Circus Excite

by Nikki Magennis

  When she felt Sylvie’s quick, wet tongue darting against the swell of her own breast, Julia was almost scared by the strength of her reaction. She felt as if a small hungry animal were sucking on her, almost nipping her with tiny white teeth, clawing at the robe and pulling it open. When Sylvie’s mouth finally found her breast and sucked hungrily at the nipple, Julia was so overcome with the sensation that she forgot Robert, and saw with a shock when she looked up that he was pointing a camera at them. While she let Sylvie lick long trails across her breasts and drag her tongue slowly over her belly, Julia eyed Robert. It was a small silver digital camera; there was no flash and only the faintest of electric clicks as the shutter blinked. Otherwise there was no noise but the soporific jazz playing on the stereo and Sylvie’s ragged breathing as she wound her way further down. Meanwhile, Robert watched them through a lens.

  ‘Keeping a memento for later?’ she asked, the bitchiness in her voice overtaken by breathless arousal. Her senses were almost drowned by the languorous sense of Sylvie licking slower and slower, letting Julia squirm in her eagerness to feel Sylvie’s head between her legs. Still, part of her remained conscious enough to try to draw Robert into their scene.

  ‘I’m just taking these for reference,’ Robert replied, raising the camera to Julia’s face and taking a shot of her as she stared at him, her eyes glazed and her cheeks burning.

  ‘It’s a hobby of mine.’

  With this, Robert stood and moved closer to them, kneeling down on the floor behind Sylvie and pointing the camera at Julia’s lap.

  ‘Sylvie, can you pull that wrap out of the way?’ he said, once again directing the action. Sylvie obeyed immediately, laying the fabric at either side of Julia’s thighs so the pale skin of her shaved mound was exposed to the camera.

  ‘Pull her legs open.’

  Julia felt the strength in Sylvie’s arms as she firmly gripped her knees and drew them apart, spreading her legs wide so they could both feast their eyes on her slit. She felt the tension in the room so strong it was almost unbearable – she was being displayed to Robert like an exhibit, as though she were their toy to be manipulated until she lost control. Desperate to feel some friction, she clenched the tiny muscles of her sex, willing Sylvie to put her face there, to kiss her and use her lovely quick tongue against the swollen clit. Without being able to stop herself, she raised her hips up imperceptibly, bucking towards Sylvie.

  ‘Oh, you’re an excitable one, girl,’ Sylvie said with delight, her eyes still fixed on Julia’s pussy. ‘Let’s see, is this what you want?’

  Delicately, with the slowest of movements, she dipped her head down to within a few millimetres of Julia’s flesh. Julia could feel her hot breath against her inner thighs and groaned with the dreadful tantalising sensation as Sylvie blew against her pussy, the gentle caress of her breath sending a buzzing through her sex that threatened to tip her over the edge. She knew she was wet, could feel the slipping sensation inside herself, and wondered if it was visible. Robert was leaning in close, taking more pictures, and Julia imagined her sex lips shining with moisture, the dark pink of her most intimate place a shockingly lewd sight between the whiteness of her thighs.

  Then she abandoned all thoughts of the pictures Robert was taking as she felt at last the deliciously hard tip of Sylvie’s tongue flicking against her. It was a fabulous torment, to feel that little muscle working against her clit, licking deftly around her and nudging inexorably towards where she most wanted to feel it. She imagined Sylvie fucking her with her tongue, and knew how good it would feel – but at the same time she wanted to feel a cock inside her more. She was almost far gone enough to beg Robert to join in, but not quite. On the edge of her consciousness she heard the camera shutter clicking.

  ‘Is this what you want, Robert?’ She echoed Sylvie’s question, letting the girl explore her with her tongue as she sank further into the seat, looking directly into the lens of the camera. Robert was raking over the bodies of the two girls with the viewfinder, framing shots of Sylvie as her mouth worked steadily at Julia’s lap.

  ‘You want home-made porn?’ Julia kept pushing Robert, wanting him to admit he was involved in the session. As she felt Sylvie press against her legs, rubbing her breasts against her thighs and reaching down to play with herself as she brought her closer to orgasm, Julia grabbed the girl’s hair and gently pushed her head further towards her core.

  ‘How are you enjoying that, Julia?’ Robert answered her questions with one of his own. ‘How does it feel to have her tongue inside you?’

  ‘It feels fucking good,’ Julia managed to answer, although her head was filling with a warm buzz, rising from where Sylvie was turning her on to the point of explosion and suffusing her whole body with the rushing pulsing feel of approaching orgasm. Sylvie kept licking, her tongue firm and darting like a cat lapping at milk, her breath hot against Julia’s skin and her free hand holding her legs firmly apart so she could reach in deep. As she drew near to her climax, Julia heard the shutter of the camera clicking repeatedly, Robert snapping a volley of images as she lost control and threw her head back against the chair. She clung to Sylvie, her hands buried deep in the girl’s tangled hair, still wet from the rainstorm and tumbling over Julia’s thighs, her face locked on Julia’s pussy, tongue jabbing insistently at her clit. As she started to rock with the waves of orgasm, she pulled Sylvie’s head hard against her. Tipping over the edge, she heard the short high gasps of Sylvie coming too, and the two girls hung on in their moment of oblivion, letting Robert snap away furiously as they rocked together, bodies convulsing with the little spasms of pleasure.

  At last they fell back, breathing hard, muscles limp from the release of tension. Sylvie looked up at Julia from where she sat on the floor. There was a new quality in her expression, a complicity. Julia knew she had finally earned the respect of the more experienced woman, in the most pleasurable way possible. Just by letting Sylvie make love to her, Julia felt that she had crossed some invisible line. It was as though she got closer to the inner circle of the circus every time she transgressed her own limits.

  Next to them, Robert was turning off his camera and laying it on the table. He fetched the half-empty wine bottle and filled the girls’ glasses, handing them their drinks with a deference that Julia had never felt from him. She sensed somehow she’d passed a test.

  ‘That was very illuminating, girls. Thank you.’ Robert spoke as though they’d performed some experiment on his behalf, but there was a warm humour in his voice that let Julia relax.

  ‘I think it’ll only help you develop the act.’

  Julia, despite feeling languorous and spaced out, saw her chance and jumped in: ‘You mean, I could dance more?’

  Robert shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think the “slave” act needs more dance. What I’d like to see is the two of you drawing out the lovemaking at the end.’

  Julia felt irritation pulling at her, as once again she was denied the chance to put her professional skills to good use.

  ‘I can do a lot more than writhe around like a pole dancer, you know, Robert,’ she said bitterly. Her post-orgasm bliss was disappearing rapidly, as was the sense she had risen a notch in Robert’s estimation. He still saw her as a cheap diversion or an erotic curio, and she was suddenly filled with unease about the photos he had stored on his camera.

  ‘And what are you going to do with the pictures?’

  ‘I told you, Julia. They’re for research. Or you could call it inspiration.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Julia nodded, hoping he wanted them for himself. Not only would it lessen the chance he wanted to threaten her with them later, but also she relished the thought of him looking at her for kicks. If she could turn him on, even as a model in his dirty picture collection, surely that meant he was attracted to her?

  ‘You see, Julia, I have an idea,’ Robert continued. ‘I want to bring in a new act. A headline act, just before the final curtain.’

  Julia looked at him, har
dly daring to believe what he was telling her. Sitting curled up on the floor, Sylvie gave her a wink and grinned. She obviously knew exactly what Robert was about to tell her.

  ‘I want a dancer, Julia, to play the part of my lover. It’s a tough routine. Take a lot of rehearsing, and the timing needs to be perfect.’ Robert was speaking casually as usual, but there was no doubt that what he was saying was deadly serious. He looked at her with his film-star expression, a dare glittering in his rich brown eyes.

  ‘So what do you say? Do you think you can handle it?’

  9

  THE DIM HOUSE lights were on, the thump of dark electro music sounding as the tent lay empty. Julia hung in the wings, watching as the first few people moved, raggle-taggle, into their seats. She was still wrapped in her bathrobe, face scrubbed and bare of make-up. There would be more than three hours before she was onstage, Robert’s new act taking the prestigious 11.30 slot, the last before the midnight finale. The programme was designed to end with a bang, and Robert wouldn’t perform early on when the audience was still restless. Only once the other acts had warmed up the house would he present his most breathtaking skills – the magic and illusion that he was renowned for. Now Julia would be appearing with him, playing the role of his ‘object of desire’. With his mastery of timing and suspense, Julia understood implicitly that this meant she was being offered a chance to make her name in the circus.

  She was well aware of the added kudos this act offered her, and the unspoken but tacit pressure to pull it off. If she missed a cue, or fell out of synch with Robert’s precisely co-ordinated routine, she could blow the whole thing. It was more tension than she’d felt before. She looked down to see her hands were shaking with nerves. If she didn’t know better than to drink before going onstage, she’d be downing a large brandy.

  From outside came the roar of engines, and Julia heard the shouts and laughter of the audience approaching the tent.

  The buses had arrived, disgorging crowds of drunk and excited Mancunians onto the site. They were a rowdy babble, dressed sharp and smelling of fresh aftershave, beer and cigarettes. Julia loved watching the changing landscape of their audiences, hearing the different pitch and lilt of the accents as the circus moved further north. While the people who came to see the show tended to be of a certain type – young, liberal, decadent – she noticed the certain flavours of each location. There had been a riotous celebratory atmosphere in kitschy Brighton. Tonight the crowd seemed bawdier; Julia heard rough throaty laughs from men grouping together in almost predatory fashion. Women were dressed in dazzling ghetto-fabulous style, squealing and teetering as their heels sank into the soft mud of the midway between the sideshows and the main tent. The bar tent was packed, empty glasses already littering the grass around the door, and Julia heard chants of encouragement as a line of young guys at the bar downed shots of tequila.

  Behind her, Henri stopped and peered over Julia’s shoulder at the scene outside. He watched the raucous crowd for a moment, his deep implacable eyes taking in the debauched atmosphere. Finally, he grunted his judgement:

  ‘A tough house tonight, Julia. They’ll be baying for blood.’

  He looked at her with an expression that could have been forbidding or challenging. Julia was never sure how to read him, knowing how his thoughts tended to perverse contradictions.

  ‘They’re just up for a good time, Henri,’ she shrugged, silently hoping she was right. The circus trod a difficult line between exciting the audience and causing riots. Julia was never entirely sure this wasn’t Robert’s secret aim – to drive the audience out of control, to shake them up and disturb them until the lines between the stage and the crowd blurred. She knew how he loved playing games, distorting things, most of all provoking people till they were shaken into questioning their taboos, till they wanted to break the rules. As Julia spied surreptitiously on the crowds outside, she realised she was acting out this role-reversal herself.

  ‘Looking for secrets out there?’ Robert had appeared suddenly at her elbow, and seemed to be reading her thoughts. ‘What are you hoping to find, Julia?’

  Julia had no intention of joining in with his philosophising. She just wanted to focus on her performance later, make sure she was psyched up for it.

  ‘Just checking out the crowd,’ she replied stubbornly, determined not to be drawn into another situation where Robert had the upper hand. She nodded at the beer tent, trying to divert his attention. ‘They seem to be gearing up for a wild night.’

  ‘Like animals,’ Robert observed, looking absently at the crowd. His voice was neutral. ‘The more noise they make, the less power they actually possess. The ones you need to watch, as they say, are the quiet ones.’ He nodded at a couple of men who stood apart from the crowd, sipping from bottles of beer. ‘Those two.’

  ‘What, those are the ones who’ll start throwing Molotovs halfway through the first act?’ Julia said contemptuously, scrutinising the pair.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Robert had moved closer to Julia, so his mouth was inches from her ear. His breath was warm against her face as he stood behind her and they both gazed at the men. ‘Look at the way they hold themselves.’

  The men were relaxed, one of them in a black leather jacket, the other in a T-shirt, both dark-haired and well built. Julia noticed a subtle confidence in their manner, as though they were waiting for something to happen.

  ‘You know what they’re here for, Julia.’ Once again, she felt that desperate lurch in her stomach, the strange mix of revulsion and allure that Robert effected on her. He was whispering to her now.

  ‘What do you think they want to see? D’you think they’re just after a display of your tits, or do they want more than that?’

  Keep cool, Julia told herself. Play the game. She leant against the curtain, pulling the perished velvet closer around herself so she was wrapped in it, the fabric coiled tightly round her arms.

  ‘You could bring them in here now. Look, they’re just a few feet away. Don’t you feel like giving them a little preview?’

  ‘I don’t want to spoil the surprise, Robert. They’ll see me later.’

  ‘What are you going to show them?’

  ‘Just what you told me to show them. Not enough.’

  ‘And afterwards? I know how you get after a show, Julia.’ Robert pulled the curtain tighter round Julia’s shoulders, till it constricted her ribs and she couldn’t move her arms. He held on to her, forcing her to face the men.

  ‘I know you get wet when you’re dancing. I’ve seen how you walk after you leave the stage.’ Julia’s heart was hammering in her chest now, the curtain and Robert’s arms making it hard to draw breath.

  ‘You’re suffocating me,’ she said quietly, trying not to struggle in his grip.

  ‘I’m showing you what you want,’ he replied. ‘Wait here.’

  Abruptly letting go of Julia he moved swiftly out onto the site, heading straight for the men standing by the beer tent. Julia watched as he hailed them and started chatting amiably. He pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket, and unfurled them in a fan, offered them to the men. She noticed the swaggering ease that the man in the leather jacket displayed, choosing a card with a casual gesture, a half smile. He wouldn’t allow Robert to overawe him. As Robert shuffled the deck, Julia saw him questioning the men, deferring to them. He was buttering them up. There was a barely perceptible tension between them, the two townies macho and assured, Robert playing the part of strange conjuror. Julia knew just how well he could anticipate people’s reactions.

  Robert pointed to the man’s friend, asking him to find his card, which had miraculously transferred itself into his back pocket. The men relaxed, laughing, and Robert drew them in closer, as if about to tell them a secret. Julia tensed, suspicious. The three men turned to where she hid in the shadows, and she shrank back behind the curtain, withdrawing from their curious stares. What the hell was he up to? She retreated, running to hide in her caravan.

  Sylvie
was outside, warming up for her performance. Leaning against the bumper of the caravan, she continued stretching, regarding Julia’s approach from her bent-over position.

  ‘You got nerves, dancing girl? On your big night?’

  ‘Robert’s up to something again.’ Julia wished there was someone in the circus she felt she could totally trust. She got the feeling Sylvie was jealous of her being chosen to perform with Robert – she’d been acting coldly ever since they’d arrived in Manchester. Right now, though, she was the only person Julia had to talk to.

  ‘Oh Robert . . . he’ll break your heart, baby. Nothing but games with that man.’ She straightened up. ‘What has he done?’

  Julia frowned, not sure if Robert had actually done anything. At least, not yet.

  At quarter past eleven Julia emerged from her caravan, costumed and in full make-up. Eva had devised a tailored forties suit for her; black pinstripe with patent leather shoes. She wore a pillbox hat at an angle, fixed securely to her hair with long pins and Kirby grips. It was a bizarre outfit in the muddy site, and Julia struggled to walk the hundred yards to the tent. Her make-up was a garish parody of glamour – white panstick caked her face in a thick layer, her eyes were heavily outlined with dramatic black liner and false eyelashes curled up to her brows. She had painted her lips a violent shade of red, as crimson as blood, and smudged grey shadow in the hollows of her cheeks so that her cheekbones stood out razor sharp. Hidden by the mask of her make-up, she felt the buzz of pre-show anxiety transform into adrenaline as she heard the noise of the crowd inside. The motorbike engines screamed as they left the ring, and Julia slipped into the backstage pen.