Posts

Showing posts with the label Majorette

Original Spanking Art — Ending in Tears (Culver)

Image
Two "Thursday specials" today. First up this one. Further majorette inspiration for Culver, with a piece representing a daydream of Mr Reed after he's enjoyed a pleasant afternoon at the village fete. Here’s an earlier draft, entitled Practice, before the addition of Babs to the ensemble cast.

It’s tough at the top… But it’s hard on the bottom!

Image
Rounding out Majorette Week, here’s a lovely story from Uniform Girls 12. Wouldn’t it be nice to get Susan , Christine and Babs all together for a training session… BALLET LESSONS ‘They’ll be finished in a minute or two’. The man next to him at the window of the dance school doesn’t take his eyes off Babs as she executes a reasonably steady pirouette, together with the other girls in the class. The window pane mists up from the two men’s breath and the Babs-watcher wipes it away with the sleeve of his mac. ‘Your girl been coming here long?’ Fred ignores the teacher’s glare from the other side of the glass and continues to stare into the studio alongside the man in the mac. ‘Six months,’ he says, his own eyes on Babs too. She is a good three inches taller than the other girls, and a  much  nicer shape altogether, or so he thinks. Both men watch the way her buttocks fill and stretch the high-cut dark blue leotard as she subside

Stepping Out

Image
Here’s the second of the majorette stories, from Uniform Girls 5. The Welly Throwing and Treasure Hunt did not appear to be very well patronised, Martin Reed noticed, but as usual at the Melton Abbas Summer Fete, there were long queues at the Bottle Stall. It rather amused Martin to think that most of the old dears who stood in line and bought their 50p or £1’s worth of tickets probably only consumed a glass or two of sherry around Christmas time. Yet they were all eager to win that litre bottle of Scotch or a bottle of Champagne. Much more likely they would end up with a bottle of ketchup or tonic water! Martin became rather bored. There was not much talent about. Either shrieking kids or OAP’s. It was always the same at these do’s. Still, all in a good cause, he supposed. What was it this year? Restoring the church clock, he thought. He sank down under the leafy shade of a beech tree and unscrewed the thermos flask he had brou