The Cyberkink Sideshow

by Ophidia Cox

  Victor reached down and took hold of her wrist. “No. I’m not in the mood for it now.”

  Sylvia hesitated. She didn’t know whether she should say this or not. “You know you said you’re ninety percent sub and ten percent dom?”

  Victor opened his eyes, a curious sort of expression forming. “Yes?”

  She took a deep breath. Once she got herself into this, there’d be no turning back, but the idea of handing control of her body over to him filled her with exhilaration. She trusted him, and she wanted him to trust her, and giving herself to him felt right. “Well, I think I might be ninety percent domme and ten percent sub.”

  He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. Sylvia admired how the fabric of his dressing gown flowed over his curves.

  “I see.” He cleared his throat in a slightly uncomfortable sort of way. “And do you want to do something about it, now?”

  Sylvia blurted, “What I just told you about penetration... I’m not into sadomasochism. I don’t want to be hurt.”

  Victor gave a lopsided shrug with the shoulder he wasn’t leaning on. “Of course. I won’t do anything worse than the way you treated me. Excluding the arrest, of course.”

  Sylvia didn’t say anything in response to his goading. Probably she deserved it anyway, and there wasn’t really anything to say. “No penetration.”

  “No, I won’t try to insert anything. I’ve already told you it doesn’t do anything for me.”

  There was another thing. If she didn’t make her wishes known now, she’d regret it. Sylvia inhaled deeply. “One exception.” As she locked eyes with him, she chickened out. “It’s nothing.” She looked away from him.

  “What? What is it?” Victor got hold of her elbow and pivoted her back to face him. “Don’t deny yourself your deepest desires. Each of us only lives once. Our bodies are ephemeral things, and our own to do as we will with. If we don’t yield to hedonism when we get the opportunity, our lives will be filled with regret.” His eyes were bright with excitement, a wicked half-smile curling the corners of his mouth when he spoke.

  “I want something on my body, something like your fish piercing.” She glanced down, but he was too close to her and the overhang of his stomach hid where it would normally be. “I want you to choose what it is and where to put it.”

  Victor was looking her up and down, in a completely different way to how Baxter and Pikesley had. It was as though he were a sculptor, appraising a slab of marble before he began work. “Do you fully understand what you’re asking for? There are some places on the female anatomy where piercings tend to be an irritation and a hygiene issue.”

  “Then I trust you to choose a sensible place.”

  They stood, beholding each other for an awkward moment.

  “Did you bring your costume?” Victor asked.

  “It’s in my car.”

  “I want you to go and put it on, and then to meet me in the dungeon. Vaughn will be there as well.”

  Sylvia nodded. She turned and left.

  * * * *

  It was midday, and the air was very hot, very still. Victor awaited her at the bottom of the steps. He was dressed as a pirate: tight leather trousers and roll-topped boots with square buckles, a wide sash and a crimson silk shirt, its hem tucked into the belt but with most of the upper fastenings undone to reveal a narrow strip of his smooth chest.

  “Vaughn,” he said, his tone casual, “restrain her.”

  At his words and the appearance of the dungeon master from the shadows under the stairs behind her, a rush of adrenaline shot to Sylvia’s head and a pounding started up where the crotch strap of her costume gripped her sticky flesh. Vaughn’s rough fingers gripped her by the arms and raised her hands above her head, manacled her wrists together and attached them by the chain connecting them to a hook on the ceiling. Sliding his palm down the inside of her thigh in a motion that made Sylvia start, Vaughn moved her foot outward. He attached another manacle, over the ankle of her boot, to fix a spreader bar between her legs.

  Sylvia couldn’t move. If she tried to lift one of her feet, she’d fall and wrench her arms on the wrist restraints. Victor approached. His hands immediately went for the buckle that secured the crotch strap on her harness, and she was powerless to stop him. Deftly flipping the buckle undone, he whisked the leather away from skin sticky with sweat and the juices of arousal. Exposed to him and without even hair down there to provide some modesty, she felt hot and turgid, her swollen genitals throbbing with blood.

  It took Victor only three more buckles to cast the harness off her. He dropped it casually to one side while he stood there looking at her body. Sylvia’s breath came rapidly, sounding loud to her ears. She could feel the skin around her nipples tightening, despite the stifling warmth of the atmosphere. Oh shit…was he going to touch her? Where? On the breasts? Would he slide his fingers into the shamefully bare wet crevice between her pried-open legs? Somewhere else? What was he going to do? She was breathing so hard it was starting to make her dizzy, and the pounding of her own heart sent shivers convulsing over her. Calm down!

  Or perhaps don’t calm down. From the wicked expression Victor was making, the animated alacrity of his gestures, she could tell he was aroused. Her excitement and anticipation was feeding him. Behind her, she could hear Vaughn’s breathing, rough and lusty. It came upon her as an epiphany–this was power. It was a different power to the sort she wielded when she was the domme, but it was power nonetheless, and strong enough to enslave these two men.

  Victor paced slowly around her, his pirate boots making a heavy, hollow sound on the wooden floor. The weight of his focus on her was almost palpable. He halted where he’d started, facing her.

  “You will keep that mask on,” he instructed her, “and I’m going to blindfold you.” He untied the sash from around his waist and handed it to Vaughn.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Vaughn gruffly. He stepped behind Sylvia. The edge of the sash came down over her vision, and she could see nothing except for a dull reddishness. The sash smelled of leather and male sweat as he knotted it behind her head. Now, with sight deprived, she was even less able to anticipate what Victor might do to her next.

  “You can keep those boots and gloves on as well,” Victor continued. “Let’s begin. Vaughn, over here.”

  “With pleasure.” Vaughn’s callused hands roved up her thighs, over her hips and waist, up under her arms and over the outer curve of her breasts, making Sylvia gasp, before he untied her hands. He brought her wrists back down and pinioned them behind her back. He maneuvered her forward over the floor, the bar between her ankles forcing her to swing her feet in a waddling fashion.

  They must have reached some kind of bondage apparatus now, because Vaughn turned her about and pushed her back up against something. It was padded, not at all uncomfortable. Her arms were moved back behind her, elbows restrained beneath soft grips and wrists secured with leather straps. Then came the grate of something being adjusted through the frame, and the surface against her back tilted to take her weight.

  Vaughn unshackled her ankles from the bar. It clanged loudly when he dropped it on the floor. Now he took hold of her right leg, raised it and bent it to hook the knee over another foam bolster. More straps around her ankle. Vaughn repeated the procedure with the other leg. After this, he fixed something around her crown, preventing her from making any significant movements with her neck.

  When he made his next adjustment to the frame, it moved the leg restraints, easing her legs knees wider and higher, exposing her. The position made her embarrassingly conscious of her throbbing, engorged clitoris and the liquid stickiness that she could feel oozing down from her gaping labia.

  “Are you sitting comfortably, Sylvia?” Victor asked, a hint of mirth in his voice.

  “Yes...thank you.” Sylvia replied.

  “Good. Then we’ll begin. Your safe word’s ‘haggis’ because that’s what’s for dinner tonight, if you’d like to join me.”
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br />   Sylvia found herself laughing, despite her predicament. “Yes, please.”

  She heard him turn and take something from the table. Then came the sound of a bottle cap unscrewing, and something warm and oily landed in the middle of her chest and started to trickle down. It pooled in her navel before spilling over between her legs, mingling with her sex juices and sliding between her buttocks. Hands began touching her, spreading the oil over her skin in slow, sensuous strokes. Without the liberty of seeing what they were doing, every sensation was so much more intense. She couldn’t really tell which belonged to Vaughn and which were Victor’s. Their fondling became almost overwhelming, fingers and palms gliding over her slick torso, one man kneading her breasts, stimulating her nipples with constant motion and pressure, the other massaging her belly and buttocks, occasionally slipping a flat palm over her vulva, but never lingering long enough to drive her close to orgasm.

  Both men relented at once, removing their hands suddenly. One of them stepped away from her. When he cleared his throat, she identified him as Vaughn. It sounded as though he was wiping his hands on a towel.

  Victor slid his fingers down the cleft of her vulva and took hold of her labia between finger and thumb. He pinched them together and pulled, stretching them out. The oiled flesh slipped from between his fingers and snapped back. He repeated it, teasing her to new heights and sending shivers over her sides. Her clit ached for him to press it with one of those chubby, nonetheless deft fingers. She wanted to orgasm, but he wasn’t going to let her. Yet. If at all.

  He flicked one finger between her labia, wet and frictionless, moving it up and down. His thumb and another finger pushed into the folds either side. If he decided to shove his hand up her, she’d be incapable of preventing it. A bitter fear at the memory of the last time she’d let someone try that crawled up her back.

  Something in her body language must have given her away, because Victor’s hand stopped moving. “Sylvia, I gave you my word that I would not do anything that would hurt you. I won’t renege on it. But if you’re to enjoy this to its full potential, you have to relax and trust me before you can lose yourself in it.”

  Sylvia concentrated on breathing deeply, trying to push the memory out of her mind. As she did, Victor attached clamps to her labia. From the feeling of wires running under her thighs, they were connected to the electrosex box. By pulling the wires outward and sticking them to the backs of her legs with large strips of tape, he stretched her vulva open. At the click of him flicking the switch, a vibration spread through her groin and legs, and a strange, liquid sensation as though her flesh turned to jelly. Victor must have started fiddling with the voltage setting, because the subtle hum she could just hear in the background began to steadily rise in pitch, and the sensation grew more and more intense, a tickling feeling that got closer and closer to being intolerable. However, Victor somehow knew to stop increasing it right on the threshold before it reached it.

  Pinned down and unable to resist the sensation, she could concentrate on nothing else. It felt amazing, but at the same time it made her want to squirm and clench her legs together, and the way she was bound made it impossible. It also came very close to making her scream and break into uncontrollable laughter. Helpless, the only thing she could do was lie there and endure it, and wait for what Victor would decide to do to her next.

  His thumb touched the top of her cleft, tightening the skin there and pulling it back to expose the clitoris. Sylvia gasped as his oily finger touched her naked glans, stimulating raw nerves and sending waves of excitement rushing over her. At the same time, Vaughn, who must have stepped up behind her head, put his hands on her breasts and pinched her nipples sharply. Victor’s finger circled, pressing and sending wild bursts of explosive force surging down through her legs and up along her spine. Vaughn swabbed something over her left nipple. Wet cotton wool. Cold where it had been. Alcohol?

  The moment Sylvia realized what Vaughn was doing, the wave of orgasm had already swollen to uncontrollable heights. As spasms of ecstasy coursed from Victor’s fingertip and racked her body, a searing pain shot through her nipple. Then her ears filled with roaring silence and everything blacked out as she surrendered to pure sensation.

  Chapter 7

  Sylvia lay on the bed in Victor’s caravan, gingerly twiddling the peacock-blue horseshoe of anodized titanium that hadn’t been attached to her before. It didn’t hurt, not exactly, but the flesh felt sort of hot and achy, and about four times bigger than it had felt before. The barbell had balls attached to the ends, to stop it from falling out. If she flattened it against her skin, they lay at the edge of her areola. If she wore a sturdy bra, nobody would be able to tell.

  Victor came over and sat on the bed. He lay back, parallel to her, and folded his arms behind his head. She stroked her fingers over the curves of flesh under his pirate shirt.

  “Thank you. I love it.”

  He turned his head to make eye contact with her and flashed a flirtatious smile. Sylvia gazed at his bright gray eyes, his plump cheeks and double chin, his shapely lips. If she were to wake up to that face every day for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t have any regrets.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “Come with you? Where?”

  “Everywhere. Come join my Sideshow. Help me plan acts. Help Vaughn perfect his torture devices.”

  Sylvia turned her neck to stare up at the ceiling. “But I live here. I’m a police constable. That’s what I do.”

  When she looked over to him, an awkward tension had come upon his face. He blinked and shook his head. Shortly after, he pushed himself over onto his elbows and knees, and he sat over Sylvia and put his hands on her. She closed her eyes and it began to feel as though she was sinking into a dark abyss of sensation, with Victor’s tongue and fingers becoming the only reality in a surreal dream, probing places she’d before have been too embarrassed to consider allowing anyone access.

  It was only the memory that her job was in jeopardy and the thought that she ought to go soon because she’d left Max at home, alone, that prevented her from losing herself in Victor’s pleasuring. Pikesley had wanted her to prove the Sideshow was involved in illegal activities, but more and more she wanted to prove him wrong and get some concrete evidence that the Sideshow wasn’t involved in any such business. So much for innocent until proven guilty. That person who’d been poking about in the dungeon must have stolen Victor’s fish. If only Max had been there then to get the thief’s smell. There would be no point taking him there now: the air would have dispersed and the smell would have become completely lost among the scents of everyone else.

  “The jar!” Sylvia sat bolt upright.

  Victor pulled his face out of her crotch and rolled onto his back. “Jar?”

  “That jar with the clamps and electrodes in it, in Vaughn’s dungeon. You remember you said there was someone there, and the someone got away? The lid was off that jar then I put the lid back on it. There might be air from that afternoon trapped inside it, with smells still there.”

  “What do you mean, air and smells?”

  “You remember when you first met me I had a dog with me? Well that’s what I do. I’m a police dog handler.”

  Victor’s mouth broadened into a grin as understanding dawned on him. “And you think your dog can identify the smell of this particular person in the atmosphere that’s been preserved inside the jar?”

  Sylvia swung her legs over the end of the bed and reached for her clothes. “Do you think they’ll still be in Vaughn’s dungeon?”

  Victor got up off the bed. “Theoretically, so long as your colleagues haven’t been rummaging about too thoroughly.”

  The police presence had lessened somewhat as Sylvia and Victor walked back to the tents. In the dungeon, Vaughn sat on a spiky torture throne, eating two slabs of bread with cheese and pickle overflowing between them.

  “Woh you wan’?” he said through a mouthful.

  Victor moved over into the gloom
of one of the walls and began to examine the contents of the shelves there. “We’re looking for a jar with clamps in it.”

  Sylvia glanced over at them. “But if you find it, you mustn’t open it. Because the smell will get out and the dog won’t be able to find it.”

  Vaughn scratched his head under his leather mask.

  “Is this it?” Victor held up what looked like a canopic jar he had taken from a large imitation sarcophagus propped up against a wall.

  “No, it looked more medical than Egyptian.”

  Vaughn stooped and picked something up from off the floor behind the racks. “This what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, that’s it!” Sylvia said. “Don’t open it!”

  Vaughn tilted the jar, holding it up. “You’re in luck. I couldn’t find this before, or I would have opened it. Looks like it fell off the table.”

  Sylvia took the jar. “Thanks!” she called back over her shoulder as she made for the stairs.

  “Explanation to follow,” Victor added as he made after her.

  * * * *

  Sylvia pulled up in the private car park allocated to the apartments where she lived. Trees surrounding the square offered some shade from the unrelenting sun, and shed a constant confetti of blossom onto the cars parked below.

  Victor got out of the car. He gazed up at the Victorian edifice. Once the property of someone rich, the big house had been divided into multiple smaller dwellings. The whole place was owned by the landlord, a short Muslim gentleman with a shrewd eye for business. “So, this is where you live?”

  Sylvia nodded. “Would you mind not wearing your pirate hat in the lobby?”

  Victor chuckled. He put the hat down on the passenger seat of Sylvia’s car. “Shame I forgot my cutlass. So which is yours?”

  Sylvia pointed to the bay windows of her awkward-shaped sitting room on the ground floor. The glass was marred with damp smudges all around the window, in an area about a foot from the sill and two feet up from that. Max stood there looking out at them, his tail waving behind him.