Dressing for the Renaissance Faire always gets me wet. I slide the off-the-shoulder blouse over my head and lace up the front loosely. Then the long petticoat and overskirt. Next is the garter belt and then the stockings, though they are not strictly from the proper historical period. I'm not a stickler for accuracy, but I do leave off the panties, since ladies back then didn't have them. I'll wear tall leather boots as well, since the grounds are always muddy. Finally, I put on my corslet and lace it up tight, pressing my breasts up and out. I love the feeling of vulnerability this gives me, like any man could reach out and fondle me at his whim, though I am usually quite shy.
With my hair hanging down my back, my pussy slippery with anticipation and a cape swirling around me, I'm ready to go.
The first thing do to when I arrive is go to the tavern and get some mead to warm me up. The Faire is in the Autumn, so I'm enjoying the way the cold makes my nipples hard, as they peek out over the edge of my corslet. My breasts are very round and white, and my nipples are very pink, so they are clearly visible through the white cotton of my blouse. I am already attracting some attention from the men in the tavern, though I'm a little nervous about being this obvious.
As I sit with my drink, I can hear a small knot of men talking about me -- they're deciding which of them will approach my table to talk with me. It's a short argument, as the biggest of the men is clearly the Alpha. He is tall and broad, wearing a kilt and all the trappings, and his hair is wild and dark. His eyes are dark, too, and they hold my gaze with a commanding ferocity.
"Come with me," he says, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. His friends look surprised as I follow the dark man from the tavern, but his touch has sent an electric ripple through me and have no wish to resist. As we walk with his arm over my shoulder and his fingertips flicking my nipple, he tells me his name is Collum, and that he is taking me to his booth, where he sells the leather goods that he makes. I blush at the looks we get because of his fondling, but it also excites me to know that he can't keep his hands off me.
By the time we arrive at the booth, my legs are weak with anticipation and my juices are flowing down my thighs. Collum steps just inside the shelter and draws me against his body, pressing his lips down on mine as he wraps his arm around me and swings me up to the countertop, next to his display of belts and wristers. There's no-one in the booth, but the front is open for anyone to see or to come in at any time. He doesn't care, and when I protest, he snakes his hand under my skirts and slides a finger effortlessly into my honey-coated cunt.
His mouth claims one breast while his other hand grips my shoulder hard enough to make me stay where I am. When I whimper in need and arch to press more of my body into his grasp, he forces his finger further into me and adds another, pushing and pulling, in and out while I writhe in an agony of pleasure and embarrassment. I beg him to wait until we're somewhere private, but he just slides his thumb over my clit and presses it in tiny circles until I can't speak.
