Ravaged At The Renaissance Festival P. 1 free porn video

“I like liquor…”

“And lick her!”

There was a collective chortle from the crowd as the buxom singer moved her fingers into a v shape, miming oral sex while her sister looked on. 

The pair of women were dressed in a pair of leather corsets that emphasized their heaving chests, hands rumpling up matching peasants smocks to add a hint of sensuality to the score. 

The song continued until the chorus rose up past me. I followed Samuel and Nicole, my eyes unable to focus on the flood of colorful costumes and jeering strangers, each hoisting mugs of mismatched liquor. 

I only scarcely heard the song, but even in the recesses of my mind, I got the transition. 

“Because consent is my kink!”

There was a loud hoot, and Nicole beamed, clearly proud of the song, as though just by being here we were a part of that same sentiment. Maybe it’s stupid, but the applause stopped the show, some of the women standing to shout their approval, even though I knew so many of them were already anticipating the line. 

It was like being part of a single voice, a scream into the afternoon affirming the right to have some fucking fun without some asshole ruining it.

That it was okay to be slutty. 

And God we were that.

Nicole stood in particularly stark contrast to the demur shy girl who had picked me up from the airport. She dressed as Belle from Beauty and the Beast, in a dazzling and short yellow costume with white frills on the ass revealing hem. Her breasts weren’t better hidden, though an altogether impossible task with her G sized cups. It sounds shocking, but she towered over me at over six feet tall, a completely sexy Amazonian with short brown hair, soft kind eyes, and a genuine smile that always conveyed a certain exciting presence at that very moment.

So unlike the girl I met behind the keyboard. 

I remembered asking her to cum, my eyes scanning over her open textbox and her husband’s erotic story while I drove a toy into my pussy, right on the edge of excitement. 

I’d lost count the ways we’d worked together to call me a slut. There were so many times when I would have done anything...

She’d even made me call her Mommy.

At the airport, she’d worn a more modest sundress. Not that I hadn’t noticed her breasts in our first meeting. Even with the u-shaped top, they’d bulged out in as a profound line of cleavage. But there wasn’t the edge of sexual submission, just the nervousness of really needing this to work. The anticipation mixed together with the extent of our electronic collaboration, adding to an expectation that preempted any chance at natural chemistry. 

And endangered through its overbearing weight the chance of us really connecting. 

I guess it’s only natural I noticed her first. I am married to the most patient, understanding, loving woman (not to mention gorgeous and a few thousand other fawning adjectives). The kind of wife that after a thorough vetting process lets her spouse travel across the country to freaking Texas for a Renaissance Festival, 

The best party this side of the Mississippi, according to Samuel, that funny, genuinely self-aware scoundrel I meet like a total fangirl after pouring through his incredibly creative catalog of smut. I wrote to him, he replied, and then came a series of snarky self-deprecating emails, collaborative writings, and mutual readings of each other’s works. He could write a fantastic kinky story, only to follow it with a drunken, stoned email bubbling with frightening grammatical errors and glaring, unintelligible malaprops about his latest sex party. 

I’m just a man with one talent, a singular inability to shut up

And I would lap up every word.

I never thought I’d actually go… but they each communicated in such a clear way their intent, all the while pulling back from actually making me respond to any of their advances. 

It had taken months to screw up the courage. 

Just existing online as a woman comes with a thousand come-ons and such invitations, but I never got the sense that Samuel or Nicole would ever push anything. I could have remained forever behind the keyboard, teasing him like the elusive siren on the beach. That’s how I’d been with every other fan or admirer. 

But he wasn’t a fan.

I pictured myself in his sex stories, strapped onto a Sybian, forced to swallow cum and urine as each patron wandered into the bar. He wrote me into scenes so I could read myself as the slutty college co-ed required to visit the glory hole as an initiation into the sorority. I shoved a matching dildo into my pussy, rapturously reading and devouring my own body as an anime-like victim of the tentacle monster. And my favorite, being led around my hands and knees as a puppy, just like that first story I found a forever ago.

But it wasn’t just the writing.

He cared about me, in his own way, intense and openly, without any regard to those normal insecurities that make everyone afraid to venture out with a compassionate feeling. He loved whoever was around to be loved, especially if they were hard to care for at that particular moment. Not that he didn’t share those feelings, that worry, that concern of expressing a desire unreciprocated or unequaled, he was just willing to own it all. 

To go first…

I don’t doubt that it would have been okay with him had I stayed behind the safety of the screen. He would have understood that. But I think we both needed more. It’s the miracle of the modern age, in being able to find someone to talk about every secret fantasy and desire, and then speak to them halfway across the world. 

And see their eyes light up.

I won’t say that speaking even over Skype hadn’t been a little awkward at first. He’d gotten out in front of that, keeping the conversation deliberately short, scheduling another, and another until I was completely comfortable (well, almost) watching Nicole and Samuel perform a live sex show, even making a few requests to fulfill the Cam Whore fantasy she had been harboring for years.

Back when she used to play with a dildo on a live stream.

They had a large mirror on the wall in their bedroom. I would get to command Nicole to fuck herself with the dildo strapped to it. I could make her lick it clean, then shove another into her ass, or watch Samuel spray a load in or on her. And he could go again, the two fucking long after I needed to go to bed, signing off like the unseen patron I was playing.

Once I did give a little striptease.

Okay, a lot of a striptease, more than twice.

But they both had understood the strange switch in meeting someone in person. No matter what technology can do, there is something about sharing a physical space with someone. Call it pheromones or just the natural ability to click with a person.  

But Samuel said over and over again that each step was its own experience, made more enjoyable without any expectation. I’m sure he spent a minute on that line, but saying it aloud didn’t change reality. It seemed more than sensible that our feelings might bury our first meeting under the uncomfortable weight of anticipation. 

An email, an IM, a Skype, a text message each day for six months, and what’s a man supposed to think about your intentions, married or not as you collaborate about the weirdest, wildest, most fucked-up erotica imaginable? 

And really, across the space of a thousand miles, staring at his bearded face, or even his impressive cock, could I really know I actually wanted him or just the idea of him?

He had remained so reserved physically at first, wanting to assure me I wasn’t some pre-arranged done deal. I think he was almost as shy as me. He stumbled over his words, sometimes awkwardly overexplaining himself, other times rambling at a story I’d already heard from email snippets. 

Then he settled, finding confidence in the easy cadence of his partner. Nicole stepped in and grounded him, prompting our conversation. She helped me smooth over a certain eagerness to connect until everything started spilling out seamlessly, and there was only the subjective difference between our screens and ourselves. 

I’d been sorry to go back to my hotel after dinner. 

But I’d been too keyed up to trust myself to make any decision. So that night, under the covers, I’d pulled up one of Samuel’s stories, Good Girl Day Six, a  pet play scene involving a girl named KayKay, paraded nude throughout her office, fucked by every man there, then force-fed piss and cum through a funnel.  

I came so hard, moving my hand around my bare pussy, squeezing and mauling as my small breasts. 

And my thoughts drifted to the man who wrote that, imaging him leading me to that sick and twisted ending. I shuddered, legs wrapped around my hand, lips opening and closing in climatic delight as I pictured myself there before fading into sleep.  

Nicole mentioned the need to arrive early at the festival. She wanted to walk in the parade in a chain mail costume, and I couldn’t really object. In our emails, Samuel and I agreed the festival would be the perfect place to see if we truly clicked. The festival followed the cliche, everything was bigger in Texas, 

I guess except for my costume.

Tinkerbell. 

I asked Samuel a dozen times if it was okay. It wasn’t historically themed, which he brushed off, referencing his own costume. On his shaved head Nicole traced a giant blue arrow so that with his bright-colored robes and staff he looked exactly like Avatar Ang from The Last Airbender, all grown up of course with a long, flowing beard and rectangular glasses. 

Okay, so I don’t know if being attracted to girls makes the cruel sort of comparisons women make with each other worse. I just know I was in love with my wife’s face and not my own. But either way, I know I’m going to sound either stuck-up and pretty or like one of those flirty fakes who needs everyone to validate her. 

I suppose I knew deep down I was a sexy pint-sized blonde, it just never settled into my psyche. And I was about to show off to a couple I’d traveled halfway across the world to know in probably a Biblical sense. 

The bisexuals of the world really need to just start owning non-monogamy. It opens the door to all the weird, quirky, and inspiring relationships life has to offer, without fixating on a label or a particular role. We get that new relationship energy, those fluttering nervous butterflies after being seen or touched for the first time.

Not that any of this intellectual posturing made it easier to step out in my costume. 

Compared to Samuel and Nicole (who both towered well over six feet tall) my frame seemed designed for the fairy form. The top was this gold and green corset, glittering with my modest bust squeeze in for maximum effect. Around my hips hung leaflets, relying on matching panties to actually hide my behind. Otherwise, only the green above my pussy would have actually hidden anything. 

I had my platinum blonde hair done up in a bun, just like the cartoon, elaborate wings rising up over my shoulders. Skimpy and scandalously dressed, I stepped out into the early morning sun, trying to keep as much confidence as I could as I walked towards their car. 

It was one thing imagining myself, his reaction was one another. I could tell he was looking, drinking me in without lingering so long that I was uncomfortable. His bushy eyebrows shot up in an expression of intense interest, his head cocking playfully to one side. 

And though that look would have said it, he wanted to talk. 

He needed me to know. 

“I’m having trouble forming words, Livvy,” Samuel said. “If only I could whistle, or maybe if I had practiced my catcalls.” 

I laughed, blushing a little. 

“You look amazing,” Nicole said. “Where did you get your outfit?”

And her hand touched my arm.

“I made part of it…” I said.

“Oh god, I wish I could sew,” Nicole gushed. “My costume is just from Amazon. Jeff Bezos sees me coming every October.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,  love,” Samuel said. “There was that year you were my sexy mermaid and I went around in that toga. We were so fucking cold.”

“Was that the time we tried to steal blankets off of your brother?” Nicole asked. 

“I think that was the time we made him sleep on the hood of our car for about an hour so that we could have sex,” Samuel added. “It wasn’t that bad; it was my birthday. And he was wasted before midnight.”

The conversation continued through the ride, never really stopping. They both had this practiced way of telling stories that included their audience, inviting me to talk without putting the pressure on me to think of something to say. And soon the three of us were laughing along, and I found myself not really caring if we ever arrived. 

Sam parked the car and I took a deep breath. Stepping out, I made one last check on my skirt to make sure my ass was hanging out (well, not too much), one last piece of reassurance before we joined the throng. 

Strange them seeing me had made me more self-conscious than the crowd, as if social acceptance was assured simply being by them.

I know I’d seen a thousand pictures, but there was no describing the immersion of the festival. The two-story-high walls extended across nearly ten square miles of the festival, the shops and stores built right into the walls, extending past the Beefeater guards who took the tickets from Samuel. 

Then he whisked us off, leading as Nicole grabbed my hand, turning the walk into a nearly bolt toward the particular shop. People rushed by in a blur, reminding me of an LSD hallucination, the costumes all bright and colorful, with many women contorted into even more bustier and skin showing outfits. All along, people dressed as peasants called out for their wares, everything from fried pickles to ornate, hand-carved flutes, with boisterous invitations and inspired banter.

“Pickleman! Put my pickles inside you!”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

And yeah, I wanted a pickle, just maybe not his.

“The chain mail shop,” Nicole answered. “Don’t ask me. I’ve been coming here for nearly ten years and I get lost even with a map. If I ever lost Sam, I’m done for. I’ll be begging out here in front of the shops.”

“I imagine they’ll hire a crier,” I said. “You know like when a parent loses their kid at K-Mart. He’ll ring his bell. Samuel Clementine, Samuel Clementine, we have your wife Nicole with security.”

She laughed, her nose scrunching adorably, her short dark hair falling over one eye that she brushed back into an adorable curl. 

“And here we are!” Samuel said. “Just in time, I hope. Are you guys still loaning out the chain mail for the parade?”

The woman looked us up both and down. She wore the garb of a belly dancer, every inch of her jingling with each movement. The woman was pretty, a little older than me, certainly older than Nicole, who did her best to beam expectantly. 

“You know, I think we have a few more… I’ll see if Will can squeeze you in…”

Just then, as we were being ferried behind a curtain to the back of the shop, I heard someone call out. 

“HEY! It’s the Avatar!”

Samuel sauntered up, all swagger. 

“Just your friendly neighborhood Avatar, you know. Frozen in ice for a hundred years, back to fight the Fireball nation.”

He pulled a flask from his pocket, taking a drink.

“Come on,” Nicole said, pulling at my hand. “He’ll be at this a while.”

“Really?” I said. 

“Oh yeah, people love his costume. And he loves the reaction. It’s an instant conversation starter.”

“Head on back here,” the woman said. “We will hold onto your clothes, just pick a box in the back and he’ll size you. Oh and here’s the book. Now I don’t know that we have everything in it. But we probably got something close.”

She directed us behind the curtain, and we were outside the wall of the festival. Private, and yet it seemed somehow public. The only thing blocking us from view was a tiny wall of fabric, and I could hear the voices of customers and store clerks from behind the curtains. 

“Just so you know,” Nicole said. “Will is a little up there in years. He’s super professional. This is his job.”

“Okay…” I said cautiously. “So I don’t want to be the weird one, but should I undress now?”

 “I get it completely,” Nicole said reassuring me. “I mean you could. But he’ll want to ask you a few questions.”

And just as she finished speaking, Will appeared. He was dressed entirely in chain mail, his white hair thinning, a curly mustache around his lip. 

“Okay, okay, only a few minutes, have you decided what you want?”
“It’s really up to you,” Nicole said. “We know we were running a little late.”

“It’s no problem, Nicky,” Will said, smiling. “One of these days I’m going to get you to go home with one of my tops. 

“Yeah, one of these days, decades from now when I have my student loans paid off,” Nicole said dreamily.

“Fair, fair, so who’s your friend?”

“Will, this is Livvy. Go easy on her, she’s a virgin.”

I blushed. 

It had been so long since I was a virgin, and yet Nicole had me out of my element. I felt like everyone was staring, and yet really no one had been. I mean, I’m sure some had looked, but there was so much to see one sexy Tinkerbell wasn’t going to stop the show. 

“Well, here let me give you some privacy. I’ll be back.”

But before he left, Nicole was already out of her Belle costume. She pulled off her bra, revealing breasts I’d only ever seen through a screen. In front of me for the first time, I saw how they moved with every little motion, her nipples large and blending in with her skin at the areoles. I wondered if one of my hands could really even squeeze them, completely forgetting about my own costume. 

“You don’t have to change,” Nicole said. “I know it’s a lot.”

“No... it’s okay…”

She helped me, undoing the back as I tried to breathe normally. My boobs didn’t so much fall down as spread apart a little more comfortably without having to make up that line of cleavage. They were firm, perky, and not too petite for a firm handful. My nipples were already hard, sticking out dot-sized on my small supple breasts. I turned my arms across, hiding them for a second before I realized how to stop my own ridiculous shyness. 

“Here, we’ll need to put pasties on,” Nicole said. 

“Pasties?”
“Texas is weird about the nipples,” Nicole shrugged. 

“Oh?” 

It wasn’t really a question, both of us just looked at each other, not knowing what to do as we both sort of kept our arms lazily around our nipples, not quite hiding our tits.  

“I’m going to try really hard not to be weird,” Nicole said. “But then again, we’ve already seen each other naked. Maybe that’s why it’s this odd gray zone. It’s just so much more real in person. It’s just weird going back to the beginning and already feeling like you’re… you know...”

I knew what she meant. 

“I love your tits Nicole,” I said. 

“Thanks,” Nicole said, clearly wanting more.

“And yeah, what if we just, you know like we said, push past it at our own pace.” 

“It’s okay, take it slow,” Nicole said. “And don’t worry. It’s all above board, you know except my sneaky glances.”

I nodded. 

“I like your sneaky glances,” I said. “I’m just not that good at saying so.”

“Hey… um… so do you want me to help you put the pasties on?”

“Um… sure…” I said. 

“I don’t want to pressure you…” Nicole said. “I just know one year, a woman came up to me after I did this, and told me that everyone could see my nipples. I was so mortified, I spent the next hour panicked I would be arrested. Then I got Will, and he REALLY looked to see if he could spot my nipples…”

She stopped, suddenly self-aware.

I blushed.

“Oh wow, that totally sounds like a line…”

I just had to help her out. Besides, she was so charming in her shy way. I could tell it was new to her, still scary and a little awkward.

I don’t know if that ever really completely changes. There’s something exhilarating and freeing about falling into each other instead of a pre-made romantic role.

Then again, sometimes it can be scary as fuck.

“If it’s a line… it worked,” I said, smirking devilishly. “Besides, I can’t have Will looking me over later. I would hate to violate anyone’s sense of decency.”

“Okay, only if you are sure…” 

“I’m sure…”

Her hands went to the adhesive, the fingers nervous as they moved over my nipples. She was a little more professional with the first one, holding onto my breast mostly for leverage as she applied the pasty. 

Then I moved forward, pressing my body into hers. 

She took her time with the next nipple, touching it between two fingers as I watched wordlessly, absorbed in her approach. It was like watching a baby deer drink from a creek. I knew Nicole had dated other women, even after marrying Sam. But still, she touched me like I was her first, nervous and skittish, drinking every tactile sensation in as though it was all new.

She reluctantly moved her hand away. 

“Go ahead, do me…’ Nicole said. 

“Maybe later,” It came out effortlessly. 

I wanted to help her have me. 

“But I’ll help you with the pasties…”

And my hands were taking their turn. 

Nicole’s nipples were turned into hardened nubs, excited by my touch. I couldn’t help but heft her breasts, two or three times my size, and yet barely affected by gravity. I wanted to rest my head on them, and with one last pasty to go, I couldn’t help myself. 

At five foot two, I was already head high to her Amazonian frame. 

I gave her right nipple a tiny little kiss, my heart beating fast as the moan she let out. I went in again, needing it more time, my pussy tingling with excitement. 

Only for Will to walk in with the outfits. 

“Whoops! I’m sorry I see you aren’t ready yet,” the owner stammered.

And god bless him, he was backing out of his room.

“No… no…” I said. “Just getting the pasties ready.”

A lie all of us swallowed. 

Better than the alternative. 

That the two of us would have gladly fucked in your changing room without any regard for you or the staff. 

Will had our chainmail bikinis, completely professional as he used a pair of weirdly shaped pliers to mold the tops onto our bodies. He only touched what he needed to finish his work, devoted completely to his task. Then he left us to snap on the bottoms. 

I thought my green/gold panties would stand out against the mesh, so I stripped them off, quickly clasping on the bottoms.

And there I was, dressed even more scandalous than before, with a matching barbarian outfit as Nicole. We each looked like a video game heroine, who by virtue of being female, only needed to protect the most sensitive part of her skin, namely the groin and nipples. 

But anyone could see the skin poking out from beneath the ringlets, our ass cheeks only hidden by the tiniest piece of black cloth that hid underneath them, almost like a thong. I couldn't help but adjust it, wondering if it made me all too exposed. 

Should I have worn panties?

No one said anything...

I wondered if I looked as good as Nicole. Her breasts spilled out of her top, jutting out and up almost impossible to contain.

“I’m trying really hard not to stare,” Nicole said. “I hope you don’t mind the looks. You are stuck like this until two.

Samuel was sitting on a marble bench, completely oblivious to us even as we sauntered towards his bench. He was leafing through the program, lost to the world in thought before his eyes darted up and then stayed fixated on the two of us. His eyes went wide, his hand moved to his mouth in excitement and he started to clap.

I couldn’t help it; I gave him a little twirl. 

Nicole followed suit, giggling with me as our effect on Samuel became more and more obvious. He soaked us in, staring without leering, his eyes brimming with expectation. 

It was a lot…

I had to take a drink from his flask, but not because of the dozens of eyes on my body.

Because of his stare.

Meet someone online, know them through their smut, their emails, their Fetlife pictures and pornographic sex stories. It’s like starting at the end; we spread out all our sins and sensuality carelessly at first, easily and casually connecting because the stakes began so low.

I don’t know when it switched, but there was a time when everything suddenly became supercharged, like everything we had built together in this weird, modern-age relationship suddenly became dependent on these few days that we had together. There was this pressure not just to have sex as a culmination of everything, but to somehow culminate everything we had created together. 

It was almost like a wedding night for two virgins, though we were far from that. There had been long talks, emails, instant messages, every masturbatory Skype session, none of it preparing me for that longing stare that confirmed everything I wanted him to feel.  

And I could tell he wanted me.

I knew that the chemistry was there for him. 

But I blushed, not quite ready for such a feeling, needing maybe a little more time for the familiarity to build. 

It wasn’t a no…. 

Hadn’t I told him that months ago, when the thought of sharing even a picture with him seemed scary? 

Hadn’t he waited, until I could help but send a picture of my tits, okay only after trying a dozen different poses and waiting a few days to make sure.

I wondered if he was in his head as much as me. If he worried, fretted, tried to play it cool. And yet somehow I thought he didn’t, even though I knew better because he would tell me everything he thought without embarrassment. 

Oh, Samuel was nervous, probably as much as he’d been in a decade. But his defining characteristic seemed to be wearing his thoughts like a cap, ready to tip the brim in anyone’s direction. It made it hard, yes, because I knew I would have to make the decision.

An online personality is like a funhouse mirror reflection, they can be odd or unrealistic, or just a tiny bit different. It all depends on how the person chooses to stand. But I kept coming back to the thought that Samuel and Nicole angled their mirror as accurately as they could manage.

And God, I enjoyed that reflection, but I would have to decide what happened. And I wasn’t particularly good at that, it was hard even with my established lovers. 

And hardest because whatever happened, he would handle it with his usual aplomb. I didn’t have to do anything with him or Nicole, we could just be friends.

But they were both into me.

Just as the stupid, self-defeating through swirling around my head, making me think in crazy circles about how much I wanted to wanted this, he spoke, giving us the time for the latest show. And with an overdone flourish, we were on our way to Opal and Jade. 

“It’s the Avatar!”

“Yip yip!”

Most times, he would yell it in return, waving casually. Twice I saw Samuel pose with a family, one time hearing him break into what seemed like a familiar routine. 

“And what are you dressed as? Forgive me, I’ve been frozen in ice for a hundred years…”

I didn’t hear what the kid said, but Samuel’s voice was booming, always a little loud, a little excited. 

“Just for today, you fight the Fire Nation and I’ll see a show,” Samuel said. 

And he caught my look, seeing me beam at him.

“Okay, I’ve gotta find Appa…” He said. “Or you know, my barbarian warriors.”

He waved goodbye, brushing off the thank you’s as the Dad looked at the camera, making sure the shot was perfect. 

“Sorry, my public,” Samuel said. 

“You do seem to have quite a following,” I said. 

“You should come when we are dressed as Belle and Gaston,” Nicole said. “I get a bunch of the shore clerks and single guys asking for a picture, and then some cute little girl comes waddling up with a flower and I’m like…”

She moved her elbow in front of her boobs. 

“Okay, yeah sure! Let’s take a picture. You’ll never send it to my boss.”

“Do you remember that one year that girl gave you that rock?” Samuel said. “For good luck?”

“Oh god, I was so drunk! I had to bend down too. I seriously thought I’d topple over.”

“And you know her parents paid five bucks for the rock from one of the shops,” Samuel said. “But what are you going to do, tell the kid no thank you? She wants to give the princess some frankincense…”

I laughed, the same sort of heavy chuckle that bellows up from the gut without any control. It was the same laugh that poured through the tavern while Opal and Jade sang, listing off a thousand unbelievable sexual exploits before emphasizing consent as their kink. I sat there on the bench between the two of them, my thighs rubbing against Samuel and Nicole, sharing the flask she snuck in with her breasts.

Not that anyone cared now, the flasks and cups were drained as the performers delighted us with naughty jokes, walking into the crowd with ad-libbed lines. 

“This is what we like about the place,” Nicole said. “The shows are different every time. I mean, some of the songs are the same, but when you go nearly every weekend some of the other acts can get a little stale. I can only see Ded Bob, like once a year.”

I nodded, having no idea who Ded Bob was, but finding it easy to trust her judgment. 

They were not amateurs.

Then I saw Jade, her breasts nearly spilling out of her corset as she bounced down from the stage, pointing vaguely in our direction.

“On no, you don't! I told Opal, I called him…”

The crowd laughed. 

“She would totally screw it up, but the second I saw him, I knew I had it,” Jade continued before breaking into a song.

“This man has traveled alone and very far…

So he takes his Sky Bison to bed…

Because He’s the Av-A-TAR!”

The crowd let out a laugh. 

“Oh stand up so I don’t sound stupid,” Jade said, and Samuel obliged, giving a little bow. “He comes here with his wife dressed as a pair. It’s so nerdy and so cute. Where is she? Where is that bison you ride?”

And Nicole stood, shouting out barely above the crowd. 

“We’re in the parade today!” 

Then she reached down, pulling me up by the hand. I could feel the eyes of the entire crowded bar looking at me in a revealing chainmail bikini at 11 in the morning, waiting for their reaction. 

And I heard applause, smattering and great big laughs, escalating when Jade spoke again.

“You two barbarians may not be bisons, but I’ll bet the Avatar would still ride you,” Jade said. “Or maybe you're tired of riding on his staff. Would rather meet me backstage? I have a few hours before my next show.” 

The crowd burst into laughter, and Samuel smiled, completely comfortable being the butt of the joke. And then Opal and Jade started singing simultaneously, the rest of the crowd, including Samuel and Nicole joining in. 

“Roll your leg over... Roll your leg over... Roll your leg over and sit on my face!” 

And then there was a new target. 

“Okay, we promised we’d make the parade,” Samuel said, looking at his phone. “They wanted you back at 11:30.”

And again, we followed Sam through the throngs of people in and out of costume, my eyes riveting to the more ornate and elaborate labors of love. A man dressed as a centaur, big and barrel-chested, hairy and bearded, his four legs stationary. A group of Templars, each looking as though they walked out of a movie set. And a hundred others dressed as pirates, gypsies, and Scottish warriors.

Then pure lust, a young twenty-something Asian girl with long hair, using body paint and possibly paper mache to create an octopus tentacle over really just her nipples. She was wearing body paint and a thong instead of panties, her skirt the riggings of rope from an ancient ship. I watched her like a horny teenager, staring until she entered a pirate ship-shaped bar.

Then I had to stop, Nicole and Samuel losing me for a second as I stood gawking at her. I was completely lost, looking around them then, only to find myself again transfixed.

A sparking fairy creature, completely mute as she slowly opened up a pose on a pedestal, her outfit a shimmering silver that clung to her breasts and down into a buttocks hugging leotard. Her makeups extended out from her ears into a pair of glittering ovals, matching her spreading wings. 

Did I mention I have a thing for fairies? I mean, I did dress as Tinkerbell.

I watched her stretch, stupefied, shocked, and stunned at how seamlessly her body paint spread shone out from her body against the barely rising sun. She moved in slow motion, not acknowledging her audience, and yet captivating several passerbyers, drawing us into her allure, both sensual and innocent in its expression. 

Samuel reached out and grabbed my hand. 

“You can get a picture with her later…” He said, pulling me forward.

Then he paused, and doubled back, fishing out a dollar to drop the cup on the tiny stage. 

“In case we can’t get back before you’re done,” Samuel said.

She broke character for the tiniest of smiles, then continued stretching. 

We went together back through the wooden fence behind the chain mail shop, and suddenly I was back in the parking lot, seeing cars instead of open carriages and costumes. Huddled together like spectacularly tailored penguins were the most elaborately dressed criers and employees of every shop, all adorned in the leather, mesh, and mail from their respective shops, gathering into one big parade line. 

There was everyone, all in their own place. Beggars advertising the Mud Show. An oversized King and Queen dressed in cartoonish heads extended up from the shoulders of the hidden person, not to mention those dressed as the court of respective countries, Spanish, French, and English, complete with their own royalty, including a rotund Henry the Eighth. There were fairies, dragons, monsters, barbarians, and knights, all chatting casually, drinking openly from flasks and tankards attached to their belt. 

“Nervous?” Nicole asked. 

“Um… yeah…”

“Just breathe and walk, you’ll be fine,” I heard a voice say.

I turned and saw that a man dressed all in menacing leather from head to toe, wearing a sweeping helm that hid long blonde hair and a small beard. He was even taller than Nicole, just not by much, tall, strong and so sexy, a large pike in one hand. 

“Hey, Erik!” Nicole said, hugging around the spikes sticking out of his shoulders.

“Who's your friend?” 

“Erik this is Livvy,” Nicole said. “Livvy this… well you can guess the rest. Are you coming out to Jenga tonight?”

Samuel had told me about this, an event I had been anticipated almost as nervously as meeting them all month while planning. At night, RenFest held an unofficial Naked Jenga game. Pull a block and do the dare, knock it over and rebuild the tower naked in front of a crowded circle of cheering spectators. 

And still, I didn’t know if I could do it.

“You know they frown on us going out there,” Erik said. 

“I know that hasn’t stopped you in the past,” Nicole smiled.

“Where’s Samuel at?”

“He’s the Avatar… didn’t want to take away from the parade’s authenticity…”

“Authenticity? There was a steam-punk Snow White in last week’s parade.”

And the two continued to chatter, calming me down through their own familiarity until synchronized horns called out like ancient battle orders. We moved out, somehow funneling into a parade that disappeared back out into the festival walls. I took a deep breath, walking hand and hand with Nicole and following the throngs. 

At least I was a little buzzed.

It was so bright, the sun, the flashes of so many professional cameras as hundreds of people stood watching us emerge. I suddenly became super self-conscious about my near-nudity. I probably would have covered my chest had Nicole not held my hand, forcing me forward as we showed our barely concealed skin to thousands watching us walk. 

I might have blushed, would have if not for the weird sense of acceptance that again emanated from the crowd. Yes, I knew there were kids here, but they were almost segregated, obsessed with the different toys and games I saw as we marched past jousting games, archery and musket ranges, and even a jungle-gym. 

I had the naive thought this must have been like ancient times when privacy was impossible, and sex was simply uninteresting when presented without condemnation. 

But still, I felt every eye on me as I worried about my ass peeking through the black cloth bottoms. I couldn’t look at anyone, not daring to make eye contact as we moved through the crowd. It took Nicole nudging me to notice Samuel, following along, taking pictures along with everyone else. 

I couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you doing over there, Sam?” Erik called, waving. 

Samuel shrugged.

“Avatar! Your people need you!”

And he joined us effortlessly like the parade was his. Meeting Erik in stride, he slapped him on the back, pulling out his flask for a drink.

“And then… the Fireball Nation attacked…”

“Good to see you too,” Erik said. “You stopping by the shop later?”

“Always.” 

I don’t want it to sound like Samuel was larger than life or the mirror image of his cultivated alter-ego, because he couldn’t be. There were ways he had of writing that transcended reality, augmenting life in little ways that purified the passion he had for everything and everybody. I don’t doubt his flaws, but he had this defacing way of acknowledging and apologizing for them the instant he realized them.

Is he really the person I’m writing? He will probably hate this version of himself as vain and overly polished, but I’m also sure he will be too flattered to tell me that. But I envision him always as a scaled-down version of what he was at this place, in his perfect element, holding court in his kingdom. 

Of course, I hadn’t seen him cursing at his Alexa, frustrated at his inability to find something he’d just had, or quietly sobbing at the end of a doctor’s visit. 

I guess that’s the advantage of polyamory, I still get those new moments of infatuation where someone else can stir something different inside of me and that’s okay.

But I like to think that Samuel was mostly the same, if normally a little more reserved. Here was a show for him to perform, another fabricated type of fun. It reminded me of something he emailed me once, lamenting those who want to read erotica that seems realistic. 

Does my audience really want to read about a married couple pumping out a few frantic minutes between an episode of Game of Thrones and bedtime? THAT would be realistic.

Maybe for most people. 

It wouldn’t be “realistic” for me or Sam. He would have hated writing something like this, bored to tears at the points where he narrated sex that actually happened, even if it read like it belonged in Penthouse. I suppose I’m the same way for different reasons, wanting to hold back things that seem too personal. 

But I have a wife, a mistress, and an occasional boytoy. 

I’ve had threesomes, foursomes, and orgies so that just that doesn’t really fuel my rich fantasy life. Sam and I need more, but what’s impossible for us can turn to tentacle monsters, fucked up gang bangs, and even more extreme imaginings. 

I’m sorry, a MMF threesome write-up rarely does it for me. 

It’s too commonplace.   

And before the readers become outraged with jealousy, stop and think about how society treats those who have multiple partners and LBGT relationships. 

Because the better it gets for our types, the easier it will be to join us. 

So I won’t tell you everything next in this story is truly how it happened, only the parts that I remembered well enough to round out. But it is close enough. It was just one of those days that stands out to the rest of time, reverberating across a lifetime, begging for another recreation.

He finished the parade holding both of our hands, no doubt that small, insecure piece of himself that couldn’t score a date in high school relishing the implications of escorting two beautiful, nearly nude women through a flock of people. 

And then Samuel sauntered off as we went back out the gate, completing a twenty-minute circuit. We were backstage with the cars and the rest of society, following our group up the stairs to the shop. The second floor was nothing like the first, which was filled with costumes and done up in a Greco-Roman style. Upstairs, the employees lived, and the place was filled with essentials like a couch, rooms with air mattresses, even a refrigerator. It was like being behind the curtain, seeing how these performers actually lived. 

It was pretty cool, and also overwhelming as I waited to be displayed on the balcony, hearing the rather strict sounding clerk give us our instructions.

Go out and dance, show off the goods, but do not actually get naked. 

So do what exactly though?

I heard the barker go out onto the balcony, continuing his refrain, feeling like a gladiator about to enter an arena. 

“This is an adults-only show! Please consider what you want to be explaining to your kids on the ride home. You…. parent! The safe sword shop is that way! This is an adults-only show people!”

Thankfully there were several other people in front of us of different proportions and genders, though the woman in charge seemed to have strategically placed me last. 

Flattering yes, but intimidating. 

“So what do I do?” I asked Nicole. 

She shrugged. 

“They cheer no matter what…” 

“Yeah, but I want them to really go wild,” I said, surprising myself. “I don’t want the polite clapping of parents at a piano recital.” 

Nicole laughed. 

“Okay, so I act like a stripper, just without the stripping…”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I asked. 

But it was her turn next. 

“Hey…” Nicole said to our handler. “My friend is a little shy, can she go on with me?”

The woman looked at me, frumpy in her peasant dress. I was sure she was going to say no, and leaving me flailing around like an inflatable tube man on their balcony. 

“We’ll make it worth your while,” Nicole said. “I’ve got the moves. Some would say like Jagger, but I would settle for Maroon 5.”

“Okay, fine, but twice as long. We want them to see the costumes.”

“You okay?” Nicole asked me.

I nodded, suddenly barely to breathe. 

And she pulled me out into the open. 

There was a gathered crowd below, watching me awkwardly follow Nicole out with a round of applause that I totally didn’t deserve. Then I watched her, extending a long arm out against the supporting beam of the deck. She twirled around seductively, back and forth, dropping down and reaching one hand to the mail of one cup, making as though to pull it down before stopping.

I was completely frozen, watching her Amazonian body move slowly around the railing, not even able to wonder what the hell to do. My eyes were on her tits, barely hidden by the chainmail, tumbling and threatening to bounce out with every motion. I could feel the lust steaming up from the crowd, rising up to meet her voluptuous frame. 

“Dance!”

I heard the woman’s voice hiss from behind the curtain. 

So did Nicole, using one finger to beckon me towards her. 

I like to think I floated over like a fairy, but maybe a better metaphor would be a moth meeting a flame. But she didn’t let me burn… hot as she made me. Nicole turned me into her pole, turning to nearly grind against me, her ass nearly as visible as mine. 

Actually, I could see her parts of her cheeks, visible as she shook. And I couldn’t help but reach out and grab her hips. I was grinding back like that jackass in the club, simulating sex to the hooting and jeers of the libacious crowd. She moved down, her hands spreading down her thighs, then turned, a little awkwardly, stepping on the cloth that kept her ass from behind visible. 

For a second, all I saw was her thong, her light-skinned apple-shaped ass bulging out in front of me. She almost fell, and I was too busy gawking to steady her. By the time my hands found her hips, Nicole had found her footing again. 

But I didn’t stop touching her, wondering how far down I should slide my hands. 

She helped me, her fingers clasping over mine, moving them down and back until I was clearly grasping a handful of her cheeks to the audience's delight. Before I could control myself, I was rearing my arm backwards, giving her a playful slap on the tush.

Then she stood up, her breasts bulging, nearly falling out of that chainmail top. She held my hands, pulling me close to her, then guiding me down until my face was nearly in between her thighs. She grabbed me around the neck, pulling me close. For a second I thought about doing her right there, lifting up that makeshift loincloth and driving my tongue up her pussy in front of the hooting and hollering crowd. 

I moved forward. Even now I’m not sure if I would have been able to forget myself completely. Instead, Nicole pulled me up and into her bust, letting me motorboat between her breasts for a brief, all-too-quick second…

She pulled me back, then leaned in, kissing me as the crowd went wild.

And I barely noticed. All I could focus on was her lips, leaning down, her body towering over me like a man as she gently pursed her lips against mine, reacting instinctively to my lack of any resistance. I tried to kiss her back, attempting to meet her tongue, only to feel her pull away, my mouth suddenly gaping and empty. 

Her hand closed around mine, and before I knew it, she had spun me out in front of the crowd in a twirl, throwing my petite body down into her arms like she was the sailor kissing me after the end of the war. 

Again her lips met mine…

Again with thunderous applause. 

I mean, most guys like watching lesbians. I’m used to the attention, just not like this. My face must have been beet red by the time she pulled away, but to borrow a phrase, in that magic moment, I couldn't do anything other than letting Nicole have her way with me. 

Right there on the balcony if that’s what she intended. 

And I got the impression we would be hard-pressed to find anyone who would stop us. 

But she didn’t, swinging me effortlessly up again, holding my hand then raising up our arms, sending the signal to bow.