My Medieval Submission And The Sex Slave free porn video

I was trying to build up the nerve to blow off Glade, my lover, but you ruined it for me! Okay, that’s only half true. I was bolstering my resolve to distance myself from my very beneficial friend and I ruined it for myself by blabbering on and on to my friends here about him. I’d take any flimsy or poor excuse to gush over him; all under the guise of hating it. The truth of the matter is that he’s been the only thing on my mind since I tried my first anal plug last week. Yes, that was him that night. Before he left that night, he mentioned that he was in another tournament over the holiday weekend and that it would be nice if I went with him.

That’s not exactly true, either. “I’m fighting at the tourney this weekend. It would be cool if you showed up,” he said.

“And what if I don’t?” I shot back in an attempt to not scream, YES!

“Your choice, I don’t own you,” he said nonchalantly. “I just like how we get along; we’re both the same kind of crazy.”

He then proceeded to commandeer my computer and jot down the address of the place, pausing only to sign me up on the guest list for the event. I watched, trying to become infuriated that he’d automatically assume that I’d just forget all about my holiday plans—not that I really had any—and stand around to watch him fight in another medieval dick-measuring contest with armor.

“Oh, so you want to dress me up all slutty and hang me on your arm like some lust-struck arm-candy?” I thought I had made my point, but he was nonplussed, even amused.

“No, not at all,” he smirked out with that perfectly crooked impish smile of his. His eyes danced with delight. “But I love how you think! Besides,” he added. “We’re having our ‘as it is written’ auction. That’s always good for fun. I can get pretty wild; you’ll love it!”

He left and I was determined that I would end this fling once and for all. I’m good at getting guys, just not so good in choosing which ones are playmates and which ones should be mates.

I got married young to a man that is much more into other guys than he was into women in general and me in specific. I knew this and fooled myself into dreaming that it would work out. Now, in hindsight, I actually did it to escape the stigma of my youth. “Slut-Witch” was pretty much my nickname in high school. Since then a pattern of sorts emerged. I pick the most amazing men and women for physical pleasure, but the worst ones as potential long-term partners. This is because I am always fooling myself.

I choose this guy because I knew he was safe; there could be no future with us. By necessity that made him just a fling. He is also different than any other man I’ve met. We met under very quirky, almost fairy-tale circumstances; if fairy tales were written by romance authors with a penchant for kinky sex, that is. This guy doesn’t follow my rules and he makes me break my own rules. Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t do this on purpose. If he is doing it on purpose he has perfected his “it’s just my nature” act. There’s just something about him that makes me a totally submissive, girly-girl, groupie for him. I don’t want to be like that, but I can’t help myself with him. You’ll see!

I’m used to calling the shots. I’m used to choosing who I play with and who doesn’t make the cut. But he turns me into his wanton sex-slave. I don’t know which is worse, the fact that he has this power over me or the fact that I love it. The night we first met I ended up masturbating in front of a crowd of strangers just because he said five words.

“I’d love to see that,” was all he said.

He left that night, after enjoying the fact that he held the key to my lust, and I stomped over to my computer to delete the address. I could not give in to temptation if I obliterated the temptation, right? I couldn’t bring myself to delete it. The next day I was determined to delete it and still could not. For days I looked and looked and looked. If I don’t go then he’ll understand that I’m no longer interested.

I tried to write him out of my system. If I wrote about it and saw those words there in black and white, I’d realize how I’m just fooling myself again. I shall regain control over my mind, my heart, and my thighs. To keep my mind off of him even more, I conversed with my friends here. Those messages were filled with me telling everyone that I am in no way thinking of him. I even told a good friend about how we met and pointed out how audacious he is, how much nerve he has, and how much I hate it. I doubt I convinced her of this, and the fact that as I was writing about it that my hand found its way between my legs kind of showed me that I wasn’t convincing myself, either.

July the third rolls around and I find myself chatting with my online friends, bringing him up, and telling myself that I am not going to go, I am not going to see him. I love how he makes me feel and I hate that I love it. Talking about the guy, looking at that address, still up on my computer screen, and reading erotica is not a very good recipe to avoid thinking about somebody. Then I “let my friends convince me to go.” What I mean by that is that I fixated on everything positive they said and used that to justify the decision I knew I was going to make anyway. To seal the deal one of my male friends here talked about how much fun it would be to hang out with the LARP'ers. He was right and I knew it!

I know, I thought to myself. I’ll dress to kill, go on over, ignore him, get him to beg to be with me, and then deny him. Yes, I was still fooling myself, but it seemed perfectly logical and justified at the time. I would regain my own power and control and he’d get the hint. If he didn’t get the hint it would still put me back at the helm of our bizarre relationship.

My mind was made up! I knew exactly what I was going to do. I would dress in the same skirt I wore when we met at the Renaissance Faire. My last boyfriend didn’t pay any attention to what I wore and that would give me an excuse to get upset at him. I would sharpen my hair with henna; I bet he’ll never notice! I ignored the fact that I already had the skirt and a matching quasi-medieval top picked out and laying on my bed.

I ignored the fact that I had already packed a bag that also included a chainmail halter top that I picked out and purchased online in the hopes that he’d like it. I ignored the fact that I already had printed out the guest pass to this Ren-faire. I desperately ignored the truth that I had fingered myself to no less than thirty orgasms over the past few days while thinking about him.

I did my hair, trimmed my pubic hair, and made certain that my body was perfectly soft and smooth. Not for him! I’m going to deny him that pleasure. I threw on some patchouli musk and teased my hair out all long and flowing and spent way too much time trying to get those gentle waves into my tresses. Not for him! I’m trying to fit in with the group. This is how the ladies look.

It was already late. I sped and ignored traffic laws. Although the sun was already beginning to hang low, it was still scorching hot. I didn’t care. I pulled the top of my car down so the late afternoon sun could add highlights to my henna-enhanced hair. I blasted my music, vainly trying to ignore the fact that I was choosing thematic music. Dio, Sabbath, and other rockers blasted and I sang along. Swords, angels, castles, and fantasy topics filled my ears.

I already mentioned it, but my mind was dominated by how we had met. I mused over this as I drove like a demon. As I drove to see him again, under the guise of ending it, I pulled up my skirt to give my legs some air.

Not tonight, Krystal! He cannot have any of this! You will not let him touch you. I continued playing out our first encounter in my mind.

It was the exact same skirt; a light forest green cotton one with lacy trim and a nice flair. I was also without panties, both then and currently. He wouldn’t notice it and I could feign being upset that he is so unobservant. That first day I had knotted the hem up high on my thigh to let in some air. My reverie excited me and I fingered myself as I drove. Traffic slowed up ahead and I came to a stop. My fingers did not stop. I thought about the red sash I was wearing that day; the one he stripped off my far-too-willing body within seconds of us meeting. He still has that sash.

Why am I sweating? Oh, because I’m stuck in traffic with what looks like an accident up ahead. It also doesn’t help that you have your hand buried between your legs and you’re breathing heavy. A loud horn shocked me out of my reverie.

A big truck had pulled up in the right lane while I was sitting there in traffic. The driver was obviously admiring the view. I pulled my hand out from “paradise” and, to get my mind off of him, I reached in my bag in the passenger seat and pulled out a white simple tank top. Just then traffic began moving. As I got into the clear and started moving at a good clip again I stripped off my white blouse as the heat, coupled with my back against the car seat, had saturated it.

Just as I got the top off and reached over to pull on the tank top the trucker caught up with me and blew his horn again. Not knowing what else to do I smiled and waved. He took a picture with his phone! For all I know I’m probably posted on “carlsuts.com” or something. If you see a flushed, topless redheaded woman waving, in a Volkswagen Cabriolet convertible while driving, that’s me.

Eventually, after getting lost two times despite having GPS on my phone, I found the place. I had hoped to be there around 8:30 or so but it was well after 9 o’clock when I arrived. I was shocked when I got there. This was private property and there were no Ren-faire signs or banners. It was easy, however, to discern that I was in the right locale.

I looked for somebody to take my guest pass, but nobody seemed interested. I approached the main throng of people, mostly lingering around a rickety-looking wooden platform. The man on the stage, dressed in medieval finery, announced that the “As it is written” auction was now over and that the receipts will be collected during the night and in the morning.

A few people greeted me, most of them smiled and waved. I looked for him but did not see him. I did, however, see Kiera. Kiera is a bottled redhead that just radiates sexuality. I’d met her before and we had some interesting conversations. I feel a kinship with her as her life experiences seem to parallel many of my own. She is also the reason why he and I will never work in the long run.

She smiled at me and waved me over. I approached, noting that she was getting a foot massage from one very muscular guy dressed in just pants and boots and she was leaning back against another man, wearing only a loincloth it seemed. He was massaging her neck and shoulders. She reclined against him, resting her feet on the other, like a goddess.

She greeted me. “Krystal, you made it. Glade didn’t think you were coming. He was really bummed out about it.”

You could have fooled me, I said inside my own head. “Where is he, anyway?” I asked. It was time for me to lay down the law with him.

She gestured lazily with one hand towards the tents and pavilions. I saw a group of people around a fire. “He’s up there enjoying his purchase, I imagine. Just look for the girls gathered around a single guy.”

She then turned to the man lying at her feet. “Slave, go get me some grapes and then get Krystal, here, a big tankard of honeyed wine and take it to her. Then I’ll let you massage my thighs.”

She turned to me with a big grin on her face. “I bought them at auction, aren’t they great?”

“You bought them?” I asked incredulously.

“It’s how we raise money for expenses. We write down what we’re willing to do for the highest bidder. It’s all consensual and the money keeps the group going for the next year. Tomorrow we get a new king; a new leader.”

Everything Glade had so casually said rushed back to me. “Oh, now I understand.”

She smiled at me. “I got a very good price to let somebody pour a bucket of water over my chemise while I sat on their lap.” She ran her hand over her white, thin, simple dress. “I went for almost a thousand dollars!”

She looked up towards the group of revelers. “Go get him!” She laughed to me. “I’ll have my love-slave bring you your wine. If you want anything else let me, or them, know.”

I wished I could loathe her. I wished I could be like her. She looks like sex on legs, she acts like a goddess queen, and she’s so friendly and outgoing. I trudged up the hill and bolstered my resolve to not let him have me. I was going to end it and make him suffer for what he does to me. How dare he reduce me to a submissive little girl that competes for his attention! How double-dare he make me love it! How triple-dare he do so without trying or meaning to! I’d show him! I would get very upset and I’d put him in his place. He would prostrate himself before my feet just like Kiera had her men doing. I am Krystal, hear me roar!

My roar died in my throat when I saw him.

If I had been searching for a reason to be angry with him, I had most certainly found one. He laid on his side, on the ground, one knee raised up and his head resting against his upright hand. His long hair hung to the ground. He was wearing knee-high moccasins and tattered jeans that showed the white strings over his thighs and knees. His torso was covered in a loose gauzy crinkled linen white tunic shirt with a laced neck. He looked like the cover of a romance novel. While the sight of him did grab my loins, it wasn’t what caused my blood to boil.

He also wore a thick leather collar around his neck. A chain was attached to that collar. That chain was attached to a pair of leather manacles. Those manacles were bound over the wrists of a lithe little blond with pouting lips and too much makeup. She wore a blue belly dancing outfit which consisted of a sequined bra and almost see-through harem pants. A broad belt, also sequined, covered her lady bits just enough to show some semblance of modesty. She was staring up at him with her big, brown, puppy dog eyes and smiling. She sat close to him although there was plenty of chain left so she didn’t need to languish so fucking close to my man! He and the woman chained to him, and obviously loving it, were bookended by a girl with raven hair and another redhead wearing tight leather pants and a poet shirt.

“What the fuck is this?” I demanded as soon as I got within ear-shot.

He turned and looked at me, not at all frazzled. He smiled at me. His perfectly crooked grin showed genuine delight at the sight of me.

OK, Krys, I said to myself. He won’t notice that you’re wearing the same skirt or that you changed your hair! Use that to end this once and for all before he says or does something to make you melt! Be strong, be strong, be strong!

“Krystal, I’m so happy you made it. This is like our most important event of the year and it wouldn’t be the same without you!” He sprung up and ran over to me. That slut of his had to jump up to follow him. He looked me over and took my hand so delicately. He then kissed it while piercing my soul with those motely eyes of his.

I melted. Damn him.

He answered my accusation as if it were nothing. “Oh, this,” he pointed at his neck. “This is my slave collar.” He beamed broadly and proudly.

“And I’m his slave!” said miss little blond bimbo. “He saved me from Sir Maris.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” I began. “I drive for over three hours to see you, end up flashing every goddess-damned trucker on the freeway, and melt in the heat only to discover that you’ve hooked up with somebody else-“.

His impish smile cut me off with a glance. “You flashed truckers?” he asked with delight. “I’d love to see that!”

Not this time, I told myself. Not this time!

“First off,” he continued. “You said that you weren’t going to come. I figured that our particular breed of fun wasn’t to your liking.” He paused as I thought up a good retort.

He continued before I could think of one. “Secondly, I haven’t ‘hooked up’ with anyone.” Blond bitch pouted at that. I ignored her. He either didn’t notice or ignored her obvious come-hither looks towards him.

“She’s only with me right now because she got too caught up in the spirit of the ‘as it is written’ auction; and Maris,” he pointed to the man he fought the day we first met. “Maris would try to make her do things she might not want to do.“

“I, um, I’m sorry,” I said to him very sheepishly. “I saw her chained to you and I thought-“

“Don’t worry about it. I’m protecting the lady’s honor, that’s all,“ he paused and looked at me. “Did you change your hair or does the setting sun always make you look so beautiful?”

You are an angry woman, Krys! Don’t let him hypnotize you into falling for his crap. Ignore your heart going pitter-patter! I resolved to strengthen my resolve. Yes, it sounded just as silly to me when I said it to myself as it did when I wrote it just now.

His eyes made me want to surrender to him. “You’re wearing that same skirt, aren’t you? Paradise.” He smiled again and let his tongue run across his lips ever so slightly. I am actually quite fond of that tongue.

Damn him! Why does he have to be so perfect?

Rather than end it right then and there, I found myself gleefully sitting down beside him and his bimbo. The bimbo’s name was Sylva and she was barely twenty-two. She was also quite sweet. The situation was explained to me.

This was not a public event; it was their most important annual meeting. They chose a new leader, by combat it seems; there’s more to it than that, but that is the gist of it. They also raised their own funds by auctioning off items and having a “human auction” amongst themselves. I was told that it is how they raise money for legal fees, permits, insurances, and such. They don’t allow “mundanes” (which is what they call non-members of their group) to pay, lest an outside influence attempts to control them.

The human auction, “as it is written,” was simple. One can barter any agreement, between consenting adults, in private and merely pay the king, or they can go, in public, to the highest bidder. The “tasks” to be performed must be in writing and adhered to. All the funds collected finance the group. The only “rule” they have is that what is auctioned in public must be completed in public. Glade, my lover, promised to wash the hair of the highest bidder while wearing a slave collar. An added stipulation was that he wears the collar for the entire evening.

“So how is it that you are chained to Sylva, then?” I asked. It seemed logical and I was warming up to her at that point.

“Show her your writ,” Glade said.

She did. The paper had the word “Dance” written upon it, but beneath that, in what was obviously a different pen, was written “naked.” Beneath that the words “Slave for the night” were also added.

“I kind of got caught up in the moment,” she looked at me with an expression of “you know how it is.” The bad thing is that I know exactly what it is like to get caught up in the moment; all too well.

My lover further explained that Sir Maris was bidding very high and he would have made her get naked in front of everyone and then probably assume that the “Slave” rider meant sex-slave. So my knight in demonic armor outbid him to work out a way to fulfill her “as it is written” promise without “defiling” the lady’s honor. I wanted to be very upset over this but found myself laughing.

Finally, he kissed me at the perfect moment; eliminating the need for me to keep hinting and hinting that I wanted it. He caressed me and I began to enjoy myself. Sylva joined in at his “command”. She had magic hands. The other revelers kept asking my lover when she was going to dance.

“Soon,” was always his reply.

I noted, once more, that he was different than the rest of the group. To me, he seems perfectly at ease, as if this was his real life. I asked him if he had worked out how to protect poor young Sylva—she had really grown on me. I promoted her from Blond Slut up to kindred spirit—from the leering perverts. He only shrugged.

Night fell and grew cool. “I’m getting a bit chilly,” I said to both of them.

“A-ha!” Glade exclaimed. He kissed me and even managed to squeeze my behind as he did so. It was about time he noted that I’m a hot-blooded woman! “You’re a genius,” he said to me.

He turned to Sylva. “Sylva, my most beautiful slave, would you be so kind to go into my pavilion and retrieve my cloak? Please turn on my magic lantern and stand there for a couple of seconds, first. I want to check something.” He undid her manacles and he watched her go. She had an amazing behind, and I must admit that I wish I had her body.

“You have a stunning intellect,” he complimented me. “I would have never thought of that.”

“Thought of what?” I was confused.

“Just watch,” he smirked out to me as he took me into his arms. I could feel his physical strength and I leaned back into him hard, trying to bury myself in his scent.

She entered one of those round tents, set apart from the others. Of course he’d pitch his tent away from everyone else. A light came on from inside and I could see her silhouette clearly as she mulled around inside.

“Shadow Show,” he said to me. “You, my wonderful lady,” he kissed my hand I found myself cooing at his actions. “You inspired the idea.”

She picked up what looked like a blanket in the shadows cast by the light and then turned and bent down. The light went off and she emerged carrying something.

We watched her approach as the others were chanting that they wanted to see her dance. He fed me a piece of fruit and I made sure to nibble on his fingers a bit as well. I had forgotten all about being angry with him so I could end it. I just wanted to be with him. He was so confident, so mischievous, and so comforting.

He had totally destroyed all of my plans to get upset with him. I tried to find any reason to break it off. However, all I could think of when his hand brushed my leg was, higher, higher you fool! Can’t you tell that I’m dripping from your touch?

Sylva came up and Glade took his cloak from her, thanking her, and wrapped me in its warmth. He then smiled and addressed the crowd of people milling about.

“It is time, my friends,” he said to everyone in the vicinity. Heads turned. “It is now time for Sylva to dance.”

I glanced at her and she seemed very nervous. Even in the soft glow of the firelight, I could see the color drain from her face. The people started making lots of noise with catcalls of “Take it off,” “About time.”

My lover continued with a broad smirk on his face. “However,“ he paused until the others quieted down a bit. “However, because I am an honorable man,” the guffaws cut him off. He stood there basking in their ridicule and jibing.

“Because Sylva,” he took her hand and pulled her close to him. Did she really need to stand so close to him? I wanted to pull her at least a foot away from him. Better yet, social distancing you man-stealing wench!

He went on. “Because Sylva wrote ‘Naked’ in the heat of the moment we need to honor what is written while keeping the lady’s virtue intact.” The others nodded or grunted in affirmation. Even Maris seemed to be enjoying the moment. He saluted my beau with his drink.

“I cannot take what is not freely given,” he bowed before Sylva. “And as much as I desire,” he seemed to stress the word a little too much, but then I like it when he does that to me. “To see her nude, it would be a dishonor.”

“Welcher, Welch, no take-backs,” the others exclaimed.

“No, no,” Glade told them as he shared a conspiratorial wink with me and Sylva. “She shall dance, and naked as it is written. In full view of all, and then be my slave for the night!”

Applause and more noisemaking erupted. He calmed them down with gestures. “However, she shall dance nude in my tent, with the light on. We shall admire her outer beauty in shadows and light!”

Complaints erupted. He waited them out, smiling all the while.

“She shall give us a nude shadow show for our appreciation and delight,” he turned to Sylva. “Her exceptionally sexy, lithe, body will still be displayed, but I have chosen to save her from the embarrassment.” He then turned back to everyone else. “And we won’t sully the young maiden’s image.”

He paused until the complaints and cheers subsided. “I have decided that M’Lady Krystal will accompany Sylva into the tent to ensure the contract has been fulfilled.”

He weathered their wrath. He basked in it. “Now, now,” he said. “The rules state that I can dictate exactly how the writ shall be fulfilled. This satisfies every condition and keeps her honor intact. Unless the king says otherwise,” he gestured to the man that had previously been on the stage. “This is how it shall be.”

The others pled to the king. He sat there, obviously inebriated, smiling, and listened to their complaints. Then he spoke. “I allow this and suggest that all others harken to his deeds of honor. All of you speak of it, he lives it.” The king then added, “That is if the fine lady accepts the proposal to stand in Galde’s stead to make sure her writ of promise is fulfilled.”

I turned to my lover. “You could have asked me about this first!”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Come on, how would you feel if the tables were turned? Besides, I already know that you’re into ladies.” His smile grew to Cheshire proportions.

“And what if I don’t want to?” I said back to him making a good impression of being very, very miffed.

He shrugged. “Then I have no choice but to go in there myself, and watch.” He began to get up.

There was no way Sylva was going to strip for my man! “I’ll do it!” I shouted.

Chaos erupted at my shout. The king shouted for minstrels and drummers and Sylva looked very relieved. The musicians started playing something medieval-sounding with a strong and steady beat. Sylva took my hand and pulled me towards Glade’s pavilion. I wanted to hate him for putting me in that spot but found myself enjoying the naughtiness and the spirit of revelry. I had to admit that I really liked these people, in general.

“Slow down,” I said to Sylva. She was practically running towards his pavilion. “You need to take your time, tease them a bit. If you make them happy, you’ll be able to make them do anything you want for at least the rest of the night.”

“Yeah,“ she said. Her voice seemed a bit husky. “I would have danced for him, you know, but I think I really like the idea of dancing for you.”

“You like me?” I was a bit stunned. I was pretty cold to her in the beginning.

“Yeah,” she smiled back at me as we slowly walked hand in hand. “You’re so sexy and hot and so together! If you weren’t obviously so attached to Glade, I’d seduce you myself.”

WOW! Was all that coursed through my mind.

We got into the tent and she pulled out a pipe, lit it, and took a long draw. She handed it to me. When in Rome! After maybe a minute or so of preparation the mood, the atmosphere, the music, and the other things began to envelop us both.

She sat me down in front of her. I was sitting on a pile of furs, his furs. She swayed to the music; her hips gyrating in ways that I didn’t know were possible. She could definitely dance. She was powerful competent, beautiful, and so sexy. I licked my lips and forgot all about being trying to be mad at my lover.

I sat there mesmerized, forgetting all about the boisterous party going on outside. I was drawn in. Then she unclasped her top. Her breasts were much smaller than I had thought; her top definitely had some padding to it. She danced like that for a small eternity. She straddled my lap, getting so close to me.

“This is so much fun,” she whispered into my ear as she crossed over the line between a belly dancer and a lap dancer. She kissed my cheek and then whirled away. I wanted to grab her and pull her back to me. She beckoned me to her and I rose, entranced.

We danced together and I laughed as she pulled off my top and said that now we match. I then pulled her harem pants down myself. She was shaved bare.

“The agreement was for nude, not topless,” I said to her. To match, she pulled off my skirt and slowly knelt down in front of me as she did. I was reminded that there was a crowd outside watching us, our shadows. That reminder came as a loud eruption of total and utter chaos outside.

“Let’s do some shadow play,” I found myself saying. I put my hand on the top of her head and gyrated my hips back and forth in an exaggerated parody of receiving oral sex from her. I helped her up and we dance together.

The drums from outside matched our pace as we danced. Our hips swayed and impacted each other to the rhythm. We turned to face each other with our nude bodies painted in shadow for our onlookers outside. Our hands reached out to each other, arm’s length away, with just our fingertips making contact as she swayed like a lusty goddess. I tried to match her movements. Our hands clasped and we pulled ourselves towards each other and ended in an embrace and a passionate kiss.

Her hands traveled down my back and I matched her explorations with my own. Our kiss grew hot and wet and the drums began beating hard and fast. They matched my pulse. We collapsed on the furs in a heap and just lay there, holding hands and giggling like crazy. We received almost two solid minutes of whoops, hollers, pounding, and applause.

I went to get dressed as Sylva pulled an entirely different one-piece dress from a bag at the edge of the tent. “What are your clothes doing in here?” I said to her, feeling jealous once more.

You don’t get jealous, Krys! I reminded myself. My thoughts contrasted with my emotions.

“The agreement in my writ was for the night,” she smiled back at me. “He said that I should put my things in here just to keep up appearances.”

“Appearances?” I was close to fuming. Finally! I could finally get angry with him over something and break the spell he has over me.

“Yes,” she paused with sudden understanding showing on her cute face. “Oh! Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s into me,” she said sounding very disappointed. “He turned down girls much hotter than me tonight. I was super-jealous when you showed up, but not anymore. You’re so sexy, and cool, and so beautiful!”

“I must apologize to you, “ I found myself saying. “I really wanted to hate you. I was afraid you were trying to steal him from me.”

She smoothed her dress and took another draw on the pipe, handing it to me. “I was,” she half-coughed out. “I’m so happy this is legal now!”

“But not anymore?”

“Oh that’s right, you’re new! Glade pretty much has his pick of the girls here. You just have to hope that he picks you!”

I eyed my chainmail halter top sitting atop my own bag. “He definitely does change the rules for ladies, doesn’t he?”

She laughed at that. “Yes! He’s immune to pussy power.”

“Pussy power,” I repeated beginning to laugh. We laughed at that and she hugged me.

“May I ask you something?” She nodded. “Does he make other women turn into blabbering idiots vying for his attention, or is it just me?”

She laughed a real heartfelt laugh. “Welcome to the club!”

“One thing, Sylva. Do you happen to have a loincloth I could borrow?”

She did and it mostly fit although it was a bit too small for me to be truly modest. That was fine; I was no longer in the mood to be modest. I’d just danced nude with a total stranger while a throng of men and women watched my image through the thin canvas. I was caught up in the heat of the moment despite lecturing myself for days that I was going to show him and leave him in the lurches. She told me that I looked hot as I helped her with her own cinch belt.

Then, with our arms around each other, we strolled out of the pavilion to the admiring applause of everyone else. Glade was sitting cross-legged on the ground in a spot that afforded him an excellent view. There were also two women around him, again; one on either side…the sluts! As soon as he saw us he stood and screamed out his appreciation; a literal scream pointed to the sky gods. He kissed me hard and hot. I loved it. He then delicately kissed Sylva on the cheek and thanked her. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to the king who had likewise moved to a position that had also given him a fantastic view.

The king said, “I call the writ honored, with an excellent bonus.”

Hand in hand Sylva and I bowed to everyone. She then leaned in and kissed me. It was raw passion and lust; hot, wet, and torrid.

“I love your new outfit,” he said to me. “I’m a fool to have thought that you couldn’t look any more ravishing than you did earlier.”

After that, the party atmosphere began to wind down. Some walked off for either sleep or more private action. I was aching to go to my lover’s tent and break in his furs. However, as always, he seemed to not be in any hurry. He did release Sylva from her “bondage” and I was quick to grab the manacles and clasp them around my wrists.

Sylva had warned me! If I wasn’t filling his mind, some other wench would try. My online friend, Matt, was correct. This was lots of fun. Instead of ending it between us, I found myself submitting to him with enthusiasm.

“Will you be the master of this lowly slave-girl, tonight,” I said to him, practically begging.

“I accept the slave-girl’s offer,” he smiled out.

Then he really started pushing my hot buttons. He “commanded” his slave to go and get him a drink. When I got back with his drink he then told me to go get another, then a third. When I arrived back the third time he told me that he wasn’t really thirsty, he was just wondering if I was wearing anything under the loincloth.

“Only what is yours to command,” I said as I brazenly stood up and pulled up the front to show him my newly trimmed and shaped hair. Never before had I so wantonly just told a man that I was his to do with as he pleased. Now I was doing so in front of about twenty strangers. The others pounded their cups on the ground or their fists into their chest to show their appreciation of my pussy on display.

He licked his lips when he saw that. “I have burned that image into my mind since I first saw you on the battlefield. Each time I need to remind myself that my fond vision falls short of reality.”

“Show the others,” he said grinning and drinking me in with his eyes. “You are far too beautiful to not share the art that is you with everyone.”

Damn him, again! Why does he have to be; be so perfect for me?

Sylva was talking with another young woman, the raven-haired woman from before. She left her standing there and came up to us. “With your leave, I’m going to go for a swim,” she said.

“By all means,” he said to her. “You are not beholden to me. Feel free to do whatever your heart desires.” She leaned in to kiss him and then thought better of it and looked at me for approval. I nodded. She kissed him gently and slowly. She then turned to me and laid another one on me as well. I sort of hoped that the camp would go silent but while people looked on admiringly and respectfully, nobody paid any heed. She grabbed her waiting friend by the hand and they strolled off together.

“There’s a pool here?” I asked.

“No,” he smiled out. “Pools aren’t period. There is a stream with a small lagoon of sorts where the water is still fresh and clean. Most of us like to swim there, or bathe if we have biodegradable soap.”

“Oh,” I said. “Sounds like fun.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Well I am a little sleepy,” I hinted. He didn’t take the hint. He is oblivious to such things, it seems.

I sighed. “Okay then, let’s go check it out, but then to bed. You should violate your slave before you drift off to sleep.”

“Aah!” he said, finally understanding.

We walked slowly through a small wood with a winding path. He explained a lot of the features, mentioned that the people who own the land and they are long-time members. He paused and took in the sights of the midnight woods. To me, in my state and state of arousal, it seemed like a fairy wood from some storybook.

He held me, we kissed. Our hands explored each other’s bodies. We arrived at a small clearing where a small stream passed. A small pool of maybe a few yards in diameter had been dug out and ringed with flat rocks. There were a couple of benches placed nearby and some flowering shrubs.

It was beautiful and I wanted one like it. What was more beautiful was that Sylva, my blond now-partner-in-crime, was nude and lying on her back on the near side of the glade. She was propped up on her elbows and looked like a vision. Her friend was nude from the waist down and had her head buried between Sylva’s legs. Sylva was slowly undulating in rapture. I had a quick intake of breath. It was hot, it was torrid, and it was so beautiful. I squeezed my lover’s hand.

“Oh shit,” he whispered to me. “We should go and give them their privacy.”

“Do you think they’d mind too much if we just watched for a minute?”

“You are so naughty. I love it. Just for a minute, though. How’d you feel if others spied on you while you were in the throes of passion?”

I took his hand and forced it over my pussy so he could feel the heat. “It turns me on to be watched.” I removed my hand from his but his hand stayed there. His fingers found my swollen clit effortlessly and I spread my legs to give him better access.

I watched the scene before me and felt his hand working its magic on me. Without even thinking I moaned out, very loudly. With a start Sylva looked up and her friend stopped and looked in our direction. We must have been a sight with me leaning back into him; one arm snaked around behind me to hold him against me and the other one clutching my breast through my chainmail top.

After a moment, Sylva just said “Hi Krystal,” and then she pulled her friend's head back between her legs and laid back on her elbows. As her hips began to buck a little she turned her head towards me and pursed her lips in a kissing gesture. That was too much for me.

I had become extremely aroused over everything and my pent-up desire erupted into an earth-shattering orgasm. My legs grew weak and if it hadn’t been for my lover’s arms around me I would have fallen, in bliss, to the ground. He held me upright and his hand enhanced my orgasm. He could somehow read the reaction of my body and, as the waves crested, he’d tease them higher and higher. As the waves subsided he’d lessen the pressure and pace and then build me back up again in no time at all. I didn’t just have one mind-blowing orgasm; he made me have one earth-shattering cum followed by dozens of cascading orgasms. I almost passed out from pleasure.

By the time I had come down Sylva and her friend had switched positions. I reached out when I could stand on my feet and grabbed his manhood. He was rock hard. “Take me to your tent and fuck the shit of me, please. I need it hot, deep, and hard right now.”

He slowly led me back to his campsite. We stopped several times to enjoy each other’s company and flesh. He laid me down in a soft patch and licked me to another orgasm about halfway through the small wood. As we admired the stars he ran his hands all over my body. When we near his pavilion I stripped nude in front of the few serious revelers and beckoned him inside.

He reminded me that I was his slave girl and manacled me to the center pole. “You are under my control.” He stated.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes,” I moaned out with pleasure.

“Yes,” I screamed when he entered me. His girth filled me up.

“YES!” I cried out when he hit the perfect pace and depth.

“YES, YES! OH FUCK YES!” I shrieked when he caused a vaginal orgasm.

“More! Please more. I’ll do anything, just give me more,” I begged of him; ashamed that he can control me like that but loving it.

“No, please, don’t stop!” I begged more when Sylva entered the tent.

Sylva watched us and began touching herself after a minute or so. “I need to taste you,” I said to her.

She withdrew her fingers and brought them to my lips. I lapped on them with abandon. “All of you! I want to lick it. I want you to cover my face as he fucks me like his slave!” I was out of control and loving it.

I came again as he kept up that pace and she drenched my lips with her juices. She pulled off of me then and Glade leaned in and kissed me. Sylva knelt beside us and reached between our connected bodies. She stroked my clit and his very thick shaft as he fucked me into blissful oblivion. She made me cum again; in the middle of my orgasm I felt him shoot deep inside of me. We all collapsed into a heap of bodies on the furs.

We slept then and I awoke with him gone and Sylva holding me tightly. I went out to see where he had run off to only to find him brewing coffee over a small fire and tending to his demonic-looking armor.

“Good morning, my goddess,” he smiled at me, looking as if he had just gotten the best night’s sleep, ever.

This day, the Fourth of July was their “Crown Tournament.” Sylva, Kiera, and I spent the day together. That is its own story, but it was very educational. Glade was involved in the tournament but never made me feel ignored or cast aside. He also lavished admiration and attention on his “harem.”

Unlike the day we met, he did not win the tournament. He bowed out to the king in the semi-finals. I was told that it has something to do with personal honor and that he did it to show his support of the current crown. I noted that he still wore my sash around his arm.

The night following the tournament, and the current king won if you’re interested, was even crazier than the night before. I got back home late Monday afternoon, exhausted and glowing. I saw the pile of flagstones in my yard that I had intended to lay over the holiday. The stones didn’t get laid but I sure did.

I failed in my mission to break it off with him. I, again, found myself caught up in his spell and threw myself at him like spineless nympho deeply smitten. Next time, I’ll break it off. I told myself. The next time! Who am I fooling?