Funhouse

by Aurelia T. Evans

  The man strolled through, hands in the pockets of his tan trench coat, his black fedora low over his eyes as he watched his feet kicking up, as though he heard music to dance to instead of screams. He glanced up at her the way a person taking a pleasant walk looks up for roses.

  Square jaw but fine features that reminded her a bit of the fey masculinity that made up Bell’s unique attractiveness. Pale, but with a touch of enough sun that it wasn’t like hers or the Spider’s. Dark hair, clean-shaven. Eyes so blue they glowed through the shadow under his fedora. He wore a suit under the trench, his black shoes matte and foreign. Hardly the ensemble one should wear to an outdoor circus rife with sawdust, grass, ice and mud. Yet there wasn’t so much as a smudge on his shoes or a drop of moisture from an icicle on his trench coat.

  He stopped in front of her.

  She twisted and writhed against the hands grabbing her, caressing her parted legs, pulling her arms up to present her breasts at their best angle. But as stimulating as the hands were, as much as she understood the image that Bell had wanted to create, she didn’t think she’d felt quite as sexual under a strange man’s scrutiny as she did right then. A sexual object, plenty of times. But a sexual woman…?

  He looked at her. At her. Not just her body, although he appeared to appreciate that, too, taking in the sight of the hands reaching under the brief skirt of the negligee, cupping and squeezing her breasts, pulling her hair. But he returned his gaze to her face, searched her there as well, leaving her uncomfortable under the scrutiny even when she wasn’t looking back at him.

  But then she couldn’t help but meet his eyes, victim of her own curiosity. His hands were in his trench pockets, but they weren’t moving, so he wasn’t trying to surreptitiously jerk off. She couldn’t even tell if he was turned on, because the trench coat mostly hid the front of his trousers. The dilation of his pupils and the color in his cheeks could be easily explained by the dark funhouse or the cold weather, because otherwise his face was perfectly serene.

  A slight smile curved his lips, and that weird glow to his eyes drew her attention until she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

  He didn’t blink.

  Writhing and twisting against the hands seemed more and more deliberate the longer their eyes met, until her desire was at an exquisitely excruciating peak—not the old agony, but a new, fresh hell, the way it had been when Bell had first given it to her with a kiss. She couldn’t figure out how long the man met her eyes, how long she stared back at him, but he had to have lingered too long.

  Yet the Gentleman didn’t come.

  One of the hands at her breast pinched her nipple. Neve cried out, her surprise joining with the screams and moans of her personalized part of the soundtrack. Another hand stroking up her thigh trailed along the line of her folds then back up to her clit to press in delicate circles. She tightened her fists over the wrists of the disembodied arms holding her up. She pulled her body taut, onto her tiptoes, simultaneously trying to arch her body into the touch and away from it. Confused. So turned on that her cunt clenched in undulating rhythm—not quite an orgasm, but a preface to one.

  The man in the fedora still didn’t blink, but his gentle smile widened at her reaction—as though he was the one who had made it happen.

  A hand drifted up from her other breast to close around her neck, not squeezing—more like an elegant choker over her neck than a collar. She still looked the man in the eye because she couldn’t look away, but her breathing came more shallowly, and her brain had gone strangely blank except for what the hands were doing and the image of the man in front of her.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, new girl. I hope you’ll favor me with a few moments of your time when our next opportunity presents itself.”

  He turned to continue down the corridor, as casual leaving as he had been entering. It was a few minutes before another group passed into the corridor. By that time, the hands had returned to where they were supposed to be, and she was turned on like crazy, wondering whether she’d fallen asleep standing up and dreamed the whole thing.

  When the hands released her and the soundtrack turned off, Neve fell to her knees.

  “Please,” she whispered. She tried to pull the limp hands back up her body, even though they’d changed from living limbs to rubber—the carriage turned back into the pumpkin. If she could just have another orgasm at someone else’s hand, even a disembodied one, something to shut this desire off for another few hours, she might not have to go to sleep in such an awful state.

  But without the magic moving them, the hands were no more effective than sex toys.

  Neve slammed her fists on the floor, screaming, kicking at the limp props that had fallen like fishing nets around her. She felt entitled to the tantrum, because she doubted Bell would let her take a hammer to his kneecaps, although that would certainly improve her mood.

  The Gentleman stepped around the corner to make sure she wasn’t being attacked, but once he determined she was safe, he wisely left her alone.

  An order of fried mushrooms and a small personal pizza from the odd chef later, she felt a little better.

  Magic or not, though, the chill in the increasingly wintery air was a little much for all the bare skin she showed. When she started shivering, she left the lights and marginal warmth of the food court and headed around the back of the big top to reach the caravan the long way, in case the performances ended and people caught her walking around looking the way she did without anything else to cover her—too vulnerable to any man who pressed himself upon her right now for her own comfort.

  She had a feeling her arousal wouldn’t be quite this bad without that stranger—real or dream-made—bringing it up to a fresh pitch.

  The first ecstasy was supposed to be the pinnacle, with everything after a series of graduated disappointments, nothing ever as good again. That was reason for drug overdoses, serial killers and adult discontent, with all the firsts taken up and first feelings never replicated. The way Bell had made her negated that principle. Every high was just as sweet and aching as the last, although over time, if the arousal wasn’t satisfied, it turned stale. Now she was at the new pitch all over again, sweetly intense in such a way she wanted to enjoy it, except she knew it wouldn’t stay sweet, and even if she saw it to its conclusion with someone, the relief would be all too temporary. Her arousal hadn’t been designed to end, which had quickly taken the wonder of it away, hadn’t it? Because arousal was just another kind of stress, and stress wreaked havoc because it wasn’t supposed to be felt forever, only in short bursts.

  She was a committed monogamist and introvert who’d never had this problem before but whose body had been redesigned into hyperpromiscuity. ‘Slut’ felt more honest, but the social connotations were even worse than the name that felt even more accurate, although it wasn’t used clinically anymore.

  Nymphomaniac.

  It was like being on drugs all the time that left her as irritable as she was frustrated, but what the hell was she supposed to do about it as long as she was still married, as long as that still mattered to her as a matter of principle? What was she supposed to do about it when her mind rebelled at the very notion that she fall into bed with anyone just to get this itch scratched, although she wasn’t sure there was any practical reason to rebel? Was there calamine lotion for this?

  So deeply wrapped in her thoughts against the cold, Neve saw the man with skin like stone stepping out from the backstage exit, but her reaction time wasn’t what it should have been. She walked straight into him, feet stumbling over his and hers until their legs were a tangle, though he’d caught her by the shoulders. She fell face first against his chest, clutching at his upper arms to catch herself, to pull herself standing again. Like most of the men in Arcanium, he was naked from the waist up, which meant she was suddenly surrounded by warm male scent and firm skin.

  Lord Mikhail looked like flesh and felt like flesh-covered stone. Victor felt like flesh, but with the texture
of pumice stone.

  “Hey, sorry.” Victor helped her regain her balance, held her shoulders tightly until she was standing on the ground rather than on his toes. “That was my fault. You were so determined in where you were going, I should have moved rather than expect you to. I guess I was distracted, too.”

  He was hard. Not just his athletic body. The fairly strong erection in his tight trousers felt normal to her, more normal than the strongman’s. But he felt strong to her, too, with kindness in the sound of his voice, surprisingly apologetic in comparison to most men she encountered. There were any number of attractive qualities behind the stone color and texture of him, friendly eyes and smile, appealing structure…

  And she was against his body, a body that wanted sex as much as hers did.

  Temporary insanity—that was the excuse she was going with—although that insanity was going to be a heck of a lot less temporary if she could expect these feelings for the rest of her tenure in Arcanium.

  Neve slid her hands to his chest, stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She parted them soon after the first kiss to lick the line of his lower lip. Then she pushed his chest, crowding him, until his back struck the thick canvas of the big top tent with a sound like he’d hit a wall.

  His exclamation was muffled, but the surprise didn’t last long. He smoothed his palms down the back of her negligee to the hem that stopped barely an inch beneath her ass as though tailored to her unique measurements—most short skirts rode well above appropriate, due to the appreciable size of her hips and backside. He dug stone-strong fingers deep into the flesh he found, gathered her up in handfuls, sliding the skirt up in the process, until only her panties and his leather trousers were between them. She lifted her leg at his urging, curled it around his hip to bring herself against his contained cock, which gave her something to rub her clit against with increasing urgency. The moans he muffled in her mouth intensified, and the sounds of her pleasure climbed higher and higher the faster she worked her hips against his.

  Because it was working, even through clothes. What they were doing brought her up, up, up, promising the sweetest release if she could just…

  “Wait, wait, wait.” He let go of her leg, which slid her slightly down his body and made him groan at the sensation against his erection. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but if there ever was a case of tripping and falling into sex, this is it. I don’t think we’ve spoken to each other once, not even to say hi.”

  She hit his shoulder with her fist, but not hard. “God. Of all the men in this damn circus, I have to stumble into the one who actually asks if I’m okay with it.”

  “Actually, most men in Arcanium are like that. Minimizes the number of times the Ringmaster whips us.”

  “I’m pretty sure most men would think the fact I’m humping them like a bitch in heat was grounds enough to assume I wanted sex.”

  “But you don’t—or at least not the way most women want sex.”

  She hit him again, this time a little harder, but though he grunted, he didn’t keep her from doing it, nor did he stop her from forcing herself away from him, step by step. “How can you even tell?”

  “I don’t know. I just had the impression that you were humping in an angry way. My penis can’t tell the difference, but I can. It’s like hate sex, which can be pleasant in its own right, but we don’t know each other well enough to have anything to fight about. We literally haven’t exchanged two words until now.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pulled on the roots of her hair, as much to hurt herself as to alleviate some of the tension accumulated around her temples. “I didn’t mean to attack you like that. It was all so much, and then you were there, and… And I’m listening to what I’m saying and not liking it one bit. There’s no reason for me to jump your bones without warning just because I’m horny and have the female equivalent of blue balls all the time—as though you’re just there for my relief. Cheese and crackers, this is what I always hated men doing to me.” The headache hit her just as the understanding did. “It didn’t matter who you were, just that you had a dick that would actually work on me, a warm body instead of a toy. I’m so sorry.”

  And now the dam broke, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t think the day could get any worse, but there were still hours left, so she knew better than to say that aloud.

  “Hey, don’t cry, okay?” When he stepped forward, she stepped back, keeping the distance between them because she still didn’t trust herself.

  And she wasn’t any less angry about it, angry at herself for being as reductive as all the people who came through Arcanium to stare at her boobs, the men who’d tried to buy her drinks then got mad when she told them she wasn’t interested, her husband who’d only wanted a wife if she was happy to fuck him.

  “I wasn’t exactly unokay with it,” Victor said. “I was just concerned because you seemed unhappy, and as a matter of personal pride, I don’t want the women I’m with to be unhappy. And look, here we are, talking. We’ve said more than two words to each other now.”

  “No, I really shouldn’t have done that. I’m still not used to dealing with these…feelings, for lack of a better word—nerve endings and places in my brain all awake and firing electricity in ways they never did before. I’m not used to fighting it all the time, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you just because you were a man and happened to be there. It’s inexcusable.”

  This time, when he stepped toward her, she didn’t back away, and she allowed him to brush the line of her jaw with his knuckles. “Don’t beat yourself up too much. We all have to learn that around here, some more than others. I wouldn’t have said no, by the way. And I won’t say no if you still want to. I have a small trailer, but it has a bed that works, and we can go back…”

  He gave a wry smile when she ducked her head, ashamed, furious with herself for wanting to say yes, at Bell for making her this way, at the strange man in the trench coat who’d brought her up to this intensity with nothing more than a change in the hands’ routine. Furious with freaking everything.

  “You don’t have to feel bad about saying no, either,” Victor said. “If you don’t want to, that’s all right. I’m not taking any of this personally. The Spider was aloof as hell for months, and she still has as much of a no-touch policy as Lady Sasha. In fact, you remind me a lot of her. A bit ambivalent, are we?”

  She nodded. She didn’t know him well enough to spill her guts, but ambivalent was a terribly understated, if accurate, way to describe what she was going through.

  “Look, I’m going to back off now,” he said, “because you look in dire need of space. You don’t ever have to follow up on this, but I’m going to let you know that if you ever want sex from me, you just have to ask. You only surprised me, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Thanks.” She supposed the message she was sending with her body was a curious mixture of ‘Why, yes, I’d like to fuck right now, thanks’ and ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look even in your vague direction again.’ But mixed messages weren’t clear enough for Arcanium, given how rigidly its men seemed to follow the rules. “I’m going to take what little is left of my dignity and go back to my trailer now.”

  “Also a valid life choice. Neve, right?”

  She nodded.

  “You know, there’s not a man in Arcanium who would say no to you if you asked.”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him that was the problem.

  Neve started back toward the caravan. Victor’s footsteps crunched behind her. She knew he wasn’t following her. They were simply going toward the same place.

  The tension built up, awareness of each step from each of their bare feet in the dead grass, knowing he was still hard and she was still horny. She didn’t know if Victor had a Plan B for the night, but he was single and comfortable with casual sex and she wasn’t.

  Neve didn’t think that mattered anymore, because she couldn’t keep going like this. She wasn’t
the woman she’d been. She couldn’t hold herself to the same standard any more than she would a person with brain damage who’d suffered an irrevocable change in cognition or personality.

  Under the Christmas lights, Neve turned around and faced him. He didn’t walk into her like she’d walked into him, and he didn’t appear surprised that she’d stopped.

  “Your bed, not mine, and just the once. Then I want to go back to my trailer to sleep alone. Are those terms acceptable?”

  He appeared both bemused and amused at her brusqueness, but he nodded.

  Given their respective states from where they’d left off, they didn’t even make it to the bed, and neither of them removed their clothing. They fell to the floor of his trailer before Victor was able to close the door behind him, one foot braced on the grass and his knee on the steps up. He pushed her panties to the side, and she opened the front of his trousers. He fucked them up into the living room aisle then took a second to hook the doorknob with his foot to give them a fleeting vestige of privacy. She barely gave him that second before pulling him back down.

  She panted underneath him in the aftermath, stroking his back as he kissed her neck. His thumb brushed her nipple through the negligee and bra. He hadn’t even gotten her out of the bra.

  When she stopped running her hands over him, he pushed himself back onto his knees and reached for a dishcloth so she could clean between her legs. He offered her a drink, but she shook her head.

  “Do you want me to walk you to your trailer? Mama raised a gentleman.”

  “No, thank you. I’m tired.”

  “Okay. Good night, then. Hope you enjoyed yourself as much as it sounded like you did.”

  She stopped at the bottom of his steps before opening the trailer door. “Don’t you mind being used?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Chapter Eight

  With nothing else to do the rest of the week, she read the books Bell had provided, knocking them out with speed that could only be explained by a lack of Internet connection. She hoped these books weren’t the only ones she was allowed to have as long as she lived at Arcanium.