Drum Fest (story 2)

 Dayffed and I were on our way to a drum festival up in the mountains. Magic Bus groaned as it climbed the pass, but it was a dependable old VW. Getting time off work had turned out to be easier than I thought. So, here we were bouncing down a dirt road to the Druid’s Drummer’s Debacle as Dayffed called it.

Now, to be honest, I wasn’t sure what I believed about this bunch of drummers. He had been meeting with them for about 4 years. I was the new addition to the group.

Up until 3 months ago, I hadn’t really enjoyed the various pagan festivals that I had gone to. I had spent so much effort in the pursuit of sexual pleasures that I had really missed the “magickal” part of the whole thing. Then I met Dayffed. The festival earlier this summer had brought this Welsh storytelling Druid into my life. Sexually we fit together like a hand in a glove. On the mundane level, things were a bit dicey at times. He has a velvet voice reminiscent of Richard Burton’s. He also has a temper to match. Granted, I’m no sweet submissive fluff bunny pagan either. We’ve had our disagreements and our compromises. In many ways we simply hadn’t had time to work a lot of things out in this relationship.

This trip was one of them. I was in the middle of harvesting herbs and getting them dried when he had burst in the door with news of the drum meeting. I wasn’t enthusiastic at the idea of being up in the hills with 40 other drummers. Each of us had made concessions over our religious practices, and sometimes we didn’t always see eye to eye. Dayffed waxed lyrically about the pleasures of drum circles and the energy they raised. Now, I’d been to a few at various gatherings and they just hadn’t done anything for me. They were nice, but not nice enough to drag me from my garden. Or so I thought.

We argued, and he stormed out the door. I didn’t see him for two days. We weren’t living together, as neither one of us would give up our house. We did traipse from one to the other, but that was an item still under discussion. Thursday afternoon, I was knee deep in mint when kisses began to rain down on my neck. Dayffed had an uncanny knack for walking up on people without making a sound. His kisses moved down my spine making me tingle. His arms wound around me and pulled me to him. More kisses were the order of the day.

“Dayffed, what are your up to?” I asked. He smiled and explained that he wanted to apologize and start over about the weekend’s activities. He was nibbling my neck by now in a way that was turning my knees to rubber, so I gave in. We’d talk.

Our conversation came in gasps as we kissed down the hall and into my room. The bed was cool and his hands so warm that I tingled all over. I felt so silly for feeling such lust and hunger for his presence. He pleaded his case as he nibbled his way up my leg.

“Isabeau, please come with me to the drum fest” he murmured coming closer and closer to my crotch.

“I have work,” I told him.

He moved closer, tugging on the hairs while his tongue started to caress my lips. “Pleeeeeease….” He whispered against my clit as he began to melt my mind and resistance. I was sopping wet from his attentions and my mind clouded with the orgasms that began to build as he worked his way with my body.

“Ooh, Yesssss!” I exclaimed as he entered me. I was already lost in the pleasure of our bodies as we moved in the dance of love.

As we lay there in the afterglow, he turned to me with that cheeky smile of his and said, “I’m glad you finally agreed to go. You’ll love it.”

I hit him with the pillow until he retreated to the bathroom to escape. The ludicrousness of the whole situation hit me and I fell to the bed laughing.

Dayffed peeked out of the bathroom and asked, “Do you still love me Isabeau?” I nodded, still giggling. I was still getting use to him calling me Isabeau. Dayffed insisted Elizabeth was a nasty English name not fit for me. He was so sweet about it that I relented. It was the closest thing to a magickal name I had ever had. Sometimes, I was just too mundane for him.

“Isabeau,” The mention of my name brought me out of my daydreams and I turned to Dayffed. I’d been staring out into the forest and hadn’t noticed that the VW had stopped. “Shall we get out dearest?” I looked at him and giggled. He could be such an actor that it was hard to tell what he was up to at times. I guess that is what made him such a good storyteller and in such demand at festivals.

We set up his tent, and brought in the bedding as well as the rest of our equipment. I took care of the food and my flower presses while he got the magickal gear and his drums. They were big Celtic frame drums. Bodhran’s. They were like a tambourine without the jingles on the sides. We were almost finished when this giant of a man ran up calling for Dayffed. Hugs were exchanged and Dayffed introduced this walking mountain as his friend Morgan.

“Ah, the fair Isabeau, I’ve heard so much about you. Glad to see someone finally snared my wee Welsh friend here,” he said with a wink. Dayffed clapped him on the arm in mock anger at being “wee” and amidst the laughter they picked up the drums and headed off.

I was now free for a few hours, so I grabbed my bolin and a basket for herbs and went off to see what I could find. Dusk was settling into the forest as I got back to the tent with my basket. Dayffed and Morgan were there waiting for me. I changed into a tunic dress to match Dayffed’s tunic and trews and off we went to the drum circle.

At first, I wasn’t impressed. There was lots of noise and not a lot of cohesion to the whole thing. My first thought was a bunch of 8-year-olds with oatmeal boxes could do better. Dayffed caught my eye and shook his head at me as if to convey the message that I should just wait and not pass judgment so fast. So, I sat and waited. Dayffed began to drum a jig and then sing a story in beat to the music. I found myself tapping my fingers in time to the beat. This was okay, I thought. I like jigs and the fast tunes. I also knew that just the sound of Dayffed’s voice at times like this was enough to make me wet.

Others took over, and Dayffed came to dance with me. “So, are you enjoying yourself now?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered, but explained that I still didn’t understand his rapture. I knew he looked at the world far differently than I, and at times it made things difficult to explain to one another. This was one of those times. Dayffed had always been wrapped up in music and storytelling from the time he was a small boy. It was the same way with his faith. I on the other hand, sort of discovered paganism and herb craft along with my own witchy talents late in my teens. Here I was twenty years later, and still feeling like a rank amateur.

“Just wait till they play the big drums.” Dayffed said pointing to Morgan and a dark shadow in front of him. He led me to the fire and sat me down close to Morgan, as it was his turn to sing again. Near the middle of his tale of Ceridwen, Morgan began to beat the drum. He matched the cadence of Dayffed’s words. It was like thunder accompanied him. For me, sitting near the drum, it was like the earth was beginning to vibrate. A deep low thrum echoed itself in my skin and bones.

Morgan played as others joined in and different people took Dayffed’s place. Dayffed sat down behind me and snuggled up tight. I reached behind me and caressed his cocks as it was poking me in the back.

“Ah, now you have found why I love the drums,” he said. I laughed as I had seen the couples pairing off and wondered how much of it had to do with the drums. He kissed and nibbled my neck in the dark as we listened. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. I wanted more than just his kisses and love bites. We rose and moved off into the darkness. We were secluded, but still close enough to hear and feel the drums.

Our clothes snagged on our arms and legs as we tried to undress and caress at the same time. Finally as a heap under us, they cushioned our lovemaking. Dayffed ran his hands through my braid, letting the curls flow free. I meanwhile had started nibbling my way down his neck and was working towards his crotch. His nipples were salty with sweat and that honeygrass smell of him. My tongue flicked at them until they were as stiff as mine had become. He laid back as I moved down his stomach. Dayffed’s hands caressed my ass and thighs as my lips worked their way to his cock. I nibbled the base as my fingers tugged at the hair on his balls. He began to squirm and exacted toll on my lips with the same tugging motion. I moved my lips up the shaft with a sucking kissing nibbling tease as I felt his fingers glide into my wet pussy. It was getting harder to concentrate, as I licked and kissed his cock. When he was all wet, I blew air across him and then covered his cocks with my hot wet mouth. Dayffed groaned, and his fingering of me became more insistent. His thumb played my clit as deftly as it did the dulcimer. I was humming deep in my throat as his cocks slid in and out.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and grabbed my hips to pull me towards him. I straddled Dayffed and let his cock slide into that dark wetness as my knees griped his sides. His hands played with my breasts and nipples as we moved together. Deep inside me, in my bones, I felt I was following a rhythm that was echoed in the strokes of his cocks and the movement of our hips. It felt as if it came from the earth Herself, and that is when I realized it was the rumble of the big drum pulsing through us. Morgan and the other drummers were unaware that they counted out the rhythm of our passion.

I began to feel the surge of orgasm, the wild ride taking my senses with them and scattering all to the wind. I felt the heavy surge and knew I was bolted to the earth at the same time I flew in the night sky. Dayffed moved and arched with me as the drummers thundered.

I was still humming with the beat of the drums in my veins the next morning when Morgan came by our tent. He smiled at me and then turned to Dayffed. “I see Isabeau discovered a love of the drums last night,” he said.

Dayffed smiled and nodded. Morgan went on, “It was a fine drumming and the entertainments weren’t bad either. He looked at me and winked. For a moment I didn’t understand what he meant, then the full force of it hit and I blushed a furious red.
“I… I…. I thought we were far enough out in the dark,” I stammered.

Morgan winked again and said, “You were for most of them, but me and the lads could just see you. You looked like the Goddess yourself as you made love to this fine man.” He gesturing to Dayffed, nodded and left the tent.

Dayffed grinned, took advantage of my tongue-tied silence and pulled me back to the bedding. “Shall we see of the drums still sing in your veins my love?” he asked.

I nodded as the pleasures began again.

2 thoughts on “Drum Fest (story 2)

  1. Drums have always made my blood sing and my heart pound. A marching cadence can make tears come to my eyes. I suppose that’s odd but that’s me, odd night owl. 😉

    Now, take drums and then add in a man with a Welsh accent and i’m melted butter.

    Thanks for the story. What are you doing for the (Christian) holiday?

    1. LOL… I’m right there with you… Then again, I grew up listening to Richard Burton…. drool…

      Glad you liked the story.

      As for the holidays… With Wolf up north, I’m having dinner with my parents.

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