Ravaged at the Renaissance Festival

"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 http://cc.forum.igg.com/topic?ctid=292815&t=1589700877

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.

Ravaged at the Renaissance Festival

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