“I get called an old coot these days, occasionally sculptor, artist or visionary, Tom the royal pain in the rear, but almost no one still calls me Tom the Potter. You said your name’s Jay? Jay Markham, Junior, if I’m not mistaken. That solves a small dilemma.”
“I’m Jay Markham, but not a Junior. Dad’s middle initial is D. Mine’s T. Tom here was my dad’s art teacher, back before they’d invented paint.” The last part was to Robin, but was rewarded by a scowl from the potter.
Robin piped up. “What dilemma?”
“Well, I was wanting to invite a certain pulchritudinous and famous riddler to enjoy some of the more exclusive attractions here, but I was reluctant to trust her taste in men. Being as he solved your riddle, I was tempted to include him, but now that I know his misbegotten origins…”
“Hey!”
“…I think you’ll both fit in fine. And neither of you need to worry about your rides, or the clothes you no doubt left in them.”
“What kind of attractions?”
“Nothing too extravagant, but there is a small section of the festival that is invite-only. No hurry, but when you feel like it, follow this path to the gate that says ‘I’ll forgive your trespasses when you get the hell off my land’. It’s a Hastings lock, Junior.”
“What’s a Hastings lock?” Robin asked.
“I’ll show you.” Jay gave her a squeeze. “It’s kind of a riddle. And thank you, Tom.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Potter.”
“Young lady, it’s Tom, and the least I could do for you. Jay T, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ll see you both later.” The old man spun and headed back toward the booths they had passed earlier, with arms swinging and a spry bounce to his step.
Jay felt Robin stroking his forearm with her fingers before she twisted in his embrace. His hard-on, finally deflating during their encounter with Merlin, had left a wet spot of shiny clear fluid on her back. Her motion spread part of it sideways, following her waist. She reached a hand back, examined one wet finger before wiping it on her leg. Jay was entranced by the sight of his own pre-cum, shining on this angel’s thigh.
“You really do mark ’em, don’t you Mr. Markham?”
“You bring out the best in me.”
“Is that really the best? I’m a little disappointed.”
“Just an expression, fair lady. The best is yet to come.”
“You wish.”
“Yes I do. That’s just a taste.”
“A taste? Naughty boy, thinking of third base already. We just met.”
“After your tale of the Barn Swallow, can you blame me?”
“I guess not, but you started it with the morality tale of the Tufted Tit.”
“Morality tale? What was the moral?”
“A little pain, a lot of gain.”
“I could never hurt you.”
She pouted, eyes shining. “Not even a little?”
Jay’s boner had risen again, and now lurched against her hip. “Maybe if you asked real nice.”
“My noble knight.” She kissed him, soft, warm, and comfortable. Only as they parted did he feel a light touch of her tongue across his lips. Jay was very aware of her breasts, punctuated by the hard knots of her nipples, against him.
Robin looked down. “A knight with a very formidable lance.”