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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!”