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rip-quizilla · 10 months

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The Naughty Wench

Summary: You work as a barmaid at the raunchiest booth at the Renaissance Faire, and Eddie purchases a beer from you. He gets a little more than a "huzzah for the tipper" when he throws a fiver in the jar labeled "Thank you, Mistress". (Read: you talk dirty to Eddie while you pour beer down his throat) Based on this Tik Tok posted by @joyful_aura: https://www.tiktok.com/@joyful_aura/video/7244964514561543470

Word Count: 4.7k

Content Warnings: light degradation, dirty talk, sexual themes

Working the faire circuit was in one word… an experience.

Just last week you had been in Texas at Scarborough Faire, where it had been hot as balls underneath your layers of linen, lace and leather. The earlier months hadn’t been too bad, but there was one thing you’d learned about the southern states in your years of renaissance faire experience- when summer hits in the south, it hits hard. The moment you’d driven your van past the Indiana state line, you could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees on the spot.

Now here you were- all trussed up in your wench getup, tits pushed up high enough that they rested like two fleshy pillows right below your collarbones. The corset you’d chosen today wasn’t your most comfortable, but you looked damn good in it- milk chocolate brown with pale gold ribbons that laced up the front. The straps that ran over your shoulders provided some extra support, which you were grateful for with all of the movement your job required. Your skirts today were a warm shade of mustard yellow with a few mismatched patches sewn over holes and stains that had refused to come out over the years. Short sleeved blouses were a must, unless you wanted to pass out from heat stroke or have beer-soaked sleeves clinging to your forearms. Today yours was a pale cream color, with little puffed cap sleeves to cover your shoulders and a neckline that plunged below your corset, so the girls were front and center, ready to earn plenty of “huzzah for the tipper!”s.

Today was Sunday, and since this faire was weekends only, Sundays were basically Fridays as far as faire folk were concerned. As was tradition, you would all be going out for libations once the day was done, followed by a blissful night of sleeping late in your Volkswagen Westfalia.

You hadn’t known what to expect when you’d quit your job and joined the faire circuit, but every day you got to meet new people, play dress-up, and speak in a funny accent- which accent? You switched it up day to day. And the fact that you got paid to do that made it even better.

You loved your little renfaire life.

You stood with your hands on your hips inside the little wooden booth that served as your place of work for the next month’s worth of weekends. Every plastic cup was stacked in place, you had a fresh cleaning rag stuck into your apron, and patrons were already beginning to file into the fairgrounds. A pleasant breeze brought a smile to your face.

“Morning, love!” You turned to see your fellow barmaid, Ingrid, wiping her hands on her own apron after wringing out her own rag into a small bucket of soapy water. Her outfit today was- like most days- the polar opposite of yours. She looked more like a pirate wench while your color palette was more akin to what one might picture in a countryside tavern. Burgundy skirts and off-white petticoats swished around her black lace-up boots, and her black leather waist cincher showcased the smallest part of Ingrid’s middle. You gasped, acting scandalized by the bits of black lace from her bra that peeked over the neckline of her red blouse.

“Ingrid, what kind of place do you think we’re running here?” you tutted, smiling cheekily all the while. “This is a respectable establishment! People might start thinking we sell more than just the drinks here, you know.”

Ingrid cackled, hopping up to sit on the wooden counter behind her. “My dear, I have absolutely no clue what you could be talking about.” She shrugged, smirking behind a shared secret. “We do sell more than just the drinks.” You both giggled knowingly, continuing to complete all of the morning to-do’s around the bar.

Ingrid was right- drinks weren’t the only thing your bar was known for.

There were plenty of booths around the faire where patrons could purchase a drink, but only one where the barmaids would pour beer directly into their mouths while talking dirty to them- and The Naughty Wench just happened to be that booth.

Originally, the idea had been Ingrid’s- the two of you had been friends for a year now, meeting last year in this exact same spot at Indie Faire and working at what was then a run-of-the-mill beer booth. It was customary at any renaissance faire for bar wenches to proclaim “Huzzah for the tipper!” when presented with a tip of any kind, so neither of you was a stranger to putting on the theatrics when money was dropped into your tip jar. One day, however, Ingrid had put out not one, but two tip jars- one labeled ‘Thank You’, the other labeled ‘Thank You Mistress’. You had laughed at it at first. Then Ingrid started…changing the script.

A patron would chuckle to themselves, throwing a dollar into the Mistress jar, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing when Ingrid would smile and tell them they were “such a good boy.”

After a few more, she’d gotten even more creative. “Oh, you thought I only wanted money?” she would croon, holding the beer tauntingly out of their reach. “I want to hear you beg for it, say ‘please, mistress’,” When you’d heard it you’d been appalled, mouth opened wide in shock. You had already prepared yourself for the patron to yell in her face and demand their money back when you’d heard a shy, stuttering “P-please, mistress, can I have my beer?”

Throughout the day, Ingrid’s “Mistress” character only continued to amp up with every hour. At some point, you had joined in, repeating the sultry tones you’d been listening to Ingrid spout easily to strangers and even making up a few responses of your own.

“Only good boys get to drink at the faire, have you been a good boy?”

“You need to say please before you drink- good girl, you’re so very welcome.”

“Hands behind your back and open wide.”

Word about Ingrid’s sultry tipping strategy circulated quickly. Soon, more and more patrons were lining up at your booth ready to be degraded by pretty girls in tight corsets, and when you started pouring the beer into their mouths, tits pressed up higher on your chest while you leaned seductively over the bartop? People couldn’t get enough.

The success you’d both had with Ingrid’s brilliant idea had now landed you here- a booth that was dedicated to serving delicious beverages garnished with a splash of degradation.

Your first patron of the day- a young woman who looked ready to play a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream- stepped up to Ingrid, gazing up at her with a flutter of eyelashes as she ordered a can of beer and shyly dropped a one dollar bill into the jar labeled ‘Thank You, Mistress’. Ingrid smiled, asking “Do you know what that jar is for?” to which the fairy blushed and nodded, giggling.

“Mm-hm.”

Ingrid grinned flirtatiously, popped open the beer, and addressed the fairy, “Such tiny little hands you have, they’ll make my can look so huge…”

***

Eddie Munson was vibrating.

At least, he felt like he was. He could barely contain his enthusiasm as he looked around at every sword, every pair of elf ears, every corset- to his left, there was a booth selling handmade leather journals. To his right, a stage where a crowd had begun to gather to watch a group of bagpipe players. In front of him and behind him, a seemingly endless number of nerds who, like him, had found a place where being a weirdo was not mocked, not simply tolerated- but celebrated.

“I fucking love it here.” Eddie sighed.

Steve Harrington, whom Eddie was still a little astounded had been convinced to actually go to a renaissance faire, looked overwhelmed already. “I can’t believe there are this many grown adults who wanted to spend the last day of their weekend playing dress-up.”

“Playing dress-up and getting drunk.” Robin corrected. Unlike Harrington, she had thrown herself into the renfaire spirit completely, showing up in a tasteful pirate outfit that Eddie had a feeling was comprised mostly of oversized pieces she’d found in the men’s section of the thrift store, but she pulled it off. All she was missing were some real swords, which she had already announced she was on the hunt for today.

“I feel bad for people who are so out of touch with their inner child that they have to get drunk just to put on a costume.” Dustin said matter-of-factly, shooting Steve a judgemental look. Steve balked when he caught it, yapping at Dustin about growing up or the ridiculousness of how much quality costumes cost- something along those lines. Eddie wasn’t listening, he was too busy taking mental note of which booths he needed to come back to before they left; he knew if he ducked inside them now, he would blow all of his money on the first stall they saw, and he was determined to stretch his budget for the day as far as he could.

“Well I for one think we all look amazing, costume or no.” Robin said decisively. Eddie had to agree. He had spent weeks working on his own costume, digging through his and his friends’ closets to create an ensemble fit for a tiefling bard such as himself. He had fashioned himself a pair of red horns using one of Erica’s old headbands, toilet paper rolls, tin foil, paper mache and black paint. Now, they sat nestled securely among his brown mane of curls. The rest of his outfit had been easy- a blousy-looking shirt from Nancy’s closet that he’d rolled up around the elbows, one of Wayne’s old waistcoats from a suit that hadn’t seen the light of day since Eddie’s parents’ wedding, apparently, a pair of black pants that he’d tucked into his combat boots, and a plethora of accessories. Rings on every finger, every belt he owned slung over his waist or across his torso, one even looped twice around his thigh. Eddie had even gone the extra mile this morning and smudged some of Robin’s red lipstick (he was still amazed that Buckley owned lipstick) around his eyes as a nod to the fact that tieflings’ skin is normally red or blue. To finish off the look, he had even brought along his old acoustic guitar, which was slung over his back to mark him undeniably as a bard.

Eddie thought he looked pretty damn cool.

The rest of their party had also decked themselves out for the day, Robin with her pirate outfit, Dustin, Mike, Lucas and Will had done a fantastic job of transforming themselves into hobbits for the day. Max, Erica and El hadn’t been able to decide whether they wanted to dress as pirates or fairies- so they’d all chosen both. Now they looked happy as could be, skipping down the dirt path with fairy wings on their backs and plastic swords on their hips. That left Steve as the only normal-looking person in a sea of geeks.

Eddie chuckled to himself- for once in his life, Steve Harrington was the odd one out while Eddie Munson was effortlessly fitting in.

“First order of business is turkey legs.” Robin announced, eyes already darting in every direction in search of lunch as she wandered ahead.

Steve mumbled in agreement, along with something about finding something to drink so that he’ll survive the day. Just then, a trio of pretty young women in corsets caught his eye, immediately brightening his mood. He ran a hand through his hair, ready to say something undoubtedly Steve-y to them, when they beat him to the punch.

“Hi! Um, would you mind taking our picture?” One of them said, shoving a camera in his direction.

Steve, surprised but not altogether deterred, smiled and took the camera. “I’d be happy to, ladies.” However, he couldn’t hold back his shock when the girls all turned to the four teenage boys.

“You guys look like you came straight out of Lord of the Rings!” one of them exclaimed. “Best costumes I’ve seen all weekend, honestly.” The girls situated themselves between the blushing boys as they muttered different ‘thank you’s and complimented the girls’ outfits in turn.

Steve snapped the picture begrudgingly while Eddie slung an arm around his shoulders. “Looks like you’re losing your charm there, Harrington.” he smirked, earning an eye roll from Steve in turn.

“Yeah, yeah, piss off, Dante’s Inferno.”

“How have you read Dante but not Tolkien?”

Their bickering was cut short by corset girl retrieving the camera from Steve, then giving Eddie a shy, “I like your horns.”

Eddie turned his full attention to her with a toothy grin. “‘Preciate it, sweetheart.”

The girls waved goodbye with a thank you, erupting into giggles as they walked away. Steve shook his head in disbelief. “What world did I accidentally cross into where Munson has game and I have none?”

Eddie cackled maniacally, hopping onto a nearby picnic table and swinging his guitar to his front, strumming it a couple of times with a flourish of his hand.

“You’re in my kingdom now, King Steve!” Eddie plucked the strings of his instrument jauntily, unable to contain his glee. “Here, it pays to be a freak.”

Strum-strum-strum.

Eddie threw a fist in the air. “Huzzah!”

To his surprise, his call was echoed by several patrons and vendors, erupting in a hearty “Huzzah!” from all around him.

Accepted. Celebrated. Eddie felt at home.

That’s when Robin came bounding up from behind him, two turkey legs in hand. “Okay, I know where we’re going next.” She sounded excited.

Steve took one of the turkey legs from her hand, eager to get something in his stomach. “And where is that, Robin?”

She grinned largely, immediately launching into a retelling of a conversation she had had with another patron while waiting in line for the turkey legs, going on several tangents about how surprised she was that the line was short, how the patron had been dressed like a viking and actually had viking tattoos all up and down his arm, how she wasn’t sure how accurate they were but they sure looked cool-

“Robin!” Steve interjected impatiently.

“Right! Sorry! Basically one of the bars has wenches that talk dirty if you give them a tip, and I want to see that in action.”

Steve and Eddie’s eyes grew wide. Steve, hilariously, started to check behind him for the kids as if they were still too young and innocent to be talking about such things even though they were all about to graduate high school already. To his relief, they had all wandered into a booth selling leather goods.

Eddie responded before Steve could. His lips had curled into a mischievous smile, “Buckley,” he crooned, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I’m gonna need you to tell me more about these wenches.”

***

By noon, the line for your booth was easily at least ten people long and stayed that way no matter how many beers you’d poured. Luckily for the two of you, not every patron at the faire was seeking you out just for the bonus content. Most of them just wanted a drink, which you couldn’t fault them for. After all, nothing went with a summer day quite like a cold, bubbly beverage.

“Hey,” Ingrid’s voice caught your attention as you took a brief moment to wipe down the drain under the tap while the line had gone briefly shorter. “Remember that conversation we had where I called you out on having a type?”

You laughed, nodding your head. “Yes, I think I do. Why?”

“Tell me what that type was again?”

You sighed, tucking your rag back into your apron and patting your hands dry at your sides. “Let’s see, I think I remember you said long hair was involved-”

“Long dark hair, specifically.”

“-long dark hair, right.” you remedied. You busied yourself with fixing the next patrons’ drink orders as the discussion proceeded. “Tattoos were mentioned, and I think you said something about makeup?”

“You always get all swoony around men wearing eyeliner or some kind of eye makeup. Always. Without fail.”

“Yeah, yeah okay…” you rolled your eyes. She was right, but you hated that you were apparently so obvious about it.

“I would like to make an educated guess about another thing I think belongs on that list.” Finally turning to face Ingrid, you cocked your head, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Okay, I’ll bite- what else do you think belongs on that list?”

Ingrid grinned, looking pointedly at something over your shoulder. “I think you’re into guys who play guitar.”

You blanched- damn. That had been true since high school, how did she-

You spun around to see whatever Ingrid was focused on behind you, and felt your knees get weak when you found it. There was a man- in his twenties, from the looks of it- dressed as a tiefling bard with a guitar slung over his shoulder. It was true, from looks alone he checked all of your boxes. The long curly hair, the red makeup around his eyes, the tattoos that showed on his forearms…

“You okay over there, or did my business partner go brain dead for a second?” You heard Ingrid’s smirk before you saw it. She laughed at you good-naturedly when you faintly swatted at her with your cleaning rag. “It looks like they’re headed this way, you take him and I’ll take his blonde pirate friend.”

You took another look at the man- trying not to be obvious about the fact that you were looking- and noticed this time that he was traveling with two others: the aforementioned blonde pirate and a normal-looking guy who, admittedly, had very nice hair. They did seem to be headed your way; you quickly took a moment to turn around and top off the canteen that hung from the leather belt at your waist with some cold water. You quickly took a sip before turning around to face the counter, and when you did, there he was.

“Hi, uh-” his eyes were downcast, hands digging into his pockets for cash. “-can you break a twenty?” Pulling a crumpled bill from a money clip, his gaze met yours under an apologetic brow. Big brown eyes, framed with blood-red smudges- he pulled it off. Tremendously.

You didn’t have to force your service industry smile- it came naturally for him. “With pleasure, noble bard.” You propped your forearms on the wooden bartop, hoping your cleavage was looking particularly stunning at the angle from which he was gazing up at you. “And what sort of beverage might you be craving on this fine day?”

“That’s right, wrap your lips around my tip and drink me down, beautiful-”

Before he could answer, the two of you were both more than a little distracted by Ingrid’s filthy monologue. She held a freshly opened can of beer to the blonde pirate girl’s lips, and you were very impressed with how easily the girl was able to obey the instructions that Ingrid gave every customer who tossed a tip into the Mistress jar- hands behind your back, mouth open, chin up, eyes on me. You and the dark-haired tiefling were both entranced by the sight before you: Ingrid, with the endless stream of dirty words that tumbled from her mouth as she poured bubbly, golden brew down the throat of the tall blonde pirate.

“-keep that pretty mouth open you little minx, and look up at me as i finish down your throat. Yes, that’s a good girl, and swallow.” Ingrid pulled the can away from her lips with a smile, gazing proudly down at the pirate who sputtered out a soft cough after breathing down some much-needed oxygen. “Good job, darling.” Ingrid crooned.

The regularly-dressed guy standing behind her stared with wide eyes, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was appalled or impressed. “Oh…my god, Robin!” he guffawed.

“I’ll.. aha, um-” You refocused your attention to the bard standing before you, a natural blush now creeping into his cheeks beneath the red makeup on his temples. “-I’ll have what she’s having, please.” He nodded to his friend- Robin, apparently.

You smiled knowingly, taking the twenty from his hands and ignoring the rush you felt when your fingertips brushed his. You made his change, handing him a few fives and ones before giving the Mistress jar a gentle tap. You finished opening his beer just in time to see him toss a five into the jar- a generous tip, since the beer only cost $3.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling at him appreciatively. “Huzzah for the tipper.” you purred, opting to make the phrase just for him instead of yelling it obnoxiously for all to hear. After all, you were about to be plenty obnoxious already.

You nodded flirtatiously to direct his attention above you. “See those shackles up there, love?”

His eyes, shining with anticipation and the best kind of nerves, flicked up to what you were referring to- dangling from the wood above the bartop were a pair of metal handles that hung by black-painted chains. They were similar to an actual shackle, but it was obvious that they were there to hold, not imprison. The bard looked back down to you, returning your flirting gaze.

“I do.” he smirked.

You narrowed your eyes on him playfully. “I’m going to need you to reach up and take hold of them-” He did as he was told, and you admired how his blousy sleeves fell further down to his biceps, showcasing the way his ink stretched over lean muscles. “-oh good boy, you look so good stretched out for me like that. Hold tight now, darling.”

You had to hold back a chuckle at how quickly his flirty eye contact and smirk turned to a pure deer-in-the-headlights expression when you’d called him a good boy. You had an inkling that this guy wasn’t used to being told what to do in this particular way.

Leaning forward until your cleavage was practically up against his nose, you nodded at him sweetly. “Open that pretty pink mouth for me darling- yes, that’s right, lips around my hole and suck-” Once the can was to his lips, you began pouring a steady stream down his throat. His big doe eyes didn’t know where to look, torn between your eyes and your tits that looked just about ready to pop out of your corset. The rest of the words that tumbled from your mouth were less spoken and more so moaned while you gazed down at this gorgeous little tiefling who- for the next few moments- was completely at your mercy.

“-take it, yes, good boy, take me deep into your throat as you look up at me with those pretty brown eyes. Oh my goodness, you’re so obedient! I love it when a big strong man lets himself be this pretty and stretched out for me as he suckles on my little hole. No, don’t look away, my eyes are up here you wretched little thing- yes, that’s right, oh I only wish I could hear all the pretty noises you make when you take me down deep like this. Yes, you’re going to finish me, aren’t you? Oh yes, you’re going to finish me using that dirty little mouth-” Nearing the end of the can, you poured the last drop down his throat. “-yes, oh that’s a good boy, swallow every drop of me, good job love.”

He sputtered a final swallow, red-faced and breathing deep after chugging an entire can of beer. His eyes were still wide, but now there was also the way he looked at you- like he would do pretty much anything you ever told him to do at the drop of a hat.

Letting go of the shackles above your head, he managed to catch his breath before checking behind him to make sure he didn’t have a long line of waiting customers. No line had formed, but his blush had deepened when he saw his friends both watching him with smirks that said they were never going to let him live this down.

“Shit,” he chuckled looking up at you, his personality taking on a slightly more devil-may-care sort of attitude now. “I-uh- I think I blacked out, you might have to say all that again, I didn’t catch it the first time.”

You laughed, easily shirking the domineering attitude that you exuded for the job and relaxing into what felt natural- soft, sweet, and flirty- with this guy, at least. “Tell you what,” you said, coyly. You weren’t normally one to invite strangers out for drinks, but Ingrid had been right about one thing- this guy was definitely your type. “When the faire closes today, I’ll be at a bar called The Honeybee about ten minutes from here. If I happen to see you there,” you shrugged, and you didn’t miss how his eyes immediately flicked down to your cleavage as the motion made you bounce. “-then we can say all kinds of things to each other.”

The facial expression on the bard changed in an instant, his expression shifting from innocent and eager to knowing and darkly tempting. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “Are you always as demanding as you were just now, or was that just an act?”

You knew what he was asking, and part of you wanted to tell him that he’ll have to show up at The Honeybee if he wants to find out, but something in you also wanted him to know the answer to that question- wanted him to know so many things about you it made your head spin.

“I can go either way and have a great time regardless.” you replied, smiling sweet as a spoonful of honey, and the devilish grin that he gave you in return took the breath from your lungs.

“Perfect.” he practically growled, “What’s your name?”

You told him, and the way he repeated it on his lips had you pressing your thighs tightly together. “And your name is?”

“Eddie.” he smiled.

You grinned in return. “Eddie.” you repeated. His name tasted like whiskey and cinnamon on your tongue. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

To your surprise, Eddie laughed raucously, hopping back a few paces. “Oh, on the contrary, fair barmaid!” With a flourish, he swung his guitar from his back to his front, strumming a few chords in rapid succession and plucking them in a melody that showed a level of skill that you hadn’t been expecting. After a moment of music, he stopped short and looked up at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Mark my words, my love- you’ll see me again before tonight and you will- without a doubt- hear me before you see me.”

You let out a surprised laugh, fingers flying up to your mouth to block an obnoxious guffaw from escaping your lips. That only spurred Eddie on more. He made a sort of swatting motion with his hand, gesturing toward your own hand at your mouth. “Away, thou evil hand! How dare ye venture to hide the sweetest of smiles that does bloom on a flower such as this?” He plucked away at his instrument dramatically, as if doing so were a declaration of war. You couldn’t help but humor him, grabbing the offending hand with your other one and firmly clasping both in your lap.

Eddie smiled, still strumming his guitar. “Aye, and stay away! For there are far better things for pretty hands to do than hide even prettier faces.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down as he began to walk away with his friends.

Your jaw dropped as you let out a good natured scoff. “And what would the noble bard suggest I do with my pretty hands?” you knew that you practically yelled it, and it caused a few other guests to glance your way questioningly; you didn’t care, it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing you’d said today.

Eddie’s cackle rang out through the air like electricity during a storm, and your heart did a little backflip when he spun around once before facing you one last time before he was out of your line of sight. “Oh, my lady-” he called, smiling unabashedly, “-I humbly suggest you find the biggest can you have, think of me-” and then the motherfucker winked, “-and use your imagination.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #renaissance faire #naughty wench #rip-quizilla

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