“Wow, that’s some weapon,” I said, . The bodice of her fake Renaissance gown pushed her tits up and up, until they overflowed, and between them sat a little knife, its sheath tucked down her front.
“It’s a letter opener,” she said, lifting it out, the flash of brass ruining the illusion. “The only real daggers I have are back at my place, and they’re shoes.”
“I like them either way.”
The beauty patch on her cheek was fake, too. Her breasts weren’t. I found that out laying on her couch; it was one of those reproduction velvet fainting lounges. She lay back with her arms over her head and pointed those breasts at me, the tops firm with large pink nipples, the undersides full and just this side of too heavy.
“I like reenactment,” she said, spreading her legs, showing me neatly trimmed blonde pubic hair.
“So what is this?” I asked her, thinking of her Italianate gown and my hose and doublet. “Paolo and Francesca?”
“No,” she replied. “This is fucking.”
“I like fucking, too.”
I cupped her breasts in my hands and lifted them, testing the weight. Her nipples tasted like salt and heat and maybe a little like the cotton chemise she’d worn under the gown. I loved the way she let her sounds out, hot and loud, lusty like the Renaissance wench she’d resembled when I met her.
My cock rubbed the inside of her thigh, and she laughed, reaching down to feel me, rubbing my dick like there was no tomorrow. “You don’t need that codpiece, do you?” she asked, her thumb scraping the slit at the end of my cock.
“I like it anyway,” I said. “Those hose don’t offer much protection.”
She felt ripe and wet as I slid inside her, her skin damp with sweat as we tussled. She was right about the fucking. Nothing like historical déjà vu came from pushing into her over and over, my cock harder than her silly brass letter opener. When I came inside her it was wholly new, and all about her.
I got to see those shoes a week later when she brought them to my place for some supper and striptease. Far more formidable than any false dagger, they raised her above me like some sort of goddess on a pedestal. Aphrodite in heels, a Greek myth for the modern age. They suited her far better than the cheap synthetic velvet of our last meeting, I told her, kneeling in front of her to worship properly.
“I left my half-shell at my condo,” she replied, pushing me back toward my own bed with the ball of one vinyl clad foot. The spiked heel left an imprint on my nude chest. “Besides,” she added, “Greek and Roman really isn’t my period.”
“That’s all right,” I said, licking my lips as I took her ankle in my hand, her bare thigh rising above it like a feast of flesh. “Some weapons are timeless.”
The rest of the words we might have shared flew out of my head as I rubbed my cheek against her boot. The vinyl felt cool and slick, but soon warmed from the heat of my skin. I could hardly bear to wait to rub other things against them, but when I made to rise, she pushed me back down.
“Is that all I get?” she demanded. “I want some licking, buddy.”
God. I started at the base of the heel, working up along the back of the shaft of the boot, and I couldn’t help but think of how phallic those words were. It wasn’t like sucking cock, I had done that and liked it, but this was bigger, more.
Especially when she turned to straddle my head with her boots, one on either side, and bent to lick at my dick. Whichever way I turned I found red heaven, and when I looked up her cunt glistened for me, sweet and wet. My mouth watered even as my hips pumped up desperately, my balls drawing up as she sucked me like a pro.
In the end I gave her what she wanted. I licked. I started with the boot on my right side, craning my neck around to attach my mouth to the boot, moaning at the alien taste. Then I worked my way up and around, lifting head and shoulders off the bed to take one swipe at her pussy before turning my attention to the other shoe.
She groaned for me, her hips wiggling, her juices staining the insides of her thighs. She sucked me harder, her lips sealing around me air proof and water tight, making my belly hard as a board and my thighs like rock.
When I couldn’t take any more of the boot worship I grabbed her hips and yanked her down so I could slide my tongue inside her, the flavor so intense my eyes rolled in my head. We managed to rock and lick and suck maybe a whole minute before she cried out around my cock, her body shaking above me like she really was Venus rocking on a wave.
When I came my ears rang and all I saw was static, everything graying out around the edges. Nothing I’d ever tried in historical reenactment ever felt like that.
Her stiletto stabbed right into my heart. Or at least my crotch.
“I love the boots,” I said, stroking one with my sweaty palm, feeling my skin drag against it.
She laughed, rolling off me and kicking her heels high in the air. “Yeah?” she asked. “Cool. Wait until you see what I can do with swords.”
My poor spent cock gave a twitch. “What’s that a reenactment of?” I asked, thinking of lady pirates. “Anne Bonney?”
“No,” she replied. “I don’t really have the boots for that one. You’ll like the strap-on, though.”
That had me laughing out loud, a flush of pure lust rushing through me. I had a feeling I would like anything she threw at me, no matter how historically inaccurate it was.
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