show.” “Furthermore, she is not ready. She must get her costume adjusted and powder her nose!” The MC checked his list. "Too much of an artist or not, I have her as the first act. Ms. Bushyberry and her orchestra have all the scores in order." Regina responded indignantly, her hands on her full hips, "Well, you'll just have to change your line up. I refuse to let Prim go onstage first! With a nod toward the conductor in the orchestra pit, she hammered on, “And that double-chinned, dumpling-bottomed, dowager down there can surely demonstrate some flexibility! Lord knows what she’s hiding beneath that sack dress.”


This dustup had drawn the attention of everyone backstage and Regina’s mother approached. Dominque, dressed in a conservative dark suit, contrasted sharply with her daughter, dolled up like a movie star. She looked up at her overblown offspring and said, “Reggie dear, who's night is it supposed to be?" Regina huffed, "Tonight is Primrose’s chance to meet with a commercial agent after the show. I will do everything I can to make a ‘lasting impression’ and nothing will spoil it.” “Besides,” she continued, while running her hands down her full figure hugged in rich scarlet fabric, "My expensive gown is an exclusive design, and I think it will help the judges remember Primrose’s performance by recalling my fashionable presence." "Well, since you have everything figured out, I’ll try not to interfere with your elegant debut." Dominique turned on her heel and left.


Regina then contemptuously regarded the other contestants backstage, summing up the competition. “Primmy, our win tonight will be a victoriam facilem, or a slam dunk as you kids say.” Primrose looked obviously uncomfortable with her mother’s imperious behavior, as Miles walked up and said glumly, “I’m your paperboy, pleased to meet you.” His hat, shirt, and pants were covered with black and white newsprint. The only color for his costume came from red, high-top sneakers, and his bicycle. “Can you believe what my mom made me wear tonight?” he implored. Primrose said, “Well, I think you look fantastic, Miles.” He said, “Thanks, I guess.” Despite both feeling foolish, Miles moved to kiss her, but the moment was sadly lost when Regina leaned in with a snicker, and shook Miles’s hand with one arm and hugged his bottom with the other. She purred, “Good evening, Miles, I can see you are indeed my paperboy,” as his now-tented typeset trousers brushed her thigh. His mother then fortuitously interrupted. “Come along, Miles, you have got to get ready.” Alexandra Jameson, having witnessed the whole scene, led Miles away with an askance glance back at Regina.


As Ms. Bushyberry and her orchestra concluded the introductory score, Rupert took the stage and introduced the first acts, after apologizing to everyone for the last-minute changes in the lineup. The contest began well, as a girl group of tap dancers kicked it off. They were followed by a barbershop quartet. Primrose noticed a very cute young man with a guitar in the wings, she had not seen before. “Well, howdy, ma’am.” The cowboy with the fancy guitar walked right up and introduced himself with a tip of his hat. Primrose was stunned by his striking handsomeness. He reminded her of Miles, but with a rustic edge. He said, “Well, you look sweeter than a Mexican Water Lily.” Primrose blushed as he took her hand and kissed it. “You must be Ms. Primrose Dubois.” “Why yes,” she replied, “How did you know?” “Let’s just say your reputation precedes you.” Primrose giggled at this flattery as he continued. “I’m Dusty, the singing cowboy and tonight I aim to sing a few ballads and win this here contest.” Primrose smiled and said, “that sure is a lovely guitar you have.” “Well yes, it is, but I confess it is a rental I hope to buy with the prize money, as I can’t afford such a beauty currently.” “Well, I sure hope you win,” said Primrose, as she kissed him on the cheek. Now the cowboy blushed, as his mother cued him to get ready. “Adieu Primrose, my dewy southwestern flower, I’m up next.” Miles, scowled from across the stage, furious at being bested by this country bumpkin.


As the orchestra banged out a rustic number, the curtain rose to reveal Dusty seated atop a hay bale with his gleaming guitar. As he looked out at the audience, all he could see was a revolving circle of anticipatory visages, staring at him. The boy was frozen. Ms. Bushyberry and the orchestra began Dusty’s introductory score again, but to no avail. All he could see before him was a sea of eyes, staring from the audience’s seats. Sadly, Dusty’s performance never got started, and his mother led him offstage, still petrified. Primrose approached the cowboy in shock, and tried to comfort him. “I’ll never have this guitar for my own,” he lamented. Regina rushed up and said, Primrose, you must get ready. As more acts followed, Prim asked her mother if she could keep the prize money. “Well of course! You can do whatever you want with it. I just want you to win!” Now Primrose decided for victory, not bomb. She would donate the money to Dusty so he could keep his guitar. Now she moved to inform the gang of the change, but her mother refused to let her go out there before her performance in costume. “Ok, well you tell the gang then. Tell them I have to WIN!” Regina edged out and told the gang Primrose has must win, batting her eyes at the boys. Al, smelled a rat and convinced them all it was a ruse, and they should stay the course to ruin Prim’s performance. Primrose peeked out and gave her gang the high sign, unfortunately misinterpreted by Al. “See there, she gave us the signal. Standby to open fire on my command!”


Meanwhile, the jealous Miles was wise to his crush’s scheme to donate her winnings to Dusty. Determined to top his country-western competitor, he would show his girlfriend exactly what he was made of. So, with a crinkle and a crumple, Miles wheeled his bike onto the stage. Those watching him, now realized his costume was made from an actual newspaper. Miles propped up his bike and began his poem, but there was terrible feedback from the audio system. He looked offstage at the MC, gesturing for him to step closer to the vintage ribbon microphone. Miles reached for the mic stand as he stepped forward. Unfortunately, he tripped on its cord and it toppled over, catching his shirt. With a loud RRRIIIPPPP!!!, his paper pullover was torn right off. Standing shirtless before the stunned audience, Miles felt the cool air circulate his bare upper body. He then witlessly bent at his waist, reaching for the mic. Another RRRIIIPPP!!! announced the shredding of his newsprint shorts. Miles looked out at the crowd with his torn trousers crumpled around his PRO-Keds and red tube knee socks. The audience began laughing as the young man was reduced to his sneakers and a too-small pair of bright white, cherry-patterned panties. Men in the audience laughed and more than a few women licked their lips at the sight of the near-naked boy. Regina stared at her daughter’s hottie, as he wiggled his smooth torso, sexy legs, and tight buns, fumbling with the remnants of his costume. Her panties moistened, her teats tightened, and she lightly bit her index finger.


Alexandra ran onto the stage shouting, “MILES! How ever did this happen, and WHY are you wearing your sister’s UNDERWEAR??” The tomato-faced Miles clutched a wad of paper against his barely covered, bulging manhood, and whined, “Mom, Gen says these panties always bring her luck.” “Well, that’s obviously not the case now, is it, young man?” “You get backstage and take off Genevieve’s underwear straightaway!” She took a hold of his ear and pulled him along in his sister’s lucky panties. Miles yelped as she tugged him through the part at the center of the curtain, and delivered a sharp spank to his cute, pantied butt. Off stage, his costume mended with tape, but now lacking any underwear, Miles felt barely less embarrassed. Alexandra announced crossly, “Since you now have no chance to win, I am going to keep signing you up for more performances until you can get it right.” “Mom, no, please get me out of here…Everyone just saw me in girl’s underwear!” “You stand right there, buddy-boy, and watch the rest of the show. When we get home, you’ll feel the sting of the razor strop in front of your sister and everyone else!”


Finally, it was time for Primrose to go on, the final act. Regina gave her a wave and a thumbs up. “Dominate this like a Dubois!” she barked with a toss of her beret-topped head toward the rest of the performers and their mothers backstage. Primrose clipped her cloak behind her, revealing her sexy costume for the first time. On her feet were a pair of Roman sandals, caligae. Her belt, or baltea, held the strips of leather covering the bottom of her short tunic as well as her scabbard. Around her chest was the lorica, an articulated breastplate providing protection and freedom of movement. On her head was her cassis, a visored helmet topped with a bristled crest, the crista. In one hand Primrose brandished her short sword, in the other, her shield. More than a few gasps were heard backstage as the sexy centurion-general strode onto the darkened stage. Primrose was completely confident she would win, but hesitated in the dimness. Disoriented, she tripped on her cloak and fell with a loud clatter. The audience gasped. The spot lights suddenly shone brightly to reveal Primrose flopping about onstage like a metallic fish, her detached cloak was d****d over her head. The audience began tittering and giggling watching the prostrate Primrose struggling in her armor to stand up and start her speech. Regina hissed at the grinning Rupert, giving him a sharp elbow strike, “You did that on purpose!”


Primrose eventually found her feet and tossing her cloak aside, stood up, straightened her helmet, and tried to look commanding despite her scanty costume. She began theatrically:

“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesa…”

BRRAAAPPP!!! This line was followed by a salvo of spitballs fired by her gang. With a loud clatter, Primrose quickly raised her shield to fend off the pea-shooter barrage that followed. The audience and judges began laughing, assuming this was all part of her act. The gang continued their assault, with noisemakers, wadded up playbills, and whistles joining the fray. Regina shouted at Rupert, “I must get her off. Those miscreants are making a fool of her!” She tried to run onto the stage but the MC grabbed her arm. “You can’t go out there,” he insisted. Frustrated, Regina realized she had to find another way to rescue her Primrose from this mortifying moment and silence the audience’s laughter. With a flash of inspiration, Regina realized how to pull Primrose from the limelight. She shucked off her coordinated crimson cloak, grabbed a long, hooked ‘Vaudeville pole’ from backstage, and got down onto her knees just behind the combination curtain. This d**** combined guillotine and the tab curtains and could be opened horizontally along a center part, or raised vertically as a single panel. Tonight, it was configured in the latter style, with a series of hooks and grommets fastening the center part. Regina tried to peek through the closed gap as she fished along the stage floor with her hook. She missed Primrose, who was hopping about using her shield against the pea-shooters. Then Regina’s hook shattered a floor light on the edge of the stage. She tried again and felt her hook snag something. Regina tugged ferociously at what she thought was her daughter, but unfortunately it was something very different.


Regrettably, Regina was really ripping off the dowdy orchestra director’s unflattering black dress. Ms. Mildred stared down as her gown was split open from her neckline to her waist, revealing her enormous bustline held by her old-fashioned shape wear. She then looked up at the orchestra and audience beyond as the rent lengthened. Regina pulled her dress right off, across the stage, and away under the curtain. Ms. Bushyberry now stood on her pedestal in a white, full-length girdle, with a built-in brassiere on top and an open bottom below, gartered to a pair of nude, RHT stockings, clutching her plump thighs. Visible in the bright lighting, beneath her girdle, Millie, now-regrettably, had chosen a sexy pair of lace trimmed, purple, boy-short underpants patterned with musical notes. These strained to completely contain her ample assets. As nearly three thousand pairs of eyeballs stared in surprise, the response from the orchestra reached a crescendo. Not one of Ms. Bushyberry’s pupils dreamed she was such a hot, curvy, big beautiful woman. Someone from the percussion section shouted, “Holy cow! Look what Katie Did…I mean, look what she is wearing! Ms. B is one thicc chic I’d like to… …FRRaapppPP!!” A nearby snare drummer drowned out further ribald commentary. As the theater goers began to laugh and point, Mildred’s mouth fell open in shock as she blinked disbelievingly across the top of her eyeglasses, currently sliding down her nose. She dropped her baton, and clapped her arms across herself in the classic ENF pose as the audience erupted into laughter. This caused her huge breasts to bulge from their cups and stiffen in the cool air.


Meanwhile, Regina hauled in the ruined dress, looked at it for a moment, then threw it aside and resumed fishing for Primrose. Unfortunately, Regina next snagged Ms. Mildred’s luxurious permed mane, but when pulled on, it suddenly released, proving to be but a stylish wig. Completely flabbergasted, the humiliated Ms. Bushyberry clapped both hands to her pate, covered with a wig cap, her mousy locks pinned against her scalp beneath. Blushing furiously, she looked around at everyone laughing at her, now bald and stripped to her silly underwear. Ms. B decided to make a break for it. Unfortunately, she tripped and crashed headlong into the concert-size, pedal harp. She found herself caught, with her plump breasts pulled from their girdle’s bra cups and hopelessly tangled in the instrument’s strings. As Ms. Bushyberry shrieked in discomfiture, “Get me out of here!,” more than a few young players leapt to ‘assist.’ Her big boobies trembled like two piglets in a wire pen, as the many helping hands copped a squeeze and pinched to tease, raising her large nipples to an amazing length of extension. She then heard to her horror; “try unzipping this,” then, “pull hard on these,” and “twist smartly right there…” Ms. Bushyberry realized she was being stripped and nearly molested by her own musicians. “Whatever are you all doing? STOP UNDRESSING ME THIS INSTANT!” She felt her shaper unfastened and her gargantuan gazoombas massaged, or rather, manhandled from the strings of the harp. The heat from the spotlights added to her blush, spreading down her chest as her wondrous wombats wobbled in the brilliant illumination. Her girdle was pulled inside out, and slowly tugged off her sexy belly. She felt fingers unfastening her garters, and tracing further along her creamy thighs. Ms. Bushyberry’s eyes widened to feel her musical themed panties being pulled down, caught on her departing girdle. Both were soon summarily shucked off. “OH NO!” she gasped, but then was served another humiliation from her brass section, she loved to boss-about. They began to rub her bulging pink curves with their instrument’s valve oil. Ms. Bushyberry yipped and squealed as more than a few lubricant-laced digits delved near her most personal regions. Then a dozen drumsticks from the percussion section and the cowbell and triangle players, reddened her shiny, plump bottom cheeks. Abandoning decorum, she tried to crawl from the orchestra pit and onto the stage with her bare belly, slickened with lube, literally sliding on the boards. Her hot broad ass wriggled skyward, her plump boobs were squashed against the stage, and her high heels kicked the air wildly. Finally finding a friction point, Millie was able to get up on her knees and elbows just as Al launched a pointy paper plane, folded from a sheet of music. This landed directly between her parted, plump cheeks where it was firmly lodged. Ms. Bushyberry bellowed like an ass-shot hippopotamus as her glasses dangled from their silver chain, bouncing against her dueling melons, hanging down with her nipples brushing the floor planks. Thusly skewered, the denuded director leapt to her heels and grasped her oscillating ass cheeks, while her tits rocketed from her chest like twin rampant roes. Everyone was amazed to see her namesake berry was not bushy at all, but most well-trimmed and pruned in the shape of a bass clef, (after all, for Millie, it WAS all about the bass!) This embarrassing personal secret had now ‘gone public’ along with the large coda sign, tattooed on her plump left ass cheek.


Ms. Bushyberry minced on center stage as the spotlights followed her every jiggling turn, performing a nudie panic dance. She hopped about, shifting from heel to heel, turning this way and that, while unsuccessfully trying to cover two hugely tormented honkers, a shaved pussy topped with just a whisp of fur, a pair wobbly beaten buttocks fully bisected by a crisp leaf of Astroparche, and her bald head as she stared mortified into the laughing faces of the thousands of onlookers as well as the red-lighted cameras of WENF and reporters from the Expose. Students in the orchestra gawked in amazement at their frumpy, fastidious maestro now uncovered to be a MILFy sexpot; stripped, spanked, shined up, and musically pierced. She ran in small circles; like poetry in motion, her soft, oiled curves glistening in the spot lights. Rupert finally acted his role as MC and moved on stage toward the uncovered Millie K., offering her his coat. Sadly, the addled nudie, blinded by the light, and bolted in only her stockings and high heels. She ran for cover right up the center aisle of the full house, now roaring with laughter. She pushed her plump and glimmering nakedness through the crowded lobby, suffering more than a few painful pinches to her ample and trembling tasty cakes, proving to be unavoidable, tempting targets. Squealing with shame, the red-faced plump beauty dashed through the doors to the streets outside. She looked to and fro for refuge, clutching her naughty bits, while the penetrating paper plane wobbled to and fro, still fixed between the cheeks of her big bottom. Seeing none, Ms. Mildred K. Bushyberry scurried right down the middle of Fourth Avenue, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her utter humiliation rekindled a dormant volcano in her loins. As she ran, the sensation of her plump, stocking-sheathed thighs rubbing together, combined with one hand tweaking an enormous rock-hard nipple, and the other buried in her own cleft, all trumped by the taboo tingling, triggered by the turbo-jet, turned from tablature, tunneled tightly in her tushy, all totaled up for a most shameful supposition (wow). Ms. Bushyberry literally bayed at the moon as she publicly brought herself off, running bald and naked save for her heels, right in front of the Junior Electrical League, a group of school-aged geeks disembarking their bus in front of the radio station for a tour. Those students will never forget the sight of Ms. Bushyberry’s smooth, lily-white ass cheeks rolling to the click of her heels as she ran screaming down the rain-slicked street. Meanwhile, back at the theater, Al took advantage of the confusion and moved into the orchestra pit, recovered Millie’s dropped baton, and began to ‘conduct’ the orchestra.


Regina, not at all deterred by her shameful stripping of Ms. Bushyberry, continued to try to withdraw her derided daughter from the stage. By now, Primrose was taking fire from all fronts and her helmet’s visor had slammed shut, restricting her vision. The crowd bellowed at Primrose stumbling about on stage, trying to use her shield for protection against dozens of projectiles now hitting her exposed arms, legs, and bare midriff. Her amateur angling mom finally hit paydirt with her pole, when she hooked Prim’s sandals. She pulled back sharply and Primrose pitched forward and fell headlong on the stage, with a clang from her helmet. The orchestra, directed now by the deviant artist Al Roper, broke into an MGM bawdy favorite, Night Train, by David Rose & his Orchestra, as Regina slowly pulled off her daughter’s costume, piece by piece. Protesting in the prone, Primrose was determined the show must go on for her to salvage her act and win. She clutched the edge of the stage, and hung on like a trouper. Regina first pulled off her breastplate, then her belt, and finally Primrose’s entire tunic. Primrose found herself on stage wearing only her helmet and HER lucky undies; a sheer maroon sports bra and a matching thong panty, printed with a crested ‘SPQR’ across the minimal front panel. Realizing she was nearly naked, Primrose scrambled up and cowered, stage left, squatting behind her small shield, as she blinked owlishly at the rollicking audience and her shocked posse who finally ceased their antics.


Dusty, held a hand to his face and said, “What a disaster! Prim will never win now.” Rupert, responding to the roar of the crowd said, “Are you kidding? Listen! They love this! She’s the winner for sure!” Regina for all her reeling-in efforts, had been pulled onto the stage from beneath the curtain, still on her knees and elbows, bewildered at what she had just done. She stared at her daughter reduced to her undies in front of everyone. What Regina didn’t realize was, her stooped position strained her tight dress and she had popped off more than a few buttons fastening the front. Her gown had hiked up, along with her sheer slip, revealing her garter straps tightly fastened to her stocking tops, dimpling her mouthwatering upper thighs. Regina’s hook now comically connected with the broken stage light socket. More laughter ensued as Reg was summarily electrocuted. She was knocked back on her heels as she felt the current move through her metal-reinforced undergarments, causing a strange sensation as well as the scent of burning rubber. Looking literally shocked, bug-eyed Regina dropped the pole, shook her hands about, and inadvertently with her heels, opened the hook and grommet fastener which held the curtain halves together directly behind her. As the crowd continued to laugh, Dominique noticed the grommet hook dangling between her daughter’s parted legs, just below the hem of her dress, now hiked higher to reveal most of her big, panty-covered bottom, bulging beneath her straining, and now smoking girdle, clenched across the top of her big ass. Dominique smiled broadly, winked at Rupert, and moved toward the operating rail of the fly system to raise the curtain. Dominque shouted to everyone backstage watching Regina’s rearview wardrobe malfunction, “Here’s where we stop the show!”

[Chasmo]

Bravo! Truly a masterwork. The added bonus of the conductress' humiliation is a mere appetizer to what's to come. Great job as always - thanks!

[tomb125]

Lacking Beginner's Luck, the Dubois Duo are Denuded


*All characters are over 18 years old*

*I have taken generous liberties with this skit; I hope you enjoy it. I also want to credit A. Karsh and two unknown authors, from years ago, who made their cut at this classic. I employed some of their specific ideas here*

(1) "Beginner's Luck" | Little Rascals Shorts | FULL EPISODE - YouTube


Part Three, Fin


Dominique Ended the Show


Regina heard the roar of the crowd and looked away from Primrose, stripped to her smallclothes, to see what further havoc her hook had wrought. Still on her knees and with her efforts resulting in her being pulled halfway on stage through the curtain, she blinked in bewilderment to see the MILFy Mildred Bushyberry, naked and depilated, scampering up the center aisle with her plump cheeks, reddened by her own rhythm section, wobbling wondrously. The mean dean sneered, “Well, SHE got her just desserts! Serves the fat cow right, trying to be such a sexy fake.” Overhearing Regina, her mother Dominque peered at the unsecured hook dangling directly between her daughter’s parted legs. Stooped forward, Regina’s pencil dress was hiked up to flash her big pantied bottom bulging beneath her straining girdle. The shaper clenched across the top of her rump; the rear garter straps tightly fastened to her visible stocking tops. Mother quipped, “She should hardly talk! This heffer has been on a hiatus from her diet for months.” Then, with a flash of inspiration, Dominique smiled broadly, winked at the MC, and moved to the rail of the fly system used to operate the curtains. Dominique yelled, “Here’s where we stop the show!”


With a maniacal laugh, she hoisted the curtain skyward, its hook caught in the back of Regina’s dress. Sensing something was up, Regina glanced back and saw to her horror what was happening. She was being summarily separated from her designer attire. The lower front of her dress split open as buttons bounced off the stage right before her warming face, staring incredulously at her undoing. Her slip next debuted, while Regina struggled to hold her outfit together. Still on her knees, she shouted, “Hey! What the…, WHAA?? STOP! I’m caught here! Stop raising the curtain!” She shrieked as her gown was hauled up behind her and over her hips. Her efforts against the curtain’s counterweight mechanism were hopeless, and she felt her rich raiment raised from her waist, chest, and pulled over her head, and right off. Her beret remarkably remained in place. Regina stared skyward at her ruined dress, hanging from the raised curtain, then wide-eyed out at the rollicking audience. A silly look crossed her face as she screamed to herself, “How was she, a pillar of Puttyville, now in front of a full house of amused onlookers in only her new underwear? Expensive lingerie specially designed to contain her substantial curves… curves she now had, because she ignored her diet and exercise regimen!” Her secret was being slowly and literally revealed tonight. Suddenly jolted back to reality because at this moment, Al Roper, deviously directing the orchestra, kicked off another MGM fav, The Stripper, by David Rose & his Orchestra, as the crowd began clapping along.


Determined to stop her public humiliation and unplanned unveiling as tonight’s burlesque doll, Regina, in her slip, sprang to retrieve her clothing. She hopped up and down in her heels with her back to the crowd, her dress just out of reach. Under the strong stage lights, her sheer slip was quite transparent. As she bounced up and down, her hips wiggled against the tight fabric and it snagged on her girdle’s suspender straps. Along with her visible panty line and her printing brassiere, these little ridges and bumps ensured there was not a soft member among the males seated in the first five rows! Finally, Regina grasped her gown and pulled it down. As she looked at it, she realized it was ruined, all the buttons were scattered around her feet. She clutched it to her front, staring at the now-laughing spectators, as Dominique dropped the curtain too far down, directly on her daughter. Regina fell, buried in darkness beneath yards of heavy dark velvet. Struggling to extricate herself, the disoriented Regina low crawled toward the light and wriggled right out of her slip. As she pulled the last folds of the d****s from her flushed face, and crawled out on the theater side of the curtain, she was reduced to her sturdy brassiere (barely supporting her bouncing bounty), her high-waisted girdle, full-cut panties, silk stockings, and too-high heels. Primrose turned and taunted her, as camera flashes exploded from across the theater, “WOW, Mom… new undies? Tell me, are they making you feel more confident right about NOW??” Regina hissed her reply, “OF COURSE NOT, I’M MORTIFIED. No one was supposed to see them!”


Regina spun around and tunneled back through the heap of crumpled fabric for shelter backstage. Her mother raised the curtain again, and the heinous hook caught the back of Regina’s underpants. Dominique asked Rupert, “Let’s see how many curtain calls this cow will take, shall we?” Now the MC joined her to help hauled the curtain up a second time. As it rose to reveal Regina crawling for cover, her eyes popped open wide as she felt her panties wedge deeply into her full fanny. “OH NO! I’m caught again! MY PANTIES! Let me down,” Regina wailed as her heels left the floor. She was hauled upward center stage by her briefs. Regina howled for help as she hung, nearly bent double, and slowly oscillating in front of the laughing patrons in her fancy unmentionables. “Ow…Owie...OUCH, AAhh…haaa…oohhh…My ASS!” Her mother quickly tied off the line and joined the MC to watch the rest of the show. The dis-dressed dean dangled open-mouthed, screaming for help, her heels kicking the air, her beefy booty high, as her Grand Tetons strained her durable dumpling holder to its breaking point.



Miles Rose to the Occasion



Primrose looked up over her shoulder, happy for once to not be the sole focus of the crowd’s bawdy mirth. Her jaw dropped when she saw her mother suspended by her panties. Likewise, Miles, stared from the wings at both his bethonged girlfriend hiding behind her small shield, and her full-figured mother spinning in her shapewear while getting the wedgie of a lifetime, decided to act. He rushed up, crouched down, and grabbed his girlfriend. Startled, Primrose turned to face him, and clutched at his sleeve, ripping his shirt. Miles deftly but inadvertently popped open her bra strap and fumbling with the delicate garment, quite off Prim’s puppies, pushed his paper pants to her face where she immediately detected his erection. Prim yelled, “MILES!! You nincompoop! The only thing you’re good for is removing my clothing! Look at mother, help her first.” “I can’t go out there now, “he protested, “I’m hard as a rock!” “Get going, you idiot!” she shouted. He grabbed the pole and lunged for the 1950’s Pin-Up piñata Regina had become.


Regina was shouting so loudly; the crowd could hear everything. Even ridiculously suspended in her underwear before the whole theater, she still tried to maintain control. "You on the lights! Get them out of my eyes. Lower those spots this instant. I will not be made into a spectacle." Smirking, the light operator did just as she demanded. First, he lowered one spotlight so it was out of her eyes, and focused right on her ample bustline, bursting from her bullet bra. The other, he lowered just a bit further, and illuminated her girdled hips, stocking-clad gams, and her panties pulled far into her plump buttocks.


Reg yipped at the approaching Miles, feeling herself suddenly drop a foot. Her panties had ripped free but the hook was now caught on her girdle. She began bossing the boy as he waved the pole near her up-ended privates. “Be careful…carefully…AAAHHHGGG !!” His first thrust of the pole to detach his doubled-over dean, went right up through the open bottom of her girdle and out its top, along her back. It neatly released the 4-closure backstrap of her brassiere. She gawked at the hook, inches before her blushing face, holding her detached and still warm upper foundation. Alarmed, her moist unfettered hangers quivered in the cool air. “aaaAHH! What happened? My b-boob-boobies are out!” she cried clapping a hand atop each peak, capped by a hardening nipple. Miles saw what he had just done, and quickly pulled the pole out of Regina’s girdle but the hook caught her shredded underpants and hauled them off her big bum. “Whaa? I feel a breeze… GAAH... MY ASS IS EXPOSED!! Everyone is looking at my heinie,” Regina screeched. She slowly revolved above the stage, mooning everyone while clutching her huge hooters and clenching her chafed cleft. She kicked her stockinged legs in frustration, then lost a heel, as a large bead of sweat glided down her back and disappeared into her crack. Bent over, bare-bottomed, with her tits out, and blood rushing to her head, Regina’s face was the color of an eggplant. She felt her shapewear began to fail with a “pop..Pop..POPPING” sound, revealing the rest of her Rubenesque figure. She shrieked at Miles. “You idiot! Look what you have done! My Ass! Everyone can see my ass! Get me off this hook. GET ME OFF RIGHT NOW! DO YOU HEAR ME YOUNG MAN? GET ME OFF this instant!!


“Okay, okay! I’ll try again,” Miles shouted back while Regina continued to scream. Al ran up and said, “You need to cover this pole, so you don’t hurt Ms. Dubois. He then capped the pointed hook with a hot pink foam saxophone mute he borrowed from a girl in the orchestra. Thus sheathed, Mile thrust his pole directly between Regina’s derrière’s deliciously divided juicy double, and began inappropriately probing his department head. The delirious dean gulped air like a goldfish, as the ersatz phallus pressed home. Everyone watched in stunned silence as Miles enthused his muse, further chafing her sweet folds framed by her ripe tushy cheeks, her garter straps dimpling her backside, and her panties stretched between her thighs. Pierced by the prosthetic penis, Reg’s eyes rolled back in her head as she gurgled and began tweaking a nipple capable of cutting a diamond, while massaging her mound of Venus. Al chuckled from the pit, “Well, she DID say to GET HER OFF…”



Regina Stuck Her Landing



With waves of humiliation and pleasure overwhelming her, the penetrated provost began to see red, as her fingers feverously worked their magic. Regina squealed like a snared vixen, and began bucking her hips wildly in the air, on the cusp of the most explosive orgasm she ever had experienced. At this exact moment however, the hook tore through her girdle and she crashed down atop Miles. Her head cleared as she once again was robbed of an earth-moving release. Regina’s formidable figure knocked Miles right over, ripping off the last of his paper costume, leaving him completely naked save for his socks and high tops. The denuded provost found herself astride the supine school senior, his raging rod riding right between her plump butt cheeks recently liberated from her painful wedgie. Aghast at her situation, Regina threw herself forward, grabbing Miles by his shoulders, and crushing his startled face with her warm naked pillows. She was literally smothering the young man with her ripe melons while he motorboated with much more than a mouthful. Miles, after enjoying a few more yummy nibbles at those amazing nipples, heard the house tittering and realized he was naked on stage. He pushed Regina off and scrambled to his feet. Regina rolled over on her back and tried to pull what remained of her panties up, bulging her bosoms toward the hot spots glaring from above. The blushing knock-kneed student clutched his hands to his throbbing member and turned to flee, but stepping on several buttons from Regina’s dress, he comically tripped and fell directly atop her.


Now astride his schools dis-dressed Dean who was futilely slapping away his sausage bouncing on her girdled tummy, Miles sat upright. Then at the most inopportune time, Regina upthrust her hips, continuing to try and pull her shorn panties back up over her bushy scarlet sn*tch, triggering Miles to begin sliding down her angled torso. Regina stared cross-eyed as his pulsating pole bisected her magnificent creamy mounds. She looked to the side to see the cameras snapping and understood, she was reenacting a rude posture pictured in the pages of plastic wrapped magazines behind the drug counter. Regina’s mouth formed the perfect ‘O’ while Miles, still trying to extricate himself from this fabulous fail, slid down Regina’s sweat-sheened chest. He gasped as his tumescent tube-snake pushed between her opened lips and transversed her teeth. The astonished head-giving-head, stared cross-eyed at the wide wiener she was publicly devouring, as Miles looked at Prim hopelessly. He then met Reg’s saucer-sized gaze for a moment before a screech shattered this man-eating moment. Primrose cried “MILES!!! What are you doing back there!... With my MOM?????!!” Camera’s continued to flash as WENF zoomed in for what was to be the ‘money shot’ of the millennium, but it was not to be. Miles mercifully managed to not frost Regina’s face and pulled right out as he had been taught to do. The naked athlete sprang to his sneaks and gripping his enormous erect manhood, knocked over the advertisement placards stage right. He bolted through the backstage fire door and out into the alley, naked as a jay bird. His problems had just begun as he was a full three miles from home with a persistent hard-on, in only his court shoes.



Regina is Ruined Onstage



Regina in only girdle and stockings squatted awkwardly on one heel in shame, cupping each massive mammary while her ruby-tufted nether split winked at the hooting viewers. She screamed, “Lower the Curtain, LOWER THE CURTAIN!” and snapped her hands over her hoochie. Although her beret was still pinned on, much of her luscious strawberry hair had come undone and hung in red tendrils around her face, adding to her humiliated hue. “SOMEONE HELP ME!!” Regina barked backstage.


Dusty darted out pushing one of the damaged ad placards in front of the howling Regina. His choice could not have been better as this broken board was and advertisement for the local White Dog Café, and carried the venue’s trademark, a big dog sitting on its haunches. With the top of the placard depicting the canine’s head broken off, Regina’s bewildered tomato-red visage served as a riotous understudy. The assembly exploded at the spectacle Regina had become. Even Primrose, still cowering topless in only her tiny thong, looked over her shoulder and laughed at the scene her mongrel-of-a-mother was made into. She thought, “How apropos!” The beret-topped b*tch gawked out at the laughing crowd as she formed the ridiculous red face of this bi-fold. Dusty then moved to Primrose and helped her exit stage left with some dignity by trying to stand in front of her. At the curtain though, she got ahead of him and flashed her full and tightly thonged tush to everyone as she scampered away, kicking the Vaudeville hook-pole back into the live floor light socket.


The re-energized pole was currently something of a lightning rod between Regina’s splayed thighs. Her eyes flashed with disbelief as she felt the circuit closed with her cunny. She yowled like a hound as her electric orgasm began, the placard tipping over and falling flat. Blue bolts of St. Elmo’s fire played from the pole, to her clit ring, the metal in her girdle, the bars in her teats, bracelets, necklace, and earrings, and finally her hair clips and the pins holding her beret in place. Regina plopped back on her duff with an unladylike grunt as she discovered the pole had a T-handle, and well, you can guess where this was implanted. With a tremor shaking her entire torso, Regina experienced her most tit-waving and earth’s-axis-shifting orgasm, on Puttyville’s center stage, literally blowing her mind. As she bayed in a humiliating climax, she bounced her baking buns on the hot pole handle and wagged her naked knockers in syncopated sways, her glistening nipple bars circled in the spots, looking like a common stripper’s pasties. A loud crackle then sounded, followed by a blinding flash and a puff of smoke, temporarily obscuring our b*tch in heat. As a hush fell across the ozone-filled theater, Regina stared skyward to see her beret and her flaming girdle flung toward the rafters. The mute popped from her sopping snookie, flying far into the audience as her stockings were burned off her splayed legs to just tatters about her ankles. She squealed and stroked her slickened and now-smooth maidenhead in denial, grasping that her gorgeous red bush had been completely scorched off. Regina’s smoking hair comically stood on end, as she stared out, shaking with denial. With a loud ‘PLOP’ her smoldering girdle slapped down directly on her head, sealing itself to her scalp as it cooled, the two remaining garter straps hanging down past her ears on either side of her head. “OOOhhhh hot-HOT… oh oooowie OWIE!!” Literally hot-to-trot, Reg got to her knees and furiously fanned her glowing jewelry with a playbill, as the superheated nether pieces felt very vexatious. Genuinely concerned, Rupert grabbed the old class-C fire extinguisher backstage, and rushed to quench Regina’s fires. Being neglected and nearly empty, the canister merely belched and comically sprayed a few quarts of creamy white goo all over her face and tits. With a scream that did shatter some glass in the front row, Regina waved her hands in front of her frosted face and splattered shoulder boulders, looking less like a dean of students and more like an over-sized, sperm-soaked spaniel. She began to shuffle off stage on her knees, but stumbled and fell flat on her face. With her schmaltzy slammers squashed to the floor, Regina pulled her knees up, elevating her punished patootie. Everyone saw her globes were seared, bouncing up and down against the scorching pole. It had comically branded two large # patterns, one centered on each of her smoking dumplings, trembling in the limelight.


Puttyville’s airwaves crackled with the likes of:


#OneSmokinHotAss

“Ms. Bushyberry is not our only teach with a hot ass with a tramp stamp.

“Don’t forget, film at eleven!


Ushers finally helped Regina off stage, and she hobbled toward the medical team just on the scene. The orderlies positioned the barefoot Regina on her belly with a soft pillow under her hips. A thin sheet was d****d over her backside, but when she pulled it up to hide her side boob, her charred globes were exposed, jiggling delightfully. Her clit ring glistened from her pussy peeking from her upthrust crimson backside, and just above, jutted the pole’s T-handle, unsoldered by the current, firmly plugging the provost. What remained of her glamorous red locks were only creamy ropes, hanging beneath her molten girdle, now resembling a period swimming cap, fused to her vermillion noggin. She blubbered through her foamed face, to the approaching reporter from WENF, followed closely by the camera crew, “DON’T LOOK AT ME! I… I was stripped of my beautiful dress, everyone…saw my secret undies, and then that miscreant Miles ripped off my bra and pulled my panties down on stage, and then…sob! I devoured his manhood in front of everyone, more sobs…and THEN I cummed a gusher right there, onstage in front of the whole town!” She implored on camera, “How in the world could this EVER happen?”


Al then answered from the pit, “BEGINNER’S LUCK of course!” He, Rupert, and Dominique got on stage and took a bow to thunderous applause. Regina exploded into tears as she was wheeled away, fanny first, up the aisle.



Epilogue



Ms. Bushyberry clicked on her heels, naked and chilly, along the rainy streets, trying to cover all her wobbling naughty bits with futility, as well as her bald head. She ran to the theater carpark, but sadly found her car locked. She spent the rest of the evening squealing in embarrassment and dodging for cover amongst the wet vehicles, when dozens of departing theater-goers discovered her.


Primrose wrapped in her cloak, ducked in, and told the MC to give Dusty all her winnings, and she went to look for her buck-naked boyfriend.


The naked Miles did make it home, but then found himself across the lap of his mother Alexandra, getting a rather severe spanking in front of his sister Genevieve, as well as numerous female cousins and neighbors, all over for ‘Movie Night.’ He gasped to feel his boner firmly pinched between his mother’s nylon-sheathed thighs as the girls enjoyed their popcorn and laughed at his embarrassing nude admonishment.


Dusty was able to buy his guitar and with it proved very successful as an amateur musician. He played frequently at open mic nights around town.


Regina, after arriving at the hospital, was sadly informed removing her rubberized girdle stuck to her scalp, would require her to lose ALL her beautiful red hair. The scorch marks on her plush money-maker would be months healing, and her shock-shaven snapper would be bald for a year! Despite the numerous humiliations heaped on her tonight, I’m convinced Regina Dubois will again try to push her daughter into doing something silly, only to bask in the attention sure to follow.


‘Forward, into the past’ or ‘Back to the Future!’ depending on your age.


Cheers, tomb125!

[tomb125]

Welcome back!

[tomb125]

Irish I Wasn't Naked. Part 1


The Boardroom of the Bastermats Chemical Company


The company executives sat around a gleaming mahogany table headed by the elderly president, Ernest Bastermats. “I called you here today to discuss our company's entry in Puttyville’s annual Saint Patrick’s Day parade.” He continued, “As you know, our company has a reputation of fielding one of the best floats, and have won first prize the last three years running.” “Ahem,” Primrose Dubois interrupted, “Sir, we actually have been discussing our entry this year amongst ourselves, and with your permission, feel Bastermats Chemical needs a new image. We want to be more authentic and promote the real history of Ireland.” Brooke Broadsheets chimed in, “Yes, Mr. B, we in marketing believe this would be a good choice to move the company in a more dignified direction. A more serious, mature celebration, highlighting Ireland’s true historical themes, and a departure from the typical drunken hooley of inebriated fools prancing about with their hackneyed rainbows, shamrocks, pots of gold, and silly leprechauns.” Then Edward French added, “We would also eschew the overeating, whiskey shots, green beer guzzling, and similar booze-besotted ribaldry. I’ve run the numbers, and doing so will drastically reduce our expensive insurance costs this spring.” Ernest thought for a moment, and understood the parade had been becoming more of a party for the Ivy Industrial Institute’s boisterous students. Still, he did not think the celebration was necessarily devolving as badly as his board claimed. He said, “Alright, we’ll shake things up this year and try something different. I assume you all have a design planned?” All three nodded in agreement and Primrose produced a glossy set of drawings to illustrate their ideas placing them before her very interested company president.


The Parade


It was a dazzlingly beautiful spring day. At the lineup, the Parade marshals were busy organizing the various floats, marchers, dancers, and bands at the parade’s start point. Hundreds of Puttyville’s citizens lined the streets along the parade route, nearly two miles long. Nearby were various open-air temporary venues staffed by the town’s many bars and restaurants featuring Irish food and beverages. McGillin’s, a local pub, had an enormous pint glass filled with green beer with a series of taps all around to pour for parched paraders.


The Bastermats float was far up front, behind the Veteran’s of Foreign Wars Color Guard, a group of lively Irish step-dancers, and the Institute’s marching band. It was a marvelous creation featuring a field of green, a castle ruin, and pierced by a series of rocks serving as a platform for the company reenactors to stand on. Each was fitted with a T-shaped rail the player could lean against for stability as the float moved along the route. In front was Primrose Dubois, portraying Brigid of Kildare, patroness saint of Ireland. She wore a crested golden halo atop her matching coifed blonde locks. Prim was clothed in an elaborate green hooded cloak atop a plain white linen shift. Wearing substantial heels hidden beneath her robes, the crowned Primrose stood well over six feet tall and graced the front of the float majestically, just as she had planned. She fidgeted a bit as she felt the coarse linen of her shift rub against her silk-covered bottom. She had foolishly forgone a slip and wore only a matching set of naughty undies underneath today as a treat for her crush Edward after they won best float in the parade. Her gown’s décolleté was somewhat scandalous for such a saint, but since the outfit obscured most of her curves, Primrose felt the need to bare just a bit of her bosom as bait for the soon-to-be-drooling judges. Unfortunately, she skipped the dressmaker’s final fitting session and today her neckline was pushing the limits of decency. Primrose glimmered like an emerald and her breasts jostled deliciously as the float rocked along.


Next was Brooke Broadsheets dressed as Queen Maeve, or Medb in old Irish, the powerful ruler of ancient Ireland. She wore a studded warrior headpiece atop her wavy, auburn hair, a brown leather corset top, silver upper arm cuffs, a matching leather skirt, nude hose, and black leather over-knee boots. In addition, she sported gauntlets, leather shoulder pads, and a fancy wide belt with a silver buckle. Brooke clutched a two-handed bastard sword and looked like she was most ready to deal with any of the Emerald Isle’s adversaries. She appeared to be one tough cookie!


Next to Brooke was Edward, portraying Columba, an Irish abbot and missionary evangelist. His costume was nothing more than a short fur robe, belted by a rope. This simple ensemble revealed his muscular chest as well as his legs, to the delight of all female parade watchers. The cool breeze caused Edward a slight arousal as he had forgone wearing the silly fur pants, and was inadvisably swinging free.


At the rear of the company float was Mr. B, resplendent as Saint Patrick. He wore a brilliant green cassock, a mitre, and wielded a shepherd’s crook. Hissing and snapping about his feet were a dozen mechanical snakes, several being three meters in length. Behind his beard, he waved to the cheering crowd and pretended to drive the recoiling serpents from his beloved Ireland.


Finally, behind the extravagant and automated float, trudged Annie. She was outfitted as a ludicrous leprechaun, pulling a wagon holding a ‘pot of gold,’ filled with chocolate gold coins, and other treats she tossed to the kiddies along the parade route as she followed the big green show in front of her. Annie overheard the three VPs complaining about the crowd being uncouth, uneducated, and underwhelmed by their new company float. She ground her teeth and hoped some comeuppance would be forthcoming very soon.

[tomb125]

Irish I Wasn’t Naked, Part 2, Fin


*All characters are over 18 years old & thanks obo!*



The beautiful Bastermats float moved slowly along the parade route. Up front, Primrose, Brooke, and Edward, all richly robed as famous Irish legends, stood with arrogant reservation and haughty expressions, ignoring the cheering, and waving crowd. They were literally looking down their noses at all Puttyville.

To the rear of the float, Ernest Bastermats was having a field day pretending to drive off the many hissing and writhing animated snakes. In contrast to his company’s officers, he waved and smiled. Likewise, Annie followed the float in her ridiculous leprechaun costume, laughing and tossing candy to the children and handing out other themed trinkets and gifts from her cart to bystanders. She was determined not to let those prudes ahead ruin the day.

From her elevated position atop the float, Primrose spied her scout Buster Thompson nipping from a pint of green beer. She broke character and shouted while pointing at him, “Buster, I see you!”

He was so startled; he nearly dropped his glass.

“I KNOW your mother would be very unhappy to hear you’re drinking beer, so pour it out this instant. Otherwise, I’ll report you, and your mom will whoop you, butt-good!”

“Yes Ma’am” he replied, staring at his shoes. Suddenly, he looked up with an impish grin, and unceremoniously dumped his beer all over the float’s robotic control panel at the rear of the vehicle.

Primrose gasped to see a shower of sparks followed by a puff of gray smoke. The driverless Bastermats’s float started to malfunction badly, accelerating, and careening down the street. Prim and Brooke screamed in alarm as they clutched the safety rails at their positions.

Edward watched as the mechanical snakes suddenly became more aggressive and surrounded Saint Patrick. The serpents snapped and lunged at the elderly Mr. B who tried to use his crook to keep them at bay. One large snake coiled around the old man’s arm and he dropped his shillelagh. Determined to act, Edward leapt from his position to come to his company president's aide. Unfortunately, for all his bravado, he found himself tangled in a tugging match with a large snake chewing on his short fur costume while another wrapped around his leg.

The unguided float veered back and forth down the street. Nearby stood several groups of scouts who served as road guards to block traffic intersecting the route.

The rearmost Irish dancers stared over their shoulders, and remarked, “Hey, they're coming up pretty fast.”

Primrose, her stoic composure evaporating, screamed in panic as she wobbled while reaching for Brooke.

Brooke yelled, “Primrose, hold on!”

Primrose lost her balance and let go of her rail. Brooke leaned over to help steady Primrose, but only managed to grab ahold of her costume. Despite the chaos, everyone heard a loud ‘RRRIIIPPPING’ sound, which hushed the audience.

Brooke stared down disbelievingly at the garment in her grip, then at her falling fellow female company foil, flung from the float wearing only her crown, heels, and bright green undies.

Saint Primrose Dubois was defrocked!

Fortunately, before closing nearer to the dancers, the Bastermats float collided with a street lamp and lurched to a halt.

Brooke flew from the float minus her costume’s skirt, sadly snagged on the safety rail. She landed atop a series of large wooden tables in the Irish food court, face first in an enormous shepherd’s pie.

As she struggled up on all fours, she stared out at a sea of astonished expressions staring right back. Her face and whole front were covered in pie and gravy, her hair clotted with mashed potatoes.

“I see she found the food court,” a comedian dryly observed. Brooke’s mouth hung open in shock, as she realized she was now wearing only her sheer pantyhose, boots, and corset top.

She squealed when she felt a sharp spank suddenly land on her tight, upturned, nylon-encased tushy. Surrounded by dozens of inebriated festival fanatics growing hornier by the second, she protested, “Now lads, don’t get the wrong idea…”

But someone bellowed, “Let’s fatten her up!”

Another piped in, “Aye, with some fav comestibles from Eire!”

Brooke squirmed as she felt rough hands tugging on her costume, unlacing her corset top. In a wink, her perky tits were right out.

She spluttered, “Unhand me you cads! Get me out of this mess! Do you not hear what I am ….”

She was cut off with, “Hush and have a banger, missy!”

Brooke stared down in disbelief as a large sausage was pushed between her parted protesting lips, deep inside her mouth. She instinctively swallowed, and before she knew it, she gobbled up two more big bangers. Hauled up on her knees and feeling the pressure of many hands groping her, Brooke hiccupped while trying to scream for help. This was followed by a loud and most unlady-like belch.

Brooke gasped as someone tweaked her nipples, and as she tried to slap the hands away, she felt a sudden draft. Her hose had been hauled back and everyone cheered to see her firm, bronzed cheeks divided by the strand of an emerald G-string buried deep in her cleft.

“HEY…, WTF do you think you are doiniiii…? AAAHHH!”

The offending reprobate poured his Irish coffee down over her tush, shaking the whipped cream between her glutes before releasing her hose to ‘SNAP’ back into place.

Brooke whinnied and arched her back as another bounder rubbed the mess deeply into her scalded ass. She leapt to her heels and hopped about shaking her bottom as she slapped her flanks, yipping in humiliation, “HOT…HOT…HOT!” while her rock-hard nut-brown nipples danced in the open air

Brooke screamed to herself, “I’ve GOT to get outta here!”

She turned to flee, but just as she bolted, her brazen barista insisted, “Let’s make an adjustment” and hauled her hose off her hips and down to her knees, effectively hobbling her.

Brooke then “MEEEEPed loudly,” shocked to feel an ice-cold key lime pie splattered against her bare backside, the frosty foam coating the insides of her thighs. She howled to be so undone, sploshed like a strumpet, fore and aft, wearing only her heels.
Brooke clapped a small cabbage leaf to her creamed crotch in a laughable attempt to obscure her brunette sn*tch from the laughing parade-goers. Her long, tanned legs made her embarrassment more acute as her knees knocked together and her toes pointed inward in a don’t-look-at-me-posture, attempting to hide her sex from the lustful stares from all sides.

With her free hand, Brooke tried to hide her boobies, bouncing enthusiastically with pointy nipples leading the way. These wobbled free in the sun as she frequently had to wave her arm about to maintain her balance as she minced along.

With a miserable expression on her face dripping gravy and her shapely bare bottom cheeks smeared with pie, and completely exposed above her lowered hose, Brooke drew the crowd to hysterics as her bum jiggled and shook with the sway of her hips and the bounce of her step. The crowd hooted and whistled as they made out the writing on the front panel of her G-string now at half-mast. It read, They’re Magically Delicious!

Brooke saw Edward French ahead on the route and realizing she was going to have to run naked, shrieked, “Oh, OH NO, No no NOOO! EDWAARRRD!! Wait for me!” as she hurriedly clicked after him to the delight of the everyone.

Edward however, was not only similarly dis-dressed, he was experiencing a more mordant mortification.

The snarky snakes had stripped him of his fur cloak and now completely naked save for his socks and shoes, he fled down the street waving one hand in front of him and the other trying to cover his bubbly bare buns. While all the girls laughed and pointed, the menfolk winced and tried not to look.

Edward screeched a soprano much higher than his normal baritone, because a sinister cyan cyborg culebra was painfully clamped on his thick pink snake. He tried to pull it off, but it proved too painful for his erect penis.

Beside himself with humiliation, he ran screaming while the malicious mamba munched on his maximized member.

The opportunity this denuded hunk presented for the dozens of women watching was not lost on any of them for a second.

They quickly surrounded the dishy, priapic Eros and shouted, “What’s this, no green, laddie?” “Ahhrrgg…Huh?”

Edward wondered; his eyes filled with apprehension.

“The snake doesn’t count, sweet buns!”

He spun about, but women surrounded him on all sides. Before he could protest, they mobbed the embarrassed naked executive.

Many young women, MILFs, a few grandmamas, and some certain males, all reached out and provided the prescribed painful posterior pinches for not being in the prescribed verdigris vestige of the day.

From within the female flesh pile, Edward howled, bayed, and yelped like a banshee. He felt female fingers everywhere; in his hair, ears, mouth, chest, arms, legs, nipples, between his cheeks, and all over his boner.

He finally managed to break free, and staggered out, gulping for air. The nude sweat-sheened Adonis was covered in lipstick marks, his hair was mussed, and his bubble butt had been pinched so much it was the same tomato color as his hot face.

While the snake had been removed, the hands of three females now replicated its death grip on his engorged manhood. Slowly as many cameras flashed, Eddie wrested each woman’s digits from his dingus.

He looked up and saw the crowd laughing at him, so he clapped his hands against his throbbing wiener and ran away up the street like a madman, drawing away from the approaching Brooke.

She screamed to no avail for him to wait, and had to settle for the image of his marvelous reddened ass bouncing away. Despite her matching mortification, Brooke was further ashamed to be so aroused while naked in public. She felt her teats tighten and the cabbage leaf rubbed now against her sopping wet snookie between her legs as she raced after Edward’s marvelous spanked ass.

As for Primrose, her fall was fortunately arrested by a group of scouts near the float. They caught their airborne leader in their arms using the six-scout cradle rescue carry they recently learned working on their lifesaving badge. Their scout master was reduced to a scandalous bright green demi-bra, a matching garter belt topped with a pair of hipster bikini panties, nude stockings, and matching green heels.

Primrose looked around to see a half dozen youthful grinning faces mere inches from her unmentionables. She screaked in shock to see them staring at her shapely legs, stocking tops, bare thighs, panties, then up to her blushing face, then back down at her jiggling tits.

Prim’s eyes popped open and her jaw dropped forming a large O as she suddenly felt the formerly secure, helping hands, begin to roam her naked flesh.

The scouts began to explore their scoutmaster much to her astonishment.

“I’m being FELT UP!” she screamed to herself.

Hands caressed her bottom and cupped her brimming bra cups. She felt fingers pluck her delicate brassiere and garter straps and snap them back against her quivering flesh.

Primrose barked, “Unhand me this instant! Put me down immediately!”

The patrol leader replied, “As you wish, ma’am,” but one scout’s neckerchief slide caught Prim’s panties and unfortunately gave her a snuggie.

“AHHHHhh!” She wailed as the entire back panel of her bikini panties was quickly buried deeply in her butt crack.

She clicked around in a circle on her heels, showing everyone her stuffed cleft and the globes of her creamy lush bottom as she publicly picked her wedgie free. In doing so, she mooned her bare ass around back and most of her brown bush up front.

A rude observer loudly announced, “Well, the curtains certainly don’t match the d****s, do they?”

Now completely red-faced, Primrose wrapped her arms around her breasts bulging from her brassiere and bolted from the groping spectators along the parade route in her undies, shrieking in shame.

Pursued by the horny mob, Primrose deftly climbed atop a platform to escape.

Alarmed to see them jump up after her, she shimmied up the neck of a large golden harp mounted on this stand.

Sitting on top of the harp and now beyond the reach of the leches, Primrose squirmed, now nearly naked as her lingerie was not meant for such gymnastics. Prim’s tatas were hanging out of the cups of her demi-bra and her panties were bunched up around the tops of her thighs, mercifully half-hiding her non-blonde bush, but the globes of her bare pink ass, bisected by the harp, trembled deliciously in the morning sun.

She squealed in despair as she was forced to hold on with both hands, completely unable to conceal her tits and ass. Then, her heels fell from her feet and her crown slid down over her eyes effectively blindfolding her.

The loosened harp began to rock about. Now Primrose was high above the cheering crowd, and like a gone-wild spring-breaker on a mechanical bull, she bucked wildly around with her plump ass shaking and her big tits thrusting upward to the cheers of the spectators.

Primrose was finally pitched off but unfortunately splashed into the giant pint of green beer, plunging through the bright jade-colored head, head first.

Thrashing in the see-through dunk tank the vessel had suddenly become, Primrose gasped as she felt her nearly bare body immersed in the icy ale.

A poor swimmer, Prim frantically dog-paddled, her bra ripped and drooped down around her waist, while her panties slithered off her hips, down her thighs, and right off her feet.

Screaming like a siren, she bumped the rim of the pint and unknowingly pressed her big bare fanny against the glass triggering a round of cheers. She then turned around, and mashed her fat hooters against the glass.

Exhausted, Primrose threw her arms over the lip of the glass and spewed out green beer coupled with a coughing fit.

While some wanted to help her, they were mesmerized by her topless tits under glass, her plump stockinged and gartered thighs, and her green bush waving like seaweed.

She finally came to her senses, and screamed, “Don’t just stand there grinning! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

A dozen eager volunteers jumped to pull her from her lime-colored bath.

Primrose now stood dazed and burping in only her soaked hose and garter belt. Her spluttering face was flecked with green foam and the silly crown askew gave her not the dignified look of a matriarch, but rather the visage of an Gorean silk girl, sprayed with an extraterrestrial’s aquamarine essence.

Slowly, she lifted the crown from her eyes and looked down.

Primrose eyes widened to see her heaving bare breasts were no longer a rosy pink, but now were a faint beryl hue, stained by the dyed beer. Further down, below her sexy belly pressing deliciously against the garter belt, she saw her subtle auburn panty hamster was now a bushy bright verdigris Vee.

Horrified, she realized what must have happened and shrieked even louder as she pulled the soaking ropes that formerly comprised her blonde coiffure fit for a queen, before her eyes and saw her treasured tresses were now bright green as well. Primrose screamed so loudly the pint began to crack.

Sobbing, she climbed down from the float, giving everyone a great parting shot of the frog hair between her trembling green thighs, and heard a drunk slurring, “Bravo! Those d****s now match that carpet!”

With an “EEEK,” she quickly clamped her wet legs together with a delightful smack, thrust one hand across her now-mossy mound, and threw her other arm across her chest, marvelously squeezing her green melons.

Trying to make herself small, Prim foolishly stooped forward. Her broad booty pressed outward quivering, as she awkwardly shifted from foot to foot, oscillating her plump moist globes, looking at the amused onlookers, not sure what to do next.

Highlighted by the green foam dripping from her face, Primrose blushed green-purple like a ripe avocado as her lower lip trembled with trepidation.

With the flash from a camera, Primrose snapped back for a moment to regain her composure despite the multiple indignities she was experiencing.

“I look like a fu**ing MARTIAN!!” she screamed.

“Someone cover me this instant!”

Just then Annie walked up pulling her cart.

“Allow me, my dear Primmy!” she quipped with a wink and a smile. She took from her wagon of Gaeilge giveaways and offered the drenched and denuded Dubois, a small bouquet of flowering primroses.

“Your namesake holds a unique place among Ireland’s native flowers and in the country’s folktales. It was considered a talisman for safety and protection.” “Let’s see how it works hiding your dyed hoochie.”

Primrose scowled and sn*tched the small plant against her permed pussy, now resembling a green tribble. In doing so, she pushed her magnificent mammaries right out like lush green hillocks, capped with scrumptious hardening lime nipples.

“Let’s see to these, shall we?” Annie continued, pulling Prim’s free arm back, then securing it behind her with her ruined bra.

As Primrose stared at her outthrust boobies cross-eyed in astonishment and shook her head in denial, Annie carefully fastened two small shamrock appliqués atop each of Prim’s pointed trembling teats.

“No Annie, don’t be such a naughty bitc*, this is not what I meant…. Listen, please, give me your jacket.”

Annie smiled and shook her head.

“STOP IT ANNIE, I demand you give me your jacket right now!”

When Annie continued coyly, Primrose roared, “THAT’S AN ORDER… ARRGgggHHHh.”

Annie cut her boss’s rant short, “You are NOT in the position to be giving orders.”

She produced and pushed a large green bar of Irish Spring soap between Prim’s pursed lips.

“A bit manly, but I like it too, so they say.”

Primrose could only gurgle her outrage as Annie spun her around and pushed her over to access her lush bottom. Primrose’s eyes nearly popped from her head when Annie thrust a large, stale, slice of Irish soda bread between the cheeks of her plump rounded tushy.

Primrose grunted at the uncomfortable abrasive intrusion.

“Alright, lassie, you are all covered as you demanded. Now get going, you've got a parade to win!” And with that, Annie drew back and delivered a resounding smack to the glistening green right glute of Primrose’s bulging buttocks.

Primrose, with muffled squeals of shame, hopped down the street as Annie ordered, now sporting a green-purple handprint that glowed on her fat ass.

She sucked on the green soap and swallowed scads of suds as she clenched the prickly primroses to her pussy with one hand while the other was pinned uselessly to her back.

Her heavenly breasts bounced in time to the blossoms as she scampered along pigeon-toed, slipping on the soapy mess dripping down her chest to the road, causing her to pitch forward flashing her green-tufted nether lips, then back, her orbs oscillating skyward, repeatedly.

With her teats topped by the silly shamrock stickers and her ruined mop of clownish bright green hair plastered to her head, Primrose looked utterly foolish, yet as one scout observed, “She’s kinda hot!”

As she slowly shimmied by the hundreds of spectators lining the streets, they all clapped, cheered, and raised their glasses to see Prim’s delectable derrière divided by the big piece of Irish toast, chafing the tender area between her cheeks. The crusty bread slice bobbed with the roll of Prim’s plump derrière as she tried to catch up to Brooke and Edward far ahead.

Needless to say, and after each of the mortified naked executives ran past the judges in the reviewing stand, the Bastermats Chemical Company won the grand prize for best float this year yet again by a huge margin.

As the president along with Annie stepped up to be recognized by the mayor of Puttyville, Mr. B wondered aloud. “How in the world could we have won with a disaster like that, Annie?”

Annie shouted in response, “With the luck of the Irish of Course! Erin go brách!” She and Mr. B exchanged high fives to the crowd's thunderous applause.