MENACING MRS. MITCHELL

A Tickling Tale - By Jack Hays Section #3.

Continued from last message . . .

"Ohh, that's what you meant. Okay, now let's get back to what we were talkin' about, you say you have twenty-four ribs. So I'm gonna count 'em, and you're gonna keep track while I'm countin' and if we don't get twenty-four, I'm gonna count 'em twenty-four more times." Aunt Wanda had practically driven me crazy this way.

"Bob, NO! Now listen to me right now, you are going to stop this instant and untie me! And then your mother and I are going to have a talk about showing some respect for your elders. You are in big trouble now, young man."

"Looks to me like you're in bigger trouble since you're the one that's all tied up. Now don't lose count. I'll get you started. One . . . two . . . three . . . now keep track . . . "

Mrs. Mitchell did her best to pull the big oak tree out of the ground, roots and all, straining with all her might against the ropes while laughing, gasping, and begging.

"NONONONONONONONONO ooooooooooooeeeeeeeee I can't I can't I can't STAND it! STOP!"

"Uh oh, you lost count, I'll have to start over, you count this time. One . . . two . . . "

Once again Mrs. Mitchell tried to do her impression of the Incredible Hulk. But all she succeeded in doing was to hike her dress up higher and pop off the top two buttons of her blouse, displaying her ample cleavage spilling over the top of her Playtex Cross-Your-Heart. I continued on this time all the way to the top of her ribcage, massaging each rib along its entire length. She was so beside herself with hysteria that tears were coming from her eyes, and she could no longer make a sound. Her mouth was wide open with a silent scream, her chest heaving to catch whatever breath she could. I kept tickling, moving up and down her rib cage and even further above into her underarms and below onto the fleshy portion beside her belly.

"Bo-Ah-Ahb! Plea-eeease! I'll do any-eeeee-thing!"

That's what I was waiting to hear.

"Would you really do anything?," I queried, as my fingers continued their exploration of her sides and stomach.

"Oh! Oh! God, Bob, ANYTHING!"

"And you're sure not going to tell my mom about any of this," I asked, giving her an especially hard dig into her underarms.

"Agggggghhhh! No! I won't tell! Just STOPPP!" she gasped and sobbed.

I stopped the tickling, finally letting her start to catch her breath. I took a good look at Mrs. Mitchell. Her hair had lost its bandanna and strings of it were sticking to the sweat on her face. The front of her blouse was open down to the third button, giving me a good view of her bra and cleavage. Her bra was damp from sweat, letting me just see the barest outline of her aureoles through the white material. Her dress, meanwhile, had hiked up to her upper thighs, displaying her white girdle. It was the most undressed I had ever seen a woman, outside of the Sear's catalogue. She slumped against the ropes in exhaustion, her breath coming in ragged gulps.

"Well," I said, "I guess I'll stop for a while, but you have to be real good, okay?"

"Oh - oh, yes - please, Bob, I'll be good."

"First thing, then, I'll see about undoing your hands."

"Oh! Yessss, untie me please, my shoulders are killing me!"

I stepped behind the tree where I could get to the ropes. I first did a quick loop with the loose end of her left wrist around one of the lower ropes. She couldn't tell it, but this would let me untie one hand while keeping the other secured. I took another long rope out of our lasso supply and wrapped it around her right wrist. Then I freed her right hand. She stretched it out in front of her and shook it a bit to get the kinks out of her shoulder.

"Oh, that's a relief. Now get my other hand." She tried to close her blouse, with minimal success.

"Just a second. I've gotta fix this first." I took the long end of the rope holding her right wrist and tossed it over the big bottom limb of the oak. Then I pulled it tight.

"No, wait! Bob, what are you doing! Ouch! That's pulling my wrist!"