Ringmaster

by Aurelia T. Evans

  He was relentlessly hot and soft over her clit, which was hypersensitive from her first terrible, wonderful climax. If possible, he grew even hotter against her, almost burning, as she accepted his fingers into her ass. He was careful but driven by her need. She took measured breaths to keep from resisting his invasion and was rewarded with wave after wave of desire, heat that seemed to mimic his or emanate directly from him. Sweat dripped up her spine. He fucked her slowly but steadily with his fingers as he brought her to the edge with his mouth.

  His smug, sadistic laughter rippled over her skin like prickles of sunlight on cold flesh as he gentled over her clit. The pointed tip of his tongue teased her, circling her swollen, glistening flesh, digging under the hood, tracing along the edges of her labia. He twisted his fingers inside her to make her moan and arch. The longer he watched her, though, the more his smile faded, and his swarthy face flushed red at the cheeks with lust.

  She tightened her thighs against the sides of his head when he lowered his mouth closer over her again, moaning low against her clit in a command without words.

  The python grip of her arousal snapped something inside her. She screamed, scratching her own chest and thigh because there was nothing else she could tear but herself. She rocked her hips against his mouth as he sucked in rhythm to her clit’s throbbing pulse and the tightening of her ass around his fingers. He drew out her far more pleasurable—yet somehow disappointing for it—orgasm until she nearly lost consciousness.

  The Ringmaster caught her as she slumped. He pulled out and lifted her up, enveloping her in his arms. She could feel the hot, thick iron of his cock against her belly and the wetness where he had dragged her cunt over his chest and abdomen.

  “I’m not through with you yet, Katharine,” he murmured.

  Kitty pushed her foot down against his firm ass to raise herself up and kiss him from above the way he loved to do to her so much. Now she knew why—it was such a position of power. She grasped his thick hair in her fist and kissed him as though he were the drink she so desperately needed right now. A surprised groan wrenched itself from him. They rocked their bodies together, her pussy rubbing against his dripping cock, the red hair on her breasts mingling with the black hair of his chest.

  She broke away with a gasp and threw her head back as he made love to her neck, worshipped her cleavage then each breast, idolizing her as only a demon could do. He undid the rest of her braid until her hair spilled over them from all sides.

  “Yes,” she whispered when horns sprouted from the thick black hair entangled between her fingers.

  They curled down to frame his neck and back as his growing body lifted her higher and higher from the ground. His spine became more prominent under her arm around the back of his neck. His teeth sharpened slightly as he captured her lip between them so that she could feel their transformation. Under the sole of her foot, thick, pleasantly coarse hair grew. And against her belly, his cock thickened and lengthened to the impossible size that took her at the end of every month. But that was with the magic that made it possible—the magic that demons carried with them that made even Ciàran possible to take in.

  His heavy hoof broke the bench when he hitched her up higher. The ground trembled when the hoof slammed down. Her breasts pressed into the hollow of his neck, pricked by one of the horns as he regained his balance.

  The Ringmaster waited until she met the swirling oil slicks, the tar pits, the monster-filled caves of his eyes. Her breath quickened under his gaze.

  Then he brought her down to the head of his massive cock. He stretched her tight around him, her juices and his cum seeping out of her to ease his way. Tighter, tighter, tighter as he entered her, his jaw clenched and the flush of his face enhanced by his own sweat. Kitty whimpered and tried to hold on to him. Tighter. Tighter. Deeper.

  She doubled over, her forehead knocking against his as her cunt reached its limit, from discomfort to outright pain that threatened to rip her apart.

  “I can’t,” she gasped even as he continued to enter her at a careful, thick, molten pace. She shook her head, her lips drawn away from her teeth. “I can’t.” She struggled up against his hold on her, trying to lift herself up, but he was too big and she was too tight around him. “Please.”

  “Shhh,” he said, stroking her hair away from her face.

  And with that, the intense pain became exquisite pleasure, and she slid down the rest of his cock as though he were covered with smooth, hot melted butter. Her whimper broadened and softened into an unrestrained moan that climbed higher and higher the more she took him in.

  She let her head fall back. He nudged the braid of her beard away to lick up her throat with a rasping hum of arrogant delight. He didn’t seem to take it personally that she could not fulfill part of his demands for her, not in the least.

  “Now, beautiful creature, look at me,” he murmured, pulling her head forward again by the braid of her beard with the same fondness he showed for the handle of his whip. To Kitty, there was no comparison between how Robert treated her beard and the Ringmaster. The association was so dim, the dead man barely registered in her mind. “Remember, in their beds, in their arms, under their kisses, with their cocks inside you, remember that you…are…mine. As long as you live, Katharine, you are mine.”

  Kitty curled her fingers around one of his horns as he slid his hands down her back to her thighs. He lifted her up the length of his erection before snapping his hips, forcing himself all the way in again. This time, magic paved his way, sparking her arousal in thousands of electrical impulses wherever nerves could feel pleasure and some places that shouldn’t have felt anything at all. After eight years of regular sex with a demon, it was easy to take such magic for granted, but Kitty certainly didn’t, especially tonight.

  The Ringmaster usually set the pace, but he groaned and shoved hard into her when she started to meet the thrust of his hips, using her grip on his horn as part of her leverage.

  He was fucking her standing up with nothing to brace her against, but she wasn’t even a strain for him to hold. The Ringmaster’s arms and legs flexed with his rhythm. She could feel the tension and release of his abdomen against hers. His body was a magnificent machine, his heat and the sounds rumbling from deep in his chest like that of an animal. Her toes curled in the fur at his hips. Each thrust shuddered through her like a lust quake of ever-increasing intensity, warning for the impending explosion that galloped closer, with hooves that vibrated like his when they hit the ground.

  Kitty’s mouth dropped open in a steady series of moans broken only by her need to breathe as she tightened her arm around him. She leaned into his neck, burying her face against him until the wild spice and musk of his skin filled her head. Her tears dripped hot onto his shoulder.

  “Mine,” he growled into her ear.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and bit the base of his neck. If she could have torn and climbed her way into him, Kitty would have. But her teeth were blunt, and she lacked the claws or the strength to merge herself in that moment with the Ringmaster. He did his best to fulfill her wish, pounding her through her last orgasm, the great release, the natural disaster that billowed and flowed and blotted out the light as the smoke of his darkness filled her even more deeply than his cock. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel it pouring into her nostrils and mouth, where she breathed and drank it in. He took her wherever he could have her. She welcomed the apocalypse of his possession, riding until the eruption of brimstone heat inside her.

  Kitty didn’t move. She gripped him long after the aftershocks of the orgasm had settled. Blood from his shoulder trickled into her mouth and down his chest. His cock was still hard inside her, but the Ringmaster was finished. He was simply in no more hurry than she to leave their embrace.

  The Ringmaster combed his fingers through her hair. He kissed her neck until she had to leave the bite she’d given his shoulder to meet his mouth, where he didn’t dominate her but devoted lingering kisses to her lips long en
ough for her to realize he was taking back the places that Robert had cut with his knife. She jerked her head back slightly to meet his eyes. Then she smiled and lifted herself up to kiss him again from above. The urgency had died, but the passion, the possession, had not.

  Finally, Kitty broke the kiss, panting near his mouth. “I don’t know how much sleep you need, but I need more of it than I’m going to get, because I also need a shower.”

  The Ringmaster hissed as he grasped her thighs to ease his cock out of her. He reluctantly lowered her to the ground. Then he pulled the demon back into his human form, no less imposing, intimidating or handsome for the change.

  He picked up the healing potion bottle from the ground and gave it to her. Before she could thank him, he swept her up into his arms. It could have been romantic. Instead, images were called to Kitty’s mind of men bringing vanquished enemies or conquered slaves back to their domain. Kitty didn’t deny him the conquest, resting her head against the hair of his chest as he led her out of the big top, both of them still completely naked. The spotlight turned off behind them.

  “They’ll see,” Kitty said.

  “No one will see,” the Ringmaster replied.

  “Jason and Lily heard.”

  The Ringmaster was silent. When he took her past her RV, she almost stopped him, but his glower was dead focused on his trailer.

  The door swung open on its own and closed behind them. He set her down before turning on the lights.

  She’d been in his trailer before. Prior to Bell giving her a phone, Kitty had been one of the few who’d been willing to brave the Ringmaster’s wrath to ask for time on his computer. Since she did most of her banking online these days and checked the circus website for their schedule, she’d seen the interior of the Ringmaster’s trailer plenty of times, the luxurious caravan arrangement, not quite so modern and partitioned as Bell’s. This one was more open like hers, but the space allotted to the Ringmaster was far more generous, like a small, high-end apartment instead of a many-decades-old tiny trailer like the ones most of the cast had. Kitty hadn’t wanted anything more than what Bell had given her, which was why she suspected Bell had only given her that much. However, she could still appreciate such decadence—the deep, sensual red and the lavish gold that he favored, the carved wood of the four-poster bed slotted into the floor and wall, the material of the fabrics, the stained glass of the lamps. He made no effort to conceal or curtail his expensive tastes. He was the Ringmaster.

  He raised a finger to her lips before she could say anything. From his touch, a hot breeze swirled around them, ruffling the hair all over their bodies. When he pulled his finger away again, Kitty looked down at herself. Blood, sweat, tears, other things, they were all gone. Even her hair was silky and untangled. She still had her wounds, but they’d been thoroughly cleaned. She smelled like him, the same spicy scent.

  He took the potion bottle from her and set it near his computer. Then he took her hands in his. As he walked backward and drew her to his bed, the lamps clicked off.

  They had always slept in her tent. Always. She’d never been here to take advantage of the accommodations. Kitty sighed in pleasure when he tossed his sheets back and drew her between them with him. The feather mattress cradled her like a cloud. The sheets were unspeakably soft against her skin.

  Then there was the Ringmaster himself. He pulled her in with her back to his chest, his mouth and his nose against her hair. She thought she smelled smoke, but she couldn’t tell. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she was gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  She awoke to a beeping alarm near her head. Kitty pushed herself up, stomach sinking with disorientation once again as she stared at her unfamiliar surroundings. When she remembered how she’d gotten there, she fell back against the pillows and reached for the alarm clock on the night table, as elegant and impractical for a trailer as the bed.

  The Ringmaster wasn’t there. The clock told her that it was nine. He’d awoken her in time for her to get up, get out, get dressed and get food before the gates opened for customers. He had not awoken her at such a time that she could afford to close her eyes again, which was what she dearly wished she could do. After everything that had happened, the hours she’d managed to squeeze out of the night weren’t close to enough, especially in such a nice bed.

  Kitty forced her aching limbs to move and stumbled to the computer desk where the Ringmaster had set the potion bottle. Her wounds were superficial, but she couldn’t walk around in public with a black eye and scratches on her face and around her mouth like some kind of gruesome clown.

  As soon as she’d addressed the visible and a few of the invisible wounds, she realized that she wasn’t wearing anything and all her clothes were in her tent on the other side of the big top.

  She made her way to the wardrobe in the back of the trailer. It was filled with his costumes. Nothing that she could wear that wouldn’t make it obvious whose company she’d kept last night.

  Is it such a bad thing?

  Kitty closed her fist over the sleeve of one of his jackets.

  Victor already knew. Maya knew. Bell knew. If the clowns understood the doings of the people around them, then they knew. Jason and Lily, trapped in their cages on the other side of the curtain, probably knew. As far as Kitty was concerned, she didn’t care who else found out anymore.

  But it wasn’t just her call, and there were worse things than being kept secret because she was human.

  She was saved from her brief crisis by stumbling across a nondescript dark red bathrobe in one of the drawers below the wardrobe. It was too big for her, but it would do to get from the trailer to her tent.

  Kitty peeked through the curtain at the trailer door window. There was no one outside that she could see. That didn’t mean there was no one there, however, so she opened the door and stepped out with caution.

  The gods were smiling down on her or else Bell or the Ringmaster were making it easier for Kitty to sneak away without being seen. She didn’t happen upon a soul all the way to her tent.

  Bell had even ensured that the mess there had been tidied in the night. She wouldn’t have known anything had happened if not for her memory.

  Kitty looked over the room, chilled despite the thick material of the robe. But she had no time for trauma, no time for ghosts. Other members of the cast would be arriving shortly to do their makeup and hair. She had work to do and not a lot of time to do it.

  * * * *

  Hot coffee and late breakfast waited on the exhibition side of her tent when she opened her curtains. The clock on the vanity had told her that the gates were going to open at any moment, and because she’d been late, so had everyone else. It wasn’t entirely her fault, though. Everyone was tired and behind schedule. The hair and makeup wasn’t as extensive and elaborate as usual, but it would do for now. They could touch up during one of their breaks.

  Coffee wasn’t a solution to how tired she was, but it was a balm. And somewhat ironically, returning to her professional occupation as a freak was soothing as well.

  She had left her long hair unbraided today, which meant she had to contend with more people touching it when she walked through the park and the circus. For some reason, people thought that when she let her hair free, she signed away all ownership rights, which was why she usually tried to contain it in some kind of bound hairstyle. But with each person she talked to and took pictures with, her life gradually slipped back into her version of normal.

  Her all black, widow-queen corset gown and filmy skirt panels did nothing to dissuade people away from her—which was good, because that wasn’t her aim. She wasn’t even in mourning for those who had died last night. She just felt…less colorful.

  On the contrary, though, the gothic contrast was a surprising inspiration for most of the customers she met. Her smile was enough of a welcome in case anyone thought she was more frightening than usual. There was even a collection of younger teenage girls who asked her to braid their hai
r, which she did with such fleet fingers that they’d videoed her doing it with the second two girls.

  No police arrived to ask questions or investigate the disappearance of such a large group of young men. Or if they did, Bell headed them off before they could disrupt the circus.

  When Kitty returned to her tent to grab a snack and make herself presentable for more time as an exhibition, she found another cup of iced coffee waiting for her. The Ringmaster was nowhere to be seen this time. She still didn’t know for sure whether it was him or the golems, and she didn’t have a chance to wonder too long about it, because Victor ducked in and closed the flap behind him.

  “Hi,” he said. He tucked his thumbs in the waist of his leather trousers, his slouch casual rather than pained.

  “Hi yourself,” she replied. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

  “In a matter of speaking,” he said.

  “Victor…”

  “Don’t,” he interrupted. “I’m allowed to be shocked by that little bomb. I’m allowed to be angry. I’m allowed to be disturbed. And you know I’m allowed, because there’s a reason you never said anything. There’s a reason you kept it a deep, dark secret.”

  “It wasn’t out of shame,” Kitty said, settling onto her chair and crossing her legs. “At least not for me. I know that’s where people’s heads go when they hear about secrets. No, we kept it to ourselves because it was ours. In a place like this, everyone has a finger in every pie, a controlling interest in secrets that aren’t their own. I’m not the only one keeping things to myself just to have something that’s private. That’s why I’d go outside Arcanium for most of my personal time and why I never bring my men home—present company excluded. There are some things a woman doesn’t want to share.”