Field Of Dreams

 

My husband and I are members of a living history group that’s centered on the
middle ages. Each year we attend several camping events sponsored by this
group. During these events you’ll find a few hundred people spending the
weekend dressed up in tunics and doublets, fighting with rattan weapons,
practicing archery, working on craft projects or just kicking back and
relaxing without the phone ringing. You’ll also find several parties running
late into the evening and extreme quantities of homemade beer and wine in many
campsites.

I’ve also learned from experience that the two of us tend to get a little more
sexually aroused during these events. I’m not sure if it’s the people,
outfits, atmosphere, pretending to be someone other than ourselves, or perhaps
some combination of the above. I just know that at a weekend camp out we’ll
be doing more than just snuggling up in that sleeping bag.

Part of the fun of these groups is coming up with your alter ego, or persona,
to use during these events. While one should not use famous names like Arthur
Pendragon, one may use Arthur. Being hopeless romantics, we took the names
Tristan for my husband and Isolt for myself.

This particular event took place in the mountains in a remote, moderately
wooded area. One dirt road leading in to the place limited traffic. At night
the only lights around came from lanterns, the main fire pit, and the stars
above. The only open area was the fighting field, a clearing around a hundred
yards or so across at its widest point. It’s in the fighting field that
fighters, fencers, and archers pit their skills against each other during
tournaments.

On our first night there we visited some other camp sites and spent some time
at the party going on at the fire pit. Generally, we spend the evenings going
around mingling with friends old and new, and sharing our drink. That night on
our way back to our own camp, we noticed several shooting stars. The only
problem was we couldn’t see them very well from our site because of all the
trees. Not wanting to pass this up I asked Tristan, “How about we grab a
blanket, a bottle, and head off for the fighting field to watch the stars?”

“You know you need but ask, my love, and it shall be so,” Tristan replied with
an Irish accent induced by the drink he’d consumed. I always have to chuckle
at the way his weekend Irish brogue gets stronger the more he drinks.

Grabbing a spare blanket from the tent, and a bottle, we made off into the
darkness. Once we’d arrived at the field, we spread out the blanket and lay on
our backs watching the show above us.

It comes as little surprise that after spending the day watching strapping
young men work up a sweat proving themselves on the field of battle, a little
bit of drinking around a fire, and being snuggled up with Tristan, I found
myself more than just a little horny. Deciding that this was a wonderfully
romantic spot for some passionate lovemaking, I rolled over to face Tristan,
only to find he’d dozed off. My heated desire wouldn’t allow itself to be
cooled that easily, however.

I never realized before then just how convenient medieval clothing was. Most
middle ages garb was loose fitting, using drawstrings or ties to hold
everything together instead of buttons and zippers. I easily pulled the front
of Tristan’s tunic up past his waist, untied his drawstring breaches and
pulled them down just enough to expose his crotch. Throughout all of this, he
never twitched a muscle, at least not until I went down on him. I cautiously
took his still flaccid cock into my mouth and ran my tongue over its tip.

This was the first time I could recall ever sucking Tristan’s cock without it
being fully erect. I ran my tongue over the head as I gently sucked him. I
loved the way it felt, starting off with his soft cock and then feeling it
pulse and grow to its full size in my mouth. The loose skin tightened up as
his shaft thickened with his excitement. I felt good knowing it was me making
it happen.

Tristan’s hands caressing my body let me know that he was awake. As I
continued to use my tongue and mouth on his now fully erect cock, Tristan
helped me slide off my peasant blouse, allowing my breasts to swing freely.
The summer wind blew against my nipples, followed by Tristan’s usually gentle
hands now hardened by desire. While he continued playing with my nipples with
one hand, Tristan’s other hand found its way under my skirt. First he started
rubbing my mound through my panties. His hand found the wetness soaked from my
passion. When he knew I wanted more he pulled them down. Skillfully, he began
probing me, then slowly inserted his fingers into my pussy and began sliding
them in and out. My arousal built with the tempo his knowing fingers created
and covered his fingers in wetness. Occasionally his fingers moved to my clit.
There he would rub my own hardening muscle for a few moments before returning
his fingers into my wet quim.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to have him inside me. I straddled him on
my knees, backwards, my back toward his torso, facing his feet. Using one hand
to guide his member and the other to spread the passion-swollen lips of my
pussy, I lowered myself onto him, sliding his cock into me. Between my saliva
on his cock and my own wetness, his shaft easily slid its full length into my
pussy in one stroke. I started slowly, raising and lowering myself on my
knees, savoring the sensations caused by his cock sliding within me. My hands
were free to massage my breasts and brush my fingers across my erect nipples.

It was at this point that I looked up and realized we were only about forty or
fifty yards from the party by the fire pit; close enough so that I could make
out the familiar faces of people we knew. I knew that the partygoers’ eyesight
would be adjusted to the bright fire next to them and they would most likely
never see me out here in the pitch dark. It did, however, give me an added
tingle, that slight sense of erotic danger. What would a man imagine if he
left the fire to gaze at the stars as we had, and cast his eyes on my naked
torso rising and falling in the grip of passion? Would he think he’d had too
much drink? Perhaps he would watch; touch himself in his own desire. That
exhibitionist thrill made me even more excited. In my arousal, I increased our
sexual tempo, the intensity of my movements rising along with my swelling
desire.

It wasn’t much longer until Tristan stiffened and I felt the spasms of his
orgasm, adding his seed to my already soaked pussy. The air heavy with the
scent of our sex, our combined juices flowed out of me along his cock and down
over his balls. I moved one hand from my breasts and started fingering my clit
while still driving my pussy up and down on his still hard cock. My yearning
peaked, brought on one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had. I clenched my
vaginal muscles, held onto Tristan’s cock, keeping it inside me as my orgasm
washed over me.

After untangling ourselves, we lay in each other’s arms for a while afterward,
touching and kissing, until our passion built once again. We returned to our
campsite, and made love once again before finally falling asleep in each
other’s arms.