Queen's English (9000 words) ---- NAME_1 was having a wonderful time at the Renaissance Fayre. At age fifteen, she didn’t often get much opportunity to leave the house all day, but her parents were perfectly happy to let her work on the weekends—they were thrilled, in fact, that she’d be so responsible. Naturally, NAME_1 didn’t see it that way—working at the Fayre was fun. The low-cut period dress and bodice gave her a racy feeling, and helped to push out her budding young breasts. It was also fun to play-act in Elizabethan English, and to receive so much attention. Renaissance Fayres are for flirting, no doubt about it.

NAME_1 was walking the Fayre, on break from her job as a caller for a choocolate stand, and saw some friends who had worked at the Fayre the year before. She ran up and hugged them, saying her “Good morrow.” After a bit of playful flirting, one of her friends, NAME_2, leaned forward to kiss her. Naturally, she was more than willing—NAME_2 was gorgeous!—and the kiss lingered. She felt her lips soften and relax, and closed her eyes, feeling shared pleasure draw herself toward him. His hand lightly held the small of her back, and for a moment, she was lost in a world of slightly open-mouthed kisses, toying with the idea of opening her mouth further and depeening the lovelock.

Suddenly, she felt a change of heart, and leaned back, smiling only a moment as she turned away with a murmured goodbye, and headed toward a hay-bale theatre that was beginning to crowd for an upcoming dance show. She sighed a bit, regretting turning away, but proceeded on toward the small crowd. A man, dressed in a rented peasant’s garb, was sitting and watching her, eyes alight with interest.

Something about him instantly repulsed her, even more than his unimpressive physical appearance. The balding man, perhaps of forty or so, was watching her, and twice as she approached him, she saw him visibly look her up and down, staring at her partially exposed cleavage. Nonetheless, it was Fayre, and that kind of behavior was more acceptable, though creepy, so she smiled back.

“Good morrow to you, m’lass.” He gave a smile and a somewhat formal nod—like a halfhearted bow.

“And good morrow to you, m’lord.” She smiled back insincerely, then looked past him, hoping to find someone she knew so she could walk on. When she saw her ex-boyfriend, NAME_3, she turned to walk towards him, but the man interrupted again.

“Leaving so soon, m’lady? We’ve not even yet met!” His accent was good, and he blustered well, but she hadn’t seen him at the Fayre