A bite to eat?

An hour later Hunny was sitting in a tavern with a frothing mug of ale and steaming plate of stew. Everything tasted far more scrumptious, knowing she had paid for it directly with her own hard work and efforts. The strong, hoppy beer was even managing to wash away what cloying flavours were still glued to the back of her throat.

Her table wobbled quite a bit as she tried to spear each lump of meat or potato… but that was hardly surprising since someone had decided to bend her waitress over the other side of it and lay into her with great, flesh-clapping thrusts. She shared a grin and an eye roll with the young lady at all that hyperactive grunting, but reached out a spare hand to free and fondle a swaying breast nonetheless. This was the SaDC she'd fallen in love with… sighing and squelching and moaning everywhere and yet ironically, no-one giving a fuck. It was so freeing, so healthily immoral and morally unhealthy… or some combination of those words anyway.

Afterwards she headed out into the lengthening shadows of the event’s first evening, determined to win some pleasure and excitement of her own. Five shining gold coins still bounced against her hip in their pouch… and Hunnydew would have no more need of them for the rest of the weekend. Time to throw them away on homebrewed mead or perhaps an exotic, erotic dance or two…? Or maybe even wander into a dark alley and have them taken off her at knifepoint, along with a couple of other sharpened demands! The young accounts clerk who spent most of her life waiting for forms to copy bit her lower lip excitedly at the thought of all such adventures.

SaDC’s first night was always a chaotic tumble of pent up energy as everyone readjusted themselves to a wholly different set of social norms and got into the spirit of the characters they’d chosen. It was a warm, summer night lit by a thousand flickering torches and campfires. All around her crowds of witches, elves, orcs and werewolves took form… tightening their costumes up for all the rigours they would face ahead. Leather straps, see-through silks and tail-plugs inserted openly into orifices. This was a place where ‘modesty’ was left laughingly behind; a wasted word not welcome or wanted.

Hunny’s own sack-cloth tunic barely covered her ass, leaving obvious the fact that she was wearing nothing else beneath. The occasional cold breeze whipped between her legs and woke her up from her pure delirium to be back here. Her bare feet were caressed by soft grass or shifting dust, far from fears of concrete, broken glass or discarded needles. She could walk anywhere in this place and feel nothing but anticipation of the very experiences she’d come here to find. With the grin of a diabetic child climbing candy mountain, Hunny slipped in amongst the throngs, looking forward to whatever came her way.

The next few hours or so faded into a haze, even as she lived through them. Perhaps the sickly-sweet but incredibly strong mead had something to do with that. Two of her hard-sucked coins were spent on refilling, swilling and spilling mugs of that at any rate. Another might have been flipped over to a rather nice pair of fire jugglers who wiggled everything they had in her face. Hunnydew found she had rather a thing for lapdances, a discovery she'd never have even had a chance to make had she not come to this wonderful event. Where the last couple she had no recollection when she woke up groggy and sore the next morning…

Though the particulars of where she was sore might have given some hint…