“Exquisite,” he said, and pressed the flowers to her, not knowing they still had their thorns. There was so much adrenaline still in her from the show, she barely felt the sting. He stared at her from under his Bowler hat–glinting eyewhites tracked her. She swallowed hard, still breathless from her performance, and gave a little curtsey. Lucy had just taken over the trapeze act from her mother and was not used to so much attention, though the circus was where she’d been raised. His eyes pinned her; a specimen, a butterfly box. Panicked but imperious, she sashayed, equine, toward her trailer. He watched her slippered feet raise little clouds of dust, glimmers in the artificial glare. Sequins winked from her haughty swishing hips. His pants tightened at their insouciance.
She put the flowers in a jar on her vanity table, and vamped for the mirror. The costume suited her. The sequins dug a bit at the thighs, but she never noticed while performing. Her breasts were held fast by the red satin cups, though they spilled a bit over the top. She slipped her chalked and calloused hand under the satin and pulled them up high, revealing a sliver of nipple. Sucking on her thumb, then a finger, she rolled her nipples stone hard. That instant change always amazed her. Gripping the vanity stool, she arched her back till she had just the right angle and began to grind. Her hand moved down through satiny valleys, to where the costume pinched. She slid her hand under to cup her mound, licking her lips, mauling her tits, rocking hard now on her hand. The caged cats growled in the distance. Her head swam, her body swarmed. Lifting her heavy lids just a crack, she peered out under thick false lashes. She liked how she looked getting off. How her tits looked when she touched them. Her back arched harder and her legs spread wider, then–SLAM. She yanked up her straps, flipped off the light, tugged her robe from the hook behind the door and tightened it around her.
The open window had fallen shut. When she realized that was all, that she had not been caught, she felt silly, but when she tried to pick up where she left off, she felt sillier. Silly, bored, and completely possessed by a ticklish ache.
She decided to go to Lili’s for a Benedictine and Brandy. Lili, the bareback ballerina, always had a story and a shot of B&B. Lucy tied her calico robe even tighter, and headed across the lot.
She hadn’t counted on Lili having company. Not that it was unusual. Local lot lice with circus fantasies eventually came upon Lili, so to speak. Lucy tiptoed to the window of Lili’s trailer, sneaking up to the back, where she wouldn’t be seen. There was one small window covered with two violet velvet panels. This gave Lucy only a tiny gap through which she could enjoy a clear view.
Inside she saw the stranger who had given her the roses. Red. She touched her arm where they’d cut her. Red. He still had his Bowler on and was pouring shots of B&B from a purple glass decanter, shifting his weight nervously. All the lamps were on, but covered with pale scarves. Lili wasn’t young. She knew the value of a creamy glow.
She was standing atop a big old Western saddle that was rigged as a swing, suspended from the ceiling by chains. She was wearing a version of the costume she wore in her solo act, the Bareback Ballet. Rhinestone tiara, fusty lilac tutu, velvet bodice trimmed in silver sequins–but the cups and crotch were absent. The saddle too, had a sizable hole in the middle.
The man shot back his drink and Lili, with a rough, horsewoman’s laugh, sprang from her perch and drained four more shots in rapid succession. She sat the stranger on a tiny stool and hopped into her saddle throne, performing a version of her bareback solo with the same gleefully slutty twist she had given her costume. Once she got the saddle swinging, she eased into a handstand, revealing a purple dildo that had been camouflaged by the tutu. Lucy and the stranger simultaneously gasped. It was enormous. Thick and generously veined. Lili laughed another throaty laugh and flipped right side up, facing the stranger with her leg pulled up in front of her face. If she were a clock, it would have been 6:30 and 6:15 all at the same time.
“You want my cock, cowboy?” she taunted. He hesitated before nodding. On the next swing up she kicked the Bowler from his head with an exuberant splay-legged leap and landed flawlessly back on the saddle, faux cock bouncing amid the fluffy tulle. “Go on, grab it!” The half-hearted way he reached for it, missing each time, rekindled her laughter. “You rather have my pussy darlin? Is that what you want?” He was red-faced, impassive. “Come on darlin, don’t be mad at Lili, she just havin a little fun with ya is all. You want to touch my pussy?” He nodded again.
“Now you gotta tell Lili.”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
“Yes what, darlin?”
“Yes, I want—”
“What do you want, baby?” She was swinging with all of the power she felt. He unbuckled his belt.
“I want to touch your pussy.” He stuck his hand down his pants as he said it, and began pumping his cock.
If Lucy had been aching before, she was now in an excruciating kind of limbo. Her hand was not hard enough to rub through the three layers of costume: satin, tights, and thong. She pressed herself against the trailer, but couldn’t get an angle. The night was cooling off, but she was swamp hot and seeping like a spring.
Lili was straddling the saddle now, still swinging. “Touch it, kiss those lips darlin.” Lili’s pussylips peeped through the hole in the saddle. The stranger was on his back, trying to touch Lili’s cunt each time she swung over him. His fingers leapt, but never dipped in. It was maniacal, but he didn’t give up. He wanted to touch her pussy. His mouth was open, his face contorted and meat-red. In a final effort, he stood up and grabbed the swinging chains, trying to stop them. Lili swung right into him and knocked him down, but this slowed her enough for him to get to his knees and slip a hand under the saddle, which Lili promptly slapped away. She immediately dismounted, handed him his hat, and with a brisk tap on his ass, said, “You gotta go darlin. You just ain’t circus.”
Lucy watched him standing there, hat in hand, pants unbuckled, almost as dumbfounded as he was horny. He was still expecting some kind of reprieve, when from around the corner, Lucy stuck out a foot, a tight-clad leg, then stepped completely out, to where he could stare at her. He pinned her again with that glass-eye lock. This time it went through her like blackstrap molasses.
Without touching, she led him through a gap in the fence, just far enough away, and when she stopped walking and turned to face him, they watched each other, maybe stalked in plain view. To break the impasse, she dropped her robe.
He lurched forward and immediately dragged his tongue up her sternum to her chin, making a brief detour across her collar bones. Sign of the cross. She kissed him, darting her tongue sharp into his mouth. “Let me see your pretty tits.” He borrowed Lili’s commanding tone, then added, “Please.” The straps sparkled in the half-light as they fell without hesitation, like white flags. He gasped as her breasts hit the air. Her nipples felt soft in his mouth, like they’d melted, but were ruby hard and shone between his teeth. She knelt and faced him, nibbled the skin around his unbuckled pants, and put her face between his legs, trying to think of what it smelled like. There was nothing to compare it to. Only cock smelled just like that. She pulled down his pants with one swift tug, coaxing his dick through the flap in his whities. It leapt and slapped his belly. She slid a moist finger down the length of his crack, while her mouth slowly slid up his shaft. When she reached the soft, sliding skin of his sack, she coddled it, touching the silk and fuzz. She was grinding her heel between her legs as she knelt. His hips bucked. She tasted brine. She wanted to drink him up whole. She burrowed her tongue in the hole at the top then swirled it around the ridge under the head, jumping off that little cliff over and over and over again. She craved him, it, whatever this was. She pulled all spare skin tight and filled her mouth with the rest, pumping and sucking and stroking with verve. He sucked her finger hard, gently biting to hold it. She liked the way her finger slid between his lips. The stranger licked where the thorns had cut her arms. He kissed her nape and then into her ear: “Let me eat you.”
She nodded and moaned, like she could feel it just from the words. He knelt between her legs. Sequins shrieked vivid in the shadows. They inflamed, and oddly, infuriated him. He pulled the bright crotch of her costume aside and ecstatically split her thick tights. She glistened, bare. Glitter. His thick fingers parted pink folds and exposed a ripe red clit. It throbbed amid dark curls. The curls were like cilia, whiskery magnets, pulling him. He closed his eyes and inhaled. She wanted his mouth on her pussy. She wanted him to lick it, and she said so. He suckled her belly and hips, and just when she thought she was getting what she asked for, he dropped and lapped at the spaces behind her knees, then bit light on the arch of her foot. As he slithered back up, she whimpered, begging now. He smiled, pressed open her thighs, and with the tip of his tongue, started flicking her clit, making her cry out with each sopping slap. Suddenly, his tongue went soft and flat, he shook his head in a vigorous no, but that’s not what he meant, not at all. He slathered it all over her curls and grasping lips. He darted it in at random, tasting and tickling as she pulled at her breasts, rolling and kneading the swollen flesh. Her head thrashed from side to side on the hard ground. He put a hand on her forehead to still it. Dirt mixed with rouge on her cheeks. He wanted her to focus, relish every pulsing nerve. She pulled her nipples toward her tongue, and thrust her hips toward his face. He liked that. She was almost ready. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, his fingers pressing, her hips held high. Five o’clock shadow scraped as he licked her from ass through mound to belly in slow, wet cycles–mining her belly button before diving back down. Diving back down. Diving back down. A house of cards, nails digging into white knuckled fists, she gripped her cunt tight on his tongue. Her pulse hammered, her vision tunneled, and with a throat ripping growl she cried,
And he did.