Love Between Trapezes

by Peaches Pleasant
Vivienne’s legs were spread wide, blood rushing to her head. The whip cracked and Damien laughed. “Okay, sweetheart. You can come down now. You’ve been a very good girl.” 
Artfully, Vivienne dismounted from the practice bar which she’d been hanging onto. “Goddamnit Damien, I don’t think I could have held myself upside for much longer with you licking my cunt like that.” He cracked the whip again, this time just grazing the side of her ass. “You are complaining because I eat your pussy too well?” “Of course not, you know what I mean.” She walked over to him, pulling him in by his lapel, enjoying the feeling of fabric against skin. She unbuckled his belt and released his attention-starved erection. With a quick lick to the underside of his shaft, she walked back and sat on top of the practice bar. “Now you come here.” He obliged, entering her inch by inch, delicious torture. Vivienne wrapped her legs around Damien’s waist as his cock plunged all the way inside her, penetrating her soul. Damien grabbed her hand and held it high over her head as they kissed, finding a rhythm from their hips to their lips. They heard the lions roar as their cage was brought by the door of the practice room, on their way to the rings. He withdrew from her with a sigh. “Sorry,” he said, gently stroking Vivienne’s chest where the buttons of his shirt left a series of small, red indents. “Don’t be, work has to come before pleasure some time. I know you’ll make me come plenty, later.” That was what Damien loved about Vivienne: her infinite patience, her genial understanding. Not to mention, of course, her voracious libido.

He gave her a last tap with the whip, almost gentle this time, and turned to exit the room to take his turn as the star of the Big Top. Vivienne smiled at his retreating figure. There was something about the way his coattails swung, the way those black pants hugged his ass. God, and the way he handled the whip. His grasp on the shaft, self-assured, erotic. She wondered if anybody else saw it that way. She saw the way the single, or at least unaccompanied, young mothers would smile at him after the show, directing their ample cleavage in his direction. It wasn’t jealousy that made her watch; not exactly. She knew sometimes, these women would come back to the tents long after the show was over and the rest of the audience had gone back to their safe homes, homes without wild animals or glitter or death-defying tricks. Such a pity, to be without. Sometimes she would climb up to her perch on the pretense of preparing for tomorrow’s show. But sometimes she would lower the rope down and watch him, giving women a private tour of the Big Top. It always started the same way; he would bring her center ring and have herstand on the ringmaster’s platform, gazing into the now-empty seats. If she was the right kind of woman, she would imagine all those eyes
on her, the power that comes with knowing everyone’s attention is on you. And her lids would lower softly as her chest swelled in a motion that was somewhere between masculine and orgasmic. Sometimes, of course, that moment didn’t happen. And then Damien would continue, courteously, but that would be all. But when it did, he would always wait for that gesture. He would noisily, making no pretense, step on the platform to join her, behind her. He would place the end of the whip in her hand, never letting go, while wrapping his other arm around her and, softly, grazing his lips along the nape of her neck. It never failed. Vivienne could feel herself dampening just thinking about it, as her left hand subconsciously raised to her chest. She rolled her nipples between her fingertips, pulling hard as she remembered the seductions she’d witnessed. But tonight he would be all hers. Tonight she might tell him that she knew. He’d be mad, at first, that she’d been spying, but he’d forgive her once he knew she liked it. Loved it, loved to watch him in that coat, watch him bring out the wildness in even the most docile looking suburbanite. Loved hearing these lambs cry out as he showed them how animals should fuck. Her hand lowered from her breast, slowly trailing down her belly and landing on her swollen clit. The way he looked taking them from behind. She knew how it must feel for them– like it did for her the first time with Damien– but to be able to see him in action was at least as good.

Tonight she wanted to pretend to be one of them, let Damien take an innocence she’d lost long before the circus. She had the outfit all picked out. She wanted to hang from her own trapeze and lower herself down on his cock, she wanted to cry out into the nothingness and hear the echoes of both their orgasms reverb throughout the tent. Two fingers from her other hand were tap-tap-tapping at the walnut shell inside her, and she knew she was close. She wanted to come before his act was over so she could meet him offstage, put her fingers in his mouth before she went on. She could hear the applause, listening to how much the crowd loved him. Almost as much as she did, maybe more sometimes. Maybe not surprisingly, this thought was the one that pushed her over the edge. As she peaked she heard a scream. Vivienne wasn’t sure if it was her own voice that had cried out just now until she heard a roar, different than the ones she was used to; this one was thirsty, menacing, The orgasm rolled and someone in the crowd cried out: “Holy Fuck!”