Read Big Cat Circus Online

Authors: Vanessa de Sade

Tags: #erotica, #historical, #shapeshifter, #rubenesque, #surreal, #circus, #surreal fiction, #period erotica, #circus carneval, #surreal erotica, #historical 1930s, #erotica adult passion, #circus erotica

Big Cat Circus (2 page)

BOOK: Big Cat Circus
11.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“OK, do it, but
I’m hornier than a stud bull in a heifer pen, boy, so just you make
sure you’ve got something left for me when you’re done,” Mama
chided, “I wants my sugar too.”

But Pa was
beyond listening as he hammered in and out of me like a
pile-driver, his long tree-root cock pushing deeper and deeper into
my pussy as he shoved it right into my soul, his big rough hands
kneading at my hips and thighs. Overcome with lust, I grabbed at
him and dug my nails into his skinny butt and his face contorted
into a mask as he suddenly slammed home, riding me hard like a
rogue mare, his orgasm shooting out of him in hot burning
jolts.

“Oh, Jesus
Christ, Darleen,” he said to my Mama as he juddered to a halt and
held on to her skinny naked body, “this girl’s pussy is like liquid
gold. We is going to be richer than Rockefeller...”

* * *

Unfortunately
for Pa, though, things just didn’t work out the way he planned.
Folk wouldn’t pay more than a nickel to see the famous fat lady,
and we had to do special shows almost every night to make any extra
money at all. But we refused to be deterred and we even had a
photograph taken at a studio in a lead mining town we passed
through, and Ma sent it to Mr Barnum himself, and to the Ringling
Brothers as well, but none of them were interested in hiring me. It
seemed that no-one was paying good money to see a woman of plenty
any more.

Pa was
devastated and I felt so bad for him, and I did hundreds of special
shows and turned tricks when he asked, but it didn’t really make
any difference and, six months down the line we were still a cheap
sideshow with De Marco’s carnival. It broke my sweet Daddy, so it
did, and it broke my heart to see him brought down so low, a man
with a dream left bereft when the thing that he had suffered and
sacrificed for all these years just evaporated like the dew in the
morning sun.

But, as I
recollect, it was in those dark months that the miracle happened,
in the summer that was so hot that the tar melted on the roads and
stuck to the tyres of the trucks, slowing us down as we laboured
through the red dust to our pitch of the day. Old man De Marco
ordered a fifteen-minute halt in the town to let the engines cool
before we headed down to the field by the dried-up creek, and, in
there, in a Nowheresville Post Office, was a letter just sitting
waiting for us.

“What’s it say,
what’s it say?” I asked, all overcome with excitement, as Pa handed
the letter to Ma, since she was the only one of us that had her
letters, and she took the small neat envelope from him and slit it
open.

Inside was a
single sheet of coloured notepaper, with an old-style drawing of a
red-eyed cat jumping through a hoop, and the words Große
Katze-Zirkus – Big Cat Circus – in spiked Germanic lettering.

“What’s it say,
Darleen?” Pa said, rocking her this way and that, but Ma was just
shaking her head from side to side and saying, “No, no, no,” in a
strange far-away voice.

“Ma,” I said,
“tell us. What’s the matter?”

She looked at
me, all stricken, a tear running down her pale sunken cheek. “They
wants you, Babe. These German folks wants you.”

Pa let out
whoop of delight and I hugged Mama. “But that’s what we want, isn’t
it?” I said, all puzzled, “if they wants me then we’ll all join a
big circus and finally be rich, ain’t that right, Mama?”

But Mama just
shook her head again. “You don’t understand, child,” she said
sadly, “they don’t want us, they just want you. They want to buy
you from us…”

Pa stopped his
Indian war dance like he’d been shot. “Buy her? They want to buy
our Babe? Hell, no, not while I’ve still got breath in my
body!”

Mama nodded.
“You’re right, Elmer,” she said, wiping away her tears, “no-one’s
buying our daughter, not even for four hundred dollars.”

“You’re damn
right,” Pa said, in a funny strained voice.

* * *

It was a few
days after the letter came that Pa asked me to turn a trick for
him. We were closing up for the night, the roustabouts opening
bottles of warm beer and the lamps going out all over the
fairground, the hot night air alive with the songs of cicadas. I
had just done two special shows back to back, showing my bare ass
and pussy to crowds of jeering farm boys, and I dreaded that Pa had
arranged for me to go down on one of them for half a dollar, but he
said that it was a much classier deal than that.

There was no
breeze at all as we climbed into the truck together and drove out
into the stifling night, the radio tuned to a negro station that
was playing blues music, the quiet voices sounding like howls of
anguish in hot stale air. I moved to turn the dial to a crooner
show, but Pa stopped me, said the black songs suited his mood
tonight.

And then was
silent.

“Where we
meeting this guy, Pa?” I asked, eventually, as the truck left the
sleeping town behind and we bumped out into dust bowl country, the
struggling fields sad and bereft, their meagre crops dying or
already dead.

“At the
cross-roads,” he said quietly, as, on the crackly radio, the broken
voice of Robert Johnson began to sing and a big blood-red moon rose
up slowly in the sweltering night sky.

“Oh Jesus,
Papa, what have you done?” I asked looking around me, the pieces
suddenly falling into place, but he didn’t answer, couldn’t answer,
couldn’t even look at me.

“God damn it,
you’ve sold me to those Germans, Pa,” I said, not crying or
shouting or anything, just wanting to hear him say the words,
“you’ve sold your own daughter for forty pieces of silver.”

He did look at
me then, his face streaked with tears. “You were my dream,” he
said, very quietly, his voice hollow, “you were my dream and my
last hope. I can’t take this life no more.”

“Oh, Pa,” I
said, squeezing his knee, “you know I’d work to keep you, get a job
somewhere, don’t do this to me, please…”

But he was
shaking his head, the deed already done. “I gave them my word,
Babe, my word. What kind of a man goes back on his word?”

I wanted to
say, and what kind of a man sells his own daughter, but he was in
too much pain already and I knew it wouldn’t do any good anyway.
His mind was made up and he was going to go through with it. Even
though it would torture him to his dying day.

* * *

The song ended
as we pulled up at the cross-road sign, a lonely piece of
white-painted wood desolately pointing the way from somewhere to
nowhere. In the full moon it was almost as bright as day, except
that the shadows were too long and the malformed cotton plants
looked like the bony hands of crippled old slaves in their ships,
reaching out helplessly in the silver-red light.

A long black
Buick sat in darkness at the signpost, its engine softly purring,
ready and waiting, like the Devil’s hearse waiting to carry off a
lost soul, and I tried to cling to Pa, but he brushed me off
roughly and pushed me out of the cab and into the road.

I shouted, “No,
Daddy!” but it was no good, he was already turning the truck round
and driving back off down the road to town, desperately hoping to
find some speak-easy or juke-joint still open where he could drink
some of his money and numb his guilt before he would have to go
home and face my mother’s wrath.

I stood
watching his taillights getting smaller and smaller, feeling
deserted and so very alone out there at that desolate godless
place, and, finally, as I turned and face the Buick, the passenger
door swung open noiselessly and a warm amber light glowed from
inside.

“Come, Babe, we
will love you as one of our own,” a soft feline voice purred
through the night air, and a thin, cat-like hand in a leather glove
beckoned to me.

I sighed and
got into the car.

There was
nowhere else to go.

* * *

Inside the
plush cracked-leather interior of the car sat two people dressed
entirely in black. They were quite young, not more than twenty-five
or six, and yet they moved like old folks, their eyes rheumy, their
hand movements stilted and arthritic.

It was
stiflingly hot in the scented interior, like a mortician’s parlour
full of funereal lilies on a muggy day, but they seemed unaware.
The woman wore a full-length black velvet coat and a black beaded
hat with a dense veil that covered her face like she was a
graveyard angel. She reached out and took my hand in hers as I sat
down, cold even through the leather glove, and leaned over to
whisper in my ear.

“We have waited
a long, long time to meet you, Babe,” she said in a breathless
undertone, her accent pronounced. “I am Ute. This is my brother,
Hans. Do not shake hands yet, he does not like to be touched before
he is ready. Don’t be afraid, we will love you as one of our own.
Come, let us away.”

The man nodded
to me as the big car started off on soundless wheels. He too was
dressed in a black astrakhan coat and black suit, a diamond-topped
cane between his legs, his gloved hands leaning on it like they
were clinging to it for support.

“It is indeed
sehr gut that you have come, Babe,” he agreed with his sister, “we
have much love to give you. Come, embrace me…”

He reached out
a thin hand to me, peeling away the glove like a spent Johnny from
a limp dick, his pale fingers bloodless like a weed that’s been
under a barrel all summer long.

“We have know
each other a very long time,” he said, his blue eyes suddenly very
alive in his wan face, his white-blonde hair like an angel’s halo.
“Come, child, kiss me…”

And before I
knew it his lips were on mine and it was the most beautiful kiss I
had ever experienced, hard yet soft, long and deep but not clingy.
I felt as if I was a thousand years old and had, indeed, known him
for ever.

“Come, come,
enough,” Ute’s voice intruded, her thin pale hands taking my face
between them. “Share the love, my brother,” she said in mock
rebuke, and, before I knew it, she had kissed me too, and I was
lost in the beauty of her tenderness.

* * *

It was late at
night when we arrived at the Circus of the Big Cats, but lines of
coloured electric lamps still burned around the black and gold
banner that formed a proscenium to its courtyard. There was a huge
black tent at the centre of the camp, covered in old painted
canvases of rampant lions and tigers and panthers, all lit with
strings of coloured bulbs, and a circle of wagons around it, each
painted black and gold, boarded with German names at one side, open
iron bars to the other.

I heard the
restless big cats before I saw them, pacing aggressively inside
their cages, their movements agitated, hurling their heavy bodies
at the bars in fury as the car drove slowly past, their eyes red
and demon-like in the reflected headlights. I would normally have
been scared, but Hans or Ute, I’m not sure which, had wormed a hand
up my skirt and was stroking my pussy, tiny fingers nibbling at my
clit like catfish in a shallow summer creek, and I was well beyond
the realm of care.

The dark Buick
came to a halt in front of large tent, glowing yellow from electric
bulbs within, and Ute opened the heavy flap and went inside. I made
to follow, but stood for a moment in the night air, my nostrils
flared, trying to recognise a familiar scent.

“Yes, you
remember it, do you not, little one?” Hans said in my ear, his
flesh still cold but his breath hot. “It is the scent of the cats.
Once you have it in your soul you can never forget it. Come, Ute
waits for us.”

He led me into
the tent by the arm, his walk neat and feline, almost slinking. His
eyes, bright Germanic blue in the car, were now orangey-yellow in
this light, like verdant tiger’s eye or amber. I could hear the
caged beats roaring in their cages and hitting the protesting bars
with their powerful flanks as I contemplated their brilliance.

Inside the tent
walls were covered in tattered black silk hangings with gold
decorations. They looked as if they had come from the lost summer
palace of some deposed Tsar, but had been ripped and torn by
bestial claws over the ensuing years. The grassy floor was covered
in animal skins, lion, tiger, leopard; and in the centre like a
ring was a huge round bed. Ute knelt on it, naked save for her
beaded black hat and veil. Her skin was pure blue-white, like fresh
milk, her body long and thin, flat-chested like a boy but with big
woman’s nipples sticking out like moist black olives, the hair on
her pussy dark and gleaming like cat fur, a soft obsidian vee
between her legs but twisting up to her belly in thin, sharp
rapier-like line.

“Is she not
fine?” Hans whispered in my ear, “you will make love with her for
me, no?”

I let my hand
slide down his front and felt his strong heart beating in the
surprisingly muscular chest, the taut belly and then his enormous
cock, straining at the fine silk of his toreador pants, like a
panther ready to spring. He was huge, bestial, and, as I traced the
outline of his erection, I felt it move with my fingers, nuzzle at
me, rub its hard head against my hand.

His hands were
busy with the buttons at the back of my dress and he slipped the
flimsy cotton off my shoulders and let it fall to my feet and I was
suddenly shy, although I undressed in front of a room full of
strangers nearly every night.

Ute saw my
distress and smiled from beneath her veil. “Come, kleines, it is
alright, you are with friends, let us see you.”

Naked as she
was, she came over and led me back to the bed on tiny feet, her
muscular little ass tight and white, and I could smell her excited
pheromones as she led me to the big satin-covered divan, getting me
more and more aroused with every step. She took off her veil and
lay down provocatively, her cherry lips very red, nipples straining
up to be kissed, her pussy aroused and open, the moist inner labia
begging my desperate tongue to explore its curves and crevices.

BOOK: Big Cat Circus
11.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Emerald Prince by Morgan, Kayci
The Nether Scroll by Lynn Abbey
Ladies From Hell by Keith Roberts
Leppard, Lois Gladys - [Mandie 03] by Mandie, the Ghost Bandits (v1.0) [html]
The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker
Kitchen Boy by Jenny Hobbs
Promise by Dani Wyatt
The Last Layover by Steven Bird