[ENF] Will’s Mom Comes Undone

[samos]

Originally Posted by hocman

Certainly hope Chasmo has not disappeared, his stories were first rate.

I am waiting impatiently, also:-)

[amfanon]

Originally Posted by samos

I am waiting impatiently, also:-)

Damn straight.

[Chasmo]

Apologies for being away for a while. I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

Like many an affluent American town, Davidson, Maryland was home to a thriving youth athletic culture. The tony burb, almost equidistant between Baltimore and Washington, D.C., was awash in a sea of well-kept lacrosse, field hockey, soccer, football and baseball fields where privileged children from ages 3 through 18 gained not only the skills necessary to compete in sport but the lessons learned through teamwork and collaboration. No matter their age, when Davidson’s kids slipped into their green and silver uniforms and squared off against teams from nearby communities, they were all known as "The Gators," a fact amplified by the smiling reptilian mascot, Allie, that adorned jerseys, swimsuits and helmets throughout the town.

In the chill of winter, when the emerald lawns that showcased spring, summer and fall sports turned brown, many of Davidson’s youthful residents turned to basketball – "Gators’ Hoops" as it were. What’s more, the relative lull of a single sport season prompted Davidson parents to focus on the annual fundraising drive for the seemingly endless Gator athletic programs. From planning car washes to selling cookies -- and this year smoke detectors -- these helicopter parents outside their nation’s capital spared no amount of creativity or expense to help ensure the quality of Gator sports.

It was the confluence of these two activities – basketball and filling the Gators’ coffers – that had brought one of those parents, Danielle Marie Parnell, to attend a “planning session” hosted by an army of parent-coaches, boosters and spectators and, in short, the entire idea of the meeting – particularly its attendees – disgusted her. As she made her way down the airy, well lit center hallway of the modern Davidson Community Center building, the stunningly gorgeous 43 year old mother of three caused the necks of men and boys alike to swivel to the point of snapping while simultaneously sending blood on a one way trip to their trousers.

With a little extra sway in her spectacular hips the stunning lawyer reveled in the power she had over men -- the pathetic losers. What was more enjoyable to her even than the ability to reduce any man to a pool of drooling idiocy was to catch him in the act of staring and, in the midst of his humiliation, loudly and publicly chide him for his behavior. The coup de grace though was to do so in front of his wife or girlfriend because that act of castigation not only neutered the man but utterly humiliated his mate by amplifying her irrelevance in Danielle's presence. She loved that most of all.

On this day, Danielle's 5" black, calfskin leather Manolo Blahnik high heel boots, into which were tucked a pair of skintight Dolce & Gabanna jeans, profiled one of her most magnificent qualities -- a fit and fabulous ass. A black leather belt fastened by a large gold D&G buckle snaked through the loops atop her designer denim. From the waist up, the sexy uber-MILF was encased in a form-fitting black cotton turtle-neck sweater that profiled her toned midsection and left no imagination in respect of the fitness of her arms or the size and pertness of her ample breasts.

Over the fashionable sweater, Mrs. Parnell sported a white lynx fur vest that oozed high-end fashion and emphasized to all onlookers her sartorial sophistication. Danielle's beautiful face, a cross between Miranda Kerr and Keri Russell, was made up to perfection with her emerald eyes set off by a natural blush and her perfectly formed lips glossed in fire engine red splendor. Around her supple neck hung a very long black, grey and white pearl necklace. Large golden hoop earrings dangled from a pair of exquisitely shaped ears covered in large part by her perfectly blown out mane of brown hair.

She was a vision -- and she knew it. But she was also on the warpath. Her 12 year old daughter Anna and 14 year old son Will had informed her a mere day before that, starting with this year's basketball season, Gator sports teams would have their own cheerleaders. What's more, Anna -- green and silver pom-poms in hand -- had announced to her mother that she'd be trying out for the very squad that would spend the winter months cheering on young Will's hapless team.

Her mother was having none of it. It was bad enough that to raise funds for this year's basketball uniforms Will's team was going door to door in the community selling smoke detectors provided by Duncan's Hardware -- a longtime Davidson institution now owned by Emma Duncan -- the town's witless district attorney -- and her idiot husband Callum, Sr.

"Smoke detectors," Danielle had thought upon hearing the news from Will, "completely ridiculous. I'm sure that fat cow Emma Duncan is behind this; always trying to control this community nonsense to benefit that two-bit hardware store. Too bad she can't control her waistline"

The imperious Mrs. Parnell was irked even further by the fact that parents weren't permitted to buy from their own sons and that as part of the sale each boy was also required to install at least one of the devices he sold. That brilliant plan was hatched to ensure that the boys would build character by going through their paces and knocking on neighborhood doors. Of course, what inevitably transpired as a result was that one player's parents ended up buying at least one smoke detector from another boy on the team. In the case of the Parnells that boy was Callum Duncan, Jr., Emma's son and in Danielle's view an arrogant little jerk that despite her best efforts -- and his constantly mocking Will -- remained the young Parnell boy's friend if not idol.

Stomaching the pubescent, hormone charged Callum Duncan in her home was one thing. Mrs. Parnell needed to replace a smoke detector that had otherwise run its course in the small foyer between her sumptuous master bath and cavernous walk-in-closet and this was as good an excuse as any. But this cheer-leading idea was a bridge too far.

* * *

"You'll be doing no such thing Missy," the domineering mother had responded to her daughter's announcement, "this family is not in the business of objectifying young women. The entire idea of a 12 year old cheer squad is inappropriate."

"But mom," pleaded Anna, "all my friends are doing it. I'll be totally left out . . . and embarrassed."

"All of your friends . . . Well, we'll just see about that. When I'm finished with the brain trust that came up with this ridiculous plan you can rest assured that there will be no squad."

"Mom . . . don't," came the chorus of cries from Will and Anna.

Young Will was very accustomed to his high-powered mother getting involved in his and his siblings' activities, be they scouts, sports, school or otherwise. And it certainly never ended well for Will who would inevitably wind up the butt of his friends jokes. He not only had to bear the endless taunts of "Mama's boy" but also the whisper campaign about his bossy MILF of a mom that had taken off since his friends began to reach puberty. Unbeknownst to Will, the architect of that campaign was none other than his "friend" Callum.

"Please mom," Will implored, "just this once could you not humiliate us."

"That's enough out of you young man. If you want to play basketball at all this season you'll hold your tongue. And as for humiliating anyone . . . well . . . the only people who are going to be humiliated are those irresponsible parents who thought this was an acceptable idea. While I'd rather not waste my evening tomorrow at the annual 'Gators' Planning Meeting,' it's clear that someone needs to rein this in."

* * *
Every head turned as Mrs. Parnell powerfully pushed open the doors of the Davidson Community Center's main meeting room. Not surprisingly, and to the great delight of the preening diva, every man and boy present immediately abandoned what he was doing to gaze upon her beauty. The Gator moms in the meantime simultaneously stared daggers at the woman who they all viewed as both a trouble maker and a tease. Sensing the lust of the men and the enmity of the women only stoked further the fire of Danielle's self-obsession. As she disdainfully looked around the room at the gathered soccer moms, den mothers and assorted other haus fraus, Danielle Marie Parnell smiled inwardly thinking to herself, "don't worry ladies, I'm not here to steal your pathetic khaki wearing husbands . . . as if any of them would ever be worthy of me . . . I'm simply trying to bring some propriety back to the town I'm forced to share with you."

The self-satisfied diva's musings were interrupted by the dulcet tones of Katherine Wray's Nashville drawl.

"What brings you here tonight Danielle," the willowy Mrs. Wray asked sweetly.

The 5'9" Katherine Wray, an avowed and in college nationally ranked runner, had an ass and set of legs that would rival those of the most celebrated super model and that certainly caught the attention of Davidson's male population. That said, and despite the appearance of domestic bliss and tranquility presented by Mrs. Wray's happy marriage and two young sons, it was suspected around Davidson that the sultry southerner had an eye for ladies and, in many a private moment in the tub, Katherine confirmed that impression with wanton thoughts of Mrs. Parnell.

As she prepared to answer Katherine, Mrs. Parnell glanced dismissively at the attractive runner as well at those other "moms" who surrounded her -- namely Rachel Miras, the local PTA President and town busybody, Nicole Silver, like Danielle a Washington, DC lawyer but in Mrs. Parnell's mind -- when compared to the managing partner of SmythKnight (namely, Danielle herself)-- a pathetic wanna’ be at best, and Emma Duncan, the hardware store owning Davidson District Attorney who on more than one occasion Danielle had enjoyed humiliating in the courtroom either in her role as a rotating judge on the Davidson local circuit or as pro bono counsel in some local yokel case. Consistent with her view of the rest of the mom-jean wearing cast of misfits at this meeting, Danielle found these particular women to be tiresome and pathetic.

"Why hello there Katherine," Danielle responded with a forced smile, appreciating that the poor confused woman was infatuated with her but similarly certain, even if Danielle leaned in that direction, that Mrs. Wray would never make the cut. "It seems I'm here to attempt to realign the moral compass of our community where parents think it's appropriate for 12 year old girls to be cheerleaders for recreational sports."

As Katherine Wray imagined what Danielle would look like in a cheerleader's outfit, or less, Rachel Miras interjected, "having the girls be cheerleaders is just another way to build their self-esteem, Mrs. Parnell. It's very empowering."

"And is that based on your personal experience Rachel," responded Danielle condescendingly, "I think we both know the answer to that question."

And then, without missing a beat or even attempting to hide her disdain, Mrs. Parnell -- now directing her comments collectively to Rachel Miras, Nicole Silver, Katherine Wray and Emma Duncan -- continued, "unlike the rest of you, I know firsthand the benefits of cheer leading having captained squads both in high school and at Harvard. The issue here is not whether cheer leading has its merits but whether it's appropriate for seventh graders to be cheering for a youth rec league -- and the answer is no."

"For the record, Danielle," began Nicole Silver, a stunning 5'8" fit but Rubenesque redhead who also fueled the libidos of many a Davidson male, "I was a high school cheerleader myself so . . ."

But before Mrs. Silver was able to utter her next word, the preening Mrs. Parnell sharply interjected, "having a big girl at the bottom of the pyramid is a necessary evil Nicole. I wouldn't go so far to call that cheer leading. In any event, before I get stuck at this circus for the duration I'm going to have a word with Dr. Bloom that will end this idea before it takes root."

And with that, the spectacularly fit but equally arrogant beauty turned on her high heeled leather boots and headed in the direction of Dr. Eric Bloom, the kind and diminutive superintendent of the Davidson School System who also happened to be the Commissioner of the Davidson Gators Youth Athletic League.

"Oh I simply can't abide that woman," seethed Rachel Miras. "Do you know she calls me the Hobbit behind my back?"

"You -- what about me, big girl at the bottom of the pyramid . . . just once I'd like to see that little show-off get hers – captain indeed."

"Me too," proclaimed a smiling Katherine Wray gleefully, imagining any number of scenarios in which Danielle might come undone.

"Ditto," chimed in Emma Duncan. "That arrogant little tease has been the bane of my existence for years. The way she all but mocks me on those occasions where she sits as a judge at the Davidson Municipal Courthouse drives me crazy – making snide comments about my legal skills, my clothing, my clients . . . All the while flirting with Adam Hess, Rebecca Ross' husband who on occasion volunteers as the courthouse bailiff. Ooh -- what I wouldn't give to see the tables turned on her."

"Dream on," lamented Mrs. Miras, "it looks like she's already beating poor Eric Bloom into submission over there. This cheer-leading experiment is no doubt DOA. In any event, let's finish up here so that everything is ready for the league's kick-off game tomorrow night. Everyone will be there and it should be a great time despite Ms. Fancy Pants' efforts to the contrary."

Or, unbeknownst to any of the gathered moms, perhaps because of them!

Across the room Danielle was in the final throes of cowing Dr. Bloom into submission.

"Of course you're correct Mrs. Parnell, as usual," the bedraggled administrator lied with a penitent look on his face knowing that to do otherwise would only subject him to more of this shrill woman's abuse. "We weren't properly taking into account the propriety of the young women of our community when we came up with this idea. In retrospect, as you so capably suggest, we would be better served putting our efforts into the girls' teams rather than suggesting that they can succeed only by supporting the boys."

And then with a sigh, Dr. Bloom practically pleaded to the now triumphant lawyer, "but it's going to so disappoint them, Mrs. Parnell. How will I ever even break the news?"

With a scowl on her otherwise beautiful face the now victorious Danielle Parnell decided to put the properly vanquished Eric Bloom out of his misery -- but not without completely humiliating him in the process.

"You pathetic little weakling," Danielle began imperiously, "you call yourself a leader but you're afraid of your own shadow."

And then, so that there was no doubt about who was in charge she loudly continued, "one doesn't prove that he's a man Dr. Bloom by leering at a woman while she is addressing him."

While the now subjugated and physically cowering Eric Bloom began to stammer something in response, Danielle leaned in closely to him -- towering over the diminutive commissioner in her heels -- and out of the earshot of anyone around informed him, "I have no problem doing your dirty work for you Bloom. Unlike you I don't shrink from my responsibilities or get all weepy at the prospect of telling a bunch of entitled children that they're not getting everything that they want. All you need to do is introduce me tomorrow night before this so-called "season kick-off game" and I'll be glad to tell these losers that the cheer-leading program is done. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Um . . . ah . . . I mean . . . I mean yes Mrs. Parnell, of course, I'll introduce you and . . . um . . . let you do my . . . well . . . you know . . . inform the parents and children about your . . . I mean our . . . I mean the league's decision to discontinue the cheer-leading program. And thank you, as always, for your help" finished the demoralized Dr. Bloom in his head kicking himself for thanking a woman who had again made an idiot of him in public.

With that, and with a self-satisfied smile on her imperious but beautiful face, Mrs. Danielle Parnell strode purposefully from the room and while all male attention focused on her departing derriere she sneered at the women that she had engaged earlier and arrogantly proclaimed, "problem solved . . . as usual."

* * *

Walking into her house some thirty minutes later, and still infuriated by the humiliation she had again suffered at the hands of Danielle Parnell, Emma Duncan was confronted by her husband Callum, Sr. reading the riot act to their perennially mischievous son Callum. Jr.

"But dad," the teen pleaded.

"But dad nothing, kiddo," his father barked back, “how did you ever think that would be okay. You're just lucky I'm the one who caught you."

After joining the fray, Emma learned that Callum had substituted out some of the plain vanilla smoke detectors he sold to raise money for Gator basketball with smoke detectors that also functioned as remote -- but hidden -- cameras. His father discovered the ruse upon walking in on his son's open computer and seeing live surveillance footage of a host of his neighbors' empty homes. Thinking quickly on his feet, the elder Duncan had begun calling the effected families and telling them that the smoke detectors Callum had installed were defective but that he'd come by in the next few days to replace them. In the meantime, Duncan Sr. confiscated his son's computer and put it safely in the master bedroom where he and Emma would keep it until all the replacements had been made.

Once Callum Jr. went to his room Emma asked her husband, "who did he do this to and who have you called?"

"In terms of where he put them, it's the Silvers, the Ross family, Katherine and Michael, the Miras clan and the Parnells. I've gotten a hold of everyone but the latter."

"Of course the Parnells are on the list," sighed Emma. "Thank God you found this out before Mrs. "Appropriate" over there did or she'd be angling to ship Callum to juvenile detention. I'll go ahead and send them an e-mail tonight."

"Thanks," her husband responded, "if it makes it any easier on you I put Callum's computer over there on your nightstand. This way you don't need to go down to your office."

As her frustrated but relieved husband headed off to brush his teeth Emma Duncan picked up Callum's laptop to send the e-mail "cover story" to Mr. and Mrs. Parnell. As the screen came to life it showed a crisp, high-definition, color image of what she knew to be Nicole Silver's living room. After minimizing that file Emma began clicking on the other files in the same folder. In succession appeared flawless live pictures of the Ross family kitchen, the Wray's garage and Rachel Miras' laundry room.

"Thank God these rooms are empty," thought Emma to herself, "I'm clearly not cut out to be a spy . . . it's just so intrusive."

Squirming a bit at her own discomfort, Emma thought she was minimizing the folder containing the live video feed files -- so as to permit her to send the Parnells an e-mail and then get some sleep -- when she inadvertently clicked the one video feed she had not yet tried. The scene that confronted her took her quickly through a range of emotions -- from shock, to uproarious laughter, to unbridled glee . . . it was if Santa Claus just kept coming down the chimney with more gifts. Congratulating herself at having hit the virtual "record" button as soon as the show began, Emma Duncan, no longer planning to send the Parnells an e-mail, drifted off to what would be a blissful night's sleep.

* * *

Still flush with the joy that humiliating others -- particularly the likes of Davidson's homely moms and that eunuch Eric Bloom -- Danielle arrived home from the Davidson Community Center in very high spirits. After easing her white Range Rover Sport into its spot next to her garaged Mercedes convertible, the suburban sexpot checked in on her three kids and the Parnell family nanny, Alia and made her way to her bedroom for a quick shower and -- with her hapless husband out of town on business -- a blessedly undisturbed sleep. Closing her bedroom door behind her, Danielle spied on her bed the green-and-silver cheerleader pom poms that only yesterday she had taken from her daughter's hands as a first step in stamping out the latest of the Davidson Gators' bad ideas.

With a wicked smile on her beautiful face, and as she carefully stripped out of her fashionable designer clothes, Mrs. Parnell thought back to her own days as a high school and then college cheerleader. Even then she reveled in her power over men and boys and her ability, with that power, to embarrass not only them but their girlfriends and wives as well. Reminiscing lustfully about how she would shake her tight little ass at football players, professors and teachers alike, not to mention the occasional father in the stands, the suburban uber-MILF decided to privately relive those moments. Having traded her couture jeans, boots and turtle neck for a very short silk robe, Danielle picked up Anna's purloined pom poms and made her way to her cavernous master bedroom closet.

Eyeing the seemingly endless array of small glass-fronted mahogany drawers that contained an equally inexhaustible display of very fashionable if naughty bras, panties, corsets and other underthings, Mrs. Parnell chose the tiniest of tiny thongs -- in Gator green -- to pull up, after slipping out of her silk robe, over her hips and onto her fabulous ass. Breathing heavily at this point she in turn reached for a barely there green, white and grey pleated tartan schoolgirl skirt that she had purchased a few years back to tease her husband into buying her some desired jewelry. Fastening the tiny skirt around her firm waist she pulled a frilly white bobby sock onto each foot before stepping into a pair of sky high, 5.5" black patent leather Mary Jane's. After pulling on a crisp, white, high-collared cotton shirt that she left open down to the magnificent canyon of her pert self-tanned breasts and tied off atop her feminine yet muscled midriff, Danielle Marie Parnell was the wet dream of every school boy fantasy ever imagined.

Walking from her closet into her palatial master bathroom, Danielle lustily looked at the vision before her in the mirror. Smiling devilishly, the 43 year old mother of three put her silky hair into pigtails and applied a heavy coat of fire engine red lipstick to her pouty lips. Picking up the pom poms that she had put down on her bathroom vanity, the sexy solicitor did a half turn to yet another mirror behind her and, looking over her shoulder at her flawless ass, bent over slightly at the waist and smiled.

"You're perfect," she cooed at her reflection.

And then, imagining the collective groan what she was about to do would bring to the men and boys of Davidson, particularly that hunky Adam Hess who somehow had been landed as a husband by her neighbor Rebecca Ross, Mrs. Danielle Parnell began to put on a private show -- for herself.

Staring intently at the sex goddess smiling back at her, and gyrating sexually to the beat in her head, Danielle began to cheer "give me a G." And, after a brief pause, "because I'm so God damned gorgeous."

Then, after unfastening her barely there tartan skirt and letting it fall to the ground, Mrs. Parnell slapped her spectacular bottom and purred, "give me an A. Because no one has an ass as hot as mine."

Next, untying the knot above her midriff and slipping off the white cotton top so that she now stood only in her high heels, frilly white bobby socks and tiny Gator green thong Danielle practically moaned, "give me a T. Because my tits are simply terrific."

"Give me an O . . . for the orgasm none of you pathetic losers could ever make happen."

"Give me an R . . . for your repulsive wives who all want to be me."

"Give me an S . . . because you always want to see me."

"What does it spell . . . Gators . . . Gators . . . Gators . . . you pathetic masturbators!"

And finally, after dropping her pom poms to the floor and bending over at her waist to pick them up, the sultry suburbanite looked lustfully at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror and, oozing sexuality and with a vision of Rebecca Ross' husband in a football uniform swimming in her mind purred, "do you see anything you like Mr. Hess . . . you really played a great game tonight and you shouldn't have to go home to that mascot when you can have the captain of the cheer leaders."

"Mom," the loud voice of Maria Parnell came booming from the other side of the house, "Anna's hitting me."

Pulled from her revelry by the banality of motherhood, Danielle quickly undid her hair, slipped out of her shoes and into her robe, and headed off to intercede before putting her children to bed and hitting the sack herself. Had she not been so captivated by her own beauty during her little display Mrs. Parnell may have heard the whirring sound emanating from the new smoke detector Callum Duncan had installed in the anteroom between her sumptuous master closet and her opulent master bathroom. Alas, she did not.

* * *

Spirits were high in the Davidson Central High School gymnasium as Gators of all ages along with their parents, friends and a host of coaches, teachers and other members of the Davidson community gathered for the Gator basketball season kick-off game. As was the case every year, all of the Gator hoops' players, coaches and families would come together to hear the Commissioner's welcome and watch the season's inaugural game. Which team played in the big event was decided in advance by lottery and every squad always hoped they'd be the lucky stars for a day. As it turned out, this year's kick-off game was between Will Parnell's 14 year old Gator squad and a team from the neighboring town of Edgewater.

The set-up for the kick-off welcome event was not unfamiliar in the world of these things. From a makeshift temporary stage at center court -- that would be quickly disassembled and removed once the welcome remarks were completed so that the season's first game could begin -- Commissioner Bloom along with a sprinkling of other guests and dignitaries -- including PTA President Rachel Miras, Allie the plush Gator mascot and Karen Manley, one of the Gator girls' team coaches and a junior partner at the Washington, D.C. based law firm SmythKnight -- smiled broadly at the happy faces in the crowd. There was also an empty chair to which, per his prior night's agreement, Dr. Bloom would invite Mrs. Parnell to ascend to in order to deliver her planned remarks about the cheerleading program.

In addition to a podium and chairs, the stage contained a large portable video screen set up to display a brief PowerPoint presentation that Dr. Bloom had prepared to explain the rules of the game, some still photos of the many fundraisers that had taken place to permit the season to achieve yet another successful kick-off and a brief video highlighting the prior year's champions. To Eric Bloom's great delight, Emma Duncan had just that morning eagerly volunteered to supply and operate the laptop from which all of these images would be projected onto the screen. As she waved at him from the first row of the stands Dr. Bloom thought to himself "what a kind woman." Soon she would be his hero.

As the crowd began to settle down in anticipation of the big night, the staccato rhythm of high heels on hardwood cut through the quieting throng to announce the arrival of Mrs. Danielle Parnell. The preening uber-MILF, flush with the victory of Dr. Bloom's humiliation at her hands the prior evening and eagerly anticipating her remarks that would slam the door shut on this ridiculous cheer leading adventure, marched purposefully across the gym floor with her son Will trailing behind her. Aware as always of how her beauty immediately captivated any man or boy present while deeming other women invisible, the imperious alpha-mom walked with a little extra sway in her sexy hips.

Having dressed that morning with the evening's task -- namely shutting down this cheerleading folly -- in mind, Mrs. Parnell appeared every bit the stern but beautiful task master. As she marched forcefully toward the podium, to the delight of every man and boy and disdain of every woman present, the naturally toned calves of her incredibly fit legs were brought into even more stark relief by her 4.5" black Manolo Blahnik Coddila strappy cage heels. Those same calves disappeared right below her unseen knees beneath a very dark grey, Fendi pin-striped pencil skirt that hugged her athletic legs and spectacular ass like a glove. The skirt was fastened in back by a silver zipper, offset on each side by a thin leather strip, that ran from the waist of the garment over her magnificent posterior ultimately terminating about three inches above her knee below which the skirt remained open to facilitate Mrs. Parnell's determined stride. The zipper's pull, as much ornamental as practical, was a large silver hoop.

Up top Danielle sported a very crisp, very tightly fitted, three-quarter sleeved, white cotton oxford the short tails of which were tucked into her skirt and the top button of which closed where her pert, large orange-sized breasts formed a magnificent cleavage canyon. Although it was only March, the Parnells had just returned from a two week vacation in the Caribbean where they had chartered a fully crewed, 65 foot sail boat and Danielle saw this evening as an opportunity to display her magnificent tan to full effect. The juxtaposition of her bronzed skin with the pasty pallor of the losers to whom she would soon be speaking brought her unspeakable joy. Atop her white oxford, Mrs. Parnell wore a very tight pin-stripe vest that was the Fendi complement to her skirt. A white pearl choker necklace graced her supple neck while a diamond encrusted Cartier watch encircled her left wrist and a spectacular tennis bracelet her right.

So that this crowd of nobodies would have no mistake about the finality of her message, Danielle wore her thick mane of brown, highlighted hair in a tight bun atop her head. Black cat-eye "librarian" glasses sat atop the crest of her perfect nose majestically framing her emerald eyes. Her make-up was done in very natural hues while her lipstick was scarlet red. With a large pearl in each ear, Mrs. Danielle Parnell looked every bit the domineering executrix that she was -- and she loved it.

What Danielle loved even more, but what this assemblage of pathetic mopes would never get to lay their eyes on, was that beneath the armor of her very appropriate pin stripe ensemble, in a cheeky homage to the Gators' green and silver colors, she was wearing a most delicious and naughty mix of unmentionables. Her magnificent breasts which stood pertly without the least bit of assistance were being trussed to their full effect by a very lacy, silver push up bra.

The mate to that piece, an equally lacy pair of silver boy shorts that barely contained the cheeks of a bottom that looked as though it was carved from marble, hugged her magnificent ass. What really brought a devilish smile to her gorgeous face though was that beneath those sexy shorts was a very tiny, "Gator green" thong, the translucent silk triangle in front of which left no doubt as the well-trimmed landing strip above Danielle's sex and the barely there waist band of which matched the silver of the bra and shorts before descending to bisect her spectacular bottom with a tiny silk green slip of fabric.

As she took her seat atop the makeshift stage, and stared imperiously down at the "townsfolk" she so despised, she smiled and thought to herself, "if you hillbillies knew for a second what I had on underneath this suit you'd cheer until you were hoarse -- well dream on losers because that's never going to happen." Or is it?

"Thank you all again for coming," Dr. Bloom trumpeted from the stage, and thanks also for your patience as I reviewed the rules, for your fund raising efforts this year that were so nicely captured in pictures and for your applause as we watched that inspiring video of last year's champions' run to the top."

Gesturing to the two teams of 14 year old uniformed hoopsters sitting cross-legged on the court right below the stage -- one of which included young Will Parnell -- Eric Bloom continued, "in a moment, we're going move this stage aside and let you boys get to this season's inaugural game. After all, that's what we're all really here to see. But before that first jump ball, I'd like to present our final speaker for the evening, a prestigious lawyer and a beacon of propriety in our community, who will share with you the commission's decision regarding cheer leading. So, without further ado, I present Mrs. Danielle Parnell."

As Danielle rose from her chair and made her way to the podium, the gathered assemblage of men and boys cheered heartily but respectfully. No matter what this woman had to say, anyone who looked that spectacular deserved applause. And she drank it accordingly, smiling broadly on the inside while outwardly sternly raising her hands toward the clapping fools so as to silence them in her majestic presence.

The women and girls in the audience, meanwhile, could barely contain their loathing for this prima donna who constantly seemed to be overshadowing them and stealing the attention of their husbands and boyfriends. Whether it was referring to Rachel Miras as a Hobbit, attacking Nicole Silver's confidence by demeaning her job and her weight, lording over Karen Manley at the office despite the fact that the two were technically partners, threatening Will's math teacher, Mrs. Klapner with dismissal -- "all I need to do is pick up the phone and call Dr. Bloom Klapner" -- or shamelessly flirting with Adam Hess, Rebecca Ross' husband, for all of Davidson to see before admonishing him about it publicly to his and Rebecca's shame -- there were reasons aplenty for many women in the audience to detest the arrogant but fetching Mrs. Parnell. But as Danielle began to speak, one of those women, Mrs. Emma Duncan, was about to change the balance of power once and for all.

"Allow me to get right to the point," Danielle began pedantically, accustomed to addressing large crowds.

"In many ways the fabric of our community is subject to the tension between what is appropriate and what is inappropriate."

At that moment, to Danielle's surprise because no one had discussed it with her, the gymnasium lights dimmed and the computer screen on stage flashed to life with the picture from her SmythKnight website biography. She loved how good she looked in that picture and, despite not being told about it, thought it helped add to her already unquestioned authority on stage. Again -- she smiled inside.

Mrs. Parnell continued, "I learned last week -- from my children no less -- that whoever it is among you that influences our well-meaning but weak-willed commissioner had prevailed upon him to endorse the concept of our young daughters leading cheers for the older boys' teams. After discussing the issue further with a more discerning parent -- namely me -- Dr. Bloom has wisely reversed that decision and has asked me to convey to you that there will be no 12 year old girls’ cheer-leading squad supporting the Gators."

Behind Danielle, the faces of Rachel Miras and Karen Manley looked incredulous. Even the mascot Allie Gator -- who was holding her own green and silver pom poms -- appeared agitated.

“Can you believe her,” Rachel whispered to Mrs. Manley, “publicly humiliating that nice man Eric Bloom while insinuating that other parents are the real problem here.”

“Trust me,” Karen Manley answered, “we’re subjected to her scorn, ridicule and humiliation at work every day. What I wouldn’t give to see Ms. High and Mighty taken down a peg or two.”

A similar exchange was taking place in the stands where Nicole Silver, still infuriated over Danielle insulting her cheerleading pedigree, carped at Katherine Wray, “someone needs to teach that sanctimonious little tease a lesson – talking down to us from her high horse. She deserves a good spanking on that bottom she’s always parading in front of our husbands.”

“I’d sure like to see that,” Katherine replied while licking her lips. “By the way, have you seen Rebecca Ross – I thought she was supposed to be here today?”

Meanwhile, Callum Duncan, Jr., who was sitting next to Will Parnell below the stage waiting for the game to start, teased Danielle’s son by loudly whispering past him to the other kids on the team, “got MILF. Too bad she’s not a little closer to the edge of the stage so we could look up her skirt.”

“Shut up Callum,” snapped Will as angry at his mother as he was at his young friend.

With professorial disdain, Mrs. Parnell spoke on, "it's not that there isn't a time when cheer leading is appropriate -- in high school and college for example."

As those words left her lips, the image on the screen changed from her professional photo to, first, a picture from Danielle's high school year book showing her as the captain of the cheer-leading team and, next, to a similar picture of her as senior captain of the Harvard cheerleaders. Above each of the photos, in white block letters against a black background was the word "Appropriate." Although she neither showed it nor missed a beat in her prepared remarks, Danielle was annoyed by these latest images. Someone was both mocking her by highlighting a word that even she knew she may have brandished once too often and undermining her authority by showing these pictures of her not as a professional woman but as a young flirty cheerleader.

"What is not appropriate," she imperiously continued, "is suggesting to girls who are not even teenagers that their place is in the service of men. Why limit their view so early in life? Wouldn't time and effort be better spent encouraging them to compete themselves. The answer is clearly yes. Take me for example, I didn't start my climb to becoming the leader of the most prestigious law firm in the United States -- in a male dominated industry -- by spending my days supporting or seeking the approval of boys and men. I did it instead, as a young girl, by engaging them at their own games and besting them on the field of play. To return then to my original point, the fabric of our community is subject to the tension between what is appropriate and what is inappropriate . . ."

But before the next words left her mouth, her speech was interrupted by the laughter of the crowd who now saw on the big screen behind her, in giant typeface, the words "Inappropriate Fabric." From her seat in the front row the bleachers, Emma Duncan -- whose late night Googling had permitted her to find the three harmless photos of Danielle that had already appeared on screen and whose typing skills had quickly caused those words to appear -- began the end of the nemesis of Davidson's female population.

As Danielle turned to see the source of everyone's mirth, the on-screen scene changed again and the still shot of the words "Inappropriate Fabric" was replaced with what appeared to be a very high definition color video of an almost obscenely opulent and incredibly large master bathroom. Specifically, the scene was one of a silver framed floor to ceiling mirror lit on each side by cut glass sconces mounted to a high marble wall. The mirror's reflection showed a small marble vestibule that led into what looked like a cavernous walk-in closet lined with shoes, bags, hanging clothes and almost too many glass fronted drawers to count. As the crowd sat in confused silence, Mrs. Parnell and her son Will both recognized the scene as the foyer between Danielle's walk-in closet and the Parnells' master bath. But how?

"What is the meaning of this" a clearly agitated Danielle demanded from the rostrum, now completely befuddled by the scene before the crowd but equally determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Whoever is doing this stop it this instant. This is a complete invasion of privacy -- it's highly inappropriate."

As the crowd began to understand that the scene before them must be the Parnell household, laughter -- particularly from the women and girls who were enjoying tremendously the discomfiture of their usual tormentor -- began to break the silence.

"Eric," boomed Danielle authoritatively at Dr. Bloom, "you do something about this right now -- I'm here to talk about cheerleading not to be made the butt of some coward's jokes."

And then, as the words "showing one's butt while cheerleading in inappropriate fabric," scrolled across the top of the still running video, a familiar -- yet somehow altogether different -- Danielle Parnell appeared in the large mirror's reflection. As her entire body came into focus, the better part of Davidson's population was treated to a view -- both directly from behind and via the mirror from the front -- of Mrs. Danielle Marie Parnell wearing only her barely-there green, white and grey pleated tartan schoolgirl skirt that didn’t quite cover the cheeks of her incredibly firm ass; a pair of sky high, 5.5" black patent leather Mary Jane's, frilly white bobby sox and a crisp, white, high-collared cotton shirt that she left open down to the magnificent canyon of her pert self-tanned breasts and tied off atop her feminine yet muscled midriff. Better yet, rather than having her hair in an authoritative bun, Danielle had put her silky locks into pigtails and applied a heavy coat of fire engine red lipstick to her pouty lips.

What the video showed next shocked the conscience of all those watching. Blissfully unaware of what clearly was a hidden camera recording her every move, the onscreen Mrs. Parnell picked up a pair of green and silver pom poms from her opulent vanity and, looking over her shoulder at her perfect ass, bent over slightly at the waist and smiled. And then the cheer began.

"Give me G. . . because I'm so God damned gorgeous."

As the crowd suddenly realized what they were seeing, it began to go wild. On screen, after unfastening her barely there tartan skirt and letting it fall to the ground, Mrs. Parnell slapped her spectacular bottom -- now for all to see -- and purred, "give me an A. Because no one has an ass as hot as mine."

Next, untying the knot above her midriff and slipping off the white cotton top so that she now stood only in her high heels, frilly white bobby socks and tiny Gator green thong the bane of many a Davidson woman's existence practically moaned, "give me a T. Because my tits are simply terrific."

"Give me an O . . . for the orgasm none of you pathetic losers could ever make happen."

"Give me an R . . . for your repulsive wives who all want to be me."

"Give me an S . . . because you always want to see me."

"What does it spell . . . Gators . . . Gators . . . Gators . . . you pathetic masturbators!"

And finally, after dropping her pom poms to the floor and bending over at her waist to pick them up, the sultry suburbanite looked lustfully at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror and, to the further shock of the gathered crowd and oozing sexuality purred, "do you see anything you like Mr. Hess . . . you really played a great game tonight and you shouldn't have to go home to that mascot when you can have the captain of the cheer leaders."

As the word "Inappropriate" began flashing over the now still photo of the onscreen Danielle bent over wantonly at the waist, and the crowd continued to howl at what it had just seen, the live Danielle – who was standing shell shocked and slack jawed and whose cat eye glasses had slid to the bottom of her perfect nose -- tried to shift into damage control mode.

"Will," the undeterred disciplinarian barked at her son to the delight of those witnessing her undoing, "you look away from that screen and get out of here this minute young man. Do you hear me . . ."

As the shock of what he had just witnessed and the shrill voice of his always demanding mother converged, Will Parnell, half in a trance, stood up to, as always, follow his mother's orders. But as he turned to run away, a howling Callum Duncan -- who realized early on how the show they all just witnessed came into existence -- grabbed the waistband of Will's Gator green basketball shorts and pantsed him causing the Parnell boy first to trip and fall and, finally, to begin to flee the gym wearing only high tops, a tank top and a Gator green jock.

And then it hit her, that little miscreant Callum Duncan must have installed a disguised remote control camera in lieu of a true smoke detector. Now too enraged with anger on behalf of herself and her poor undone son to even consider the humiliation that had befallen her -- and unaware as yet of the embarrassment to come -- Mrs. Parnell began to make her way off the stage while bellowing at the Duncan boy in a rage, "why you little shit, I'll show you the meaning of embarrassment . . ."

But as she strode toward the steps leading down to the court, Dr. Eric Bloom, beseeching her to stop with a cry of, "but he's just a boy," reached out unsteadily to grab Danielle's arm. Unfortunately for no one but Mrs. Parnell, Dr. Bloom's clumsy attempt to stay Danielle's march, made worse by his tripping over his own feet, resulted instead in his grabbing the large round silver hoop that was the zipper pull at the top rear of her tight, grey, pin-stripe pencil skirt. In an instant, the once skin-tight, highly fashionable Fendi "armor" that Danielle had so confidently worn to cow this crowd of miscreants, was unzipped completely and, along with Dr. Bloom, fell to floor at Danielle's fee causing her descend the stairs in only her 4.5" Manolo Blahnik cage heels, lacy silver boy shorts, her as yet undiscovered green thong and her still intact blouse and vest.

Needless to say, the crowd went absolutely wild.

“Smile Danielle -- I mean captain,” cried Nicole Silver as, laughing hysterically, she took a picture of the skirt-less solicitor.

“Perfect,” whispered Mrs. Wray to herself as she nearly passed out from ecstasy.

“Mommy,” cried a pantless Will Parnell who had momentarily aborted his escape to see what the commotion was about.

On stage, Rachel Miras was high-fiving with Karen Manley and Allie Gator. In less than two minutes the town's biggest prima donna had been reduced from an imperious, domineering snob to the sl*tty little show-off and cock-tease every woman had always secretly known, or at least hoped, her to be. At this point, standing only in her heels, panties, shirt and vest, Danielle knew she needed to get out of there. In her mind, the path of least resistance was back up and then over the rear of the stage and then out the back doors to the parking lot.

But before Danielle took her first full step, and as she heard a now infuriated Emma Duncan yell, "how dare you even think of hitting my son you little hussy," the comely counselor felt the DA's hands grab tightly onto the shoulders of her vest. Undeterred, and despite Emma's firm grip, Mrs. Parnell bounded forward only to hear and then feel her very expensive vest tear apart at the shoulders and back. Although the pearl buttons fastening the front of her now wrinkled white oxford had also popped off during Danielle's escape, revealing to all a hint of the lacy, silver push up bra beneath, at least she was free of the grasp of Emma Duncan.

Back on stage, and half-dazed by her ensuing humiliation, Danielle's anger again focused her mind as she spied the guffawing Karen Manley, her law partner at SmythKnight, still in her original seat next to Allie Gator.

"Stop laughing you idiot and help cover me or as God is my witness I'll fire you right here and now," Danielle demanded, attempting to intimidate Mrs. Manley as she had so many times in the past.

Thinking quickly on her feet, and seeing an opportunity to further embarrass the woman who had made her entire professional career next to unbearable, Karen Manley took off her own blazer as she implored her boss to "turn around so that I can at least cover you with this."

As the once domineering Danielle Parnell did as she said -- a fact that alone was sweet revenge for Mrs. Manley -- Karen handed her blazer to Allie Gator and, instead of covering her shrew of a boss, grabbed the shoulders of Danielle's open oxford shirt and pulled it clean off the back of the soon to be far less successful lawyer. At that moment, standing only in her towering black cage heels, her lacy silver boy short panties and her matching push up bra, the enormity of Danielle's humiliation finally hit home. Looking out into a crowd of howling men, women and children -- all of whom she had tormented and lorded over for years -- a host of questions began to flood her addled mind.

How could this have happened? Where are my beautiful clothes -- my armor? How can these -- these nobodies and losers -- how can they be pointing at me -- at me -- and laughing? Oh my God the video, everyone saw me wantonly stripping -- like a cheap wh*r*. It's all so inappropriate. And Will, that bad boy Callum pulled Will's shorts down . . . and he wasn't wearing underpants . . . only that green jockstrap . . . my poor boy. And he saw me . . . his mommy . . . in her panties? Oh my God, all these men are leering at me . . . because they want me . . . they still want me . . . don't they? Is Adam out there . . . does he want me . . . ? What about his wife -- did she see me?

In the few seconds it took for Mrs. Parnell to walk through those questions in her head, Emma Duncan made her way onto the stage and, in an encore performance of her son's pantsing of Will Parnell, yanked the lacy silver boy shorts of Will's mother down to her high heel encased ankles. Although she and everyone else no doubt expected the revelation of Danielle Parnell's naked ass, it was somehow more satisfying for the crowd and crushing for Mrs. Parnell, that under her very lacy silver panties she wore a tiny Gator green thong. The little tramp had worn green and silver underwear -- thought Emma -- how perfect.

Shocked again into action and seeking to hide from the crowd her spectacular and barely covered body, Danielle reached down toward Allie Gator and grabbed the green and silver pom poms from the mascot's furry fingers. The sight of her alternatively using the pom poms to cover her ass, tits and face -- now somewhat shielded anyway by the mane of brown hair that had fallen out of its supercilious bun -- evoked a comic rendition of the tawdry strip tease the crowd had witnessed her do on screen only a very few minutes earlier.

“I guess you really are a cheerleader after all,” laughed a delighted Rachel Miras.

Danielle knew she needed to get out of there -- it was time to make a run for it.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Parnell, she neglected to realize that her silver boy briefs remained tangled at her ankles a fact, when she finally tried to flee that caused her to fall squarely onto the lap of Allie Gator. What the perpetually smiling Davidson Athletic Program mascot did next revealed three of Davidson's best kept secrets. The first two, Danielle Parnell's fabulously pert -- and surprisingly for "Ms. Appropriate," totally tan tits -- were revealed to all when Allie shockingly undid the clasp of the haughty barristers push up bra. With that revelation, more than one man in the crowd moaned loudly and watched a dark spot form in the lap of his pants. The third revelation -- the identity of Allie Gator -- was for some even more startling because the person inside the suit was known to no one but the inhabitant him or herself and Dr. Bloom.

The him or her of it became apparent as Allie removed her giant gator top to reveal tresses of long blond hair that sat atop the head of an obviously infuriated Rebecca Ross. After next removing a fuzzy green muppet hand, Rebecca began the final undoing of Mrs. Danielle Marie Parnell.

With an unapologetic spank of the suburban sex-pot's very tight bottom Mrs. Ross demanded of her.

"Give me an S."

When Danielle didn't respond, Rebecca reiterated her cry and coupled it with an even harder slap.

"I said -- GIVE ME AN S."

To the hysteria of the crowd, and in a barely discernible voice, Danielle squeaked, "S."

"S is for the sl*tty, little show-off lying in my lap," bellowed Rebecca, again spanking Danielle's firm bottom.

"Give me an L," Rebecca commanded with a spank.

"L," Danielle said in a whispering cry.

"L means leave my husband alone or the next time I won't be so gentle," laughed Rebecca as the other wives and mothers in the crowd cheered her on and men and boys dreamed of the night time fantasies this scene would forever provide.

"Give me a U," barked Mrs. Ross now relentlessly raining spanks down on Danielle's reddening posterior.

"U," cried Danielle loudly, now beyond reckoning with the unfolding degradation.

As she tore the smaller woman's thong from her perfect ass Rebecca, breathing heavily but with a smile on her face shouted, "U is for these sl*tty little underpants that you loved to have everyone see you wearing."

"Give me a T," Rebecca ordered.

"T . . .," Danielle screamed Danielle.

"T is for the tease that won't be coming around here ever again," said Rebecca triumphantly to the deafening applause of the collective girls and women in the gym.

And then, to make sure that Mrs. Parnell understood exactly what she was, Rebecca demanded, "what does it spell."

What does it spell, Danielle asked herself silently, her normally facile brain misfiring from the mix of humiliation and accompanying confusion engendered by her near orgasmic state, what does it spell, S . . . L . . . U . . . Then it came to her, and as if she was back in high school raising her hand before all of the other kids to show that she knew the answer she screamed, "sl*t . . . it spells sl*t Ms. Ross . . . and that's what I am . . . an inappropriate tease and a sl*t!"

As the crowd continued to roar in a chorus of laughter, ecstasy and for many, the joy brought about by karmic justice, Rebecca Ross stood Danielle up, jammed Allie's muppet head atop the humiliated woman's tan, fit shoulders and, slapping her on her very tight ass, sent her running in her heels -- pom poms in hand -- for the exit.

The Gators' hoop season had begun.

[obo]

Another outstanding job Chasmo! Check your PM's.

[hocman]

Damn Chasmo and Obo both of these stories rock!! Thank you both.

[samos]

Chasmo, where are you?
We wait for next part of haughty and vanity Danielle's story.
Thanks for your effort.

[Chasmo]

Nimbly sliding to the ground from the saddle of her dappled gray horse Dash, Danielle Marie Parnell presented a mouthwatering vision to every man and boy lucky enough to have her within their sight line at the Davidson Polo Club & Equestrian Center. It was the third Saturday in May, and in anticipation of her annual pilgrimage to Pimlico later that day, where as the managing partner of the prestigious SmythKnight law firm she would host its most important clients, the comely counselor was finishing up a ride of her own in the early morning spring sun.

After unclasping and removing her helmet, the mere act of which freed her luxurious brown mane, sun kissed with blonde highlights, to blow majestically in the light breeze, the gorgeous mother of three put a pair of aviator sunglasses over her emerald green eyes and began the short walk from the outdoor riding arena to the tack room. And what a walk it was. From the tops of her almost knee-high worn leather riding boots, Danielle's incredibly fit legs were covered by a skin-tight pair of tan riding pants, a coupling of cotton and spandex that cupped her peerless ass like a glove. Up top, the preening alpha-mom sported a tight, white, ribbed tank top that profiled her firm midsection to its most sultry effect while showing off her long, tan, feminine but muscled arms.

With her skin glistening from the efforts of putting Dash through his paces, Mrs. Parnell was a vision of sophisticated sex appeal -- and she knew it. Sporting the body of a woman half her age and a face that was a perfect coupling of the best of Kerri Russel and Miranda Kerr, Danielle Parnell thrived not only on the fact of her beauty but even more so on the effect it had on men. And this morning was no different. Watched intently by a host of male trainers, stable hands, riding students and, to Mrs. Parnell's delight, husbands of her friends and neighbors who were there dropping off and picking up their children from riding lessons, Danielle did her best to put on a show. Although outwardly she disdainfully sneered at her lustful audience, she smiled heartily on the inside as she put a little extra sway in her spectacular step.

"Dream on you losers," the preening uber-MILF thought to herself as she bent over at the waste to get a drink of water from a fountain immediately outside the tack room's door, "this is the closest any of you will ever get to this body."

Prolonging her drink for the benefit of her "audience," Mrs. Parnell caught Dr. Richard Miras, a nerdy neighborhood dentist and obvious devotee of Danielle's stunning beauty, ogling her spectacular bottom a bit too closely. Her discovery had the twofold effect of, on the one hand, stoking the alpha-mom's already healthy ego even further and, on the other, providing her with an opportunity to engage in a favorite pastime -- the emasculation of men.

For what provided Danielle with almost as much pleasure as flaunting her magnificent form before men and boys alike, was the rush she experienced from catching one of them in the very act she was so shamelessly encouraging and, in so doing, calling his "inappropriate" behavior out publicly. The icing on the cake was to do so in front of the now humiliated man's wife, daughter or girlfriend, which provided Danielle Parnell the added bonus of letting those women know that in her presence they effectively ceased to exist -- the fat cows.

"Excuse me doctor Miras," the haughty diva loudly and condescendingly began, "but I don't recall asking you for an examination of my bottom. Your behavior is outrageously inappropriate sir. And in front of your wife and daughter no less. How do you think that makes them feel?"

Dr. Miras sheepishly glanced between his feet and the very annoyed face of his wife Rachel -- the Davidson PTA President who didn't know who she hated more at that moment, her idiot of a husband or the arrogant tease who made him, and now Rachel and their 12 year old daughter Sharon, look ridiculous. As her mother fumed, Sharon Miras, likewise shocked by her father's chiding, fell from the saddle of her horse into a huge mud puddle right in front of her parents. Although the softness of the mud and wet ground thankfully broke Sharon's fall without incident, the ensuing splash of sullied water and horse manure soaked her and her parents alike.

The gathered crowd of local parents, children and other onlookers reacted with a mixture of suppressed laughter at the plight of the Miras family and -- at least as far as any woman present was concerned -- internalized righteous indignation at the arrogant show-off responsible for the scene unfolding before them. Meanwhile, a delighted Danielle Marie Parnell, laughing heartily at the humiliated Miras clan, disappeared into the tack room as she disdainfully remarked, "now you're literally and figuratively a dirty old man Richard."

Mortified and mud-soaked, the Miras family skulked shamefully toward their car.

"Mom . . . I'm so sorry," sobbed Sharon. "When I heard Mrs. Parnell yelling at dad I completely lost my focus and fell . . . I didn't mean to embarrass you guys."

"It's not your fault sweetie," her mother assured the crestfallen teen, careful not to reveal to Sharon her seething anger at the tiny tease who Rachel knew was actually responsible for the entire scene.

"It certainly isn't honey," came the soothing voice of Emma Duncan, a neighbor of both the Miras and Parnell families, who after witnessing the former's misfortune made a bee-line toward Rachel in the parking lot. "Why don't you and your dad hop in the car while I chat with your mom for a minute."

As young Sharon jumped into the family SUV, now at least somewhat appeased that she wasn't responsible for her parents' humiliation, Rachel Miras shared with Mrs. Duncan the words she had spared her daughter from hearing.

"Can you believe that Parnell woman," she began, almost shaking with anger, "it's not bad enough that she parades around here in those skin-tight clothes shaking that little bottom of hers in the face of our husbands and sons while lording her 'beauty' over us. No -- Little Miss Perfect needs to 'catch them in the act' and then publicly humiliate everyone. Well this time it has gone too far . . . Sharon could have been hurt . . . Richard and I are covered in mud. The worst part is we have to see her again at the club's Preakness garden party this afternoon -- before she struts off to Pimlico with her fancy clients. Just once I'd like to get even with that little show-off -- for her to be on the receiving end."

"You're telling me," Emma commiserated, "I can't tell you how many times that woman has made a snide comment about my weight, my clothes, my intelligence or my 'lazy' children -- and always with that condescending sneer on her perfectly made up face. Always looking down at us from her ridiculously high heels in her fancy designer clothes. I can only imagine the outfit she'll have on at the garden party."

"Do you mean this outfit," came the voice of Billy Miras, Rachel's 16 year old son and a notorious high school prankster who,before walking over to join the conversation, witnessed his family's humiliation at the hands of Mrs. Parnell through the large picture window in front of the Polo Club's reception desk where he worked after school and on weekends.

Confused by why her son was holding a $1500 navy blue Carolina Herrera spring mini dress, bedecked with white polka-dots, but with a widening smile on her mud-streaked face, Rachel Miras queried, "is that . . ."

But before she could continue, and with a mischievous grin forming on his own teenage face, Billy completed his mother's question, " . . . Mrs. Parnell's fancy dress for today's garden party? Why yes it is mother. In fact, it was just delivered here straight from the alterations department at Saks. Of course, as the Polo Club's trusted employee manning the reception desk, I'm charged with making sure the altered garment makes its way to the ladies locker room where Mrs. Parnell is expecting it."

"Then let the alterations begin," Emma Duncan chimed in as she removed a small scissors from her handbag.

* * *
Stepping from one of the luxurious marble shower stalls in the Davidson Polo Club's sumptuous ladies' locker room, Danielle Parnell pulled on a very short, bright-white terry cloth robe. The well tanned, gorgeous, emerald eyed mother of three was still smiling from her humiliation of that ridiculous dentist Richard Miras. That his hobbit of a wife and ungrateful daughter had likewise been made public laughingstocks was just icing on the cake. That officious little cow Rachel Miras was nothing but a chubby busy body and the sixth grade Sharon Miras had the audacity only a week before to turn down Will Parnell's invitation to his eighth grade formal making Danielle's eldest, in his mother's eyes, look the fool.

"That's what she gets for embarrassing a Parnell," Danielle thought to herself delighted that once again "mommy" had made right a slight against her "baby boy."

With that thought stoking the love she had for herself even further, Mrs. Parnell began to prepare for the Polo Club's Annual Pre-Preakness Garden Party. As usual, she would bring as guests to the fete the powerful CEOs of her law firm's most important clients -- along with their frumpy wives -- before joining them all for a short ride from the club to Pimilico to watch the second leg of the Triple Crown from millionaire's row. In order to captivate the well heeled executives' undivided attention, which in turn filled SmythKnight's coffers and secured her position as its managing partner, the captivating counselor planned to dress, as usual, to the nines.

After applying a neutral hued blush to her sun-kissed cheeks, an appropriate but stunning dash of pink to her luscious lips and the softest, almost imperceptible shade of rust colored eyeliner, the sexy solicitor put her hair up in a tight bun in anticipation of setting on her head the fabulous "crown" she had chosen for the day's activities. Rather than go with what had become her race day trademark of a very wide, soft-brimmed stunner in a color that complimented her frock of choice, this year Mrs. Parnell had opted for a very small pillbox hat, with blue polka dots on a white field to contrast it with her backless Carolina Herrera spring mini-dress that featured white polka dots on a field of blue. The fancy chapeau also sported a series of white and blue feathers as decorative plumage. In her view, the creation that sat in the hat box in front of her was the epitome of fashionable sophistication.

Before topping off her outfit though, and after slipping out of her tiny terry cloth robe, Danielle stepped into a towering pair of 4.5" blue leather Fendi peep-toe heels and pulled the tiniest of sheer blue and white silk polka dotted thongs over her magnificent hips. Looking at herself in the mirror as she adjusted the barely there panties -- her dress wouldn't permit a bra but her spectacularly pert baseball sized breasts wouldn't miss it -- Mrs, Parnell reveled in the knowledge that every man wanted her and every woman wanted to be her. Smiling, the lusty lawyer fastened her Mikimoto pearl necklace around her supple neck and slipped a diamond encrusted tennis bracelet onto one wrist and a similarly bejeweled Cartier watch onto the other.

"You're perfect," she cooed at her reflection. And then, after looking around to ensure that no one was watching, the diva of Davidson opened her hat box and fastened her custom made creation atop her perfectly coiffed hair. Imagining the uncontrollable hard-ons the powerful leaders of her firm's most important clients would sport if they ever saw her like this, basking in the certainty of her control over not only their libidos but their valuable accounts and drunk on the superiority she knew her station, beauty and intelligence provided her over their wives and all women, Danielle purred to her imaginary assemblage of CEOs, "do you see anything you like, gentlemen. I thought so."

A sharp knock on the locker room door, followed by a young man's voice asking if everyone was "decent in there," pulled Mrs. Parnell from her private reverie and, after putting her robe back on, the self-satisfied solicitor cracked open the door that led from the locker room itself into a vestibule that separated it from an opulent lobby, where she came face-to-face with one of the club's "flunkies" who was delivering her dress that had just arrived from Saks.

"It's about time," she sneered at Billy Miras, "I take it you brought it straight here after it arrived."

"Of course, Mrs. Parnell," Billy said politely, the smile on his face not a function of his accommodating this shrewish woman but rather of his knowledge -- or at least hope -- of things to come. And then, before placing the hanger in the waiting and well manicured hand of the haughty diva who only an hour before had humiliated his entire family, Billy offered, "it's a very beautiful dress Mrs. Parnell, I'm sure you'll be the hit of the garden party."

"That's none of your concern young man now mind your place," snapped the imperious prima donna, on the one hand shocked that this insufferable peon would dare pass judgment on her in any way but on the other delighted that yet another man had validated her beauty. None of them could resist her, the losers.

As the self-important socialite turned on her oh-so-high heels and headed back into the locker room, Billy Miras, fuming now even more at her arrogance, couldn't help but stare at the backs of Danielle's long legs that were visible all the way to mid-thigh before disappearing under her short robe.

"I wonder what she's wearing under there," he thought to himself. Soon enough he would know.

* * *
As his mother got dressed in the club's opulent women's locker room, slipping the halter top of her backless designer mini-dress over her bare shoulders while fastening the flouncy, flared, mid-thigh length skirt bottom around her tiny waist, young Will Parnell, Danielle's 14 year-old son, was getting ready in the men's locker room. Despite his protestations to the contrary, his mother was forcing him one final time to participate in the "little jockeys' pony race." Every year, the young sons of club members would get into black boots, white riding pants, "silks" chosen by their moms and a matching helmet, only to be paraded through the Polo Club's garden party and then forced to mount ponies for a quick one-lap ride around the outdoor practice track. Proud, smiling parents would place bets on who would win with all proceeds going to charity.

In Will's mind being deemed a "little jockey" was bad enough when he was a child but far worse now that he was about to start high school and the next oldest "rider" was only 10. It wasn't his fault that he was -- admittedly -- a somewhat undersized prepubescent teen. This was embarrassing. Of course, that meant nothing to his mother. Will genuinely loved his mom but resented that she still treated him like a baby. The other guys always razzed him about it and he knew this would make it even worse. It also didn't help that she was bossy to his teachers, his coaches, his friends' parents and his friends themselves. Couple that with the fact that he had almost completely outgrown his white canvas riding pants and was being forced by Danielle to wear a blue-and-white polka dotted silk shirt and helmet cover and he knew it was going to be a long day.

* * *
The cavernous lobby of the Davidson Polo Club & Equestrian Center clubhouse opened through a series of floor to ceiling glass plated French doors to an expansive cedar terrace which stretched the entire 200 feet of the building's sizable back facade. The terrace in turn, which provided a stunning vista of the polo fields and outdoor riding track, stepped down on each side into two symmetrical and lovely English gardens which were bifurcated in the center by the main turn of the Equestrian Center racetrack on which this day sat a rolling platform where the little jockey's would mount their miniature steeds for the start of the pony race.

The terrace and the gardens were already awash with garden party attendees including Richard and Rachel Miras and Emma Duncan, when Mrs. Parnell made her grand entrance from the lobby. Confident of the effect she always had on men, Danielle sensed the snapping of necks and stirring of loins as, with a little extra sway in he spectacular hips she made her away across the terrace to where she spotted the small assemblage of SmythKnight's key clients' most senior executives and their wives.

"It's like taking candy from a baby," the sexy solicitor thought to herself as she deftly laid a hand on each CEO's wrist before bestowing an air kiss on each of his cheeks, "these old fools are already salivating as their fossilized wives stew powerlessly in their irrelevance."

Just as the men and boys present were mesmerized by the sexy beauty before them, the women at the garden party stared daggers at the self-proclaimed Queen Bee who looked down upon them as if they were mere peasants.

"Just look at her flirting shamelessly with those old men in her cutesy little outfit," said Karen Manley, a "partner" of Danielle's at the prestigious SmythKnight law firm who had been told by her imperious boss in no uncertain terms to be at the garden party for the purpose of attending to clients' wives.

"The companies led by those old men pay our salaries," responded Lauren Butcher, another SmythKnight lawyer who Danielle had tasked with "wife" babysitting duty.

"It's just too bad that all of their business goes into that little show-off's win column," continued the almost six foot tall Mrs. Butcher, "she wouldn't be so high and mighty if that work was yours or mine."

"No kidding," laughed Karen imagining how wonderful it would be to have that type of leverage over their oppressive boss, "then we could tell her what to do instead of always doing her bidding."

"Dream on, she'll always have them eating out of her well manicured hand" Lauren lamented just as Mrs. Parnell came their way.

"Ladies," the preening diva addressed the CEOs' wives who she had in tow,"allow me to introduce you to Karen Manley and Lauren Butcher. They work for me at SmythKnight and while they may not look it at first glance, they should quite capably be able to attend to your needs while your husbands and I talk business."

And just like that, having insulted two groups of women at once and having loved every second of it, Mrs. Danielle Parnell left the fuming females behind as the club's president announced from the cedar deck that it was time for the mother and son parade that preceded the annual little jockeys' race.

As the procession of moms and sons made their way toward the rolling platform that bisected the expansive Polo Club terrace it became very clear to all that young Will Parnell was a bit too old for this race, and quite literally a bit too big for his britches that were stretched almost to the breaking point. Although all the other boys, a smattering of ten kids between 7 and 10 years old, looked adorable in their little riding suits, poor Will who although not very tall still stood a good six inches higher than the next tallest rider, looked completely put upon and was the only kid whose silks matched his mother's dress.

Not caring a wit for her son's discomfort, Danielle Parnell, practically dragging Will by his hand, strode across the veranda as if she was a model on a catwalk while every man "saluted" her efforts and every woman longed for her comeuppance. Thanks to the confluence of Will having outgrown his riding pants, an allergic pony who wanted no part of any passenger and Emma Duncan's handiwork, those women were about to get their wish.

Having permitted the other mothers to precede them in the march -- so as, Danielle smiled to herself devilishly, to maximize the crowd's focus on her splendor -- Mrs. Parnell and Will had only just reached their own horse as the "competition" were helping their little jockeys up on theirs. Just as the haughty beauty had planned, all eyes were therefore transfixed on her as Will got ready to climb aboard his ride. Unfortunately, just as Danielle prepared to assist her son onto his pony, aptly named Vengeance, the young lad dropped his goggles to the ground and, as he bent down to retrieve the protective spectacles heard and felt the failure of the back seam on his pants. The over-matched garment, that Will had dutifully worn for this race each year since he was 6, finally gave up the ghost and tore wide open to reveal the poor boy's silk, white and blue polka dotted briefs that Danielle had insisted he wear for the race.

"Mom, my pants," cried Will as the crowd -- including a giggling Sharon Miras -- laughed at his misfortune.

"Stop being such a baby," his domineering mother demanded as she spun towards her son with a stern look on her face, "no one is looking at your underwear -- now grow up and get on that horse."

To the impending distress of mother and son alike, when Danielle turned to scold her young offspring the feathers of her fancy hat brushed the nose of Vengeance and set off what would be for all in the crowd but two a most wonderful chain of events. Alarmed and annoyed by the plumage that had tickled his nose, Will's pony began to buck just as Mrs. Parnell hoisted her son onto the diminutive mammal's back. Will in turn wrapped his legs around the horse's midsection for dear life not realizing that in so doing he had both caused his riding pants to split even further and trapped the flared bottom of his mother's fashionable dress between his riding boot and Vengeance's flank.

As many of the gathered women, including Karen Manley, Lauren Butcher and the wives of SmythKnight's most important clients' chieftans, began to laugh at the ordinarily haughty Mrs. Parnell's obvious distress in getting Will situated, Billy Miras, who had been tasked by the Club as the "starter" for the pony race, saw a chance to avenge his own family's earlier undoing. Before Will could get balanced or Danielle (or anyone else but Billy) noticed that the usually cool alpha-mom's skirt was pinned by Will's boot to her son's horse, the perennial high school prankster pushed the starter's button thereby opening the gates that held the ponies at bay and sounding off a bell that caused them to begin the race.

As the voice of the Polo Club's president belted out the time honored mantra "and they're off," which in a moment would relate as much to the Parnell family's clothing as to the ponies bolting from the gate, time appeared to slow to a crawl. As Vengeance surged onto the course at the sound of the bell, the gathered crowd stared slack-jawed as a confounded Danielle Parnell whose dress remained pinned to the diminutive beast, was forced into a rapid pirouette the result of which, in an instant, was to separate her fashionable Carolina Herrera frock from her fabulously fit body.

Disoriented by the sudden spin, and unaware as of yet that she was now bedecked only in her 4.5" navy peep toe heels, blue and white polka dotted thong and very sophisticated derby-day hat, the tottering tease sought to regain her balance by grabbing onto the closest thing she could find -- the quickly departing Will.

Unfortunately for her son, as Mrs. Parnell pitched forward toward the now fleeing Vengeance, she managed to grab with one hand the tattered waist band of Will's riding pants and with the other an errant tail of his polka dotted silk shirt. Although her desperate grasp had the intended effect of righting her balance on the terrace, thereby preventing her from toppling headlong onto the track, it likewise unintentionally but to the uproarious laughter of the crowd, separated young Will both from Vengeance, who now riderless was racing away, and from his riding togs, which as the boy came crashing down ass-first onto the cedar boards of the deck in only his boots, polka-dotted silk briefs and riding helmet, floated ruined down into the mud.

As mother and son alike stood dis-dressed in matching underwear the crowd that had watched much of the scene before them in shocked silence, burst into a tumult of deafening laughter. Still somewhat disoriented from spinning in place, and still unaware of her own fate, Danielle Marie Parnell was irate that the club's guests and members, as unsophisticated as she thought them to be, would point and laugh at her son's misfortune. As poor Will did his best to cover up, his mother, always quick to defend his honor and noting in her mind that she would be firing Karen Manley and Lauren Butcher who she saw pointing and laughing along with the rest, raged at the howling crowd before them.

"How dare you laugh at my son, you miscreants" she began.

"Mom," will squeaked trying to get her attention while simultaneously transfixed by the view he had from behind his self-righteous mother, a view he had obviously never seen before.

"Be quiet, Will," his mother scolded taking a momentary break from castigating the laughing throng, before again addressing what she viewed as an assembly of hecklers.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves, he's just a little boy," she went on furiously. "And you two, she pointed at Karen and Lauren -- you're both finished do you hear me."

"But mom," Will tried again to get his mother's attention while at the same time feeling an all too familiar stirring in his pubescent nether regions.

Having grown tired of her son's interruptions while she was doing her best to defend him, the arrogant alpha-mom spun around on her high heels and, as authoritatively as ever, bellowed at the young boy, "WHAT IS IT WILL???"

As he looked up at his mother towering over him in naught but her heels, translucent panties and fancy dress hat, and quickly taking off his helmet to hide the growing bulge in his own polka-dotted briefs, the slack-jawed, practically catatonic Will Parnell croaked, "mommy, you're not wearing any clothes . . . I can see your boobies."

Quickly looking down at her nearly nude body, the truth of her son's statement finally hit the imperious suburban sexpot who, as Will passed out in front of her from his own humiliation, toppling from the veranda into a very wet puddle of mud as an errant nail tore from him the last remaining shred of his polka-dotted dignity, screamed out, "oh my God, I'm practically naked!"

As the crowd -- including the Miras family and Karen Manley and Lauren Butcher who only minutes before had suffered what they now realized would be the last of Danielle's barbs -- celebrated her comeuppance, the disgraced diva stood practically frozen before them, racking her addled brain to try comprehend her circumstances. Where is my beautiful dress, she thought to herself, and then . . . they're not just laughing at Will . . . everyone is laughing at me -- at me. This can't be happening . . . I've come completely undone. Oh my God, my clients, whatever will they think of me -- I'm not even wearing a bra. And Will, did I really strip my own son? Did he truly see his mommy's boobies?

With her befuddled mind attempting to comprehend her current situation, the nearly denuded debutante's body was having a reaction of its own. As the crowd laughed on, Mrs. Parnell's knees snapped tightly together while her bejeweled hands alternated between covering her thong encased bottom and her oh-so pert tits the nipples of which were standing at attention in response to a mix of humiliation and wanton terror. Her always perfectly tan face began to take on the redness of abject embarrassment, its gorgeous but smug look replaced with the silent scream of "stop looking at me!"

For the now salivating CEOs who had long wondered what their hot little lawyer looked like under her power suits and formal-wear, the site of the near naked Danielle Parnell would provide a lust-evoking memory for the remainder of their years to come. For the club's female patrons, especially those over whom Little Miss Perfect had lorded the very body now on display before them, revenge had never been sweeter -- or so they thought.

As her self-awareness finally began to return, Mrs. Danielle Parnell, the Polo Club's one time Queen Bee, at last made a break for cover. Sprinting as best she could in her towering heels, while covering up her deliciously exposed body, Mrs. Parnell ran recklessly toward the building's lobby -- and safety -- before crashing headlong into Edith Gauge, the elderly wife of one of her client's now completely aroused CEOs.

With rage in her eyes, and momentarily forgetting her own exposure, the haughty Mrs. Parnell chided, "get out of my way you old crone," before attempting to push the frail woman aside.

What happened next was the proverbial icing on the cake of Danielle's downfall. For instead of folding into the couch above which she stood, the 75 year-old Mrs. Gauge -- spouse of SmythKnight's largest client's chairman and CEO -- not only stood firm but, after stopping the preening Mrs. Parnell dead in her tracks, pulled the once powerful lawyer over her bony knee and, relieving her of her polka dotted panties began to rain spanks onto her spectacular and now naked bottom.

"I've had just about enough of you young lady," Danielle's spry if aged assailant began.

"First you cast me and these other lovely women aside like yesterday's rubbish," she continued, gesturing at the other CEOs' wives, "and proceed to shamelessly tease our husbands while we watch. And then you embarrass your own partners in front of us before humiliating your poor son. Well that all ends right now do you hear me."

"Clark," pleaded a veritably infantilized Danielle looking up into the eyes of her tormentor's husband, "please Clark, make her stop . . . she's hurting my . . . she's hurting my . . . my tushy . . . please."

Although Clark Gauge thought about coming to the comely counselor's defense, one look into his wife's eyes quickly disabused him of that course of action. Having cowed her feckless husband with her stern gaze, Mrs. Gauge made it clear to Danielle that the nearly broken tease would have no rescuer today.

"Forget about it honey," the determined but smiling septuagenarian laughed while continuing to tan the broken diva's hide, "he may have the title of CEO -- and may like to watch you strut your stuff -- but I'm the one who owns the company that my father founded. And as of today, our account is going to be handled by Ms. Manley and Ms. Butcher because you're fired."

As the remaining CEOs looked into the eyes of their own wives -- none of whom had the same business leverage over the corporate titans as Edith Gauge had over her own husband but each of whom struck terror into her husband's heart -- they knew they had to follow suit and, almost in concert, likewise announced that their accounts would henceforth be managed by Karen and Lauren -- Mrs. Parnell was finished.

Mortified by the public crumbling of her career, the base from which all of her power emanated, Danielle Parnell, regaining her feet after being released from the grasp of Edith Gauge, and with Karen Manley and Lauren Butcher now sneering down at her as she once did at them, began to ramble incoherently, "please Mrs. Gauge . . . gentlemen . . . please don't fire me . . . I'll be a good little girl . . . I promise . . . I'll . . . I'll . . ."

As those cries fell on deaf ears, SmythKnight's soon to be ex-managing partner began obsequiously to beg her former underlings for compassion, "Karen . . . Lauren . . . I'm sure we can work something out . . . I . . . I could . . . "

It was Lauren Butcher, who on more than one occasion her now humiliated former partner had referred to as "lurch" and "prairie hair" who put an end to Danielle's entreaties.

"I'm very sorry Ms. Parnell but your inappropriate behavior today leaves us no choice but to put your removal from the partnership up for a vote on Monday. And just so we're clear sweetie," Lauren Butcher smiled broadly, "with the votes that Karen and I now control that only means one thing -- YOU'RE FIRED!!"

Stunned by her complete and total undoing, and retreating from the laughing crowd before her as she attempted futilely to cover her now naked body, the utterly disgraced diva failed to realize she had backed herself nearly to the edge of the giant cedar terrace. She was also unaware, with her eyes the size of saucers and a daffy, blank look on her once imperious face, that her son Will was at that moment immediately below her attempting to climb from the mud hole into which he'd fallen only a few short minutes before.

The last sight the howling crowd had of the once powerful Danielle Marie Parnell, as Will's small, disembodied hand reached over the terrace and, in search of some leverage, accidentally grabbed his mother's ankle, was her falling, ass-first in only her high heels and fancy feathered hat, into the very puddle of muck from which her son was trying to climb. As the laughter grew to a crescendo, the now mud-soaked and completely disgraced former MILF, crying like a baby, could be heard shouting up to her again stupefied son, "Will . . . don't look down . . . mommy is a very dirty girl!"

The Miras family had been avenged.

[amfanon]

Fantastic, as usual. I'll add the same constructive criticism as I have before: I wish the stripping scenes were longer. The descriptions are amazing--you're like some sort of build-up deity. The descriptions of the characters's appearance, dress, and attitude are VERY well fleshed out, creating stunning characters we can't wait to see brought low. But then the wardrobe mishap occurs, and after all that buildup, it's over in half a second. Long story short, I prefer stories like "Pride Goeth Before Her (Clothes) Fall", with more clothing items and longer stripping scenes to stories like "And they're off" with just a couple items and very short stripping scenes. (note: you can do longer scenes with few items, it's just harder)

On a less constructive note, Nicole is still my favorite character (mmm, redheads), and I hope to see her again soon!

[Chasmo]

amfanon -

First, apologies for the delayed response and thanks so much for your kind words. Second, I completely hear you in terms of trying to prolong the actual stripping sequences. "And They're Off" didn't come as easily as many of the other installments and my biggest disappointment in writing it was that Danielle's "unveiling" happened in an instant. I attempted to compensate for that by keeping her unaware of her circumstances for a bit but even to me that's not quite as satisfying as, say, the sequence in "Pride Goeth." I'll see what I can do going forward to have the pay-off better reflect the build-up (thanks again by the way - deity isn't a compliment one hears every day).

As for Nicole, she is definitely due for some comeuppance. I had drinks recently with the woman on whom she is based (a friend and former colleague) and she is both more arrogant and more attractive than ever. It definitely gave me some food for thought so stay tuned for some more tension between her and Mrs. Parnell.

[hocman]

Hey Chasmo, another wonderful addition. Any more coming if not thanks for these, great stuff