Immoral Views

by Kay Jaybee

  Striding the length of the stage, the Ringmaster continued, “Let us waste no more time.” With a nod to his assistants, they all three came up beside Carrie, hovering close enough for her to feel their breath on her neck as the room waited in edgy silence.

  Crouching before her, the Ringmaster placed his hands on his knees and spoke just loud enough for only Carrie to hear. “Scott tells me you will enjoy this.”

  Carrie swallowed. “Scott?”

  He nodded slowly, a knowing smile on his face, his expression clearly telling her that no more information would be forthcoming. She quivered at the quiet menace in his voice, as he straightened up to his full height and his almost feminine hands crept forward to finger the top of the sack dress.

  “Amanda, if you please.”

  Standing just off centre, so that the audience could see the action, the Ringmaster put his hand out to the blonde, who passed him a large pair of sharp, shiny scissors. Carrie froze to the spot as the cold metal of the blades brushed her skin, scared that the Ringmaster might cut her as he snipped away a rectangular piece of material from the top of the sack. Abruptly free from the irritation of the gruff fabric, the stale air of the theatre caressed her naked breasts as she was pivoted on the spot so every member of the room could get an eyeful of her globes.

  Never had Carrie felt so vulnerable, as the Ringmaster’s whip tickled the very end of each of her teats. Her skin was clammy with fear, yet Carrie couldn’t deny the thrill she felt as the leather tab met her chest; and with that realisation a taut shame engulfed her.

  Turned again, like some sort of inanimate toy, Carrie tensed further as Sara made her face the old props. Tantalising the crowd like a true exhibitionist, the Ringmaster began to inch the hem of Carrie’s dress up one tiny fold at a time, until the bubble of her round bottom was as free as her tits.

  With her heart knocking rapidly in her throat, Carrie tried to think about anything other than her current situation. She tried to think about doing the laundry, about work, anything to drown out the roar of the crowd and the nagging voice that wondered just how well the Ringmaster knew Scott. She failed.

  “You will bend.”

  The clipped instruction that came from the compère subdued the audience with authoritative poise. Not daring to disobey, Carrie put her hands on her knees and lowered her head toward the floor. She closed her eyes as she felt the sackcloth ride up her tacky skin, giving the whole room a view of her totally exposed ass and, surely, a glimpse of an even more private place.

  The ogling and sounds of appreciation from the paying voyeurs seemed to last forever. Just when Carrie thought she’d faint from the affect of blood rushing to her head, Amanda knelt in front of her. Placing a palm over each of Carrie’s hands as they clasped her knees, Amanda pushed Carrie’s legs sideways, forcing her to widen her folded stance. Feeling even more vulnerable and unsteady, Carrie whimpered as Amanda then laid her hands across her captive’s tits, squeezing them sharply. Carrie’s eyes watered as they flew open in shock, and daggers of heat coursed through the veins of her chest.

  The shuffle of feet as her masters of ceremony moved out of her eye line put Carrie on the alert. Though she dared not look without being invited to do so, she was certain the Ringmaster would be talking to the other guest, Robert, the man on stage with her. Presumably he was being made a spectacle of for the benefit of the audience as well.

  The minutes ticked by as Amanda’s skilled hands continued to manipulate and massage, to knead and nip at Carrie’s sensitive tits. Her aching nipples and breasts gradually turned from tautly tender to incontrovertibly aroused. And that arousal grew and spread like warm treacle from the tips of her reactive nipples, across her chest, and throughout her entire body. Carrie began to wonder if anything else was going to happen, or if the sight of her pink and quivering ass was all the action the crowd was going to see.

  As another jolt of unexpected pleasure shot through her, a more pressing issue began to concern Carrie. What would happen if she came? Did she need permission? She was fairly sure it was customary to ask in circumstances such as these. She knew for certain, however, that if the expert tweaking and twiddling Amanda was lavishing upon her nipples didn’t stop soon, it was going to make her cum — whether she wanted to or not.

  Liquid of uncertain anticipation eased down Carrie’s thighs. She found herself wishing that, if her backside was going to be on the receiving end of the master’s whip, he would get on with it. Her shoulders were stiff with the effort it took to keep from trembling, and she could feel the knot of a climax continuing to rise in her stomach. Exhaling with protracted gulps, Carrie had just managed to force back her orgasm, when a pair of hands, which she assumed to be Sara’s, rested upon her buttocks.

  Probing and kneading, a sticky lubed digit began to work its way into her upturned back passage. Groaning with a defeated, ragged breath, flashes of colour flickered behind her eyelids as Carrie’s body responded and puckered gluttonously to the finger pushing deeper into her anus. She couldn’t help but whine as a second finger, stretching and widening that opening, thrust with equal insistence into her butt.

  The unexpected clenching of her bowels was the last straw. Carrie was cumming, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. A yell of fearful bliss flew from her lips. A yell that was drowned out by the roar of triumph that shot from the Ringmaster as the buried fingers were hastily withdrawn.

  “Just as I was informed!” He lunged forwards, sliding his slender digits between Carrie’s legs as she desperately tried to control her shuddering. “This girl is soaking! Turned on by her chastisement. A total wanton, in fact!”

  She was still dizzy as her superiors straightened and steadied her, the blood reversing its course from Carrie’s head to her toes. Amanda stepped backwards, removing her hands from Carrie’s reddened tits, before repositioning them over the bunched up sack cloth around her hips. Swaying a little against the blonde, the gloss of Carrie’s climax ebbed away as she wondered just how much the Ringmaster knew about her. What exactly has Scott done to get me here? She had no doubt she’d been set up.

  Beyond the stage, the crowd was slowly losing control, killing time with blatant masturbation as the depraved mass waited to witness the punishment they had paid so much to see. Yet, for all of those with fingers working inside panties or hands firmly rubbing stiff cocks, everyone still kept their eyes on Carrie. No one wanted to miss a moment of what was to come.

  As her vision cleared, and the shaking of her body lessened, Carrie was shifted so she confronted the old bedstead. Now she had the chance to take in what had befallen Robert while she had been finger fucked.

  It was like looking at a different person. The arrogance had been completely wiped from his face. Robert’s hands hung limp at his sides. His clothes had been stripped from his body, and his well-defined musculature could now be seen to extend from his shoulders and chest all the way to his toes. His rigid cock stuck out from a small leather case, which Carrie suspected had been strapped to him the second he’d been stripped.

  Cuffs attached his ankles and wrists to the metal frame of the bedstead, and Carrie was sure that his back would be marked by the springs that couldn’t fail to be digging into his back. Around his neck, a strip of leather secured his head, so he was unable to do anything but watch what was happening around him. That was when Carrie finally understood his role. Robert’s torture was to observe what was happening to her, with no actual stimulation of his own. To last as long as he could without cumming. To have the very limits of his voyeuristic capacity cruelly and severely tested.

  Carrie’s pulse raced as she watched Sara pull two heavy chairs from the pile by the bed, and place them between the tethered Robert and the front of the auditorium, only metres from the outstretched arms of the expectant audience.

  Every few seconds Sara glanced at Carrie, readjusted the position of the chairs, and then checked her
out again. After what seemed like a lifetime, Sara was finally happy with the location of the pine seats. One chair faced the other, with about an inch of space between them.

  Hooking a palm between Carrie’s legs, making her snatch instantly spasm, Amanda used Carrie’s groin to steer her forwards. When she took her hand away, the blonde pointedly began to lick the juices that had gathered upon her fingers. Carrie flushed with renewed shame as Amanda demonstrated to everyone how wet she was. While a frustrated Robert began to struggle in his bonds, showing his first sign of weakness, and earning him a glare from the Ringmaster that would have crippled a lesser mortal.

  Taking no interest in the flailing man, Amanda grabbed Carrie under her arms as Sara took hold of her ankles. Lifting their victim, the women carried her nerve-wracked horizontal body towards the chairs, balancing Carrie facedown between them. The blonde kept Carrie still as Sara fixed her ankles to the stout legs of the spindle-backed seat with what appeared to be modified dog collars. The women then swapped roles. Sara supported Carrie, preventing her from falling between the gap in the chairs, while Amanda tied her wrists to the spindles of the other heavy chair. Carrie’s shoulders rested almost comfortably on the top rail of one chair, while her crudely spread thighs were supported by the other.

  Suddenly the two assistants let go, and Carrie found herself half hanging and half supported by the broken furniture in the middle of the stage, with every single eye in the house boring into her.

  Her face, tilted towards Robert, now felt squashed and uncomfortable. Her tits, still recovering from their extreme fondling session, found the cold unyielding surface of the hard wood painful yet arousing to the touch. Despite herself, Carrie could feel her slick juice spatter her thighs, as her crotch vented in response to the sight of the erect, naked man. Her mind, however, was a messy conflict of confusion. She really should not be enjoying this, and yet with perpetual shame, she privately admitted that she was.

  Then it happened.

  From the moment she had set foot on the stage that evening Carrie had known it was coming. But tears still blasted from her eyes as the Ringmaster flexed his whip against the tender flesh of her buttocks for the first time. Barely pausing, he struck again, this time across the very top of her cleft, sucking all of the air from her lungs.

  Winded and yelping, Carrie begged for him to take pity as the shock and agony overtook her. But the Ringmaster simply laughed and waved his weapon a third time, the new lash scorching her flesh with every inch of leather. She frantically tried to concentrate. But each time Carrie thought she had mustered enough self control to ride out the strikes, he hit even harder, making her feel as if she’d been stung by a swarm of malevolent bees. Words of pleading poured from her, as if her mouth was on autopilot.

  “You’re begging a little too often, young lady.” Amanda’s tone was harsh, but dripped with satisfaction, as she knelt before Carrie’s face.

  “If you truly want it to stop, you know what to say. But I don’t think you do. I think you’re loving having these people watch you take it…..seeing you squirm.”

  “But I.....” Carrie was about to deny it, but her sentence was interrupted by Amanda’s crystal cut voice.

  “Another sound from you and I shall make sure you receive more smacks….”

  The blonde paused. Then, with a nod of agreement from the Ringmaster, she continued. “In fact…..I think you deserve extra attention anyway.”

  The crowd whooped as another blow struck Carrie’s right cheek, closely followed by another against her left, while a new sensation gripped a corner of her splintered attention. A hand was stroking, pinching, and pulling at her sack cloth dress, rucking it up enough to allow the calloused palm to meet her porcelain skin.

  With an air-biting swish, the whip came down once more, and Carrie could feel her ass blossom into a chequer board of marks and bruises. Just as she felt she could stand no more, when the safe word was on the tip of her tongue, the Ringmaster dropped his weapon with a grunt of spent exhaustion.

  “I hope you enjoyed that, ladies and gentlemen!”

  His shout was greeted with the voyeurs’ unequivocal vocal enthusiasm.

  Tears cascaded down Carrie’s cheeks and her vision blurred. Through her mascara-smudged eyelashes, she could only vaguely make out Robert, hanging like a cur, unable to do anything but endure his unrequited need to fuck.

  Already partially blinded by her tears, it seemed a pointless act to Carrie when an actual blindfold was manoeuvred across her face. Although she couldn’t deny it added to the ever heightening tension that consumed her.

  Assuming more pain was seconds away as the hand beneath her stopped pinching and began grazing her stomach, Carrie was caught off guard when a further set of greedy hands grasped her rounded ass, followed by another, and then another.

  As a multitude of palms and fingers stroked and pummelled Carrie’s skin, she was torn between disgust, desire and discomfort as the entire audience visited her flesh. Tracing the lines of her newly acquired lash marks, their sweaty fingers and palms felt like salt being rubbed into her wounds. Carrie sucked back a deep guttural moan, drawing some of her hair into her mouth. Spitting and spluttering, she tried to dislodge it with her tongue, when suddenly she stiffened. For the second time that evening, someone had snuck a slippery finger into the velvet rim of her bottom, making her squirm and groan louder beneath their dirty touch.

  After an eternity of clumsy, rough, poking digits touching every accessible segment and crevice of her body, all the hands suddenly abandoned Carrie. She could have cried with bereavement as the murmurs receded and the audience returned to their seats.

  The hand at Carrie’s belly, however, remained. And her lust addled brain switched all its attention to those digits as they began to crawl lower, making her raise her hips and will those fingers to creep toward her pussy. The effort to shift her weight so she could feel the pressure she longed for against her clit made her body shake again, and brought a derisive snigger from the Ringmaster.

  “Just as Miss Carrie’s lover said! This woman is a total slut, desperate to cum!”

  This public announcement of her blatantly wanton state made Carrie’s blood go cold and, in a rush of embarrassment, she realised just how blind she’d been. How the mass of sensations that rushed through her exhausted body had masked the truth. The hand that was now snaking around her splayed legs, scouring her nub as though polishing a pip, was Scott’s. He hadn’t had to go to work at all. He was here.

  But there was no time to contemplate her realisation as her blindfold was lifted, and she found herself staring into Sara’s bright green eyes.

  “Hello Carrie,” Sara bought a soft hand to her prisoner’s forehead, wiping the hair from her eyes and mouth. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

  Ignoring the question, Carrie murmured, “How long has Scott been here?”

  “Clever girl!” Sara kissed the side of her face. “All along, of course.”

  Carrie swallowed carefully, wishing Scott wasn’t quite so good at keeping her on the edge of orgasm. His fingers were still travelling over her belly, but slower now, as if only half his attention was on the job. The rest of him was listening to Carrie and Sara.

  “It was Scott’s idea to bring you here. He has something to tell you, and he thought this would be a good way to do it.”

  “What?” Carrie could barely focus, let alone understand what Sara was trying to tell her. All she knew was that she’d been flogged, fingered, and felt up in every way possible; that her previous orgasm was ancient history, and that if she didn’t get another one soon she was going to explode.

  Changing the subject, Sara said, “I’m beginning to feel a bit sorry for Robert, aren’t you?”

  “Robert?”

  “He has done well not to cum, hasn’t he? Although I guess he’s had plenty of practice being one of our regulars. Did you
know he is a friend of Scott’s?”

  Carrie frowned at the knowing smirk across the redhead’s face. “Scott’s friend?”

  “Robert has been coming here to watch, or take part in, Scott’s show for months.”

  “What do you mean!?” Carrie yelled, not caring that the whole room could hear. “What does she mean ‘Scott’s show’? What the fuck is going on!?”

  The fingers whirling around her belly and pussy stopped moving, and Scott crawled out from beneath her.

  “Looking good, babe. Do you like my circus?”

  His circus? Scott appeared different somehow, his face flushed, his trousers barely restraining a bulge that was evidently desperate to be set free. Confidence radiated from him, as if he was totally at home here. She wanted to ask what it was he wanted to tell her, but at the same time she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “No answer, babes?” Scott turned and, although his gruff words were meant for her, he addressed the assembled voyeurs. “That’s not very grateful! Especially after I lost so much money bribing number 23 not to declare her ticket. Just so I could share with you what I do when I work late.”

  Eventually Carrie found her voice. “Your show? You own The Circus?”

  He smiled at her, his navy eyes reflecting all his darkest desires back into her own. His voice was scornful, and yet full of awe. “You’re dripping wet and desperate for a fuck. A dirty, ungrateful whore!”

  The audience began to jeer in Scott’s favour as Carrie’s complexion became a deeper crimson.

  “I bet you’re expecting me to allow my friend Robert to skewer you now, aren’t you?”

  Carrie closed her eyes, not wanting the expression on her face to give away the fact that he was right. She had assumed just that. Her body throbbed with the need to cum, to be full of cock. She was sore, confused, and every muscle felt pulled. Her clit, which had been manipulated to the brink, felt as if it had been short-circuited to her tits, which were giving off enough heat to power a small generator. And now, to make matters worse, Scott was standing above her with his hands gliding over Sara’s stiff nipples. Nipples which Carrie herself badly wanted to suck.