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Fitness Girls

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Wraggles struggled on across the searing sands, under the relentless beating of the merciless sun. He had been part of an expedition to photo map the eastern Sahara as an aid to commerce, exploration and given its Air Ministry and War Office funding the defence of the Empire. Sadly his Tigermoth had developed an engine fault and he had come down in what could be most politely described as a landing to walk away from.

Practiced in many a dicey situation Wraggles had originally intended to remain with the wreck but his plains had been ruined when a sandstorm blew in and buried it and nearly buried him for good measure. By the third time of digging himself out he had lost all sense of direction and there seemed nothing familiar about the re-sculptured wilderness around him.

So he had set off along a compass bearing, hoping against hope that he might discover some lost outpost of civilisation or intersect with a rescue party out looking for him. This plan was seeming increasingly doomed. His water bottle was very empty and now he was beginning to hallucinate with the heat.

"Don't be silly old chap, that is definitely a mirage," Wagg told himself, warding off hope even as he straggled, half stumbling, sometimes flat out crawling to the vision of the lake before him, complete with shady looking bent frames of some kind of tropical tree. It was certainly a persistent mirage or a highly detailed delusion. So since dying of thirst in the desert is pretty much the same regardless of which spot you exactly croak, he kept on.

He could almost feel the cool wetness as at last he scrambled over some rock and found himself among the almost certainly illusory foliage. "Well it has been a good run old bean, you cannot complain," Wragg told himself as he waited in the imaginary shade for a few grateful moments. After a while when the shade had not disappeared he decided he would give in to the urge of his thirst and get close to that lovely wide expanse of cool, if slightly green looking water.

He would have snarled in frustration when his legs gave out under him but he needed the urge to keep on crawling forwards with determined hands and elbows. Just then his hallucination took a peculiar but not entirely displeasing turn.

"Who are you?" Asked the ravishing young woman with some kind of ancient looking clay water vessel.
drinkinthedesert.jpg

"Wa, wa, waher," Gasped Wraggles through parched lips.

"Oh right you poor man," Said the Goddess, running forwards in a motion that heartbreakingly sent some of her precious water splashing to the ground but also set her breasts bouncing in a way that would rouse even Wraggles' currently rather dry heart. "Here," She cupped a hand and poured, "Not all at once, wet your lips first, now swallow slowly, no I won't give you more until you swallow slowly, there now that is better."

"You're," Exclaimed Wraggles once the water had revived him to closer to his normal self, he squeezed a breast just to be sure this was not a Djinn about to go poof in a cloud of smoke.

"Er, Hum?" The young woman glared at Wraggles.

"Oh sorry," He withdraw his hands to himself and was rewarded with more of the lovely cool water and some happy if momentary memories of a young ripe breast rolling under his callused palm, "But if you are real what are you doing here?, are you stranded?"

"Only until the film crew gets back," Shrugged the delightful looking lady, "No I am filming a rather racey picture with an appalling vulgar but very wealthy rodent."

"Bit of a weasel is he?" Wraggles flashed his trademark humour.

"Oh no, more a squirrel," Said the well qualified actress. She looked at Wraggles quizzically, "You know, this a bit forwards, a damsel, asking a gentleman in distress and all but...well...could you do me a favour?"

"Anything, I owe you my life," Wraggles averred.

"Nonsense, a few more determined crawls and you'd have been fine anyways," His companion blushed, "This may sound weird but, well you see, this film has, well, I said it was racey," She paused then went on, "Well you see I seem to keep on getting tied up and my clothes, um, fall off..."

"Outrageous," Said Wraggles in proper British horror, "So you need me to give this bounder what for?"

"Well, no, that is not what I had in mind, least until I get paid," The actress and saviour of distressed pilots in the desert still gave the notion some thought, "Probably not, it has not been all bad, some of it though would be more fun in private with someone dashing rather than a stinky rodent calling out for more emotion and writhing all the time. Now I just thought that maybe, well you could, if you feel like it, tie me to a cross the crew made earlier and well," She blushed again, "Maybe my skirt will fall off and then who knows?" She winked.

Wraggles suddenly had never felt better.
 
Wraggles struggled on across the searing sands, under the relentless beating of the merciless sun. He had been part of an expedition to photo map the eastern Sahara as an aid to commerce, exploration and given its Air Ministry and War Office funding the defence of the Empire. Sadly his Tigermoth had developed an engine fault and he had come down in what could be most politely described as a landing to walk away from.

Practiced in many a dicey situation Wraggles had originally intended to remain with the wreck but his plains had been ruined when a sandstorm blew in and buried it and nearly buried him for good measure. By the third time of digging himself out he had lost all sense of direction and there seemed nothing familiar about the re-sculptured wilderness around him.

So he had set off along a compass bearing, hoping against hope that he might discover some lost outpost of civilisation or intersect with a rescue party out looking for him. This plan was seeming increasingly doomed. His water bottle was very empty and now he was beginning to hallucinate with the heat.

"Don't be silly old chap, that is definitely a mirage," Wagg told himself, warding off hope even as he straggled, half stumbling, sometimes flat out crawling to the vision of the lake before him, complete with shady looking bent frames of some kind of tropical tree. It was certainly a persistent mirage or a highly detailed delusion. So since dying of thirst in the desert is pretty much the same regardless of which spot you exactly croak, he kept on.

He could almost feel the cool wetness as at last he scrambled over some rock and found himself among the almost certainly illusory foliage. "Well it has been a good run old bean, you cannot complain," Wragg told himself as he waited in the imaginary shade for a few grateful moments. After a while when the shade had not disappeared he decided he would give in to the urge of his thirst and get close to that lovely wide expanse of cool, if slightly green looking water.

He would have snarled in frustration when his legs gave out under him but he needed the urge to keep on crawling forwards with determined hands and elbows. Just then his hallucination took a peculiar but not entirely displeasing turn.

"Who are you?" Asked the ravishing young woman with some kind of ancient looking clay water vessel.
View attachment 538269

"Wa, wa, waher," Gasped Wraggles through parched lips.

"Oh right you poor man," Said the Goddess, running forwards in a motion that heartbreakingly sent some of her precious water splashing to the ground but also set her breasts bouncing in a way that would rouse even Wraggles' currently rather dry heart. "Here," She cupped a hand and poured, "Not all at once, wet your lips first, now swallow slowly, no I won't give you more until you swallow slowly, there now that is better."

"You're," Exclaimed Wraggles once the water had revived him to closer to his normal self, he squeezed a breast just to be sure this was not a Djinn about to go poof in a cloud of smoke.

"Er, Hum?" The young woman glared at Wraggles.

"Oh sorry," He withdraw his hands to himself and was rewarded with more of the lovely cool water and some happy if momentary memories of a young ripe breast rolling under his callused palm, "But if you are real what are you doing here?, are you stranded?"

"Only until the film crew gets back," Shrugged the delightful looking lady, "No I am filming a rather racey picture with an appalling vulgar but very wealthy rodent."

"Bit of a weasel is he?" Wraggles flashed his trademark humour.

"Oh no, more a squirrel," Said the well qualified actress. She looked at Wraggles quizzically, "You know, this a bit forwards, a damsel, asking a gentleman in distress and all but...well...could you do me a favour?"

"Anything, I owe you my life," Wraggles averred.

"Nonsense, a few more determined crawls and you'd have been fine anyways," His companion blushed, "This may sound weird but, well you see, this film has, well, I said it was racey," She paused then went on, "Well you see I seem to keep on getting tied up and my clothes, um, fall off..."

"Outrageous," Said Wraggles in proper British horror, "So you need me to give this bounder what for?"

"Well, no, that is not what I had in mind, least until I get paid," The actress and saviour of distressed pilots in the desert still gave the notion some thought, "Probably not, it has not been all bad, some of it though would be more fun in private with someone dashing rather than a stinky rodent calling out for more emotion and writhing all the time. Now I just thought that maybe, well you could, if you feel like it, tie me to a cross the crew made earlier and well," She blushed again, "Maybe my skirt will fall off and then who knows?" She winked.

Wraggles suddenly had never felt better.

Dash that Wraggles! The blighter has all the luck!
I say, any chance of a job on that film set??

38ce49539257327aff8de48df5c535d0--terry-thomas-terry-oquinn.jpg

great work RR
 
Wraggles struggled on across the searing sands, under the relentless beating of the merciless sun. He had been part of an expedition to photo map the eastern Sahara as an aid to commerce, exploration and given its Air Ministry and War Office funding the defence of the Empire. Sadly his Tigermoth had developed an engine fault and he had come down in what could be most politely described as a landing to walk away from.

Practiced in many a dicey situation Wraggles had originally intended to remain with the wreck but his plains had been ruined when a sandstorm blew in and buried it and nearly buried him for good measure. By the third time of digging himself out he had lost all sense of direction and there seemed nothing familiar about the re-sculptured wilderness around him.

So he had set off along a compass bearing, hoping against hope that he might discover some lost outpost of civilisation or intersect with a rescue party out looking for him. This plan was seeming increasingly doomed. His water bottle was very empty and now he was beginning to hallucinate with the heat.

"Don't be silly old chap, that is definitely a mirage," Wagg told himself, warding off hope even as he straggled, half stumbling, sometimes flat out crawling to the vision of the lake before him, complete with shady looking bent frames of some kind of tropical tree. It was certainly a persistent mirage or a highly detailed delusion. So since dying of thirst in the desert is pretty much the same regardless of which spot you exactly croak, he kept on.

He could almost feel the cool wetness as at last he scrambled over some rock and found himself among the almost certainly illusory foliage. "Well it has been a good run old bean, you cannot complain," Wragg told himself as he waited in the imaginary shade for a few grateful moments. After a while when the shade had not disappeared he decided he would give in to the urge of his thirst and get close to that lovely wide expanse of cool, if slightly green looking water.

He would have snarled in frustration when his legs gave out under him but he needed the urge to keep on crawling forwards with determined hands and elbows. Just then his hallucination took a peculiar but not entirely displeasing turn.

"Who are you?" Asked the ravishing young woman with some kind of ancient looking clay water vessel.
View attachment 538269

"Wa, wa, waher," Gasped Wraggles through parched lips.

"Oh right you poor man," Said the Goddess, running forwards in a motion that heartbreakingly sent some of her precious water splashing to the ground but also set her breasts bouncing in a way that would rouse even Wraggles' currently rather dry heart. "Here," She cupped a hand and poured, "Not all at once, wet your lips first, now swallow slowly, no I won't give you more until you swallow slowly, there now that is better."

"You're," Exclaimed Wraggles once the water had revived him to closer to his normal self, he squeezed a breast just to be sure this was not a Djinn about to go poof in a cloud of smoke.

"Er, Hum?" The young woman glared at Wraggles.

"Oh sorry," He withdraw his hands to himself and was rewarded with more of the lovely cool water and some happy if momentary memories of a young ripe breast rolling under his callused palm, "But if you are real what are you doing here?, are you stranded?"

"Only until the film crew gets back," Shrugged the delightful looking lady, "No I am filming a rather racey picture with an appalling vulgar but very wealthy rodent."

"Bit of a weasel is he?" Wraggles flashed his trademark humour.

"Oh no, more a squirrel," Said the well qualified actress. She looked at Wraggles quizzically, "You know, this a bit forwards, a damsel, asking a gentleman in distress and all but...well...could you do me a favour?"

"Anything, I owe you my life," Wraggles averred.

"Nonsense, a few more determined crawls and you'd have been fine anyways," His companion blushed, "This may sound weird but, well you see, this film has, well, I said it was racey," She paused then went on, "Well you see I seem to keep on getting tied up and my clothes, um, fall off..."

"Outrageous," Said Wraggles in proper British horror, "So you need me to give this bounder what for?"

"Well, no, that is not what I had in mind, least until I get paid," The actress and saviour of distressed pilots in the desert still gave the notion some thought, "Probably not, it has not been all bad, some of it though would be more fun in private with someone dashing rather than a stinky rodent calling out for more emotion and writhing all the time. Now I just thought that maybe, well you could, if you feel like it, tie me to a cross the crew made earlier and well," She blushed again, "Maybe my skirt will fall off and then who knows?" She winked.

Wraggles suddenly had never felt better.
:duke:

:clapping::clapping::clapping:

I KNEW I wasn't hallucinating! :D
 
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