Frigid Brigid the Majorette

"Aieee! -- Ahhhh!" Cries of pain and exertion cut through the cold night air as Brigid tried to use one hand to hold on and the other to untangle a T. But that was beyond anyone's arm strength. Next she tried to climb up onto the string. Her toes spread and her legs splayed wildly as she made it up. Straddling the string as if clutching onto a horse, she winced as it cut between her pussy lips, pushing the little T down there deep inside her. He thought of the moisture inside. If there's a short circuit she would be electrocuted!

There was no danger of that as the guy at the crank unplugged the wire and the lights went out. He tried to lower the string again but the crank was jammed! A friend came over to help him. They tried hitting it with a hammer. With every strike the thin pole lurched and the string jerked, causing Brigid to yelp as the rough rope dug in between her lower lips. Now one guy started running to the building to get some liquid wrench.

Brigid could not stop gravity from pulling her down and she spun around the string. Now she was hanging below it, grasping it in the crooks of her knees and elbows. Now her breasts were squeezed, one pulled up near her neck, the other yanked down toward her navel. Once again she tried to free a hand to work on a T but she kept losing her balance. Finally her legs slipped away and she was back to doing a half chin-up. She looked down and faced the band, her bare toes dangling above them.

She was crying, her face etched with pain, looking down at her friends helplessly. Rod and the others felt just as helpless. Her searching feet were too high up to find a supporting shoulder.

They saw the T's facing them from up on high. One of them was twisted onto its side. The other was turned completely upside down. Behind them, her areolas were creased with the twisting. Her nipples must be burning in agony!

Rod felt miserably helpless as his eyes met hers in the pleading, suffering face, the short, ragged breaths reflected in her quaking, concave tummy. Below, her little T had disappared into her labia. And one of the clear strings had snapped. It hung down from her bare hip.

"AIEEEE!" A mighty hammer blow to the pole and Brigid's hands slipped! There was a horrible moment when she hung by the T's, her head wrenched back, her face heavenward, her breasts stretched out torturously. Then, with a final awful pain, the T's tore away from her nipples and she fell to the snow, landing on her butt.

In the fall, the last bit of her uniform, her lower T, had flung off to the side. The traumatized majorette, now totally naked, rolled over onto her side, breathing heavily. Everyone was still too shocked to come forward to help. "Oh Jesus..." Her prayer was heard clearly in the still air. Though they all felt sorry for the majorette's embarrassment, lying there stark naked, they also heaved a sigh of relief. She seemed O.K. There was no other sound.

Her unsteady bare feet came up flat on the snow. Being barefoot on snow must be a freezing shock even for someone of Brigid's wide experience in being exposed to the cold. In trying to get up one foot slipped. She slowly got up again, onto all fours, still panting. Her breasts hung down, the nipples reddened and tender from the obscene stretching.

Now she tried to get up, splaying one leg out, and the crowd was treated to the sight of her cute brown eye, her little anus, in the valley between her exquisite, taut white butt cheeks, winking at them in the bright lights. The crunching of the snow under her gripping toes resounded in the silence.

And now a strange creaking sound, like a rusty door opening. For it turned out that in swinging the hammer that guy had hit the tank next to the snow-making machine. And now a valve gave way, and...

A ski resort must not only make snow when needed, but sometimes remove snow and ice from paths and equipment. So a supply of salt water, which melts ice, is always kept handy. A special salt is used which is not harmful to skin or membranes, and which further depresses the freezing point.

So the water which now surged from the tipping tank in Brigid's direction was chilled to minus fifteen degrees Celsius.

Everyone lurched back as the little tidal wave crashed onto the snow-packed path. It slammed into Brigid and knocked her over. And now more, and more of the subfreezing water coursed onto the path. Brigid tried to escape but her hands and feet kept slipping. She flopped down onto her back, then onto her belly, then onto her back again. And now the snow underneath began to melt and Brigid sank into a bathtub-sized hole.

The tank held several hundred gallons. Soon Brigid was totally submerged. When the tank had fully emptied there was nothing but a little pond. Everyone crowded around, careful not to get too close lest they too slip in.

Bubbles issued from below, and then the pretty head emerged. Somehow she made it to the edge of the pond and, after one more slip, she climbed back up on the snow on her crusty bare feet. She stood straight up, shoulders back. Her eyes were wide open, her arms were extended, fingers stretched out. The salted water dripped from her chin, from her nipples, from her fingers, from the center of her shaved crotch.

"OHHHHHH!" she howled in wide-eyed shock, lurching toward them. "OHHHHH!!!"

And now the load of snow on top of the snow-making machine gave way. Once more Brigid was knocked over as the powdery stuff piled on top of her. Soon there was a pile six feet high. Brigid was in there somewhere.

After a few terrible moments of waiting, they saw a set of bluish toes thrust out near the bottom of the snow stack. Now the pile broke up as Brigid fought her way out.

Once again she faced the crowd. Her whole body was encrusted. Snow was jammed into her lower lips, all over her hair. Her eyebrows were white. And her skin color -- she really was a blue trans-Plutonian woman now.

Slowly, as if regaining her senses, she blinked and looked around on the ground. Her uniform was all around -- one flip- flop here, another there, the T's flung to each side, and the little bottom T near the pole.

Now she lurched over to the baton. Slowly as if in pain, she bent to pick it up in her left hand. Her anus stared at them blankly, flecked with the white flakes.

The blue, snow-blasted girl looked at Rod blankly, then at the rest of the band. And now she said something.

"L - little... G - g - giant..."

She thrust the baton into the air with a jerk that them jump. Then three violent beats, making her blue breasts bounce, and she turned to march stiffly and nakedly into the winter night.

They could only follow and play. In their shock their sound was uninspired but after a few measures they got playing together. The trombone mouthpiece was almost frozen to his lips. And then he passed over a wet spot from the salted water and his boot flew out in front of him. Then a big blow to the back of his head --

It seemed like a week later when he woke. For a moment he thought he was as messed up as Tommy, but he blinked and realized he was OK except for a headache. He looked up from the floor and saw Brigid's T's, dancing gently above him, as she bent down and placed her hand behind his head.

Her breasts were so round and firm and white... he was so happy to see her, warm and happy, in her new uniform which she wore proudly. Thank God that was just a horrible dream... He looked up past her bare shoulders at her concerned and helpful face.

"Are you OK, Rod?"

"Oh Brigid..." He was about to tell her he loved her. But then saw the sea of concerning faces standing behind her and thought better of it. He tried to help himself up. Brigid, her toes flexing in her flip-flops, put her strong arms around his wool jacket. He placed his gloved hand on the upper slope of her hip, which helped revive him a lot. The next moment he was standing up, taking deep breaths...

"What happened?"

"You slipped and were out cold for a few seconds," Jared said.

He shook his head quickly and felt a quick chill all over. "I'm OK, gang!" he announced. A sigh of relief all around.

"All line up!" Sarge shouted from somewhere in the distance.

VI: Boston Globe, 1/22/13, p. 3, col. 1

LOCAL GIRL SHARES STAGE WITH OBAMA

Tunemasters Majorette O'Dierna Picked for Ceremony

by d. laja

National television viewers who did not see the entire Inaugural Parade were sure to notice the high school majorette standing at attention on the right side of the screen as President Barack Obama addressed the huge D.C. crowd at his second inauguration -- despite a brief camera-tuning mishap that made everyone else look like space aliens.

Brigid O'Dierna, 16, the majorette for the regionally-famous Tunemasters, the marching band of Frederick Douglass High School in Roxbury, was selected from among the many high school bands in the Inaugural Parade to represent them on the stand. Ms. O'Dierna was easy to pick out among the heavy clothes, hats and gloves of dignitaries and family members in the bone-chilling sunshine, in her uniform consisting only of pasties, a "microthong" and sparkly flip-flops. She stayed admirably motionless during the speech, smiling at the crowd while holding her baton in "ready" posture under her arm.

Ms. O'Dierna's bare shoulders, purple in the 19-degree-Fahrenheit weather, were responsible for a color tint mishap at CNN Headquarters. "So help us," said an unnamed staffer, "we had never seen skin that color before. We thought the tint was messed up." The "correction" changed Ms. O'Dierna's skin to normal but resulted in the President and everyone else on the stand taking on a greenish hue. The correction was corrected after thirty seconds.

The Inaugural Stand was only the last ordeal that Ms. O'Dierna had to endure in her scanty costume. Leading the Tunemasters, one of 17 high school bands, along the mile-long route, she had endured strong winds and a brief snow squall which made the band almost invisible. "The instruments stuck to our lips," said Rodney Sykes, a trombonist who nevertheless had the benefit of a full-coverage outfit. "We were all wearing thermals underneath but we were still freezing."

"It was a cold and windy march for us," said the Tunemaster's long-time bandleader, Sgt. R.T. Watson (retired), "but we met the challenge and it was an honor to be invited." The brevity of Ms. O'Dierna's uniform makes it easier for her to pivot and do high throws, he added.

After the ceremony, Ms. O'Dierna spoke briefly with First Children Malia and Sasha, obviously admiring their warm but fashionable coats. Sasha asked how to hold a baton. "She's got a great grip," O'Dierna said. "They are both friendly, regular girls."

And did she exchange any words with the newly-sworn in President?

"He shook my hand and laughed and said I deserved a hot bath," O'Dierna said. "Right after that my band came by and I slipped into a long coat and Uggs. They're all great guys."

-30-

[end]