Like all my stories, “Mischievous Missy and the Good Day” takes place in a fantasy world populated by beautiful, ticklish, and usually scantily clad women. In this fantasy world, almost everything revolves around tickling and sensuality. If you’ve read the other story I’ve posted, “Night of the Blondes" (here's part 1), you have an idea of what I’m talking about. “Mischievous Missy and the Good Day” takes place in a similar rural setting, but there’s no male narrator in this one. It’s narrated by a recurring character of mine, Missy, a vivacious, curvaceous, flirtatious peasant girl who works for Goodwoman Colette.
But I’ll let Missy tell it.
Here’s part 1 of “Mischievous Missy and the Good Day.”
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Mischievous Missy and the Good Day - Part 1
“Hold on a second, Missy!”
I finished loading the final basket on to the back of my cart and turned around, already smiling, to face Goodwoman Colette crossing the yard.
“What can I do for you, boss lady?” I said.
She frowned at me from beneath her light brown hair as she covered the last few feet between us, her long skirt swishing back and forth through the dirt. “I need you to drop this off at Brenda’s before you head in to the market,” she said, handling me a small packet of papers.
“Sure thing, boss lady,” I answered.
“Stop calling me that,” she said. “You might need to go back to Brenda’s at the end of the day to pick them back up. Ask her when you get there.”
“Okay,” I said. I fanned myself with the packet. “Gosh it’s hot today.”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to rain later though. Maybe that’ll cool things down.” Colette looked me up and down. “Though you should be comfortable enough.”
I laughed. I was wearing… well, not much at all — super-tight and super-short cut off jean shorts and a chest-hugging white tank top that showed a lot of cleavage.
“Stay out of trouble,” Collette called after me as I turned towards the wagon.
“You know me,” I said.
“Yeah, too well. That’s why I’m saying something.”
Colette really wasn’t being stern with me, but she wasn’t quite joking, either. I had a reputation for getting into trouble. It was rarely serious trouble, but still, trouble is trouble sometimes. My friend Betty called me “Mischievous Missy” once, and the name caught on. I don’t mind it, but I don’t think the name — or the reputation — is very fair or accurate. When you say someone causes trouble or makes mischief, it’s like you’re saying they’re doing it on purpose, like they’re bad or mean-spirited or something. I don’t have a mean bone in my body, and no one who knows me thinks so either. In fact, if you ask them, they’ll probably say I’m one of the friendliest, nicest girls they know, and there are plenty of girls who will tell you I’m a real sweetie at heart.
But… I suppose I do get into trouble sometimes, and it comes from two things. The first is that I get about half-a-dozen crushes a day. I can’t help it. There are just too many yummy girls around. It’s the sweet, cute ones that really make me woozy, the sort of shy, innocent types who don’t seem to know how adorable they are, but honestly, I can find something to like about practically any girl I meet. It’s not just the big racks or curvy butts or shapely legs that get me going either — sometimes it’s the eyes, or a smile, or a pretty face, or the way they do their hair… My friends often tease me about the crushes I get, but that’s just the way I am.
The second thing is that whenever I see something I like, I get this almost irresistible urge to go after it. I immediately start thinking about ways to get it, but I don’t think about whether I should get it, if you know what I mean. Basically, what it comes down to is I don’t think about the consequences of my actions. I see an opportunity and I jump on it, and I don’t think “this could cause me problems later on.” I just get all caught up in the moment…
I had a full day ahead of me — first Brenda’s, then the market, then a few more drop offs before heading back. The sun was out and the weather was nice, even if it was a little hot, and I was looking forward to seeing a few friends in the market later on. All in all, it looked like a fun day. But as I checked my list and set off that morning, what was making my heart all a flutter was the thought of seeing Brenda. Like I said, it doesn’t take much for me to develop a little crush on someone, but I really had it bad for Brenda. Betty calls her “Big Red,” and that might give you a pretty good picture — she’s a strapping red-head with broad shoulders, flaring hips, and an enormous chest. She’s only about an inch or so taller than me (I’m around 5’ 5”), but there’s something about her that’s kind of imposing and makes her seem taller.
But here I am, going on about her big tits and curvy hips when I really haven’t seen much of those curves at all. She’s the counselor for Colette, my boss, and whenever I see her she’s always working, wearing skirts and usually a jacket over a light-colored blouse. You can sort of see how well she’s built by the way the fabric stretches across her buns when she walks or the way her jacket bulges over her chest, but you only get a hint. I like to imagine what she looks like underneath — a little fleshy, maybe, with lots of smooth white skin and a smattering of freckles. I get a little wound up thinking what it would be like to play connect the dots with all those freckles, using my tongue, while she giggles and jiggles underneath me.
It’s not all about the curves, though. Brenda’s a real cutey, with full lips and round cheeks and striking grey eyes. Like I told you, we call her “Big Red,” but her hair is almost more of a strawberry blonde color. I wouldn’t say she was the sweet, shy type — I didn’t know her well enough — but she made me dizzy anyway. There was just something about her. Maybe the way she carried herself, the way she hid herself under those clothes, her reserve… whatever it was, it got me going.
So far, though, she hasn’t given me any sign that she’s interested. I haven’t been really blatant, but goodness knows I’ve flaunted myself in front of her enough. The outfit I was wearing today — my white tank top and jean cut off shorts — did a great job of showing off my curvy hips, slim waist, and the big whoppers I carry around on my chest. Lots of skin was on display — it’s smooth and a little dark, and I’ve got thick, black wavy hair to top it all off. But honestly, if I had known I was going to see Brenda, I might have worn even less. Even now, as I made my way into town, I thought about taking off my shirt right before I went to see her, but then I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra.
I whistled as I made my way into town, thinking about the day ahead and enjoying the sunshine. The trip wasn’t long, and I parked the wagon on the narrow street right outside Brenda’s office and went in.
She was there, and as usual she was dressed in her usual business attire. This skirt and jacket combo was sort of peach-colored, with a white blouse underneath. Her red hair was done up into a bun on top of her head.
“Hey, Brenda,” I said. “Got something here for you from Colette.”
“Hello, Missy,” she absent mindedly took the packet from me, her attention on some paper in front of her. “Doing the rounds today?”
“Yep. Off to the market after this,” I pulled at the neckline of my tanktop, flapping it to theoretically let some air in, though it was so low I was getting plenty of air as is. I commented on how hot it was outside. “Aren’t you hot, all dressed up in your business suit?”
She laughed. “It was a little warm on my way in, but I’m comfortable in here. Is Colette going to want this stuff back today…?”
“Well, she said if it was okay with you, I could pick it up on my way back…”
“Okay. Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have it ready for you. Well, enjoy your day, and stay cool.”
“It’s supposed to rain later,” I said.
“That’s what they say. In that case… keep dry.” She laughed. “I’ll have this ready for you.”
I said goodbye and started my journey to the market. That’s the way it usually went with Brenda — perfectly courteous and friendly, and for a brief moment I could have sworn her eyes flickered up and down the length of me, but really, she’d barely given me a look. If only she had given me a little direct eye contact, some comment on my outfit, offered me a drink… any of that might have been enough of an opening for me. Because even though she didn’t seem like those sweet, shy girls I really like, I felt like she had to be approached like one. You had to make it seem like it was their idea — flirt, make goo-goo eyes, get them talking, then drop some little compliment their way, flash my legs or my cleveage, more little compliments… but you had to get a little attention to start that, and Brenda hadn’t shown me any.
I was a little disappointed, but my spirits picked up when I thought about the day ahead, full of cute girls, and remembered that I’d see Brenda tonight on my way back. You can never tell what might happen…
The market was in another, smaller village not too far away from town. I was almost there when I came across a wagon on the side of the dirt road with a broken wheel. I recognized the driver. Her name was Terry, a tall, strong-looking brunette I knew from around the county. She was dressed in worn jeans and a shirt she had knotted right under her chest, leaving her sculpted mid-riff exposed. She was standing next to the wagon, looking sweaty and dusty. I called out to her as I rode up and she waved to me.
“Broke a wheel?” I said after I had stopped my wagon and got off.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to fix it…”
“Not even a strong girl like you can do that by yourself. Here, let me help…”
But fixing the wagon proved too much for even two able-bodied women. After struggling for many long, hot minutes we took a break. Terry wiped her forehead with her sleeve and we shared a small jug of lemonade. She had been carrying several barrels of cider to the market, barrels she had unloaded and placed by the side of the road once the wagon broke. There wasn’t room for them in my wagon, and she said she didn’t want to leave them here.
“Well, I’m sure whoever you’re taking these to will understand if you’re late…” I said.
“It’s not just that,” Terry said. “I’m supposed to meet Deb and Hanna there. We’re watching over Lisa. “ She looked at me, grinning, and rolled her eyes. “Lisa’s spending the day in the stocks.”
I laughed. “Oh really? What did she do?”
Terry shrugged. “They caught her stealing apples from Goodwoman Judy’s orchard.” We both laughed.
For minor infractions, you were made to spend an afternoon in the stocks on market day. These weren’t foot stocks, they were neck-and-wrist stocks, and you knelt on a narrow padded bench with your ankles secured in small manacles behind you. If you happened to have business in the square or were just passing through on “stock day,” you were permitted to have a little fun with the prisoners, but guards were there to make sure things didn’t get too out of hand. But women in the stocks usually brought along two or three friends to watch over them, keep the harassers away, and make their stay as comfortable as possible.
We had all been there at some point or another. It wasn’t really uncomfortable — the idea was just to humiliate you, to make as many women in the area see you as a petty criminal or whatever, and maybe you’d have to endure a little physical or verbal teasing. For some girls, this was enough, but I have to say that the times I had spent in the stocks on punishment day hadn’t been too bad. The most recent time for me had been for trespassing; you were put in the stocks wearing whatever you had been caught in, and I had been wearing a tiny floral bikini when they got me, so it was a little embarrassing to spend the afternoon with my barely covered butt up in the air and my big tits hanging down and practically spilling out of my top. But Betty and Nora had been there to watch over me, so all I really had to endure was a little boredom, a lot of ogling, many lascivious comments, and just a few gropes and squeezes. Actually, I had gotten a little turned on with all the attention, but that’s another story…
“Well, it’s not too far,” I said. “I could go tell Deb and Hanna and maybe they could come help you. It wouldn’t take them long to walk here. I’m sure Lisa will be okay on her own for just a little while.”
Terry said that sounded like a good plan. I gave her my small jug of lemonade and continued to the market, promising to send Deb and Hanna as soon as possible.
The market was bustling as always, dozens and dozens of stands and booths set up with farmers selling fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese, spices, baked goods, clothes and almost anything else you could name. Delivery wagons like mine maneuvered their way through the narrow spaces between the stalls, their beds stacked high with boxes and baskets. Women haggled over goods or simply chatted with an acquaintance as they enjoyed a cup of lemonade or cider or something stronger, and merchants advertised their wares and called instructions to their assistants.
I gave a cheerful good morning to everyone I knew as I slowly made my way through the crowd to Lani’s area. She easily had one of the biggest set-ups there, with probably eight tables set up in a big square and four assistants helping her out. “Missy!” she called as I pulled up and brought the wagon to a stop. “I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to make it today.”
“And miss market day? No way.” One of her girls came over to help me sort through the baskets and unload the ones Lani needed. It didn’t take too long, and when we were finished I brought Lani the receipt. “Could you hold on to that for a minute?” I said. “I have to run an errand. I’ll be right back.”
Lani said it was no problem. I plucked a stalk of wheat — the kind with the really fuzzy tuft at the end — out of one of the small barrels sitting on the table, put the non-fuzzy end in my mouth, and made my way to the central square where the stocks were.
There were about eight girls in the stocks that day. I knew a couple of them pretty well, and said hello and commiserated with them. To the rest I gave a friendly smile and tried to lift their spirits. “Hang in there, girls,” I said. “It’ll be over soon.” But when I saw Lisa, her two friends standing by her, I couldn’t help but grin a little bit. I’m not a mean girl; though I have never found spending a day in the stocks to be too much of a trial, I knew for some girls it was absolutely humiliating. My heart went out to all those girls who would rather have been stripped naked and subject to any amount of tickle torture in private than spend an afternoon on public display in front of their neighbors.
But if there was ever a girl who needed to be brought down a few pegs, it was Lisa. She had a reputation as a mean girl. She didn’t scare me too much, but I know a lot of women found her intimidating. Her circle of friends was very loyal to her, and she was loyal to them, but she could be rude and mean if you weren’t one of her little group. She was supposed to be a really sadistic tickler, too, but even in public she would turn down even the most playful advance with a withering look or sharp comment. I had had my share of them, because despite Lisa’s attitude, I thought she was delectable, and the main reason for my attraction seemed to be the thing guaranteed to tick Lisa off — namely, she had a big, beautiful round bubble butt. It wasn’t huge, but it was easily the biggest butt in the county, and she was extremely self-conscious about it. “Quit staring at my butt!” she would snap anytime I made a comment around her or expressed interest, and it was no false modesty on her part — she meant it. Her hips and thighs were also pretty generous, and what it all came down to was that Lisa thought she was too fat.
I didn’t care. I loved watching her walk; seeing those round buns rolling against each other under a tight pair of shorts like two volleyballs just made me tingle all over. They were as firm and solid as they looked, too, at least judging from the few brief times I had got my hands on them. Those times were limited to a quick grab or a pinch, though once I landed a really good squeeze that made Lisa shriek and jump about three feet in the air. I had paid for it with an earful from Lisa, and then later she and four of her friends had cornered me behind one of the buildings off the market square. They tickled me, stripped me, and then ran off with all my clothes, forcing me to walk home in broad daylight without a stitch on. While trying to sneak through an orchard I ran into a group of apple-pickers who were delighted to find a naked girl all by herself far off the main roads. They used me to liven up what would probably have been a boring afternoon by tying me to a tree and tickling me until I came. I was so wound up by the treatment Lisa and her friends had given me that it didn’t take the women in the orchard long to make me climax. In fact, I was so wound up that I couldn’t even be mad at them. I would have done the same thing in their place.
I paused for a moment and took a look around. There were usually a few guards around to make sure things didn’t get out of hand with the captives, but I didn’t see any. A woman nearby told me they had just gone on break. Perfect.
I tried to keep any kind of gloating look off my face as I approached Deb and Hanna and gave them a friendly greeting. “I saw Terry up the road,” I said. “Her wagon broke down. We tried to fix it, but it was too much. She sent me to see if you two could help.”
“Sure,” said Deb, a slim little blonde. “Where is she?”
“Not too far away,” I said. “Just beyond those trees there. It’s just a short walk… I’d go myself, but I have to take care of business here.”
Deb and Hanna debated leaving Lisa alone for a bit. I offered to watch after. “It won’t take you two long, and besides, is anyone really going to mess with Lisa?”
“Hurry back,” snapped Lisa as her friends left. “Don’t leave me here alone with her for too long.”
“Awww, is that anyway to talk to someone who’s doing you a favor?” I said.
Lisa snorted and rolled her eyes. She was on the buxom side, with straight brown hair to her shoulders, big brown eyes, and very light skin.
“So how did you wind up here?” I said.
“Goodwoman Judy’s women caught me stealing apples,” she said. “And stop laughing! I’ve seen you in here more than a few times.”
“Oh, I’m not really laughing at you, Lisa,” I said. “What were you wearing when they caught you?”
I walked behind her. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and a pair of cut-offs. They were a bit more modest than my cut-offs, but in her current position — kneeling with her butt stuck out and the backs of her thighs on display— they were revealing enough. “Not too bad,” I said. “Some of these girls are wearing much less.”
“Quit looking at me,” she snapped. “Get up here where I can see you.”
“Hmm, these look interesting…” I said.
“What looks interesting? What are you doing back there?”
What I was actually looking at was the soles of her upturned feet. Lisa’s feet were surprisingly dainty and very cute. I took the stalk of wheat out of my mouth and began to tease her pretty little soles with the fuzzy tuft. She immediately started twitching and struggling, trying to clinch her toes together. “Missy! No! Stop it! I… heeeheehee…I mean it…”
I flicked the tuft up and down her soles, first the left, then the right, lightly brushing the sides of her feet and along the base of her toes. Lisa jerked and pulled at the stocks, grunts of indignation interspersed with giggles. Her feet kicked as much as they could in their restraints. “Eee-hee-hee-he! Cut it out! Missy! Yee-hehehe! Stop tickling my feet!”
“Okay,” I said. “What about here instead?” I traced the tuft down the back of one her fleshy thighs.
“Waa-ha-ha! Missy! Stop! Hee-hee-hee…” Her soft thighs quivered at each tender stroke, but what really got me going was the way her big round butt swung from side to side as she struggled. I ran the tuft up and down the exposed flesh of her inner thighs, making her scream.
“You have such plump thighs,” I said, teasing her with the tuft. “They look really sensitive…”
“Missy! Ooo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”
“But you know what I really love about you, Lisa…” I reached around and began unfastening the buttons on her shorts, my fumbling fingers making lots of contact with her belly. “What are you doing… No! Don’t you dare! No!”
Tucking the tuft into my waistband, I took hold of the tops of Lisa’s cut-offs and started working them down over her wide, twitching hips. The stocks rattled as her thrashing became more desperate. “No! Missy, please!” she yelled, a note of panic in her voice. “No! Please don’t strip me, Missy!”
I wasn’t going to totally strip her, of course — that would have gotten me in trouble — but at this point she probably feared I was capable of anything. I finally got the shorts down past her generous hips and butt and let it fall to her knees. Underneath she was wearing a pair of very worn, pink panties that were probably about a size too small for her. They had ridden up on her and bunched in the middle, leaving the two round globes of her butt almost completely exposed. I wasted no time in taking up the tuft and running it back up her inner thighs again, then slowly running the fluffy tip back and forth along the crease where her right upper thigh and cheek met.
A shriek of hysterical laughter burst out of my captive. "Hahahahaha! Ohh, nooo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Aaahahahaha!”
“Gosh, Lisa,” I said. “You’re more ticklish there than I’d ever hoped…” I switched between the crease on the right and the left, making her scream, her laughter become more and more crazed and her butt bouncing with each stroke. “I’ve lusted after this big butt of yours for a long time,” I said. “Had I know you were this sensitive…” I flicked the tuft upwards to draw slow patterns over the wide expanse of her trembling cheeks.
“Ahhhhhahahahaha! Stop! Stop! Pleeeezzee!” Lisa’s hips and butt shimmied with desperate, involuntary twitches. “Not there! No-ho-ho!”
I peeked around the stocks to get a look at her. Tears of laughter streaked her chubby cheeks, which had turned a rosy hue from all her exertions. “Aww, your cheeks are all pink,” I teased. “It’s such a pretty color for you.”
High-pitched giggles poured from Lisa’s wide-open mouth as she frantically fought her restraints. By now, a small crowd of a dozen or so women had formed around us. “Help!” Lisa shrieked. “Someone make her stop! EEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!”
But all she got in response were smirks and a few giggles. Like I said, Lisa had a reputation as a mean girl, and doubtless many — heck, all — of the women watching the show would have loved to torment her like I was. Once again Lisa screamed for help in between fits of giggling as I continued to slide the tuft of the stalk all over her bulbous, trembling buns. “I’d save my breath for laughing if I were you,” I said. “They’re all enjoying the show too much to make me stop.”
“EEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“Everyone here is watching you shake that big round butt of yours.”
“YIII-HEE-HEE!!”
“And I’ve got the best seat in the house,” I said. “Well, you’ve got the best seat in the house, Lisa. You’ve always been so embarrassed about it, but I don’t know why. If I had a butt like yours, I’d be shaking it around all the time.”
“Nooo-hooo-hoo-hoo…!”
“But if it takes a little tickling to get you to really shake it for us, I’m happy to oblige.”
“Hee-hee-hee! Missy! Stop! Sttaahaappp…”
I tickled her for a short while longer, until a woman near by came up to me and nudged me gently with her elbow. She pointed past the market square, out over the fields toward the edge of the woods. I could just make out a wagon with a few women on it. I knew it was Lisa’s friends coming back. Besides, the guards would probably be done with their break soon. I dropped the tuft and went around the front of the stocks, leaning down towards Lisa’s face. She was breathing heavily, sighing with relief. “I’m afraid I have to go now, honey buns,” I said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “This was fun. Maybe we can continue it some other time.”
“Wait! Missy!” Lisa cried as I quickly walked away. “Don’t leave me like this! Damn you, Missy! Put my shorts back on…”
I hustled back to Lani’s and got the receipt from her, and then jumped back on my wagon. “You’re in an awful hurry,” Lani said, one corner of her mouth turned up in a knowing smirk.
“Yep,” I said. “Got a long day ahead of me.”
“Hmmm. One of the girls just told me about a dark haired woman with big boobs tickling Lisa’s butt in the stocks. Did you see anything like that?”
I giggled. “Nope. Sorry I missed it. Sounds like quite a sight.”
“Uh-huh. Well, take care, and say hello to Colette for me.”
I told her I would, said my good-byes, and headed out of the market. Luckily, my route was taking me in the opposite direction of Lisa’s friends; I wanted to be as far away as possible when they got back and saw their friend with her shorts pulled down.
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Missy's day continues in Part 2
But I’ll let Missy tell it.
Here’s part 1 of “Mischievous Missy and the Good Day.”
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Mischievous Missy and the Good Day - Part 1
“Hold on a second, Missy!”
I finished loading the final basket on to the back of my cart and turned around, already smiling, to face Goodwoman Colette crossing the yard.
“What can I do for you, boss lady?” I said.
She frowned at me from beneath her light brown hair as she covered the last few feet between us, her long skirt swishing back and forth through the dirt. “I need you to drop this off at Brenda’s before you head in to the market,” she said, handling me a small packet of papers.
“Sure thing, boss lady,” I answered.
“Stop calling me that,” she said. “You might need to go back to Brenda’s at the end of the day to pick them back up. Ask her when you get there.”
“Okay,” I said. I fanned myself with the packet. “Gosh it’s hot today.”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to rain later though. Maybe that’ll cool things down.” Colette looked me up and down. “Though you should be comfortable enough.”
I laughed. I was wearing… well, not much at all — super-tight and super-short cut off jean shorts and a chest-hugging white tank top that showed a lot of cleavage.
“Stay out of trouble,” Collette called after me as I turned towards the wagon.
“You know me,” I said.
“Yeah, too well. That’s why I’m saying something.”
Colette really wasn’t being stern with me, but she wasn’t quite joking, either. I had a reputation for getting into trouble. It was rarely serious trouble, but still, trouble is trouble sometimes. My friend Betty called me “Mischievous Missy” once, and the name caught on. I don’t mind it, but I don’t think the name — or the reputation — is very fair or accurate. When you say someone causes trouble or makes mischief, it’s like you’re saying they’re doing it on purpose, like they’re bad or mean-spirited or something. I don’t have a mean bone in my body, and no one who knows me thinks so either. In fact, if you ask them, they’ll probably say I’m one of the friendliest, nicest girls they know, and there are plenty of girls who will tell you I’m a real sweetie at heart.
But… I suppose I do get into trouble sometimes, and it comes from two things. The first is that I get about half-a-dozen crushes a day. I can’t help it. There are just too many yummy girls around. It’s the sweet, cute ones that really make me woozy, the sort of shy, innocent types who don’t seem to know how adorable they are, but honestly, I can find something to like about practically any girl I meet. It’s not just the big racks or curvy butts or shapely legs that get me going either — sometimes it’s the eyes, or a smile, or a pretty face, or the way they do their hair… My friends often tease me about the crushes I get, but that’s just the way I am.
The second thing is that whenever I see something I like, I get this almost irresistible urge to go after it. I immediately start thinking about ways to get it, but I don’t think about whether I should get it, if you know what I mean. Basically, what it comes down to is I don’t think about the consequences of my actions. I see an opportunity and I jump on it, and I don’t think “this could cause me problems later on.” I just get all caught up in the moment…
I had a full day ahead of me — first Brenda’s, then the market, then a few more drop offs before heading back. The sun was out and the weather was nice, even if it was a little hot, and I was looking forward to seeing a few friends in the market later on. All in all, it looked like a fun day. But as I checked my list and set off that morning, what was making my heart all a flutter was the thought of seeing Brenda. Like I said, it doesn’t take much for me to develop a little crush on someone, but I really had it bad for Brenda. Betty calls her “Big Red,” and that might give you a pretty good picture — she’s a strapping red-head with broad shoulders, flaring hips, and an enormous chest. She’s only about an inch or so taller than me (I’m around 5’ 5”), but there’s something about her that’s kind of imposing and makes her seem taller.
But here I am, going on about her big tits and curvy hips when I really haven’t seen much of those curves at all. She’s the counselor for Colette, my boss, and whenever I see her she’s always working, wearing skirts and usually a jacket over a light-colored blouse. You can sort of see how well she’s built by the way the fabric stretches across her buns when she walks or the way her jacket bulges over her chest, but you only get a hint. I like to imagine what she looks like underneath — a little fleshy, maybe, with lots of smooth white skin and a smattering of freckles. I get a little wound up thinking what it would be like to play connect the dots with all those freckles, using my tongue, while she giggles and jiggles underneath me.
It’s not all about the curves, though. Brenda’s a real cutey, with full lips and round cheeks and striking grey eyes. Like I told you, we call her “Big Red,” but her hair is almost more of a strawberry blonde color. I wouldn’t say she was the sweet, shy type — I didn’t know her well enough — but she made me dizzy anyway. There was just something about her. Maybe the way she carried herself, the way she hid herself under those clothes, her reserve… whatever it was, it got me going.
So far, though, she hasn’t given me any sign that she’s interested. I haven’t been really blatant, but goodness knows I’ve flaunted myself in front of her enough. The outfit I was wearing today — my white tank top and jean cut off shorts — did a great job of showing off my curvy hips, slim waist, and the big whoppers I carry around on my chest. Lots of skin was on display — it’s smooth and a little dark, and I’ve got thick, black wavy hair to top it all off. But honestly, if I had known I was going to see Brenda, I might have worn even less. Even now, as I made my way into town, I thought about taking off my shirt right before I went to see her, but then I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra.
I whistled as I made my way into town, thinking about the day ahead and enjoying the sunshine. The trip wasn’t long, and I parked the wagon on the narrow street right outside Brenda’s office and went in.
She was there, and as usual she was dressed in her usual business attire. This skirt and jacket combo was sort of peach-colored, with a white blouse underneath. Her red hair was done up into a bun on top of her head.
“Hey, Brenda,” I said. “Got something here for you from Colette.”
“Hello, Missy,” she absent mindedly took the packet from me, her attention on some paper in front of her. “Doing the rounds today?”
“Yep. Off to the market after this,” I pulled at the neckline of my tanktop, flapping it to theoretically let some air in, though it was so low I was getting plenty of air as is. I commented on how hot it was outside. “Aren’t you hot, all dressed up in your business suit?”
She laughed. “It was a little warm on my way in, but I’m comfortable in here. Is Colette going to want this stuff back today…?”
“Well, she said if it was okay with you, I could pick it up on my way back…”
“Okay. Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have it ready for you. Well, enjoy your day, and stay cool.”
“It’s supposed to rain later,” I said.
“That’s what they say. In that case… keep dry.” She laughed. “I’ll have this ready for you.”
I said goodbye and started my journey to the market. That’s the way it usually went with Brenda — perfectly courteous and friendly, and for a brief moment I could have sworn her eyes flickered up and down the length of me, but really, she’d barely given me a look. If only she had given me a little direct eye contact, some comment on my outfit, offered me a drink… any of that might have been enough of an opening for me. Because even though she didn’t seem like those sweet, shy girls I really like, I felt like she had to be approached like one. You had to make it seem like it was their idea — flirt, make goo-goo eyes, get them talking, then drop some little compliment their way, flash my legs or my cleveage, more little compliments… but you had to get a little attention to start that, and Brenda hadn’t shown me any.
I was a little disappointed, but my spirits picked up when I thought about the day ahead, full of cute girls, and remembered that I’d see Brenda tonight on my way back. You can never tell what might happen…
The market was in another, smaller village not too far away from town. I was almost there when I came across a wagon on the side of the dirt road with a broken wheel. I recognized the driver. Her name was Terry, a tall, strong-looking brunette I knew from around the county. She was dressed in worn jeans and a shirt she had knotted right under her chest, leaving her sculpted mid-riff exposed. She was standing next to the wagon, looking sweaty and dusty. I called out to her as I rode up and she waved to me.
“Broke a wheel?” I said after I had stopped my wagon and got off.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to fix it…”
“Not even a strong girl like you can do that by yourself. Here, let me help…”
But fixing the wagon proved too much for even two able-bodied women. After struggling for many long, hot minutes we took a break. Terry wiped her forehead with her sleeve and we shared a small jug of lemonade. She had been carrying several barrels of cider to the market, barrels she had unloaded and placed by the side of the road once the wagon broke. There wasn’t room for them in my wagon, and she said she didn’t want to leave them here.
“Well, I’m sure whoever you’re taking these to will understand if you’re late…” I said.
“It’s not just that,” Terry said. “I’m supposed to meet Deb and Hanna there. We’re watching over Lisa. “ She looked at me, grinning, and rolled her eyes. “Lisa’s spending the day in the stocks.”
I laughed. “Oh really? What did she do?”
Terry shrugged. “They caught her stealing apples from Goodwoman Judy’s orchard.” We both laughed.
For minor infractions, you were made to spend an afternoon in the stocks on market day. These weren’t foot stocks, they were neck-and-wrist stocks, and you knelt on a narrow padded bench with your ankles secured in small manacles behind you. If you happened to have business in the square or were just passing through on “stock day,” you were permitted to have a little fun with the prisoners, but guards were there to make sure things didn’t get too out of hand. But women in the stocks usually brought along two or three friends to watch over them, keep the harassers away, and make their stay as comfortable as possible.
We had all been there at some point or another. It wasn’t really uncomfortable — the idea was just to humiliate you, to make as many women in the area see you as a petty criminal or whatever, and maybe you’d have to endure a little physical or verbal teasing. For some girls, this was enough, but I have to say that the times I had spent in the stocks on punishment day hadn’t been too bad. The most recent time for me had been for trespassing; you were put in the stocks wearing whatever you had been caught in, and I had been wearing a tiny floral bikini when they got me, so it was a little embarrassing to spend the afternoon with my barely covered butt up in the air and my big tits hanging down and practically spilling out of my top. But Betty and Nora had been there to watch over me, so all I really had to endure was a little boredom, a lot of ogling, many lascivious comments, and just a few gropes and squeezes. Actually, I had gotten a little turned on with all the attention, but that’s another story…
“Well, it’s not too far,” I said. “I could go tell Deb and Hanna and maybe they could come help you. It wouldn’t take them long to walk here. I’m sure Lisa will be okay on her own for just a little while.”
Terry said that sounded like a good plan. I gave her my small jug of lemonade and continued to the market, promising to send Deb and Hanna as soon as possible.
The market was bustling as always, dozens and dozens of stands and booths set up with farmers selling fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese, spices, baked goods, clothes and almost anything else you could name. Delivery wagons like mine maneuvered their way through the narrow spaces between the stalls, their beds stacked high with boxes and baskets. Women haggled over goods or simply chatted with an acquaintance as they enjoyed a cup of lemonade or cider or something stronger, and merchants advertised their wares and called instructions to their assistants.
I gave a cheerful good morning to everyone I knew as I slowly made my way through the crowd to Lani’s area. She easily had one of the biggest set-ups there, with probably eight tables set up in a big square and four assistants helping her out. “Missy!” she called as I pulled up and brought the wagon to a stop. “I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to make it today.”
“And miss market day? No way.” One of her girls came over to help me sort through the baskets and unload the ones Lani needed. It didn’t take too long, and when we were finished I brought Lani the receipt. “Could you hold on to that for a minute?” I said. “I have to run an errand. I’ll be right back.”
Lani said it was no problem. I plucked a stalk of wheat — the kind with the really fuzzy tuft at the end — out of one of the small barrels sitting on the table, put the non-fuzzy end in my mouth, and made my way to the central square where the stocks were.
There were about eight girls in the stocks that day. I knew a couple of them pretty well, and said hello and commiserated with them. To the rest I gave a friendly smile and tried to lift their spirits. “Hang in there, girls,” I said. “It’ll be over soon.” But when I saw Lisa, her two friends standing by her, I couldn’t help but grin a little bit. I’m not a mean girl; though I have never found spending a day in the stocks to be too much of a trial, I knew for some girls it was absolutely humiliating. My heart went out to all those girls who would rather have been stripped naked and subject to any amount of tickle torture in private than spend an afternoon on public display in front of their neighbors.
But if there was ever a girl who needed to be brought down a few pegs, it was Lisa. She had a reputation as a mean girl. She didn’t scare me too much, but I know a lot of women found her intimidating. Her circle of friends was very loyal to her, and she was loyal to them, but she could be rude and mean if you weren’t one of her little group. She was supposed to be a really sadistic tickler, too, but even in public she would turn down even the most playful advance with a withering look or sharp comment. I had had my share of them, because despite Lisa’s attitude, I thought she was delectable, and the main reason for my attraction seemed to be the thing guaranteed to tick Lisa off — namely, she had a big, beautiful round bubble butt. It wasn’t huge, but it was easily the biggest butt in the county, and she was extremely self-conscious about it. “Quit staring at my butt!” she would snap anytime I made a comment around her or expressed interest, and it was no false modesty on her part — she meant it. Her hips and thighs were also pretty generous, and what it all came down to was that Lisa thought she was too fat.
I didn’t care. I loved watching her walk; seeing those round buns rolling against each other under a tight pair of shorts like two volleyballs just made me tingle all over. They were as firm and solid as they looked, too, at least judging from the few brief times I had got my hands on them. Those times were limited to a quick grab or a pinch, though once I landed a really good squeeze that made Lisa shriek and jump about three feet in the air. I had paid for it with an earful from Lisa, and then later she and four of her friends had cornered me behind one of the buildings off the market square. They tickled me, stripped me, and then ran off with all my clothes, forcing me to walk home in broad daylight without a stitch on. While trying to sneak through an orchard I ran into a group of apple-pickers who were delighted to find a naked girl all by herself far off the main roads. They used me to liven up what would probably have been a boring afternoon by tying me to a tree and tickling me until I came. I was so wound up by the treatment Lisa and her friends had given me that it didn’t take the women in the orchard long to make me climax. In fact, I was so wound up that I couldn’t even be mad at them. I would have done the same thing in their place.
I paused for a moment and took a look around. There were usually a few guards around to make sure things didn’t get out of hand with the captives, but I didn’t see any. A woman nearby told me they had just gone on break. Perfect.
I tried to keep any kind of gloating look off my face as I approached Deb and Hanna and gave them a friendly greeting. “I saw Terry up the road,” I said. “Her wagon broke down. We tried to fix it, but it was too much. She sent me to see if you two could help.”
“Sure,” said Deb, a slim little blonde. “Where is she?”
“Not too far away,” I said. “Just beyond those trees there. It’s just a short walk… I’d go myself, but I have to take care of business here.”
Deb and Hanna debated leaving Lisa alone for a bit. I offered to watch after. “It won’t take you two long, and besides, is anyone really going to mess with Lisa?”
“Hurry back,” snapped Lisa as her friends left. “Don’t leave me here alone with her for too long.”
“Awww, is that anyway to talk to someone who’s doing you a favor?” I said.
Lisa snorted and rolled her eyes. She was on the buxom side, with straight brown hair to her shoulders, big brown eyes, and very light skin.
“So how did you wind up here?” I said.
“Goodwoman Judy’s women caught me stealing apples,” she said. “And stop laughing! I’ve seen you in here more than a few times.”
“Oh, I’m not really laughing at you, Lisa,” I said. “What were you wearing when they caught you?”
I walked behind her. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and a pair of cut-offs. They were a bit more modest than my cut-offs, but in her current position — kneeling with her butt stuck out and the backs of her thighs on display— they were revealing enough. “Not too bad,” I said. “Some of these girls are wearing much less.”
“Quit looking at me,” she snapped. “Get up here where I can see you.”
“Hmm, these look interesting…” I said.
“What looks interesting? What are you doing back there?”
What I was actually looking at was the soles of her upturned feet. Lisa’s feet were surprisingly dainty and very cute. I took the stalk of wheat out of my mouth and began to tease her pretty little soles with the fuzzy tuft. She immediately started twitching and struggling, trying to clinch her toes together. “Missy! No! Stop it! I… heeeheehee…I mean it…”
I flicked the tuft up and down her soles, first the left, then the right, lightly brushing the sides of her feet and along the base of her toes. Lisa jerked and pulled at the stocks, grunts of indignation interspersed with giggles. Her feet kicked as much as they could in their restraints. “Eee-hee-hee-he! Cut it out! Missy! Yee-hehehe! Stop tickling my feet!”
“Okay,” I said. “What about here instead?” I traced the tuft down the back of one her fleshy thighs.
“Waa-ha-ha! Missy! Stop! Hee-hee-hee…” Her soft thighs quivered at each tender stroke, but what really got me going was the way her big round butt swung from side to side as she struggled. I ran the tuft up and down the exposed flesh of her inner thighs, making her scream.
“You have such plump thighs,” I said, teasing her with the tuft. “They look really sensitive…”
“Missy! Ooo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”
“But you know what I really love about you, Lisa…” I reached around and began unfastening the buttons on her shorts, my fumbling fingers making lots of contact with her belly. “What are you doing… No! Don’t you dare! No!”
Tucking the tuft into my waistband, I took hold of the tops of Lisa’s cut-offs and started working them down over her wide, twitching hips. The stocks rattled as her thrashing became more desperate. “No! Missy, please!” she yelled, a note of panic in her voice. “No! Please don’t strip me, Missy!”
I wasn’t going to totally strip her, of course — that would have gotten me in trouble — but at this point she probably feared I was capable of anything. I finally got the shorts down past her generous hips and butt and let it fall to her knees. Underneath she was wearing a pair of very worn, pink panties that were probably about a size too small for her. They had ridden up on her and bunched in the middle, leaving the two round globes of her butt almost completely exposed. I wasted no time in taking up the tuft and running it back up her inner thighs again, then slowly running the fluffy tip back and forth along the crease where her right upper thigh and cheek met.
A shriek of hysterical laughter burst out of my captive. "Hahahahaha! Ohh, nooo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Aaahahahaha!”
“Gosh, Lisa,” I said. “You’re more ticklish there than I’d ever hoped…” I switched between the crease on the right and the left, making her scream, her laughter become more and more crazed and her butt bouncing with each stroke. “I’ve lusted after this big butt of yours for a long time,” I said. “Had I know you were this sensitive…” I flicked the tuft upwards to draw slow patterns over the wide expanse of her trembling cheeks.
“Ahhhhhahahahaha! Stop! Stop! Pleeeezzee!” Lisa’s hips and butt shimmied with desperate, involuntary twitches. “Not there! No-ho-ho!”
I peeked around the stocks to get a look at her. Tears of laughter streaked her chubby cheeks, which had turned a rosy hue from all her exertions. “Aww, your cheeks are all pink,” I teased. “It’s such a pretty color for you.”
High-pitched giggles poured from Lisa’s wide-open mouth as she frantically fought her restraints. By now, a small crowd of a dozen or so women had formed around us. “Help!” Lisa shrieked. “Someone make her stop! EEEE-HEE-HEE-HEE!”
But all she got in response were smirks and a few giggles. Like I said, Lisa had a reputation as a mean girl, and doubtless many — heck, all — of the women watching the show would have loved to torment her like I was. Once again Lisa screamed for help in between fits of giggling as I continued to slide the tuft of the stalk all over her bulbous, trembling buns. “I’d save my breath for laughing if I were you,” I said. “They’re all enjoying the show too much to make me stop.”
“EEE-HEE-HEE!!!”
“Everyone here is watching you shake that big round butt of yours.”
“YIII-HEE-HEE!!”
“And I’ve got the best seat in the house,” I said. “Well, you’ve got the best seat in the house, Lisa. You’ve always been so embarrassed about it, but I don’t know why. If I had a butt like yours, I’d be shaking it around all the time.”
“Nooo-hooo-hoo-hoo…!”
“But if it takes a little tickling to get you to really shake it for us, I’m happy to oblige.”
“Hee-hee-hee! Missy! Stop! Sttaahaappp…”
I tickled her for a short while longer, until a woman near by came up to me and nudged me gently with her elbow. She pointed past the market square, out over the fields toward the edge of the woods. I could just make out a wagon with a few women on it. I knew it was Lisa’s friends coming back. Besides, the guards would probably be done with their break soon. I dropped the tuft and went around the front of the stocks, leaning down towards Lisa’s face. She was breathing heavily, sighing with relief. “I’m afraid I have to go now, honey buns,” I said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “This was fun. Maybe we can continue it some other time.”
“Wait! Missy!” Lisa cried as I quickly walked away. “Don’t leave me like this! Damn you, Missy! Put my shorts back on…”
I hustled back to Lani’s and got the receipt from her, and then jumped back on my wagon. “You’re in an awful hurry,” Lani said, one corner of her mouth turned up in a knowing smirk.
“Yep,” I said. “Got a long day ahead of me.”
“Hmmm. One of the girls just told me about a dark haired woman with big boobs tickling Lisa’s butt in the stocks. Did you see anything like that?”
I giggled. “Nope. Sorry I missed it. Sounds like quite a sight.”
“Uh-huh. Well, take care, and say hello to Colette for me.”
I told her I would, said my good-byes, and headed out of the market. Luckily, my route was taking me in the opposite direction of Lisa’s friends; I wanted to be as far away as possible when they got back and saw their friend with her shorts pulled down.
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Missy's day continues in Part 2
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