My thoughts were scrambled and had been all day. I was worried that things would change now that we’d married.

What if he expects me to be monogamous? Can I do that? If I could only have one cock in all the world, I’d choose his, because it’s magic. Will he expect me to not have any female lovers? He knows how I crave pussy as well as cock. What did I just fucking do?

Woven through all the worry that my intense, persistent sexuality would ruin things, again, was this overwhelming joy. Triumph conquered trepidation.

Forget all of that, Missus Glade Blackfeather. Wait, no. Mrs. Krystal Greene-Blackfeather. You’re fucking married! It happened…not dreaming.

As my fears evaporated into phantoms, more tears flowed. Glade always manages to surprise me; having a wedding all pre-planned like that was definitely over the top in the mushy romance department. It wasn’t so much that he went through all the trouble, planning, and expense; it was that he thought of it, for me. Only a complete moron would have refused. I may be a moron, but I’m an incomplete one. The ring on my finger was real.

I was headed down to the campsite to see my new husband and partake in the celebration. The Ren Faire had gone well that day, all the worries of the day before long forgotten. As I rounded the bend in the path, into the woods where our subgroup within the group had set up camp, the scene before me made me pause. I’m always amazed.

A line of wild shrubs, bushes, and other foliage offered a screen of privacy from prying eyes. A path, twisting and turning through the undergrowth, gave way to a small clearing, no more than thirty yards across. Walled with mature trees, their leaves all vibrant shades of deep, spring green and lined with tents, a roaring fire in the center lit up the entire clearing. The fire played with substance and shadow, casting a dream-like glow over everything.

Having stepped off the beaten path, I had entered another world. There, free to be their complete selves without worry or stress, the sight of my friends was a reminder that life is as good as you make it. They made life perfect, somehow freed to be their true selves through roleplaying their medieval counterparts in a fantasy Utopia of their own creation.

Queen Kiera, her hair dyed blond with a red fade, sat on a velvet-covered throne, King Tim at her feet, sucking her toes. One of her legs was thrown over the arm of her throne, her bare pussy, pubic hair perfectly shaped into a narrow thatch, on display as she idly fingered her clit. One of her “subjects” fed her grapes and held her chalice out for her while she stroked his cock.

My friend and lover, Sylva, danced through the milieu, still wearing the dancer’s skirt, a see-through, gauzy scarf wrapped around her breasts like a halter. Others mingled about, chatting with each other, laughing, and carousing. Some were in various stages of undress, others being sexual with each other, but still, others just enjoying the tranquil serenity of this perfect moment. My husband was off to one side, wearing a white poet’s shirt loosely tied down the front, and black pants with his ever-present moccasins on his feet. He and Reginald, his opponent earlier, were passing a drinking horn between them, laughing and congratulating each other over their prior combat.

“She’s here,” one of my friends shouted. All heads turned towards me.

One of the infinite things I love about my husband is that every time he looks at me, it’s as if it were the first time he’s ever laid eyes on me, and he’s seeing the most desirable woman in the universe. This time was no exception. Additionally, he doesn’t just look at you or stare; his hypnotic, hazel eyes lined with gray see into your soul, turn off your brain, and light a fire in your pussy. Despite the warmth of the night, the heat of the fire, and the volcano erupting between my legs, my nipples grew taut and hard, pressing against that thin cotton.

Shooting an arrow into my heart, his crooked, roguish smile, filled with horny enticement, beckoned me. I bounced over to him, still crying but filled with exuberance. I leaped into his arms, throwing my hands around his neck, my thighs around his torso, our lips meeting in a long, passionate kiss that boiled away my blood and soul, making the world around me fade into the ether.

His hands ran up my legs, exposing my flesh to anyone that cared to look, moving to my ass and squeezing it with the exactly perfect amount of pressure and urgency to make my pussy gush.

“Did you mean it?” I asked, breaking our kiss. “Nothing will change.”

Rather than verbally respond, my husband peeled me away from his torso, setting me down as if I were weightless. A mischievous smile broke across his lips, a mirthful wink accompanying it. Devouring me with his eyes and soul, so intensely that the aura of his passion caressed me, he reached out with one hand, he grabbed one side of my slutty, white top, and pulled it open. The ties ripped away, ruining the accursed garment, and exposing my bare breasts and hard nipples.

Gently plucking the full drinking horn from Reginald’s hands, my husband poured the cool, viscous, sticky liquid all over my chest. It slowly ran over my hardened nipples, coating my tits and stomach.

Glade shouted, “Who wants to lick mead off the bride’s boobs?” Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he asked me, “Convinced?”

I had no time to respond. My new husband watched with obvious lust and pleasure as my arms were pulled behind my back, causing my tits to jut forward, openly and proudly displayed. Sylva gripped my arms, whispering, “I’m so happy for you,” into my ear; moments later, her lips were kissing my neck, sucking gently on my flesh.

My feet were pulled out from under me, my entire body being held, carried by my horny friends. They laid me on a soft blanket in front of the fire, poured wine and more mead over my body, and all of them began licking the liquid from my steamy flesh. A dozen tongues licked the drink off me while lips sucked on my body, teeth nibbling gently at my ignited flesh. All I could do was moan in ecstasy, wrapped in passionate luxury as the center of attention.

Through languid eyes I saw Glade watching me, approving. “I love you for what you are, not despite it.” His voice held respect, acceptance, approval, and so much passion that just the sound of it thrust me close to orgasm.

“Cold,” I screamed in surprise and mild shock. My entire lower half had been suddenly doused with cold, red wine. Kiera, her dress a translucent, slutty mockery of royal finery, straddled my legs, a newly-emptied bottle in her hand.

Kicking my legs apart, spreading them, she knelt between them, a hungered, Cheshire Cat grin on her lust-riddled face. She began at my feet, her lips slowly sucking the red vino from my body. Her hands immediately shot up to my pussy, her fingers playing between my soaked cunt lips, flicking my clit as I screamed in delight.

More wine, more mead, and more fingers, hands, lips, and tongues were added to my body. I was lost in rapture, being serviced by at least a dozen people. The king joined his queen, sucking on my lower half, concentrating on my toes and ankles as she climbed over and beside me, fingering her slit as she licked, sucked, and bit my clit.

“Oooh, unngh, fuck, aaah,” was all I could manage. The multiple sensations of being physically devoured by so many was too much for my mind to take. My senses were overwhelmed, every nerve in my body sent reeling into the sweet oblivion of horny release.

I had been horny, to begin with, although the day’s events pushed those feelings off to one side. No longer willing to be denied, I surrendered all of myself to pleasure, an intense orgasm ripping through my entire body. I screamed so loudly that my impassioned moans echoed through the wood, my limbs flailing so much that the others had to hold me down. Wave after wave of endorphin-laced perfection rolled through my body. Stars exploded with the fury of my orgasm, followed by the comforting blackness of the world dissolving around me.

Floating on soft, horny clouds, my body slowly sank back down to earth. I became aware of hands still caressing my nude flesh, but I was surrounded by people.

“Stroke those cocks, men. Your queen commands it,” Kiera decreed. King Tim was seated, tailor fashion, on the ground. Kiera stood before him, one of her hands buried in his hair. She was thrusting his mouth against her pussy, humping his face, her other hand holding the hem of her skimpy skirt up.

Around me, a half dozen men ringed me, staring down at my nude, gloriously defiled body. Their cocks were out, fists pumping as they leered at me. Smiling with desire, I sat up and beckoned them to me. Still surrounded, both my hands grabbed hot man meat and began stroking.

“I need a cock to suck,” I managed to beg between horny gasps.

The musicians were still playing, drumming a primal beat that heightened the debauched sensations coursing through me. We fell into a rhythm, me stroking and sucking them in turn. Sylva crawled between my legs, poured more wine over my cunt, and lapped it up, adding fingers into my drenched hole, sucking on my clit as she flicked it with her tongue.

“Cum on her,” Kiera demanded. When she gets going, she’s a force of sexual nature. “Fuck me, Tim,” she added. I saw her go down on all fours, pleading to be fucked hard from behind.

The first cock erupted. He pulled out of my mouth and stroked himself, moaning, shooting his hot seed all over my tits. Sylva’s talented tongue, one that I often enjoy, worked its magic on my cunt, sending my mind and soul skyrocketing into horny oblivion once more. My orgasm caused a cock in my hand to explode; his jizz shot all over me ad he grunted and pumped my hand.

I finally remembered that I had been married just a few hours ago and sought my husband with my eyes. He was seated a few yards away, a young woman, dressed in a cleavage-revealing wench outfit, was caressing his crotch, her eyes wide. He caught my eye, smiled and nodded at me, and blew me a kiss. Since he truly didn’t seem to mind the fact that his wife was being a cock-crazy slut, I went back to making the other cocks cum all over me.

One by one, they all came on me, Sylva getting me off time and time again. The last cock to orgasm was in my mouth. He tried to pull out, but I wouldn’t let him. I sucked and pumped my mouth over his shaft, feeling the goo squirt, coating my tongue and throat.

I proudly looked at Glade and opened my mouth to show him what a good wife I am. The cum dripped from my tongue, over my lips, and dribbled down my chin. The few people not involved in the depraved orgy shouted enthusiastically, their version of applause.

“We can’t have that,” Sylva mewed, her voice vibrating with lust. She forced me back down, her mouth attacking my cum-covered face, licking it off. Her hands ran all over my exposed flesh, playing with the cum, rubbing it into me, her nails tracing designs in it.

Another tongue, this one on my tit, started licking the jizz off. It was Kiera. Another woman, a curvy brunette, added her hot mouth to my other breast, sucking on my nipple, one of her hands caressing my belly, increasing the inferno burning within.

“Pull it out and suck on that monster,” Kiera said to Glade’s admirer.

I didn’t need to look, and we shared a communal laugh when she expressed disbelief over the girth and size of that monster he calls a penis.

When the ladies had licked every drop of cum off my body, my wedding clothes were violently torn from my body. Now totally nude, gentle, friendly hands picked me up, once more, and carried me into Glade’s pavilion. There were enough helping hands to allow several free hands to roam over my body. I moaned my consent, asking for special attention to be paid to my ass and nipples.

In the large, medieval tent, I noticed that the layout had been changed from its usual order. The bed was in the center of the oval pavilion, lit candles on candelabras casting a warm glow within. A large tub, filled with rose petals, scented water, and warm suds was at one end. All the other gear was stowed against the sides. On a table sat a bottle of champagne, a plate of fruits and cheese, and thirteen roses in a metal vase. I knew, at a glance, that it was thirteen. The first time Glade ever got me flowers, it was a dozen red roses with a white one in the center. The card read, “in every bunch, one stands out. You are that one.”

Undoing the clasp of her slutty royal dress, Kiera let the frock drop to the rugs covering the ground. Her body is sexual perfection as if masturbating gods sculpted her from their horny desires and most divine sexual fantasies.

“Please, m’lady,” she requested, soothingly. “Would you allow me to bathe you?”

I nodded, trying to overcome the burning need to molest her perfect body. She helped me into the bath, ignoring my speculation about how they managed to get the water warm. With gentle soaps and natural sponges, my friend, sometimes lover, and the queen of our medieval group served me as a hand-maiden, cleansing my body of mead, wine, dirt, and cum.

Giggling like slutty schoolgirls, we talked, gossiped, and hugged as she dried me with soft, fluffy towels, then laid me down, nude, on the bed.

“Ready, girls,” she shouted toward the exterior. “Minstrels!”

Soft, gentle music, a soulful voice singing in Gaelic, filled the night air. Sylva and Gwen, the brunette, entered the tent, carrying three pillowcase-sized pieces of fine silk. Sylva handed one to Kiera and told me to relax and enjoy.

I sighed in pleasure as a piece of silk was slowly run over my nude body. Feather-light, butterfly, silken kisses cascaded over my purring face, over my extremely sensitive nipples, across my stomach, and down my thighs. Over and back, down then up, the three women massaged and caressed my body with the luxurious cloth. The sensation was so light, so decadent, so arousing that I was soon panting in pleasure.

“Harder, please,” I begged, softly.

I grew sedated from the soft pleasure, warmed by my arousal. With agonizing slowness, the trio of sexual tormentors, Kiera their nympho ringleader, heightened my lust, amplified my passion, and renewed the throbbing tingling of my skin. Their efforts turned my entire body into one, connected erogenous zone.

Then, I felt warm and light kisses on my nipples, the silken material still rubbing over my overheated body. Another kiss on nipples, tongue flicking down to my soaked treasure spot, all following the path of the silk.

No matter how much I begged or how close they guided me towards orgasm, they wouldn’t let me cum again. My pleas were only met with kind-hearted laughter and instructions to relax and enjoy.

When I couldn’t stand any more stimulation, they stopped, ignoring my protests.

“She’s ready,” Sylva yelled.

In turn, they all kissed me and congratulated me, a filed out. As soon as they left, my clean, rose-scented fingers plunged between my legs. I was so fucking horny that my eyes cast about for something to fuck. The lit candles looked enticing; my husband’s sword hilt held promise.

“Fuck, mmm,” I moaned as the tent flap opened. I must have been a sight to see, nipples so hard that they throbbed with my pulse, my legs splayed wide, three fingers buried in my snatch, and my other hand furiously rubbing my clit.

Glade, my husband of a few hours, stood there, watching me. His poet’s shirt was open, showing off his firm, hard muscles. His eyes drank me in, his mutant cock growing visibly in his pants.

We locked eyes, my moans permeating the atmosphere, easily heard by anyone in the same county. My fingers pushed me over the cliff, and another orgasm, so intense that I nearly blacked, out ripped through my entire soul.

“I fucking love you,” was all I could say before the grunts and groans of my erotic release consumed me.

He watched me writhe in beautiful agony, approaching me. As my orgasm subsided, Glade gently moved my hands away from my dripping cunt and moved them up toward my nipples. His deft fingers quickly began driving my pussy into lust-overload, another orgasm beginning to crest. My fingers pulled on my nipples, stimulating them, sending chilling jolts of pleasure down my spine.

“You mean it?“ I asked between impassioned moans. “I can still fuck anyone, any time I want?”

“The only thing that’s changed is that we are officially one. I’d never change or try to tame you. You’re my everything, my paradise.”

“Will you do something for me?” I moaned as his fingers made me cum harder than the last several times combined.

“Anything for you,” he said as I regained some composure.

“Fuck your wife like the slutty whore she is.”

The End.