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Chantilly Lace
Sun Jul 8, 2018 11:48pm

Another old story I found on OneClickChicks. Enjoy!

Chantilly Lace:
Superheroine for The Age of Lowered Expectations
The Bullies

Yvonne Doolittle was making breakfast in the kitchen of her family's doublewide trailer on what started out to be a typical day. She was still wearing her white cotton nightgown and her long black hair looked as though she'd just gotten out of bed, which, in fact, she had. Her husband Dudley and their children, daughter Barbie, 10, and son Dirk, 8, stumbled in and sat around the table, waiting to be fed.
Dudley was tall, blond and square-jawed; his superhero features had been what first attracted Yvonne, a life-long comic book fan, to him. He had turned out to be quite unimaginative and not particularly heroic but he was a good provider and was kind to the children. His position as a janitor at the local elementary school paid better than most of the jobs in the county and offered full benefits so Yvonne didn't have to waste half her life at Crap-Mart or Taco Hell or some such place like most of the women she knew.
Barbie was blonde like her father and had an "I'm so bored with everything" attitude that really irritated her mother. 8-year-old Dirk was the only one in her family that Yvonne really felt comfortable with. Dark-haired like his mother, Dirk shared her love of comic books. She had named him Dirk because she thought it sounded heroic although Dudley had tried to convince her that the boy would end up being made fun of by the other kids. It turned out that Dudley was right, Yvonne had learned that kids at school were calling her son "Dork" and picking on him constantly.
Yvonne dropped a plate of pancakes on the table and her family stabbed at them with their forks.
"That one's mine, Dork!" Barbie shrilled.
"Don't call your brother that!" Yvonne objected.
"Everybody else does!" Barbie insisted.
"It's OK, Mom," Dirk said. "They're just pancakes, I'll take this one."
Dirk was so agreeable, Yvonne thought, no wonder he had trouble with bullies. Well, today was going to be different. Yvonne had plans for the little monsters who had been tormenting her son. Just a few days earlier she had been doing her housework when the radio, tuned to the oldies station, had played the Big Bopper's biggest hit. Yvonne had taken it as an omen, just like when the bat had flown through the window of stately Wayne Manor inspiring Bruce Wayne to become the Batman. This morning, after her husband and kids had gone their separate ways, she would strike a blow for bully-oppressed kids everywhere, not as Yvonne Doolittle, mild-mannered housewife, but as Chantilly Lace, superheroine for the age of lowered expectations!
Yvonne cleaned up the kitchen and took a shower then changed into the costume she had been preparing since her inspiration. It consisted of a white lace aerobics leotard, long-sleeved with a low neckline and a lacy attached skirt, white, high-heeled boots and white domino mask surrounded by a lace frill. The leotard was lined for modesty and had a built-in bra to keep her cantaloupe-sized breasts in place; all she wore under it was a lacy white thong. Her long legs, trim and toned from years of aerobics at the YWCA, were bare. She struck an heroic pose, with head high and hands on hips, in front of the mirror that was tacked to the door of her bedroom and knew that she was ready.
Taking care not to be seen, Yvonne slipped out the back door of the trailer and darted to the utility shed. Inside, hidden under a tarp, was the classic 1950's Schwinn bicycle that she had bought on e-bay and gone to great care to hide from her family. The bike was in perfect condition and painted hot pink. Batman had the Batmobile, the Green Hornet had the Black Beauty and the Lone Ranger had Silver. Chantilly Lace had her Pink Racer. The small-town superheroine walked her bike through a little patch of woods behind the trailer until she came to a gravel road that she knew led close to the playground of her kids' school. She mounted her shining metal steed, called out, "Let's go, Pink Racer!" and set out, a little unsteadily on the rough surface, for her date with destiny.
As Chantilly Lace pedaled along the gravel road she heard the sputtering roar of an engine behind her. A rusty old flatbed Ford truck pulled alongside, raising a cloud of dust. Three young men in the cab turned to stare, wide-eyed, at the lace-leotard clad bicyclist and shouted "WAH-HOO!" as they passed.
'They probably don't see a lot of superheroines,' Chantilly rationalized. Coughing a bit from the dust, she continued resolutely on her way.
Before long she reached the short path that led through the woods from the road to the school playground, it was about time for recess now so Chantilly was right on schedule. As she burst onto the playground, recess was already underway. She quickly spotted poor Dirk running from a half-dozen older kids with his pants around his ankles while his tormentors chanted, "Dork! Dork!" He reached the jungle gym and started climbing to the top, a couple of the bigger kids grabbed his dangling jeans and jerked but Dirk let his feet slip out of them and kept climbing. The bullies held the purloined pants up like a trophy and the other kids all cheered. Chantilly noticed with considerable displeasure that Barbie was in the crowd, cheering right along with the others. 'Well this has gone on long enough,' she resolved.
The kids were so intent on tormenting Dirk that none of them noticed the white-lace clad superheroine on her pink bicycle racing onto the playground. Chantilly brought Pink Racer to a skidding halt and dismounted, being careful to set the kickstand before letting go of the handlebars. Then she struck her practiced superheroine pose, head high and hands on hips, and called out, "Leave that boy alone, you villains!"
The kids all turned to the source of that improbable challenge and stared open-mouthed. A few had the presence of mind to utter some appropriate comment like, "Huh?" or "What the Hell?" The biggest of the bullies, (must be a sixth-grader, Chantilly thought), took a couple of steps toward and started to laugh. "Who the ... are you s'posed to be?"
Irritated at his open disrespect, Chantilly introduced herself, "Chantilly Lace, champion of the oppressed and defender of the hapless!" Her assertion was met at first by stunned silence then by general laughter. 'I've got to think up a better intro,' Chantilly thought. This wasn't the time for revision, though; she had a job to do. "Give that boy his pants back, and promise never to call him names again, or you'll answer to Chantilly Lace!"
"What if we don't?" the biggest bully demanded. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Chantilly took a couple steps forward, determined to teach the mouthy brat a lesson but didn't notice two others, holding Dirk's pants, slip around behind her. They ran forward, with the pants stretched tight just above the ground. The jeans caught Chantilly Lace behind the ankles and her feet were swept out from under her. As her high heels went up her rear end went down and landed with a thud on the hard ground. "YIPE!" the suddenly seated superheroine yelped. The kids howled with laughter and Chantilly started thinking this wasn't going as well as she had planned. She felt a warmth growing in her face and hoped that her mask would hide the blush of her shame but knew it probably wouldn't.
Determined to recover her dignity, Chantilly rolled over and got to her knees. She made the mistake of stopping to brush some of the dust off her bottom before getting to her feet. A swing set was positioned directly behind her and one of the bullies seated himself in a swing while two others pulled him back as far as they could. Chantilly was still in the process of getting up, on her feet now but bent over at the waist, when the kid-catapult was released.
The swing-mounted bully shot forward with both legs outstretched and planted the toes of his PF Flyers squarely in the lace-encased rump of the unsuspecting superheroine. "YOW!" she shouted as she was propelled forward by the swing-assisted butt-kicking. As she stumbled forward she spun around, half expecting to see that a maddened mule had somehow gotten loose on the playground. In the process of doing so she tripped on her own high heels and sat down hard, again. "OOF!" she complained as her butt was reintroduced to the hard-packed surface of the playground.
A torrent of laughter washed over the playground, Chantilly's eyes locked onto the kid in the swing, laughing harder than anyone, and realized what had happened. In a state of righteous rage, she scrambled to her feet and dove at the kid who had so painfully humiliated her. The bully was too fast for her though, he leapt aside and she ended up facedown, bent over the seat of the swing. One of the bullies instantly had her in a headlock between his knees, 'This is not turning out like I planned at all,' Chantilly realized.
Chantilly Lace was trapped, her high heels dangling on one side, her head stuck between the legs of an 11 or 12-year-old bully on the other and her dust-covered bottom sticking up in the middle. The bully that had her in the headlock was facing backward and took advantage of the opportunity deliver a series of hard spanks to the seat of her little lacy skirt. "OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!" Chantilly complained, much to the amusement of everyone present.
The kid pulled her dusty skirt out of the way, baring the seat of her leotard, and resumed the spanking. Others jumped in and Chantilly found herself being painfully punished by a horde of small hands, landing on her defenseless rump with a force she would not have thought those little arms capable of. "YIEE! OW-OW-OW! YEOW!" she objected.
"Hey, wait a minute!" she heard the voice of the biggest bully command. "I've got a better idea!" Chantilly turned her head as much as she could and caught a glimpse of that obnoxious kid, with an oval-shaped plastic paddle in his hand, the kind that usually has a rubber ball and string attached to it.
"YEAH!" several kids cheered at once.
"NO!" Chantilly disagreed.
Her objection was overruled. The chief bully stationed himself beside her with paddle in hand, ready to put it good use on her rear end. "But first, it's wedgie time!" he announced.
"Wedgie! Wedgie!" the other kids chanted.
"Don't you dare!" Chantilly demanded. Of course she was in no position to demand anything, and the kids knew it. The one who had her in the headlock took hold of the seat of her leotard and jammed it hard into the crack of her ass, baring her butt-cheeks in the process. "OHH!" Chantilly complained.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The paddle landed on Chantilly Lace's bared bottom.
"OW! OW! OWW!" she objected.
The humiliated housewife kicked and twisted but was firmly held in place. Her bare butt bounced and jiggled under the rain of blows the bully poured onto it. The sounds of a good paddling echoed over the playground and kids crowded around to see at a grown woman being soundly spanked by a schoolyard bully. The masked mom felt that her shame was complete when she noticed Barbie and Dirk in the crowd, laughing along with everyone else. 'At least no one knows who I really am,' she thought, gratefully. She noted with some satisfaction that Dirk had his pants back on.
By the time the bully had applied that wicked little paddle to her burning buns a good 20 or 30 times Chantilly decided that she had to do something or the little monster might keep spanking her all morning. She grabbed the ankles of the boy that had her in a headlock and gave a hard yank. The kid's feet skidded off the ground and he fell forward across Chantilly's back, his face landing in the crack of her ass. Unable to stop his swing in time, the paddle-wielding bully smacked the other kid on the back of the head, electing a howl of pain that, although muffled by Chantilly's butt-cheeks, was still loud enough to get everyone's attention. Knowing it was now or never, Chantilly raised her shoulders until she could reach the chains of the swing with her hands and pulled up, sending the kid with his face in her ass sliding down her back until he flopped onto the ground.
Freed at last, Chantilly pulled herself to her feet then, holding the chains with both hands leapt over the seat of the swing and took off running. She needed to get to her bicycle to execute a strategic retreat but her trusted Pink Racer was in the other direction so she pushed her way through the crowd of kids and circled the swing set. "Get her!" she heard the chief bully yell. Driving her high heels into the hard ground she sprinted for her bike but a bunch of kids ran in front of her and she had to skid to the side to avoid hitting them. The whole crowd gathered around, blocking her escape everyway she turned. The kids were all laughing and obviously wanted to see the bullies catch her again.
Soon the hapless heroine found herself backed up against the jungle gym, surrounded by grinning brats. The bullies were pushing their way through the crowd toward her. She had to do something so she turned around and dove between the bars of the jungle gym. Of course that was the worst thing she could have done, as she realized when her hips jammed between the bars and she ended up bent over, with her upper body inside the metal-bar structure and her bottom in perfect position for further punishment.
Someone pulled her little lacy skirt up, exposing her bright red bottom. Looking back over her shoulder, Chantilly saw the biggest bully, paddle still in hand, standing behind her with a wicked grin on his pudgy face. "Yer gonna get it now, lady!" he announced.
"Hey look, could we talk about this?" Chantilly whined in desperation.
"NOOO!" the whole crowd yelled at once.
"I was afraid of that," Chantilly admitted.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The bully paddled her bare ass as hard as he could.
"YEOW! OW! OW! OW! YI-AI-AI!" the painfully punished crimefighter cried.
Kids climbed on the jungle gym all around her and little hands reached through the bars, took hold of her leotard's low neckline and yanked until it was down to her waist, pinning her arms and allowing her big boobs to tumble out. "Titis!" one of the bullies shouted. Suddenly kids were pouring underneath the jungle gym to get a better look. The bullies pushed the smaller kids out of the way and soon they were all beneath where Chantilly hung helplessly, their grubby little hands grabbing, twisting and pinching her naked breasts. All except the one with the paddle, that is; Chantilly had to give him credit for being a single-minded little bastard, not even the lure of suddenly exposed mammalian protuberances could distract him from finishing job he had set himself to. That job was giving Chantilly Lace what was probably the longest and hardest paddling ever administered to a masked and costumed housewife by a 12-year-old kid on any elementary school playground at any time in history.
By the time the paddling ended Chantilly was yowling like a cat in heat and thrashing the air with her high-heeled boots. Her white mask was stained with mascara, washed into it by tears of rage and shame. Kids were cheering all around and she heard adult voices blending in with the general cacophony. Turning to the side, she saw, seated on some old wooden bleachers, every teacher and staff-member at the school, giving the paddle-wielding bully a standing ovation. Among the crowd was her husband Dudley, in his janitor's uniform, cheering as loudly as anyone. That was too much for the half-stripped, well-paddled housewife, "Don't just stand there you idiots! Do something!" she shouted.
The principal, a fat, sweaty man in a wrinkled suit, came walking over and ordered the kids away from the jungle gym. Chantilly felt a sense of relief wash over her but it proved short-lived. Craning her neck to look over her shoulder, the hapless heroine saw the six bullies all standing in a line behind her while the principal passed out sling-shots from the pockets of his jacket. "Now I know I confiscated these from you kids," he said. "But you can have them back as long as you promise to use them responsibly." Chantilly had a sinking feeling as to w

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