My thoughts were scrambled and had been all day. I was worried that things would change now that we’d married.
What if he expects me to be monogamous? Can I do that? If I could only have one cock in all the world, I’d choose his, because it’s magic. Will he expect me to not have any female lovers? He knows how I crave pussy as well as cock. What did I just fucking do?
Woven through all the worry that my intense, persistent sexuality would ruin things, again, was this overwhelming joy. Triumph conquered trepidation.
Forget all of that, Missus Glade Blackfeather. Wait, no. Mrs. Krystal Greene-Blackfeather. You’re fucking married! It happened…not dreaming.
As my fears evaporated into phantoms, more tears flowed. Glade always manages to surprise me; having a wedding all pre-planned like that was definitely over the top in the mushy romance department. It wasn’t so much that he went through all the trouble, planning, and expense; it was that he thought of it, for me. Only a complete moron would have refused. I may be a moron, but I’m an incomplete one. The ring on my finger was real.
I was headed down to the campsite to see my new husband and partake in the celebration. The Ren Faire had gone well that day, all the worries of the day before long forgotten. As I rounded the bend in the path, into the woods where our subgroup within the group had set up camp, the scene before me made me pause. I’m always amazed.
A line of wild shrubs, bushes, and other foliage offered a screen of privacy from prying eyes. A path, twisting and turning through the undergrowth, gave way to a small clearing, no more than thirty yards across. Walled with mature trees, their leaves all vibrant shades of deep, spring green and lined with tents, a roaring fire in the center lit up the entire clearing. The fire played with substance and shadow, casting a dream-like glow over everything.
Having stepped off the beaten path, I had entered another world. There, free to be their complete selves without worry or stress, the sight of my friends was a reminder that life is as good as you make it. They made life perfect, somehow freed to be their true selves through roleplaying their medieval counterparts in a fantasy Utopia of their own creation.
Queen Kiera, her hair dyed blond with a red fade, sat on a velvet-covered throne, King Tim at her feet, sucking her toes. One of her legs was thrown over the arm of her throne, her bare pussy, pubic hair perfectly shaped into a narrow thatch, on display as she idly fingered her clit. One of her “subjects” fed her grapes and held her chalice out for her while she stroked his cock.
My friend and lover, Sylva, danced through the milieu, still wearing the dancer’s skirt, a see-through, gauzy scarf wrapped around her breasts like a halter. Others mingled about, chatting with each other, laughing, and carousing. Some were in various stages of undress, others being sexual with each other, but still, others just enjoying the tranquil serenity of this perfect moment. My husband was off to one side, wearing a white poet’s shirt loosely tied down the front, and black pants with his ever-present moccasins on his feet. He and Reginald, his opponent earlier, were passing a drinking horn between them, laughing and congratulating each other over their prior combat.
“She’s here,” one of my friends shouted. All heads turned towards me.
One of the infinite things I love about my husband is that every time he looks at me, it’s as if it were the first time he’s ever laid eyes on me, and he’s seeing the most desirable woman in the universe. This time was no exception. Additionally, he doesn’t just look at you or stare; his hypnotic, hazel eyes lined with gray see into your soul, turn off your brain, and light a fire in your pussy. Despite the warmth of the night, the heat of the fire, and the volcano erupting between my legs, my nipples grew taut and hard, pressing against that thin cotton.
Shooting an arrow into my heart, his crooked, roguish smile, filled with horny enticement, beckoned me. I bounced over to him, still crying but filled with exuberance. I leaped into his arms, throwing my hands around his neck, my thighs around his torso, our lips meeting in a long, passionate kiss that boiled away my blood and soul, making the world around me fade into the ether.
His hands ran up my legs, exposing my flesh to anyone that cared to look, moving to my ass and squeezing it with the exactly perfect amount of pressure and urgency to make my pussy gush.
“Did you mean it?” I asked, breaking our kiss. “Nothing will change.”
Rather than verbally respond, my husband peeled me away from his torso, setting me down as if I were weightless. A mischievous smile broke across his lips, a mirthful wink accompanying it. Devouring me with his eyes and soul, so intensely that the aura of his passion caressed me, he reached out with one hand, he grabbed one side of my slutty, white top, and pulled it open. The ties ripped away, ruining the accursed garment, and exposing my bare breasts and hard nipples.
Gently plucking the full drinking horn from Reginald’s hands, my husband poured the cool, viscous, sticky liquid all over my chest. It slowly ran over my hardened nipples, coating my tits and stomach.
Glade shouted, “Who wants to lick mead off the bride’s boobs?” Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he asked me, “Convinced?”
I had no time to respond. My new husband watched with obvious lust and pleasure as my arms were pulled behind my back, causing my tits to jut forward, openly and proudly displayed. Sylva gripped my arms, whispering, “I’m so happy for you,” into my ear; moments later, her lips were kissing my neck, sucking gently on my flesh.
My feet were pulled out from under me, my entire body being held, carried by my horny friends. They laid me on a soft blanket in front of the fire, poured wine and more mead over my body, and all of them began licking the liquid from my steamy flesh. A dozen tongues licked the drink off me while lips sucked on my body, teeth nibbling gently at my ignited flesh. All I could do was moan in ecstasy, wrapped in passionate luxury as the center of attention.
Through languid eyes I saw Glade watching me, approving. “I love you for what you are, not despite it.” His voice held respect, acceptance, approval, and so much passion that just the sound of it thrust me close to orgasm.
“Cold,” I screamed in surprise and mild shock. My entire lower half had been suddenly doused with cold, red wine. Kiera, her dress a translucent, slutty mockery of royal finery, straddled my legs, a newly-emptied bottle in her hand.
Kicking my legs apart, spreading them, she knelt between them, a hungered, Cheshire Cat grin on her lust-riddled face. She began at my feet, her lips slowly sucking the red vino from my body. Her hands immediately shot up to my pussy, her fingers playing between my soaked cunt lips, flicking my clit as I screamed in delight.
More wine, more mead, and more fingers, hands, lips, and tongues were added to my body. I was lost in rapture, being serviced by at least a dozen people. The king joined his queen, sucking on my lower half, concentrating on my toes and ankles as she climbed over and beside me, fingering her slit as she licked, sucked, and bit my clit.
“Oooh, unngh, fuck, aaah,” was all I could manage. The multiple sensations of being physically devoured by so many was too much for my mind to take. My senses were overwhelmed, every nerve in my body sent reeling into the sweet oblivion of horny release.
I had been horny, to begin with, although the day’s events pushed those feelings off to one side. No longer willing to be denied, I surrendered all of myself to pleasure, an intense orgasm ripping through my entire body. I screamed so loudly that my impassioned moans echoed through the wood, my limbs flailing so much that the others had to hold me down. Wave after wave of endorphin-laced perfection rolled through my body. Stars exploded with the fury of my orgasm, followed by the comforting blackness of the world dissolving around me.
Floating on soft, horny clouds, my body slowly sank back down to earth. I became aware of hands still caressing my nude flesh, but I was surrounded by people.
“Stroke those cocks, men. Your queen commands it,” Kiera decreed. King Tim was seated, tailor fashion, on the ground. Kiera stood before him, one of her hands buried in his hair. She was thrusting his mouth against her pussy, humping his face, her other hand holding the hem of her skimpy skirt up.