Irish Step Dance

The Renaissance Pleasure Faire, is a special time of the year for nerds, dorks and geeks across California to all converge and just be at peace with who they are. The Renaissance Pleasure Faire was normally for history nerds to dress up and play pretend that they were living in the time of the Renaissance, even going as far as to have historically accurate costumes. The memories made there became so important and so extremely precious.

However, it wasn't terribly uncommon for the Renaissance Pleasure Faire to offer such days as 'Time Travelers Day' for the Whovians and Trekkies, and even the odd horror nerd here and there who'd dress as Ash, and 'Fae Day' for the lovers of fairies, fauns and other sorts of fae. Fae Day was her favourite time to go and visit.

Though she rarely adorned herself with wings and mushrooms, her older sister - who took to the days with no special themes masked and robed as a Plague Doctor for the dark ages - discouraged any fancy when it came to the historical faire.

But she didn't allow her older sister's view discourage her in the slightest, she just enjoyed the fae, but her real reason for loving to go to the Renaissance Pleasure Faire was because she got to adorn herself in a gown from a Scotland-only remembered in the history books, of a history rarely taught anymore. A long sheer white dress with long bell sleeves to hide her inked skin.

Over the white-as-snow dress, tied up the front with a golden ribbon, was a green overdress, open at the bottom and low from the top to show the white dress underneath. It was flowy, fancy, and fun to dance in. She gathered the hem of her dress in her hands and hurried to the stage, before the show of the Irish Stepping, they gave lessons in Irish Step Dance.

She had arrived in time, and climbed upon the sagging wooden stage, standing between two of the male dances, heavy-set older men dressed in tartan kilts. This was not her first class, those looking for a first lesson were welcome to come by between shows for a quick lesson, so they started the music and expected everyone to keep with the beat properly, dancing in a line.

***

The stages at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire had all seen better days, worn wood beaten down by plague-carrying vermin, the heat from the unbearable summers, and the rare rain storms left the wooden platforms worn and sagging painfully under the weight of any actor who glided across the uneven planks, which is why they had stage hands, but not in the classic way.

Stagehands at the Renaissance Pleasure Faires were those who'd keep the stages from collapsing during a show. The Irish Step Dancing stage was no exception to this need, especially that stage, with the pounding feet knocking hundreds of Scottish and Irish pounds into the worn wood from Faire opening to Faire closing.

He hated it when they'd start the lessons between the shows before asking if it was safe to do so before any stagehands could check for any structural damage that could lead to an injury, he understood it was an annoying task, but it was a task, a question, to keep all those involved with the show safe. He had been standing on the elevator platform that would ascend him to the stage through a trap door, so he could see if there was any top damage that needed to be taken care of, but doing it now only meant he'd get in the way of the dancers.

Another stagehand waved him off as he went on his lunch break, carelessly smacking the elevator platform button, sending him on a slow ascend to the trapdoor, to those pounding feet.

It wasn't a long ride, nary not more than a few moments, the fear of what would happen pinned him to the platform, would a dancer trip and fall? Would they even notice him, and continue to dance upon his face?

Or would they catch a glimpse of him, and move back in one well-rehearsed line of dancers?

The elevator platform's motor had faded away, and only his face was exposed, filling the trapdoor hole, a shadow swallowed his face and he looked up to see where he was in the line of graceful dancers and what towered above him like a giantess over a village, was a pair of soft pink panties, hidden beneath a pure white dress, a booming sound rang out in both of his ears as the woman's shoes clashed down on either side of his head.

He watched as one foot stood on pointe and quickly caught a glimpse of her second small foot mirroring the other one, another jump no doubt. And that's what happened, he watched as her dress billowed up, sunshine creeping onto her pale legs and warming her pale tattooed skin.

His eyes grew wide and wild as her legs knocked together, crossing at her delicate ankles, those black shoes pointed straight down at his face. The feet free fell from the sky like a shooting star falling to the earth, landing upon his nose, he wanted to emit a cry of pain, though what came out was a muffled gasp as the feet pressed flat once more covering his mouth and his eyes as the woman who towered above him bowed her knees, pressing all her weight onto his face.

Using his face as a springboard, she launched into the air once more and came crashing down as the music picked up once more, a jovial fiddle, and working on the stage, he knew too well what the plucky happy Irish notes meant.

Fast kicks and stomps, as fast as one's ankles could have them go, and they would unfold upon his face. Again and again, and even again, his face was contorted under well-worn threadbare rubber soles of her small dancing shoes, he could feel the deep heat of bruises that would soon darken upon his face like small storms. He willed the song to keep up its maddening lilt to keep her dancing at this pace upon his face, small, quick little light jumps littered the routine, offering him a slight reprise, allowing the cool breeze to softly kiss his punished flesh.

The hole where his face had found itself being a dance mat for the towering dancer above him started to feel loose, he raised his hands to the bottom of the stage, where he felt the stage was starting to give out under their weighty stomping and jumps.

He hoped she got to at least finish the song without a single hitch coming to her routine but before he could finish his thoughts about her dance upon his face, his world went to black. A loud cracking noise filled his ears and the shriek of a female intertwined with the crack that still rang out in his ears.

His face felt heavy, he suddenly became all too aware of each bruise, he was able to count without a mirror the number of bruises that littered his face like a beach in the summertime.

He could feel the raw and sore scratches upon the bridge of his nose and his brow from the shoe's sole traction, he could feel the red rings around each scratch that almost begged for a bath of bactine to be poured upon them, but how was he able to count and feel so intensely now?

Had she hurt him so bad she took away his sense of sight? No, he saw cracks of light starting to come to him, and his eyes looked up focused upon the vision above him. Those soft pink panties had come crashing down upon his face, pinning him to the floor beneath the stage, the entire weight of the dancer pressing into his skull. Just beyond the cotton-covered butt and crotch, he saw the massive hole in the stage.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there!"