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.