Our Private Festival Fiasco
“Hehe, you’re so good at handling women, honey.”
“Now, now, this isn’t the end. We can’t just eat crappy stuff even at a university festival!”
Elma tugged my hand along. Toward the food trucks. The sizzle of frying oil. Delicious aromas. Golems wearing chef hats bustled about.
“Cube steak and churros here!”
It was on another level from the tavern food. Juicy steaks bursting with flavor. Freshly fried, crispy, sweet churros.
“Why is this so damn good?”
“Of course! Food trucks are run by outside vendors!”
True enough. Student-run tavern slop versus tasty trucks. This pointless obsession with details. Wasting a brilliant mind on this.
And yet.
“Ahahaha!”
Laughter burst out. This artificial space. Tents and lights. The awkward harmony of a makeshift tavern and food trucks. All of it pieced together in a rush by Elma, afraid I’d be sad about missing a real festival.
“H-Honey? Why are you laughing? Did I mess up?”
“Nothing. Just…”
I crouched down. Met her gaze. Cupped her cheeks.
“You’re too adorable, Elma.”
“...Ugh.”
Her face flushed bright red. Cheeks squished in my hands.
“Thanks. This is better than any festival I’ve ever been to.”
“Hmph. Of course. Any proper dwarf wife has to handle basics like this…”
She averted her eyes, lips twitching. I gave her a light kiss. Mwah.
“It’s a festival, so we need drinks, right?”
“Yeah! Obviously! Hey, tin cans! Set it up quick!!”
The golems scurried about. They spread a mat on the sandy beach. Premium whiskey. Food truck snacks. And even the ‘realistic’ failures from the tavern.
Clink. Glasses touched.
One drink. Two. Alcohol warmed me into a haze.
“Hey, honey.”
A voice rose from my arms. She bonked her head on my solar plexus. Almond eyes looked up.
“I was so scared earlier.”
“Sorry. I won’t prank like that again.”
“I’m... a freak with a massive complex.”
Her tiny hand fidgeted.
“Every time you look at normal girls, I’m terrified. Like you’ll leave me someday.”
“That won’t happen.”
I pulled her waist close. Pressed her deeper into my chest.
“I can’t live without you, Elma. I can’t even sleep without your scent.”
“...For real?”
“Should I change my number tomorrow? Block you completely?”
“Hmm... that’s a bit much. Just block them.”
Even now, practical compromise from the professor.
“Got it. I’ll block everyone but my wife.”
“My wife…”
Elma grinned wide. Clearly pleased.
“Honey.”
Fidget. She twisted on my thigh. Almond eyes sparkled in the light. Flushed cheeks, parted lips. And a seductive smile.
“Know what the real flower of a university festival is?”
“The tavern?”
“Nope.”
Elma pushed lightly on my chest. Spread her short legs and burrowed deeper. Her negligee rode up a bit.
“Drunk.”
A small hand slipped under my shirt hem. Teasing my skin with soft, coquettish strokes.
“Sneaking off to a dark corner. And devouring each other.”
Where does she learn this stuff?
“Conveniently, no eyes here.”
“Yeah, well. It’s our house.”
Elma licked her lips. Wet forest scent mixed with nutty aroma. Sharp whiskey tinged underneath, brushing my nose.
“What’ll we play? Power-trip professor?”
“Professor Bronzebeer. This is inappropriate.”
She wants to play, so I’ll indulge. Nothing beats ‘fun’ for shaking off gloom.
“It’s fine, student. Just spread your legs quietly like I say. Uh, uhehe, uhehehe.”
“That laugh is creepy, professor.”
“Hey! Immersion! Method acting!”
Elma directed seriously. I burst out laughing and hugged her waist tight. Chewy, soft flesh squished against me. Wave sounds. White sand. And the world’s smallest, most lovable woman.
Time to enjoy the festival to the end.
============================================
“Haa... haa...”
We tumbled for ages. Power-trip professor and student. Elma’s roleplay scenario.
‘Uh, uhehe. Student. If you don’t stay quiet, no scholarship next semester, got it?’
She started thrilled with the abuse.
‘Nooo! Hyaak?! That’s scary, stop!!’
But ended whimpering and sobbing.
She never changes.
“Ugh... you’re a beast, honey...”
Tiny lump melted into me. Elma mumbled. Eyes red from happy tears.
“Who started teasing first?”
“Still... I said stop...”
Mouth said that, but her lips curved up. Face soaked in satisfaction.
“Good job. Come here.”
I pulled out wet wipes from the golem. Sweat, fluids. Traces everywhere. I meticulously cleaned Elma’s messy naked body. Dewy sweat beads first. Wipe.
“Eut...”
Down her cheeks and nape. Pale barley skin. Heavily swollen breasts unfit for her size.
“Hehet. Tickles.”
She squirmed as I wiped her cleavage.
“Stay still. It’s sticky.”
“Don’t stooop— your hands tickle, honey...”
Stroked her belly, slid to inner thighs. Twitch. Elma’s body shivered cutely. Aftershocks lingering.
“Nooo...”
She clamped her thighs. Gripped my wrist tight.
“Still sensitive there...”
“I know. But gotta clean. It’d feel gross.”
“Ugh... gently...”
“Don’t worry.”
Light touch. Careful not to hurt delicate folds. Tap. Tap. Barely brushing, wiping traces.
“Hyaut?!”
Her hips bucked. Toes curled tight. Overreacting to a graze.
“Hurts?”
“N-No...”
She rubbed her face on my chest. Twisting shyly, but legs parted obediently for my touch.
“Hehet, you’re so good at handling women.”
Rubbing her cheek on my arm, humming happily. Pleased by the careful touch.
“Don’t do this to other women?”
“Do I look like a cheater?”
“Uung... but other girls might flirt...”
Elma puffed her cheeks sulkily. Jealous just imagining.
“You’re my wife. Never.”
Kissed her crown to soothe. Grinning erupted from my arms.
So damn cute. How could I not love her?
=======================
Cleaned her thoroughly. Fresh skin. Her scent returned. Wet forest, nutty nuts.
“All done.”
“Phew. Feels fresh.”
Elma plastered herself on me. Skin on skin. Body heat mingled with breaths.
“Want clothes?”
“Nah.”
Shook her head.
“Wanna stay like this.”
“Not cold?”
“You’re my electric blanket.”
Treating me like a heater. Fine by me. Her warmth felt good too. Dwarven heat higher than humans.
We rolled naked on the beach.
“Feels like a real festival.”
“Right? I put in effort.”
Elma propped her chin on my chest. Kicked short legs in air. Alternated cold sausage stir-fry and churros.
Liberation. Empty space just for us. Nude freedom. Paradise.
Elma grabbed whiskey again. Sipped. Frowned.
“Eh, no. This won’t do.”
“Why? Bad?”
“Yeah! Bland! Mood’s good, but booze is too light!”
Millions per bottle. High proof too. Bland?
“This world’s liquor sucks!”
Snap.
“Hey! Tin cans! Fetch the best from storage!”
Golem dashed off. Soon hauled back grunting.
‘Oak barrel...?’
Rustic, huge oak barrel.
“What’s this?”
“Homeland booze! Dwarves go nuts for it!”
Elma popped the cork. Pop!
‘What proof is this...?’
Vanilla and peat aged notes. Then alcohol stabbed my nose. Eyes watered.
“Gimme your glass, honey! Wife’ll pour.”
“What proof...?”
“Hm? Just over 60.”
“Ice?”
“What? Good booze straight!”
Sane? Dwarf... straight?
“I-I’ll pass.”
“Eh, man up. Drink!”
“No way. Can’t wake tomorrow.”
Flailing hands. Wrong sip, hangover’s the least—might never wake.
“Hmph. Fine. I’ll drink alone.”
Elma poured only hers. Glug. Amber liquid sloshed. Downed in one.
Gulp. Gulp.
“Kyaaaa—!!”
Uncle-ish sigh.
“Yes! Yes! This burn down the throat! This is booze!”
My esophagus burned watching. But she chugged like water. One. Two. Three glasses. Pale skin pinkened fast.
“Hehe... gooood...”
Tongue slurring. Eyes half-lidded. Devil brew that intoxes dwarves. Glad I skipped.
“Honeeeyyy.”
“You’re wasted.”
“Not druuunk! Who am I? Great and renowned and respected...”
Slurred fist softly thumped my chest. Fluffy punches. Craving affection. Self-praise crisp amid slur. So Elma.
“Heyyy? Honey. Look there.”
She wobbled, pointed. At festival tents.
“Festival’s missing the most important thing.”
“What?”
“Booze and... dance! Hic! Stage!”
Hiccup truth. Festivals have performers.
“Karaoke setup?”
She bought one on whim, gathering dust.
“Nooo! Now!”
Wobble. Elma rose on my belly.
“Elma?”
Pattered across sand. To plastic table. Climbed chairs, grunting. Thud. Stood atop proudly. Still nude.
“Careful. You’ll fall.”
“Hey! Hic! Quiet! Audience watches quietly!”
She pointed imperiously.
“Now! Special guest! Elma Bronzebeer’s stage! Begins!!”
Voice boomed. Golems clapped seals. I joined stunned.
“Thiiis—! Is idol dance... hic! Yeah!!”
Elma hummed intro herself.
“Ppapapam! Baaam—! Dududung—!”
Off-key, off-beat weird tune. Then bounced into trendy idol moves.