I am a member of the MRS, the Medieval Recreation Society. We try to live as though it were still 800 years ago, even when we are surrounded by nylon tents, and get to our celebrations in mini-vans. We create a world in which the deepest fantasy is also the highest truth....
"All right! Three lines for a Hole in the Wall!" the dance master called. Dozens of people formed their lines, lords on the left and ladies on the right. I was a little slow, and found that all the lords were taken. There are always more women than men willing to dance. Our male counterparts are too busy getting drunk, and exchanging lies about their kills in battle.
But Damn, I wanted to dance. I love the way my pure silk Italian renaissance ball gown floats around me as I move to the music. I love the way its low square-cut neckline attracts admiring glances. And I was too slow to get into the set. DAMN!
"Milady, would you care to dance?" The voice from behind me was low, but clearly feminine. I turned, and was startled to find a tall woman, dressed in black leather armour, without the helmet. Shoulders, elbows and knees were covered in gleaming steel, and on her chest was a small emblem, the red and black yin-yang symbol of the Great Bloody Horde, the Mongol Warriors who recognize no King. A red and black cord kept her brilliant red hair back from her almost handsome features. All this I saw in a moment as she extended an arm in courtly grace.
It would have been ill-mannered not to have accepted such a request, so I rested my hand on the hard leather of her fore-arm, and we hurried to take our positions in a small fourth set of dancers in a corner of the big barn which passed for our medieval ballroom. The music of the medieval dance called the Hole in the Wall swelled out from the somewhat inadequate sound system. No matter, we knew the music and could hear it well enough to keep in step. This was a flirting dance, and I immediately noticed that this set had been formed entirely of ladies, no doubt those who, like me, were too slow to join the regular sets.
But as the dance progressed, I became very aware that the flirting here was even more intense than in the other lines. The ladies leaned a little closer to me than the lords would have dared, and kept up the eye contact a little longer. They allowed their eyes to linger on my cleavage, and I found myself enjoying this. Most were wearing conservative gowns, as befitted proper medieval ladies; but a few had more fanciful costume. One wore the garb of a troubadour of the court of Eleanor of Aquitaine, her shapely legs clad in multi-colored hose. The dancing was just a little more animated than usual, and I was surprised to find myself thinking it was a little more erotic.
The Hole in the Wall is a dance in which there are set rules for cutting in, and I found that these ladies did so with enthusiasm, replacing each other frequently in a smooth round of competition to dance with other favoured ladies. My tall red-haired partner was replaced by an elegant baroness in superb Norman garb, then skillfully cut back in to reclaim me. At the part of the dance where one is supposed to almost touch the palm of the dancer diagonally across the set, a short impish blonde lady seized my hand and kissed it. All of the flirtation and glances and the occasional kiss was definitely making me feel aroused, even though all of the dancers were women.
We did many more dances, and always this small group of ladies kept to themselves in the great ballroom. Some were slow and elegant pavannes, while others were wild circle dances. At length, the tall armoured woman approached me again. "Milady, I have had a long day of war, then I had guard duty, then I didn't want to wait to get changed out of this armour before coming to the dancing. Would you care to join me in my yurt for a cup of mead?"
My heart froze. I was being invited to the lair of the infamous Great Bloody Horde, the evil and lawless Mongols. But I too was getting tired, and a cup of mead sounded like a wonderful idea. So once again I placed my right hand on her armoured left arm. We departed the ballroom, and strolled outside. In the darkness, few noticed us as we strolled past the stalls where vendors sold everything from harps to daggers during the day. We came to a place on the road where the torchlight was dim, and She stopped walking.
Curious as to why, I turned toward her and looked up at her. Then my warrior-woman's strong hands gently but firmly clamped on either side of my head, and she leaned over slightly to kiss me.
Time stopped. My lips parted to admit her soft tongue. The kiss stretched on and on, and I didn't want it to stop. Never had I been kissed with such wonderful, gentle passion. The Horde Woman was stronger than most men, but her kiss was soft and irresistibly seductive. I felt a warmth at the juncture of my thighs, and I'm sure I moaned a tiny bit. When our lips finally parted, she gave me a knowing smile, sure that I was under her spell. And so I was.
The tall redhead slipped an arm around me as we continued on our way to her campsite. Two armed guards at the camp of the Great Bloody Horde saluted her casually as we entered. "Good evening, Moira. I gather this enchanting young lady is your guest?" Both guards gave me frank, open stares; one concentrating a bit more on my cleavage than is proper in polite company.
"Down, boy." My warrior woman said with a smile, which the guard ruefully returned.
We entered the great courtyard of the camp, where many men and women were partying. Three scantily clad belly dancers undulated in the torchlight to the sounds of Arabian drums. I followed Moira along a winding path among the pavilions and strange tents the Mongols call yurts. Suddenly she ducked through the low doorway of one such tent. I peered in after her.
It was lovely! Persian carpets covered the floor, and a four-candle chandelier was suspended from the ceiling. Lovely clothing hung from the lattice-work walls all around, enlivening the place with gaudy colours. "Come in. Come in." Moira said over her shoulder, as she started to strip off the metal and leather that encased her arms. She tossed the armour carelessly to one side, then asked me, "Could you get the buckles back here? I can do it myself, but it's a lot easier if someone else does it."
Almost all women of the MRS are familiar with armour, and soon I had Moira stripped down to the black shirt and tights that served as her fighting underwear. She has a magnificent figure. I admired her trim waist and hips, and the muscular thighs that bespoke of hours in the weight room, as she opened a small cabinet and produced a bottle and two ceramic cups. "From the private stock of Master Saul ben Elia, finest mead-maker in ten kingdoms," she told me as she poured. Moira handed me a cup, and as I raised it to my lips she hooked her arm through mine in the classic lovers' toast.
With this lady so near, I could smell the heavy aroma of woman-sweat and leather, released from her armour. I found it heady, and stimulating; so I looked up into her grey eyes and said, "To new friends."
"To new friends," Moira agreed, "the closer the better." And so we drank, with our arms linked, and our breasts almost brushing as we both wondered how much further this was going to go. The mead had a kick like a team of mules. I managed not to spill or spit any in my surprise, but it was an effort. But after the initial shock, the liquid slid down my throat with an astonishing ease. My warrior woman grinned at me, as if approving the idea that I could handle the strong drink.
"I'm sorry there's no place to sit in here but the bed, but make yourself comfortable," my hostess told me. The bed looked mostly like a low platform, heaped with furs. Gingerly, I sat; and found that it yielded just the right amount for comfort. Moira sat next to me, and we chatted rather aimlessly. I told her about my great passion for cooking, and all of the foolish things I had seen in the great kitchens of my home kingdom of Lagan Mor. She told me about the great horse herds of Estella Niger, and her modest success in horseback war games. We drank more mead, and I began to get giggly.
"Would you like to dance some more?" my Amazon asked. "The drums are calling." Tired as I was, the mead made me ready for anything, and I told her so. "Good! Just let me get changed." Quickly she pulled off her shirt and the sports-bra that was under it, to reveal magnificent firm breasts.
They must have been a D-cup, but on her powerful frame they looked in perfect proportion. Then she slid her tights off, and I tried not to stare at the neatly trimmed triangle of red curls that pointed down toward her sex. I had fallen under the spell of a woman in armour, and now I was falling in lust with a nude goddess.
Moira turned and bent to open a wooden chest, and I was granted a heavenly glimpse of her firm ass and full fleshy vulva. Then she pulled out a green satin bra, and almost-transparent skirt, wiggling into them with a nonchalance born of the nudity of an athlete's locker room. "You like?" she asked, striking a seductive pose in the scanty harem-girl outfit. Yes! I liked!
She grinned, and told me "That dress looks hot for around the fire. Why don't you take off the over-dress, and dance in your shift?" The silk chiffon of my under-dress was almost as transparent as her skirt, but the mead and the distant drumming were bringing out the wildness in me, so my over-dress joined her discarded clothing, and we ran out into the night.
The fire was hot, the drumming was hotter, and the stares of the men of the Mongol Horde were hottest of all, as we joined the three other dancers. This was no stately dance of the ballroom, but the seductive movement of breasts and hips. The other women smiled and exchanged looks of lust with us, as the drum-beat lifted our feet and our hips into its hypnotic rhythm.
Oh yes, the Mongol men looked on all of us with open lust, often cheering. But it was understood that we danced for the pleasure of all, and no man would touch us for fear of spoiling the show.
Faster and faster we danced to the beat of the drums. Hotter and hotter roared the flames, as the passion of the night ignited between my thighs. The gentle caress of silk on my hardening nipples seemed to go straight to my sex. I stared across the fire at the emerald green of Moira's sheer skirt, hoping she was as hot as I. My pelvis was truly on fire for her, a fire that could only be extinguished by the rush of the fluids of my orgasm.
Oh, what Goddess of lust would transform a proper girl from renaissance Italy, into a gyrating whore in the camp of the Mongols? Her name was Moira, and her gift to me in front of that fire was a mighty climax. The beat and the heat and the silk brushing against my excited clit brought me to orgasm right in front of that whole circle of barbarians; and as I began to fall, She was there. Moira scooped me up in her powerful arms, and with seeming ease she carried me off down the torch-lit path.
Back in the yurt, only one candle was left burning. Moira laid me on the bed, then leaned over and kissed me again. This was what I had been waiting for. It was beyond me to initiate our intimacy, but I desperately wanted this stunning amazon to take me in love. Surrendering to the pressure of her lips on mine, I invited her tongue to dip deep. I was not disappointed. Her kiss was long and penetrating, as I let her have her way with her tongue, and mine.
I reached out and grasped at my Goddess. I snatched at the waistband of her sheer skirt and almost ripped it down her long powerful thighs. She grinned down at me, and gracefully stepped out of the skirt, kicking it away to land in a heap on the far side of the tent.
She grinned down at me, "So you want to play, do you?" She asked. "Perhaps you would like to spend some time in my favorite playground." And with that, Moira crawled up on top of me until she was in position to lower her gorgeous pussy onto my lips. Her shins pinned my upper arms helplessly down onto the luxuriant furs, and I had no choice but to begin to lick at her sweetly dripping pussy. "Yes! Lick me so good!" my lusty redhead cried out as she ground her juicy slit down onto my mouth. Eagerly, I obeyed, and did my best to eat my way into heaven.
After a day of fighting in armour, and an evening of energetic dance, one might have thought that the crotch of a warrior woman would stink like a camel stable. But Moira's juices flowed over my face as light and fresh as sweet wine. It was beyond me to drink it all, but I didn't care that it stained my shift and my hair. I hope she enjoyed the marvelous dance her tongue was performing between my pussy lips, for she had drawn my chemise up around my waist leaving me exposed to her every sexual desire. Tiny bites on my delicate inner labia. Her tongue diving into my open vagina like a hard cock. The sucking feeling as her lips closed on my clitoris, as if I was going to be drawn into her forever.
But alas, nothing lasts forever, and after countless orgasms I crawled under the furs of her bed, with Moira holding me spoon fashion. Even then her powerful fingers played with my achingly hard nipples.
I think my last sight that night was of her round shield, painted with the red-and-black yin-yang symbol of her tribe. And my last thought was of how perfectly it represented the 69 position of our recent sex.
The next morning, Moira helped me to get as presentable as possible before we went off, hand in hand, to the showers. There we found the usual scene.
There were a dozen or so lords awaiting their turns in the men's shower, but over a hundred ladies in the other line. It is an unfortunate truth that medieval men are not so careful as the ladies about their personal hygiene as we ladies. I was about to resign myself to a long wait, but my Amazon simply took me by the hand and led me to the end of the lord's line where she addressed the last lord. "Fair Sir, as you can see the other shower line is over an hour long. Would you mind if my Lady and I were to shower each other on the men's side? It would be so much quicker."
The roughly-dressed squire made no objection, possibly because my Moira could have broken him two in a moment, but more likely because he and the lords who joined the line after us had very noticeable bulges in their trousers.