Pulled Astray at the Faire

It's been a long, long time since I wrote about Ashley and Chad (and, of course, Auntie Gina Torrey), but here they are in a short but (hopefully) exciting tale of misunderstanding, miscommunication, and straight-up misplaced cum to celebrate April Fools' Day. Enjoy!

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"I'm starting to think I should have worn boots," I groused as I sidestepped yet another mound of horseshit.

Ashley laughed, her usual loud bray echoing across the stableyard. People stared, but we were both used to that. She had a big laugh, a big personality, and big tits, so one or the other was usually getting noticed. "Like those?" she suggested, the laugh still edging her voice even after she'd shut it down. She nodded toward a woman, smouldering-hot in a black leotard with a sword across her back. Her shiny black boots rose to the middle of her toned thighs. "Bet you could pull that look off just fine, babe."

"Bet I could," I muttered, glancing aside to make sure she wouldn't see before I took a longer look at Boot Woman. Fuck me, her ass was a masterpiece in her tight clothes. I wasn't sure quite what kind of historical look she was going for, but I approved. My dick did too, giving a little twinge. "I'd pull off more than the look."

She laughed again, bell-like. "Poor Chad," she frumped, pulling herself close to my side so she could nuzzle my neck as we walked. "Am I not giving you enough nookie? You're looking at Renaissance Faire weirdos now, hmm?"

"I mean, she clearly means for people to look," I protested, but a glance at my wife told me Ashley wasn't really worried about it. She knew me well: knew my past, my present, and my future. She knew my wandering eye and my stirring cock, and she forgave them all because we were totally in love. I could tell I loved her because I hadn't yet even tried to fuck any other girls since we'd met.

Well. Since our wedding, anyway.

Okay. Since the end of our honeymoon...

I was less sure about her. Both of us had had our wanderings in the past, and we weren't such hypocrites that we'd hold each other to an impossible standard. But we'd been married a couple years now, and we were starting to talk about kids, so for the moment? Yes. We were in love.

Well... actually, there had been that one chick, after the Norbera sales meeting about four months ago, the one who'd been staring at me the entire meeting. I'd taken her into the executive bathroom right after, and she'd obligingly taken my load down her throat. But that wasn't really sex, I told myself, in the Clintonian mold: sex was cum in pussy, and she and I hadn't even gotten close to that.

At least, not that time. I'd gone over to her apartment later and we'd gotten closer, but still... I hadn't shot inside her. I almost had, but not quite. And if you haven't shot inside her? You haven't had sex. And if you haven't had sex, you haven't cheated.

Maybe Ashley would agree with that assessment, maybe not. But, again, she knew me well. She'd stolen me away from another girl, and we both knew what we were capable of. So we walked the Ren Faire that day lighthearted, even carefree, smiling at everything in our path.

Except the horseshit by the jousting field.

All around us, the place swirled with noise. Everywhere I looked I saw brightly colored tents, kilts, mugs of ale, cleavage, guys with swords, turkey legs, cloaks, flagons (or goblets, maybe?) of wine, and folks who looked like Gimli. Oh, and cleavage. Lots of cleavage. For every normal Faire attendee like Ash and I, it seemed there were about four women experimenting with corseting as a fashion statement.

And I wasn't complaining.

I'd never been to one of these, but Ashley's Auntie Gina had scored an extra couple of tickets and we'd tagged along with her and her kids. She'd disappeared immediately, leaving said kids with her husband, "probably to fuck a jester," Ashley had explained. She liked shocking me with tales of Auntie Gina's sexual exploits, most of which I assumed were fictional.

Had to be. There was no way such a small, unassuming woman could take as much dick as Ashley said Gina did.

We'd split at once, sauntering over toward Ye Olde Food Courte while Gina's brood melted into the crowd over near the guys who played the bagpipes. Though quite what Victorian Scotland had to do with the Renaissance, I didn't know. Not that it mattered: I was alone with my lovely wife, strolling across the bustling grounds of the Renaissance Faire in early April, enjoying the sweet leafy scent of spring while munching on a churro.

Nothing says "fifteenth century" like a churro.

We people-watched gleefully, trading wordless glances whenever a particularly dorky-looking weirdo walked by, hand in hand and sometimes arm in arm as we meandered toward the jousting arena. And that's how I found myself stepping over horseshit while enjoying Boot Woman and her sexy ass. Once we passed her I found a lovely bust in a corset to ogle, then after that a woman in form-fitting chrome armor, and I was just seeking a new piece of eye candy when Ashley tugged at my arm. "Hm?"

"Check that out." She nodded toward a man dragging two little girls around.

"What?" I squinted. "It's a guy and his daughters. Do we know him?"

"No, but look at the girls. That's some first-class face painting." So I looked and, though hardly a face-painting aficionado, I had to admit it was a good job: one of them had a face that sprouted beautiful flowers, gloriously detailed and finely rendered, obviously by someone with some talent.

The other one had been made up to look like Spider-Man.

"Cool," I nodded, "the artist really got the web pattern correct."

"Shut the fuck up," she giggled, digging her elbow into my ribs as we watched the little family walk by. The dad, I noticed, had a dreamy smile on his face, which I assumed was the same as mine. Because, cleavage everywhere. "It's rare that you see face-painting good enough to stop you in your tracks."

"Very rare," I agreed, taking a closer look at the flowered face as she passed. It really was exquisite work, I could see from close up. "Hey, buddy," I nodded at the dad, "that's awesome face painting. Where's the booth?"

He stirred, looking back at me a little vacantly. "Huh? Oh. Back that way." He nudged a thumb over his shoulder, toward the treeline. "Black tent."

"Your faces look really beautiful," Ashley gushed as she squatted next to the girls with a broad grin on her face; both the dad and I looked down to admire the curved line of Ashley's ass as she moved. "I love what you picked!"

"Say thank you, girls," the dad fretted, making a transparent effort to look down Ashley's shirt. I could not blame him a bit.

"Thank you!" the two little cherubs chorused.

"You're welcome!" Ashley straightened, then took my hand with another of her laughs. "I'm having a great time!" she crowed as she turned back toward the jousting field.

But I was pulling her the other way, and when she looked quizzically at me, jerked my head. "This way," I told her, nodding toward the trees.

"But the joust is this way," she frowned.

I winked "Even a face as gorgeous as yours could be even gorgeouser," I grinned. "My wife sees face painting she likes? My wife gets face painting she likes." I pulled her that way, a smile breaking over her face. "I can tell you want something on there."

"It's been years since I had my face painted," she reflected as we stepped toward the treeline. "I used to get it done every year at the county fair. It was so much fun!"

"Well, prepare for the greatest face-painting experience you've ever had!" I patted my wallet. "I'll tip the painter extra for doing a really good job."

"Oh, Chad," she cooed, flapping her eyelashes theatrically, "you say the sweetest things." We both laughed at that, dodging a sword-swallower and a juggler in turn as we maneuvered through the crowd. The trees loomed ahead, a promise of cool shade on such a fine sunny day, and now I started to see more faces: painted in vibrant shades of red and blue, birds and flowers and rainbows in amazing and vivid profusion, a real testament to the painter's artistic talent. "Fuck. I wonder what she charges."

"Sexist," I sniffed. "The face painter could just as easily be a man." I squinted at a woman coming toward us, starry-eyed, her face flushed. "That's amazing work. I wonder if they do tattoos, too."

"Ew." Ashley did not approve of body art, as a rule. "And I'm no sexist," she added, her voice a flat note of triumph as she nodded toward a long black tent before us, just beneath the first of the trees. "See?" she crowed, "it's a woman!"

And indeed it was, a short lady waiting just within the shadow of the tent. I smiled as we came up, my salesman's smile, the smile that had gotten me laid many times in college. "Hello!" I called, my fingers tightening where they wove through Ashley's. "I'm here to get my girl's face painted!"

The woman stared at us thoughtfully through her eyelashes, her head tipped down. I could see now that she wore a heavy cloak of deep purple with a pale sliver of neck plunging down into it from a timelessly beautiful face, the sort of face you'd expect to see in paintings about ancient Egypt or the Visigoths, the sort of face that would take a man's breath away in any era. She watched me carefully, thick black hair piled about her shoulders, heavy dark eyes flickering down my body and back up before she gave Ashley a cursory glance. "Yes? Your girl?" She looked around. "I see no children." Her voice had a slight accent.

I felt my dick lurch.

"Well, no, I mean my wife," I laughed. "I'm Chad and this is Ashley, and I heard you do face painting."

"I do not," she replied easily, her eyes lighting up in some weird way. "I am Madame Kheli. I am a palm reader. The face painter is my partner." She looked again at Ashley, a bit more closely. "My partner would paint your face, I think," she added with a curious sense of thoughtfulness.

"Well, great!" Ashley beamed, peering around. "Where is she?"

"She," the lady chuckled, her whole face transforming into a leer. "Imagine. A woman as my partner," she sighed, shaking her head. "My partner is a man, dear."

"See?" I tried hard to keep my face neutral as I glanced over at the fuming Ashley. "Sexist."

The woman was turning, every movement showing a liquid grace, and it was all I could do not to try to get a sense of what her butt looked like. "Maestru!" she called back into the shadows, her voice sliding at once into a set of rapid, musical syllables that matched no language I had ever heard. When I looked over at Ashley, she was studying an archaically-lettered signboard outside the tent, carved deeply into some sort of dark smoky wood. Madame Kheli Jandaba, Palm Readings, it read, with Dracu Tranti, Master Face Painter below.

"What're you going to get on your face?" I asked her excitedly, her mood catching: I hadn't seen her so vibrant in awhile, the idea of reliving the county fairs of her youth turning her on.

"Well, I was thinking I might just let him decide, since he's so good," she grinned.

"That is a very good idea," boomed a loud, satisfied voice from somewhere above me. I'm pretty tall, but this dude was huge, a muscled brute of a man in silver-trimmed black leather from head to toe, other than bare arms brimming with a whirl of nicely-done tattoos. He smiled, teeth brilliant in a long, straight beard. "I do best when my hands can choose what they wish to do." He too had an accent, faint but guttural, the sound of the Central European mists.

"Awesome!" Ashley's eyebrows rose high as she craned her neck up to him. "I look forward to it." Kheli and Dracu traded an odd glance, full of unspoken communication as Ashley just about danced from toe to toe. "I'm so eager to see what you come up with!"

He laughed, a gurgling rumble from his burly chest that seemed to set off Kheli's own giggle. "You will be satisfied, I am quite sure," he nodded, eyeing her, and then he stepped forward out of the shadows. A massive hand swept up, the fingers loaded with silver rings as, quite delicately, he traced the line of her cheek. Ashley stopped smiling at that, but her face went scarlet. "Yes, quite sure," he muttered.

"And you," Madame Kheli put in, leaning toward me, "would enjoy a palm reading while you wait?"

I hesitated. I had no idea what the big European dude would charge for Ashley's face, and I didn't want to tack on anything as useless as a palm reading. But the woman really was breathtaking, and the idea of sitting across from her at a table while she touched my hand was pretty fucking exciting. Besides, the tickets had been free!

"Go for it, Chad," Ashley urged, "it'll be fun!" Her smile was back, but I noticed she glanced at Dracu with a definite air of nervousness. "You can get her to tell you how many kids we'll have, maybe."

Kheli nodded, pleased. "Without doubt," she said gravely, "I can uncover all his secrets." She held out her hand. "Come. Follow me into the tent," she beckoned.

"While I see to your woman," Dracu smiled, taking Ashley's hand. She swallowed as she moved with him, and I could see that her flush had spread down her neck and into the neckline of her t-shirt. "Don't worry, little one," he rumbled, "this will delight you, I promise."

"O-okay," Ashley stammered, exhilarated, as the two of them disappeared into the darkness at the back of the tent.

"Now you," Kheli said, to me, and as she leaned close I caught the scent, wild and flowery, of her hair, "may come with me. What was your name?"

"Chad," I smiled, laying my hand in hers. It was strong and warm, her fingers caressing mine subtly. "Chad Pfeiffer."

"Chad," she repeated in a low purr, her hips swaying in her cloak as she led me past a heavy velvet curtain just past the entrance of the tent. I blinked as I passed through, looking around at the unexpectedly opulent space inside: thick brocades in red and gold hid the tent fabric, and she'd covered the floor in a Persian rug. In the corner stood a small table, dainty, the kind you'd feel leery about using for anything heavier than a teacup. A tall candelabra threw off warm golden light all through the little space. "Just a moment, Chad, while I get ready," she nodded. She rolled her R heavily on the last word, her deep voice stabbing straight at my libido. Some sort of perfume or incense hung in the air, cloying at my brain.

"Umm, sure." I could hear muffled motion from beyond the inner wall, the one Kheli presumably shared with Dracu: a titter of nervous laughter from Ashley, followed by low-toned conversation between the two of them. I thought about trying to eavesdrop, but Kheli soon grabbed my attention and yanked it straight to her when she shrugged out of her heavy cloak and left it heaped on the floor. "Oh my god," I blurted.

"Yes?" Kheli stood there, her eyes amused under one arched eyebrow, but it wasn't her eyes I was looking at. She wasn't naked under the cloak, though she probably might as well have been: the sheer black silk dress she wore hid nothing at all, especially where she posed silhouetted by the candlelight. "Was there a problem?" The dress fell to some indeterminate point between pussy and thigh, between indecent and merely coquettish, leaving the smooth pale skin of her legs to descend into a pair of sandals with ties that climbed back up toward her knee. Behind the black silk I could see the swell of big, supple breasts that left her cleavage as a gaping valley. She smiled, her lips curving wickedly.

"Um, no. No problem," I managed through a dry throat, my penis quite definitely waking up. Through the wall I heard more muffled sounds: the low murmur of Dracu's voice, punctuated occasionally by increasingly breathy laughter from Ashley, who sounded like she was trying to keep quiet. "No problem at all," I heard myself say, struggling through the perfumed air.

"Good," she murmured, low and secret, "because for this to work, it is important that there not be any problems. And I like to be comfortable when I do a reading." Her lips twitched into a smile. "If you would please take off your clothes, Chad, we can begin."

"Take off my... what?" Dracu's murmurs had become more continuous, Ashley's laughs more breathy. I had no hope of focusing with the incense clouding my brain.

She cocked her head when she noticed I was listening. "Don't mind the Maestru and your woman," she scoffed, flipping her hair dismissively back. "He is very good. He will not leave her disappointed." Her feet whispered on the rug as she took two deliberate steps toward me, her eyes shining up at mine. "This really does work best, Chad, if you remove all your clothes..." She was close enough, now, that I could smell her hair once more. "Do you want to remove your clothes for me, Chad?" It came out as a wheedled murmur that spoke directly to my penis.

I glanced at the showy hanging on the wall beyond which my wife was now hissing out unintelligible whispers in response to Dracu's own cajoling mutters, thinking about how weird this was, but whatever. I'm just a guy. If this chick wanted me naked, I had nothing much to be ashamed about. Besides, it wasn't as if anything was going to happen. "Okay," I shrugged, looking down at the twin points her nipples were putting into the silk that strained across her tit. "Why not?"

She stood there, hip thrust out, back arched, watching as I stripped. By this time I wasn't hearing much talking coming through the tent wall anymore. Must be done consulting about the design, I told myself; he's probably gotten started with her. My shirt hit the floor, then I stepped out of my shoes and let my pants fall, but after that I had a conundrum: a seven-inch conundrum, jutting out into my boxers. I was vaguely aware that it was rude to be hard for a woman I'd met not three minutes before...

But then I saw her eyes sweep over my chest, my abs, down to my groin, and I figured what the hell. She knew when she saw my boxers that the black canvas thing we were hanging out in was not the only tent under those trees. So, with a crooked grin, I let my boxers slide down my legs and stood there naked in front of Kheli with golden candleflame on my skin and the buzz of the incense in my head.

If I was expecting a smile, or even a look of triumph, I was disappointed. She looked at my hard-on and then sent her eyes expressionlessly back up to my face with a nod. "Let us begin," she murmured, stepping close enough that I could almost feel the whisper of black silk against my cockhead... but not quite. Meaning, it would have, if it wasn't for my curve to the right.

She shocked me when she raised her hands, holding them just inches off my chest, and then found my eyes in hers before she laid them with calm authority on my flesh. "Wha..." I began, but she shushed me.

"This is a palm reading," she explained in a hoarse whisper, "so let my palms read you." I felt myself draw a ragged breath as she moved her hands in slow, dry circles out from my solar plexus, her eyes never once leaving mine. "Relax."

"Relax." I heard it, in that low, gloating voice from next door, Dracu saying it to Ashley at the same moment Kheli was saying it to me. "Feel it."

"Feel it," the woman said to me, her voice still with that burr behind it as she spread her fingers, her palms warm and dry on my skin as she worked them gently down my ribcage. I looked down, seeing goosebumps. My hard cock. Her cleavage. "Look at me," she hissed, "or I cannot read you."

"Okay." I breathed it, feeling my body respond to hers as her hands drifted over me, gliding now along my hips, then my outer thighs before she brought them back up to my chest and ringed my nipples. "I'm not sure this is what I was expecting," I babbled.