Red Hat and Magic Knickers

Taking inspiration from Culver, I am launching a week of majorette stories. First up, here is the story from Uniform Girls 39 that Culver directly referenced in his piece. Mr Pender reminds me of the actor Mark Williams (Arthur Weasley, Father Brown, the Fast Show, etc).

It was a rainy, rather dismal afternoon and Susan and Bob were in Bob’s room toasting crumpets. June had been mostly wet and dreary, not a very nice end to the college year. Was the rest of the summer going to be the same? Bob had got a vacation job in Blackpool. And Susan? Bob asked her again if she had any idea yet what she was doing. Susan said she still didn’t know, but her mother would have something fixed up.

‘She wants me at home for the holidays. I told you that. Boring old Southavon, but she and my father are paying my grant. She seems to have various possibilities jobs. There’s Model Modes; that’s Mr Mossdale. And Mr Allgrove who’s got a shop that sells sweets and stuff. And there also seems to be Mr Pender who’s the ironmonger. How’s that for possibilities! They all seem keen to take me on.’ Susan gave a little laugh. ‘Perhaps they all have ideas of screwing me.’

That didn’t go over too well. She really had to learn not to say things like that to Bob. ‘No really, I was only joking, darling. They’re all nice and proper middle-aged men. Pillars of respectability. That sort of thing wouldn’t have crossed their minds. Really. It was a joke, silly.’

Susan reached to put some butter on a half-scorched crumpet. ‘And there’s this other thing. For the town fete. A majorette competition or something. Mother was talking about that. Talking about me entering. I don’t know that I’m very excited by that idea. It’ll probably be young kids.’

Bob still had Susan’s earlier remark in his head. Her joke. It wasn’t much of a joke as far as he was concerned. Susan was extremely attractive, a pretty blue-eyed blonde with a super figure. It seemed entirely possibly to him that middle-aged businessmen could have ideas about a delicious looking 19-year-old. Of course he knew Susan wouldn’t be interested in anything like that but… he had really wanted Susan to get a job with him in Blackpool but her bloody mother had other ideas.

He brought his mind back to this other thing: this majorette competition… Susan was saying she had done some of that twirling business when she was younger.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘Marching in front of the band in one of those ridiculous outfits?’ He could picture Susan in an abbreviated skirt performing a strutting march. Displaying her fantastic thighs at every step. And her knickers…?

‘Yes. Something like that.’ Susan smiled. She thought for the moment of saying something wild: Maybe I’ll do it without any knickers. That should get me first prize. But Bob of course wouldn’t think that was a joke either. Instead she said, ‘I’m not at all keen on the idea. But I suppose it’ll be what passes for excitement in Southavon.’

She got up to look out of the window. It was still raining. Maybe it would all summer. Ugh! Possibly raining in Southavon and brilliant sunshine in Blackpool. Bob came over and put his arms round her. Kissing her. He was horny again, she could feel the hard bulge of his stiff cock against her.

‘No!’ She slid her hand down to fondle it through his jeans. ‘Not again, darling. Remember I’ve got to get in practice for not having it for six weeks. While you’re enjoying yourself in glorious Blackpool.’

Smiling, Susan pushed him away. This time she couldn’t resist saying it. ‘Unless you want me saying yes to Mr Mossdale and those others!’

----//----

It turned out that Mrs Simway hadn’t wanted to disappoint anyone. When Susan got home she found that part-time jobs had been arranged with both Model Modes and in Mr Allgrove’s stationary/confectioner’s shop. A job hadn’t been arranged with Mr Pender who had been the other one mentioned; but perhaps Mr Pender hadn’t pressed quite so hard as the other two. Because Mr Pender’s shop was sponsoring the majorette competition and Susan had been entered for this.

‘He said something about practice sessions,’ Susan’s mother said. ‘I rather think he wants you to win.’

‘Mother!’ Susan’s rolled her eyes in mock despair. ‘I’m not going to have a moment free. Couldn’t you have said no to someone?’

But at least she was going to be busy, with no time to be bored. It seemed she was due to see all three the next day, her first day home. Mr Pender with his majorette competition in the morning.

----//----

Fifty-two-year-old George Pender thought his majorette idea could be just about the best thing he had ever thought of. It was a really fantastic idea. It would be a great advertisement for Pender the Ironmonger but that of course was only half of it. The other half was the girls. That was perhaps the brilliant part of the idea. He wasn’t having any young kids in it, although naturally young kids were very keen on that sort ‘of thing. But George wanted big girls — and no doubt all the male spectators at the fete would also prefer to see big girls. So George had specified an age range of 17 to 21.

Within the 17 to 21 age range there were some extremely attractive girls that George was aware of in the town. Some of them of course had never done any majorette marching or baton twirling in their lives but that was no reason why they couldn’t enter, was it? It was a fun thing we were talking about here. And George himself was quite prepared to give a little instruction if necessary.

George had managed to persuade all of his really top choices to enter. Or more accurately, he had persuaded their mothers to enter them… When you were a shopkeeper with special offers available, including very special personal ones if necessary, you could be very persuasive.

So George’s brilliant idea had attracted some very special entrants. None more so than Mrs Simway’s girl, Susan, who as good luck would have it was going to be home from college. George had long admired delectable honey-blonde Susan. Ever since she reached the status of big girl, i.e. about the age of 16 or 17. And what would she be now? Nineteen…?

‘Yes,’ delectable Susan confirmed in answer to that question. Sitting with Mr Pender in his lounge with her wet raincoat hanging in the hall. Yes it was still raining. In Southavon at least. ‘Nineteen and one month actually. And actually I’m not really keen on this business. I mean I haven’t done any of that since I was a little kid. My mother shouldn’t have…’

George assured her there was absolutely no problem. Some of the girls had never done it before. It was essentially a fun thing. But of course there was the prize for the girl adjudged the winner. Adjudged by the sponsor naturally. £100. And he, the sponsor; would very much like to give the prize to Miss Susan Simway. He was sure he could give it to her, with just the minimum of practice on her part. So that people wouldn’t be able to say silly things, it hadn’t been fair, etc. Because of course general attractiveness in any case counted for a great deal, it wasn’t only marching and baton twirling ability. Not when you were judging big girls at least.

Yes, and George had an outfit for Susan, a really lovely uniform that he knew would fit her lovely figure just marvellously. So if she wanted to try it on now and then they could run through a routine. A little practice session…

Susan wasn’t keen but clearly Mr Pender was. Apart from his words his eyes, ever since she had come in and sat down opposite him, had said that. Eyes that were very keenly on her boobs and legs… A good deal of Susan’s very attractive legs was showing because she had a shortish skirt on. And her tightish top also did a good job of showing off her high, firm boobs. Yes, Mr Pender was keen alright and there was this £100. She was certainly not going to say no to £100 if it was on offer. And she wouldn’t really mind marching in this fete and, presumably, showing off her legs. Bob would certainly mind but… Bob wasn’t going to be here. He was in (possibly sunny) Blackpool.

Susan made a face and said OK. George’s somewhat florid face expressed keen satisfaction. He got to his feet. The outfit was in the other room but Susan could take it upstairs to get changed if she wanted to. Susan said another OK and stood up. George, feeling his blood pounding, stepped forward and placed his hands on her slim waist. He thought for a second and then turned her. So that her back — and ripe bottom and scented soft blonde hair — was towards him. Susan was standing still, and submissive, as a pretty girl should of course. George’s hand slid round. To firmly cup the pliantly jutting boobs.

‘Yes, I’m quite sure you’ll win,’ he said into the soft blonde hair.

Susan said a sharp ‘Hey!’, but let the hands remain for some seconds before disengaging them. A girl in this situation had to try and get things just right. She did want to win. But she didn’t want Mr Pender to think she was an easy piece. Especially when her mother had arranged this. Did her mother think…? It wasn’t only Mr Pender’s hands as it happened. Behind Susan there was the unmistakable hard bulge of his stiffened penis pressing into her beautiful bottom.

Mr Pender’s uniform consisted of a pinky-red dress with gold braid and a matching pillbox hat. The dress had bouffant sleeves and a short full skirt that came to halfway down Susan’s thighs. Clearly doing any high-knee-action marching — not to mention any high kicks — she would be showing her knickers. There didn’t seem to be any special ones, matching red ones for instance. So presumably she had to keep her own white ones on. Susan recalled what she had wanted to say to Bob: Maybe I’ll do it without any knickers. Yes, Mr Pender would no doubt approve of that. But no thank you!

Susan picked up the red-and-gold striped baton and, looked in the mirror. She tried a couple of high-knee steps, flipping up the short skirt. Her black high heels weren’t the most suitable footwear for this sort of thing and she should have thought of wearing something else, but they did show off her long bare legs. She tentatively kicked one leg up, flashing the crotch of her brief white knickers. No, Bob would not approve of this. But… £100…

‘Lovely!’ George Pender breathed when she appeared. ‘Fantastic!’

Do I look OK? I think this hat looks rather silly. And… ah… shouldn’t there be any knickers? I mean matching ones. Because… uh… you’ll probably be able to see them.’

‘Knickers…?’ George stepping forward. With an almost uncontrollable need to make physical contact with this stunning vision. His hands took hold of the vision’s jutting red-with-gold-decoration boobs. ‘Hey!’ Susan yelped. And then he had clasped her firmly to himself, both arms round her back.

‘Knickers?’

‘Yes… uh… Oooohh!’

George’s hand was at Susan’s bottom. Sliding under the little skirt and onto the tight-stretched seat of the brief white knickers. His hand on Susan’s ripely rounded bottom-cheeks.

‘You’ve got a marvellous bottom,’ he breathed.

Susan squirmed. ‘Yes.’ Trying a joke, to defuse things perhaps. ‘I know… They… ha-ha… all say that.’

‘All? All your boyfriends?’ George was having a really marvellous feel. With one arm firmly round her waist and his other hand really going to town. These really fantastic cheeks… And underneath…

‘No!’ Christ! ‘No… It was a joke. I’ve… only got one boyfriend. Actually… we’re almost engaged. Please…’

Mr Pender had his fiendish hand in between her legs. At her pussy. Jesus. She was squirming like an eel but… Finally she did manage to struggle free.

‘Look. Please…’ Her heart was pounding and the red hat was on the floor. Bending to retrieve it. Jamming it back on her somewhat disarranged blonde locks.

George’s ticker was pounding too. Possibly dangerously so in his case, a 52-year-old overweight man. But he was not of course thinking about that. ‘The knickers. Yes. They don’t go with the outfit, do they? The ones you’ve got on. Although they are lovely knickers. So perhaps… ha-ha… we’d better take them off. I mean red hat and no knickers, that’s what they say, isn’t it?’

‘No!’ Was he serious? Susan could still feel his hand between her legs. Feeling her pussy. ‘No, not really. Hey…!’

Mr Pender was in close again. With those hands. Grabbing. ‘Tell me about your boyfriend. What a lucky chap, eh? Having you. And I suppose you let him. Have it. Mmm? I mean you modern girls. This lovely…’

‘No!’ His hand was at her pussy again. This time from the front. Sliding up under the little skirt and cupping the crotch of Susan’s knickers. Cupping her pussy. ‘Please…’ Squirming away. ‘Look…’

‘But you do, eh? Let him?’

‘Look… Yes. I suppose so. But… we’re supposed to be doing this… ah practice. Or whatever.’

‘Yes. Of course. But you’re so distracting. Especially in that uniform. Such a lovely girl. And doing it all the time with her boyfriend, eh? My! Anyway. Yes. The practice. Yes, we must concentrate on a bit of that. Just let me…’

Mr Pender going briskly out of the room. What now? He was very shortly back. Holding a cane. Grinning. A cane… Susan swallowed.

‘Practice makes perfect, eh!’ George swished the cane briskly through the air. ‘And as an aid in the practice, to concentrate a girl’s mind. Not to mention concentrate her really marvellous bottom.’ He swished the cane again. ‘Have you ever had the cane, Susan? Probably not. With your knickers down. The cane on that lovely bare bottom.’

‘No…ooo…!’ she breathed. ‘I’m not… I’m not taking a caning No…’

But George said firmly that she was. Not really hard. But a touching up. A little incentive. And also the knickers. He had thought about the knickers. ‘We’ll have magic knickers, Susan. Now you see them and now you don’t. Eh? Magic knickers with a magic marker. Or a lipstick. You’ll have a lipstick in your bag. Girls always carry a lipstick in their bag. Together with something else I expect. Eh? For that boyfriend? Some rubbers for your boyfriend.’

What was Mr Pender talking about? Lipstick. Rubbers. Susan certainly didn’t want to discuss rubbers. If by that word Mr Pender meant what she thought he meant and pretty certainly he did. And there was still this dreadful cane.

Mr Pender was conducting her through into the kitchen. It was at the back of the house and therefore, he said, not to be possibly overlooked by prying eyes. As for the lipstick: Mr Pender explained what he meant. She could wear magic knickers. He would draw them on with her lipstick. The outline of them. Then Susan could take her knickers off and pretend she had uniform ones on. Mr Pender said he would pretend as well…

‘No!’ Susan was saying a lot of No’s. George said a firm Yes. As there were only the two of them there would be no problem. And it would have the advantage that when she had to have the cane there would be no need to take Susan’s knickers down. Because they would be already off. The real ones, that was. As for the pretend ones, she could be caned right through them.

Susan’s protests were cut short by George grabbing her pussy again. And hotly inquiring if she did have a packet of rubbers in her bag with her lipstick. Susan struggled away from the grabbing hands. This was all a lot more than she had bargained for. From this ‘pillar of respectability’ as she had described Mr Pender to Bob. But what could she do?

Reluctantly agree was the answer. Although telling herself she should leave, change back into her clothes and say she wasn’t going to take part. But somehow… Susan was reluctantly allowing herself to be bent over the kitchen counter. While Mr Pender drew with her lipstick on her bottom. Outlining her little white knickers. Having first satisfied himself as to the other contents of her bag and fortunately Susan didn’t have any such items with her.

‘Have you done,’ she yelped, nervously straightening up when he had done both sides. She really shouldn’t have agreed to this. Mr Pender was telling her to take her knickers off now. No she shouldn’t, because it was clearly only asking for trouble. And not only from that bloody cane. She shook her head.

‘OK. Let me then…’

‘No. OK. But…’ If the alternative was Mr Pender taking her knickers off… Susan had to do it. Sliding them down and unhappily off over her high heels. Somehow she could feel those awful lipstick marks on her bottom. Or she thought she could. She should never have agreed to this. Because there was no reason for him to have her knickers off. Or nothing to do with this majorette business at least. No, it was simply that Mr Pender wanted them off. And why…? Oh Christ, don’t think about that. One thing was that bloody cane. He was going to cane her bare bottom. No! But also… what else?

George could hardly believe this. He had imagined having Susan in here in the majorette uniform and with no knickers on. But he hadn’t really believed it could happen. Hadn’t believed she would ever agree even if he had the nerve to say he wanted it. But he had and she had. The knickers were off. He had the cane in his hand. He was going to cane her bare bottom. And also… Keep calm, George told himself.

‘OK. Now let’s see some marching action. Knees really high. And sticking your boobs out. OK?’

Susan began, in the confined space of the kitchen. Knees as high as she could get them, her head back. Swinging the baton. Ultra-conscious that she had no knickers on. Across the restricted space and back…

After two turns George Pender was saying what he was naturally going to say. Not smart enough! Susan needed a little smartener. Not the cane to start with, he had something else. A clothes brush. He would use that for a start. Afterwards it would be the cane, if needed. (Naturally it would be needed.) But first of all…

‘Bend over the counter. And let’s have that skirt up.’

Susan was not keen to cooperate — which gave George the excuse to get his hands on her. Grabbing Susan, grabbing tits and bare bottom, and bending her over. She squealed — and then squealed a bit more as his hand slid in between her bare legs. At her bare pussy.

‘Don’t be silly,’ breathed breathless George. ‘I know a girl likes a man’s hand on it. Especially a big girl who gets her boyfriend’s thing up there all the time. Eh?’

But George didn’t persist. Not now. Just a brief but effective feel, to establish a beachhead as it were. His thumb sliding briefly and exquisitely into the moist slit producing a gurgling wail…

Yes, that was enough. Because she first had to have some of the other. The back of his clothes brush.

‘Aaaaooowwwhh…!’

‘That didn’t hurt. I barely touched you.’ George brought the brush sharply in again. A little harder this time. It made a delightful splatt-ing sound as it impacted with the yielding bare flesh. Susan, face-down over the counter, yelled again. George gave her a few more. The left cheek and the right cheek. Also the upper backs of the thighs, beyond the area of the magic knickers. Susan’s bottom was rolling about in a really splendid manner, providing a most arousing view of her curly-haired split peach.

‘OK. That’ll do. For the moment.’

Susan stood up. Scarlet-faced. Two hands rubbing briskly at her bum. ‘That bloody thing stings you know. It really bloody stings.’

George grinned. His two hands reached to squeeze Susan’s tits. ‘Don’t be silly. I hardly touched you. And it’ll be the cane next. I’m going to have you up on the counter for the cane. On your back. With your legs up in the air. OK? When we’ve done a bit more marching practice.’

He couldn’t do that. Susan, blue eyes wide with disbelief, shaking her head as it got through and she pictured what he meant. On her back on the counter. With her legs up. No! She was not going to have that. But George said yes. That was how he was going to do it. It wasn’t a problem, was it? Why was it a problem? And of course if her marching was perfect maybe she wouldn’t need it.

‘You know it won’t be bloody perfect,’ Susan wailed. ‘Look, no! I’m really not going to have that. To… get in that awful position… And be caned… No, I won’t.’

But George naturally insisted. And the unfortunate fact was that once a girl had gone this far, going along with his games, it was very difficult to call a halt. Virtually impossible. And… Susan did really want that £100.

‘Are you really going to let me win?’

‘Yes. Of course. You’ll be the loveliest girl anyway. Easily.’ A little flattery did no harm. ‘Easily the prettiest girl. The loveliest legs. And boobs. And that really fantastic bum. Not to mention that other thing, eh? Not that anyone else will see that. This…’

‘No!’ Mr Pender was grabbing at her pussy again. ‘No look…’

But Susan did. After a bit more marching and twirling when George decided that, yes, the competitor did need an encourager with the cane. Protesting but doing it. Getting up on the counter. To lie on her back. And lift those lovely long legs in the shiny black high heels straight up in the air.

What a stunning view! Even more stunning when George pushed Susan’s raised legs back over her. What a view of legs and bottom and that other thing: Susan’s fuzzy fig, her peach, her undeniably fruity thing. Nestling there and smiling at George and just waiting it seemed to be sampled.

He did. After the touching up, the tuning up, with his cane on Susan’s upside-down bottom. Yes he did it. That other.

Susan afterwards didn’t want to think about it. But somehow she had let him. Standing bending over the counter. She didn’t want to think about it, surely she couldn’t really have let him? Maybe she had imagined it. But imagination or not Mr Pender had used something. Protection. Because of course Susan wasn’t on the Pill. Yes he had done the decent thing and agreed to use something. One of those things. Which Susan certainly didn’t carry around with her in her handbag, but Mr Pender had with foresight made sure he had one. One of those discreet little packets.

Could she really have let him? Don’t think about it. She was going to win the competition and get the £100, Mr Pender had assured Susan of that. Although the fete wasn’t for another week and more practice would be needed. In the evenings. No doubt more of those neat little packets would be needed too.

In the evenings because of course there were the others. Mr Mossdale and Mr Allgrove. Susan’s two part-time jobs. She went round to see them in the afternoon, after that rather awful business with Mr Pender in the morning. Awful but still, she was going to get a free £100. Mr Mossdale first and then Mr Allgrove. To see about these two jobs her mother had so kindly organised.

Susan knew both of them vaguely already, because in a small town you did know people. They were both about Mr Pender’s age. And it seemed like him in other respects too. Not that they had red majorette outfits lacking knickers, or wanted to draw knickers on her bottom in red lipstick. Not on this first afternoon at least. But they did have enthusiastic hands that reached out. Both of them. Reaching keenly out for Susan’s undeniably attractive person. Just like Mr Pender’s hands. Reaching out for those same parts of her person. Hands that were difficult to fend off although of course Susan did, good-naturedly, try to do so.

But at least on this first afternoon they neither of them produced clothes brushes, or canes. Or discreet little packets. And hopefully they wouldn’t. Oh dear! But at least it seemed that life back in Southavon wasn’t going to be boring. No. And in the afternoon it actually stopped raining.

She could tell Bob that when she wrote to him tonight. It’s stopped raining darling. And I love you. But what else could she tell him? She would have to think about that.