donnylaja heroine, band majorette edition

      She went on with that figure ten times, twenty times .  .  .  She was lost in her own world, just her and that figure, trying to master it.  Rod watched as her face got a little red, and then the area over her breasts started getting red too.  Her toes slowly wiggled and flexed on the floor with her level of concentration.  This is typical Brigid, he told himself.  Practicing over and over, just like with her baton, determined to get it just right.

        “Got it!” she said, exhaling.  She played the figure perfectly, then smiled at him with satisfaction.  “Sorry, I get caught up in these things.” She leaned her bare back against the chair, relaxed the instrument between her legs, then stretched out her leg and propped her bare heel up on the chair to the side.  They both watched her stretch her toes as she caught her breath.

        “It’s what makes you great,” he said jokingly.

        They smiled at each other and he looked over from her toes to her strong, bare thigh.  “You killed us in gym, we were at your mercy.”

        “Haaa!” Brigid said with a lusty grunt, pumping her fist, causing a chain reaction in her breasts.  “I am a Tunemasters majorette, invincible! No gettin’ over me!”

        “Must be that body conditioning.”

        “Oh yes -- yes yes yes,” Brigid said, her green eyes brightening.  She placed her clarinet upright on the floor and stood up.  “You know bein’ a majorette, your body is like, part of your uniform.  I’m gettin’ vain about it, I admit.”  She stretched her arm up as high as she could and extended her foot to a point, just her big toe touching the floor.  “Look at these muscles.”

        She flexed from her hand all the way down to her spread-out little toe.  As minimal as her old uniform was, it at least had that little string around her hips to hold that T-shaped bottom on, the one that had covered and partly cut into her pubic lips.  Without the string crossing part of her, she was naked her entire length.  And she was right about the muscles.  From the little bulge along her foot, up to the hard calf, the rock-like thigh, the tight butt, the slim but powerful-looking shoulder and arm muscles .  .  .  Brigid was more wiry and stronger-looking now.  Also a bit thinner around the waist, if that was possible.

        Rod nodded, showing he was impressed.

        Brigid seemed to think for a moment, then said, “Feel my glutes.”  She poked her finger into the thickest part of her butt cheek.  “C’mon, feel ‘em.”

        Rod put his trombone aside and hesitantly shifted in his chair.  He reached over with a pointed index finger and, biting his lip, poked into the muscle.  It was as firm as a fully-inflated football.  Bravely, he poked with all his fingers together, though just the tips, much as he wanted to cup the cheek with his hand.  “This glute is in fact dangerous,” he said.