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“She’s all yours, gents,” my guide announced as he tugged me toward a small bonfire. KC was there as were five other company men, enjoying a smoke and the look of flames leaping and sparking the night air with fire.
Before I could gather myself, there was another hand grasping at my waist, taking me from Connor and putting me over his lap. I was spanked again—another swift punishment to my angry skin. Then I was passed around the campfire, going over each pair of thighs in turn and receiving, not a lengthy, but certainly rousing going over.
I wasn’t sure I could handle much more by the time I got to KC, where thankfully—and to my surprise—my boyf
riend didn’t take advantage of my ass just then. He was waiting for the privacy of our tent. He smiled, as the glow from the fire made his face look mischievously merry, “I think she’s had enough initiation, friends. She’s mine now.”
“We don’t get to see her master take her?” one man protested.
“Only if she really deserves the treatment,” KC answered.
He was in ecstasy leading me back to our tent. I was a collared wench—broken in to the task by the rituals someone with a creative mind made up when this debacle started. This was totally absurd in the scheme of real life, but I couldn’t deny my ebullient mood.
“Enough on your ass, or do you need more tonight?” KC asked once we were behind the curtain of our tent.
“Oh, please can this be enough. I need another fuck.”
He had no problem with my request. In fact, I suspected he figured the night would go this way. We were all over each other: naked, sucking, teasing, laughing and getting very serious in each other’s arms. I came twice more, KC once, and then we slept. I was exhausted, but I was still happily wearing my satin collar.
Chapter Thirteen
My first Renaissance Faire continued in the same boisterous fashion as my first tentative days of this wild event. I joined the sisterhood of collared females ready to bare their butts, take their punishment, and earn lots of perverted sex for their willingness to yield. I understood now why my fellow maids, mistresses and gentle ladies were easily led into this life. Every day was an exhilarating mystery of speculation. Whose name tile would be chosen in the morning? What man might find you napping, or speaking too sharply, or otherwise behaving badly? What women would be called before the company for public censorship and punishment? Weird thrills darted through me all day long as I waited with anticipation piqued. I couldn’t let my mind rest—not completely.
At first, I was filled with worries—when would I have my first incident? Who would that first dominant man be? And sex? Could I let myself be taken by any member of this company? These men were not the polished sort of lovers I usually desired—not even like KC. There was not a minute that I wasn’t watchful.
“Gail, hon, you’ll never get your ass spanked being Miss Goody-two-shoes,” Carol told me one afternoon while we were on our way with Connie to the faire market with a new load of beaded necklaces.
“I’m not doing that!”
“Oh, yes, you are,” Connie agreed with her. “Lighten up.”
“I’m scared to death,” I admitted.
“Aw, c’mon,” Carol said. “What could be worse than having Connor Elsinore buy your ass, spank it till it burned, and fuck your cunny?”
“Hmmm. A morning at the whipping post,” I suggested right way. I think I was worried about that the most.
“Oh, but that’s fun.”
“And painful,” I was sure.
“Pain? You’ve been with KC Gable as long as you have, you know pain.”
Not to mention the years I’d been with Rossi, I thought privately.
“You know ‘pain’ from KC Gable,” Carol smiled, this little knowing, twinkle-eyed smile that brightened her whole face, “you have the best, honey.”
Connie agreed—saying so with a similar look of lust on her face. “My only worry is that you’ll put him out of commission and make him an honest man.”
“You mean keep him from screwing around at these events?”
“I don’t think I want to change KC. If this is what he wants, then I don’t want to stop him—if I could stop him.” I shrugged. I wasn’t sure how much power I had over my handsome biker/actor/all around unusual guy. I was somewhat surprised that they thought I had such prowess.
I became wench-of-the-day the next morning—as though my two confidants had somehow rigged the game in my favor. They gave me knowing glances as they saw me take my place in front of the that dreadful whipping post. As KC came up to undo my skirt and bare my ass, I winced in fear. From any other man the act would have been routine. But from KC, it was a private intimacy he was sharing with the rest of the company, right out in the open, in broad daylight. His might, and stern invulnerability moved inside me in a lusty wave of command. I felt so small—but infinitely aroused.
I hoped it would be his hand taking the first shots at my ass. But he stuck with the declaration he made at my initiation—he’d only spank me in front of the company if I deserved it.
Regardless of his plans, I had the full treatment at the post. In my one long hour of agony, there were no less than six men reddening my posterior. Some I loved for their almost sensuous style. Other spankings were frightfully painful—but very brisk. At least twice during the ordeal, I saw KC over my shoulder some distance off, arousing me with a firm and judgmental stare—almost defying me to misbehave. How could I, tethered to this post?
