Balcony

It had been years since I’d been to a medieval recreation event on my own, and the feeling was a strange one. Ordinarily, I’d be here with my wife(and, often, our two daughters). We’d be together much of the time, politely talking and flirting with others as well as with each other. But today, I was alone, a bachelor, a lone wolf. And, as I say, it felt weird.

So, I kept to myself much of the day, reading science fiction, chatting with friends, exchanging idle gossip, and trying to sharpen my flirting abilities by making ladies 20 years younger than me giggle. I was satisfied with being alone, still feeling a bit out of place, until late in the afternoon. Then, I found myself bored with whole thing and wanting to escape. Since it was a raw, windy, rainy November day, outside was impossible. The main hall was cramped and filled to almost overflowing with fighters and spectators. The alcove to the hall was likewise filled with chatting gentles, the merchants’ spaces, and the tollner’s station. The “quiet” hall was anything but. And the basement was an echo chamber, so that the three or four speakers there were making as much noise as an army.

Where to go? I went exploring and found a door marked “To the Pit of Hell”. Well, I couldn’t lose by going there, since some folk seemed to feel I had reservations already. So down I went to the sub-basement of the building…warm and dirty, the furnace room and storage area. But quiet. And completely devoid of human occupants (although I couldn’t swear that other life forms were not present). So I pulled up a chair, cleaned it off, took out my novel and settled in for an interlude of peace and quiet.

* * * * *

About an hour later, I emerged from the depths to find the feast was about to get going. I hurriedly found my table & my table-mates, set up my feast gear, and fielded the inevitable questions as to where I’d disappeared. The feast was alright, though nothing to write home about. Following local custom, the highest ranking gentle became server for the table. Me. Ah, well, a good chance to meet others. And in line in front of me was a lovely young lady, who I had briefly met…Jocelyn, I recalled. She was about three inches shorter than me, and was wearing a chemise, well off her shoulders, illegal bahis and a plaid skirt. Her auburn hair was to her shoulders, and her smile was infectious. Naturally, I flirted, giving her a slightly lecherous leer. The young man near us accused me of trying to devour her with my eyes. When I protested, she responded that I could eat her up anytime I wanted.

So it started. And continued with each remove (of which there were many…thank you, gods). We flirted, each two minute opportunity becoming more intense. I complimented her eyes, her shoulders, her hair, her grace. And she responded, warmly, blushing. I was amazed. I always figured that my flirtations were nothing spectacular, that my wife responded amorously because we’re married and very much in lust, and the ladies of the household were gigglers anyway. So, when a complete stranger showed interest in a “lecherous old man” and his come-ons, I was flattered and slightly bewildered.

However, after a cup or two of wine, I became bolder and stopped at her table. She was chatting with her friends and I dared to interrupt. I drifted a fingertip to her naked shoulders and lightly stroked her flesh. She started and turned, but seeing me, smiled.

“I’m counting the freckles on your shoulder,” I whispered, feeling stupid the moment I said it. God, how lame can you get?

She grinned. “There are more freckles you could count.” Her voice was laughing, with me not at me.

“Perhaps later,” I grinned back, and withdrew, bowing and apologizing to her table-mates as I left.

The feast was drawing to a close, and the hall was being broken-down for dancing, when she came to me, out of nowhere, it seemed. “You have counting to do,” she whispered. I was dumb-founded and thought of apologizing, but the look in here eyes told me she expected me to be brave. So, I took her by the hand and led her away, desperately searching for a quiet place to count her other, hidden freckles. The only place even remotely available was, of course, the Pits of Hell. As I took her down the stairs, she giggled. This was one of her favorite places in the hall, she whispered, and held my hand tighter.

We wended our way through the catacombs beneath the dorm. At times I felt like I should be illegal bahis siteleri dropping bread crumbs, but she knew her way around. Finally, we entered a low-ceilinged chamber, which allowed me to barely stand upright. There were heating pipes running across the ceiling, and a table and chair. She grinned, saying this was a good place. The one bare lightbulb cast a garish light, but you could definitely see by it. I started my count on her neck and bare shoulders, kissing her for every ten freckles I tallied up. I sort of lost count after 50, but the kissing continued, first pecks, then firm kisses, finally open-mouthed and fairly feverish. She broke the last one off and huskily whispered that I should continue my counting, but lower down. I smiled as she slipped her arms from her chemise and let it fall to the her waist. Her breasts were soft and round and beautiful…and covered with freckles!

I bent at the waist and started counting them, with my fingers and my lips. She giggled as my fingertips stroked her skin…then she started laughing and squirming. Her ticklishness soon became a drawback, almost a hazard to my health. Her hands were grabbing mine, trying to stop my counting. This had to stop.

Being a resourceful Viking type, I had a spare leather thong or two in my gear pouch on my belt. I retrieved them and cinched one to each of her hands. Then I lifted them and tied them together over the cold air pipes that ran across the ceiling. She struggled and looked at me smiling wider than before. I knelt on the floor, and resumed my counting. I took my time, enjoying her laughter until it grew too loud. Fearing we might be discovered (not a good thing — you know how people misunderstand even the most innocent of pastimes), I knew she had to be silent.

I went for my handkerchief, which wasn’t there. This was getting serious. I kissed her fiercely and warned her to be quiet. She tried, but soon was giggling again as my lips and fingers touched her. She was aroused, I knew, from her turgid nipples and musky odor. As I stroked her sides and her thighs, I found the solution to my problem. Her panties. They had to go anyway, as I was certain there were more freckles to be found there, and they’d do just fine. I reached under canlı bahis siteleri her skirts and slipped them off, then brought them to her mouth and, wadding them up, ordered her to open up. She complied, whimpering that she was ready for them. I gagged her as effectively as I could, then slid my hands up under her skirt and lifted it, tucking the folds into the waistband. I looked at my handiwork…Jocelyn was almost totally naked, her clothing bunched around her waist, her breasts heaving, her pussy lips protruding through a dark thatch of fur, glistening with moisture.

Back to work…counting is not an easy business. But I proceeded to kneel and spread her legs apart, teasing and licking and touching and counting freckles, driving her crazy, bringing her to edge time and again.

Finally, I felt it was time to stop. I looked at my watch…the hall should’ve closed 30 minutes before. Suddenly I was afraid we’d been locked down here. I left her without a word, heard her muffled complaint, but went anyway. I traced my way back to the entrance and found it open still. I went to the top of the stairs and listened…no noise at all. We must be alone now…no one to hear. I silently walked back, contemplating my situation, feeling like a total stranger now, wondering what rumors would fly about me.

When I reached the catacomb again, Jocelyn was whimpering. I pulled the panties from her mouth and kissed her fiercely. It was time to let the animals loose. I untied her hands, helped her down to the floor and fell to eating her like a starving man. She screamed and came, arching her hips and grabbing my hair. I tasted her and swallowed, imagining drowning in her juices. Finally she collapsed and released me. I rose, unsteadily, and undid my belt. As my trews hit the floor, she smiled and said, so loudly I thought the whole building would echo, TAKE ME!

And I did, crashing down on her, grabbing her splendid breasts and squeezing them as I plunged into her. I’d like to say that I fucked her for hours, but mere minutes passed before I came, exploding as she exploded.

* * * * *

After we had cleaned up (ha! Those trews have never been worn since, and neither have the chemise and skirt), she took me by the hand and led me to her room. Then she counted freckles and we shared data, at least three more times that night. As for the rumors, I decided that I’d say I had grown too tired to drive and had pulled over in a rest area for the night…that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

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