Outstanding, but...

Sister Lucrecia stood before her camp, admiring her work. The tent was immaculately assembled, a healthy fire roared, and there wasn't a single blind spot in her defenses. With the basics so swiftly handled, she decided to do something about the sweat-laden clothing beneath her armor.

She'd made her way towards the nearby creek in her gambeson, and, making sure that no observers were nearby, Lucrecia began to strip. The buckles came loose, and she dropped her armor atop a large stone. Next, she untied the laces of her chest wrap and removed it, revealing her pert breasts to the open air. She set the wrap beside her gambeson and then peeled the sopping wet underwear off of her crotch and down her long legs.

A sheen of sweat made her athletic body glow in the golden light of the falling sun. Spattered freckles coated her cheeks, and fell across her shoulders. Her breasts were small, but far from flat; that much was to be expected from one with such a lean. Below her girls, a washboard stomach heaved with each of her deep breaths. A trail of hair went from her navel down to an untamed fiery bush. As the breeze began to pick up, Lucrecia raised her arms to stretch and cool off, revealing tufts of hair in her pits.

Freed from her constraints, she forded into the water with undergarments in tow and began to rinse off the sweat. After a couple rinses and wrings, she trudged back to the rock to dry them off. Now, it was time to relax. She waded back to the deepest part of the stream, and began washing herself off from the days salty secretions. The breeze picked up further, sending powerful gusts of wind across the land. It was enough to make Lucrecia brace herself from slipping in the water.

When Lucrecia was satisfied with her bath, she turned back towards the shore and exited the creek. What she found, or didn't find, rather, completely ruined her mood. Her undergarments had gone missing! At first, she assumed a thief had come and taken them. Disgusting thoughts of being watched by an unseen pervert sent a shiver up her spine. She looked around in a panic, wondering if the thief still lurked nearby. That was when she saw them. Blown by the squall, her undergarments had ended up in the prickly underbrush. She took care to try and extract them, but the flora would not let them go unmolested. The chest wrap and underwear were torn asunder as she pulled them free.

Other than this mishap, the rest of the night went off without a hitch. Lucrecia slept in her gambeson, mace by her side, but the preparation was thankfully unnecessary. At sunrise, she woke refreshed with renewed vigor. The next town was a half day's ride from here, and her duty would truly begin there. Well... after finding new clothes.

Lucrecia rode into town mid-day, attracting more than a few glances from the peasant population as she did. A quick question to a passerby yielded the location of the local clothier. After dismounting and stowing her horse at the stables, Lucrecia confidently strode into the clothing shop.

The clothier manning the shop was an older man, on the cusp of elderly status. His head was shaved bare, and a thick goatee framed his mouth. He stood up to greet Lucrecia, showing a thin figure with a small potbelly as he bowed to her. "Welcome to my shop! What's an important looking woman like yourself doing in this little shack o' mine?"

Lucrecia cleared her throat before addressing him. "Ahem. Good day mister. An unfortunate incident has caused me to be in need of new undergarments."

Bemused, the old man rubbed his chin while stifling laughter. "I see. I'll assume you need them as soon as possible then?"

"That would be correct, mister. I have the silver pieces to pay for it as well." Her voice dripped with earnestness, which made the man raise an eyebrow.

"Then we should get started right now!" He said with a youthful vigor. The clothier brought out samples of various fabrics to choose from, with the courser materials selling for cheaper than the softer ones. Lucrecia normally didn't demand comfort, but such intimate items pushed her to choose the top shelf cloth.

"And now, I need to take your measurements." The old man said matter-of-factly. "I cut and sew the cloth myself, so I will need to be as accurate as possible. Follow me." He ushered her to follow him behind a curtain, and Lucrecia obliged him.

Behind the curtain was a dimly lit storeroom. Scattered around the edges were crates filled with various bundles of cloth, and a table stood near the center that housed the tools of his trade. The clothier took a long strip of leather from the arrangement, and Lucrecia could see that it had a multitude of notches across its length. "Alrighty then, I'll need you to get out of that armor."

This took Lucrecia by surprise, though it really shouldn't have. Of course someone wouldn't be able to take an accurate measurement for something forms fitting with one layer of armor, let alone two. She stammered for a moment, searching for some sort of retort, but couldn't find one. In an attempt to stifle her discomfort, she nodded her head and turned away from the old man.

Doffing her plate was a long process, though thankfully it was shorter than donning it took. The old man left her to her business, which made the ordeal even more awkward. Eventually, however, the plate had been removed, and her gambeson followed in short order.

Now that Lucrecia was fully in the buff, the clothier stepped uncomfortably close behind her. "Alrighty lass, now raise your arms for me." A flush of red bood burned Lucrecia's face as she followed his order.

The old man pressed even closer to Lucrecia, wrapped the leather strip around her ribcage, below her bust, and marked a spot with chalk. He repeated the process on the largest part of her chest, making the leather press into two of the most sensitive spots on her body. This made her gasp, and she was so unfamiliar with the sensation that it made her jolt backwards. That's when Lucrecia felt it: her bare rear had pressed into the old man's crotch. Her cheeks practically sandwiched the large, hard, warm rod his pants kept hidden. She jumped again and screamed out an apology.

The old man let out a chuckle. "We all make mistakes every once in a while, lass. Shall I get back to it?"

Lucrecia turned her head back towards the clothier and nodded her head, now mentally prepared for the sensation. Knowing he was aroused, however, added another touch of embarrassment on top of what she'd already felt. She raised her arms, and the old man got his second measurement.

"I need you to turn around now, lass." The clothier spoke with a kind, but assertive tone.

Lucrecia, without even thinking, obeyed him. She spun around like she was on a swivel and turned her gaze down and away from him: her shame demanded it.

The clothier tossed a pillow at his feet and knelt down onto it. His face was less than a foot away from Lucrecia's womanhood, and the feeling of his breath upon her pubic hair sent a shiver up her spine. He reached around her hips and measured the circumference to what felt like excruciating precision to her. Next, he fed the strip of leather between her lefs and lifted it up to give her a wedgie. The leather pressed against her pussy, and rubbed it back and forth across it as the clothier adjusted it up to her hip line.

Lucrecia choked down a whimper. Such an unfamiliar feeling excited her. She rocked her hips ever so slightly over the intruder, and as the clothier removed the leather from her underside, a wet spot stained the measure.

This seemed to be the tipping point for the clothier, as he feigned stumbling forwards. His face planted itself right in her muff, and his well-worked hands grasped onto Lucrecia's ass cheeks. His nose dug into her clit, and a loud sniff filled his lungs with her scent while he squeezed her cheeks.

Lucrecia brought her hand to her mouth to muffle a shriek of surprise. She was practically stuck in place, unable to move for fear of hurting him. She believed his deception, and his safety was on the forefront of her mind. "Are you okay?" She whispered down to him. The last thing she wanted right now was for someone to come back here and catch her in such a compromising position.

The clothier lingered there longer than needed, and as he pulled himself back off her, he left a parting lick over her hood. With a stray red hair stuck between his lips, he looked up towards her and spoke an apology. "I'm so terribly sorry for that, miss. Age has taken a toll on my joints. Go ahead and get dressed. Your new clothes will be ready in a few hours." Without giving her a chance to respond, he lifted himself up and went to work, back turned to her as he did so.

Lucrecia gingerly stepped back to her gambeson and hurriedly dressed herself. Within the safety of the town, she wouldn't need her plate, so she carried it back to her horse and began questioning the townfolk while she waited.

By the time the sun had set, Lucrecia had found lodging at an inn and secured a solid-sounding lead in her investigation. She'd picked up her new clothing from the lecher whom she never suspected of wrongdoing, and brought it back to her room. There were two pairs of panties and two unique looking chest pieces that she pulled out of her bag. Rather than a chest wrap, the clothier had prepared what he called his greatest invention: the "brassiere." As she put it on, she was struck by the comfortable sense of support it gave her. They perfectly wrapped around her breasts, and somehow made them look bigger. The panties, however, were much less satisfying. They were coated in some form of slimey balm that carried an unfamiliar funk. On top of that, the front was a high cut that didn't cover her whole pubic area, while the back was a string that ran up her ass crack. Thankfully, they fit perfectly. His methods were uncomfortable at the time, but at least the craftsmanship was top notch. As she stood in front of a mirror clad in the new undergarments, Lucrecia was struck by an odd sense of arousal and shame.

The next day, Lucrecia set out on the road towards her next destination: a mining camp that a suspicious person had been seen riding towards.