Date: Sat, 24 Aug 2002 14:43:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Selena Anders <selenaanders@yahoo.com>
Subject: Medieval

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.