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[intlink id=”869″ type=”post”]Find out more about Fulani here[/intlink].
Amy’s comfortable dream became a sudden waking nightmare. She had been—she thought—riding her favorite pony, giving it free rein and holding her arms outstretched for balance. In the nightmare, her ankles and wrists were spread wide and pinioned by ropes to two thick upright poles. In the dream she’d been wearing a clinging, suede cowgirl dress covered in spangles and rhinestones. Now, as a sudden draught swirled across her flesh, she realized she wore no clothes at all. Every single item of clothing, even her underwear and best court-style shoes, had been taken from her.
Amy gasped in horror, twisted in the ropes and grimaced as they bit into her slender wrists. Looking around wildly in the guttering candlelight, she saw canvas—evidently this was a tent—but there was more. Paula, similarly naked, was bound hand and foot, lying on the ground a few yards away. Another young woman sat, legs splayed to either side of Paula’s head, which she had grasped by the hair. Paula’s face, hidden from Amy’s view, was being forced into the woman’s… Amy shuddered involuntarily.
The link between the dream and the waking nightmare lay in the person of the ringmaster, who now stood before her. A little over average height, slim-hipped yet athletic, with slicked-back dark hair and piercing green eyes, he regarded her at arm’s length. Appraising her, Amy thought, as if she were merchandise in a market.
A blush colored her cheeks. She’d never been looked at that way by any man she knew—still less by a complete stranger like the ringmaster. She pulled again at the ropes, only to find they were utterly secure, and a moan of frustration escaped her lips.
Memories came at her in a blurred rush. The circus. The ‘special performance.’ Being drawn out of the audience. Trying on a new dress, one that fitted like a glove and made her look wild, untamed. Riding a pony bareback…
“You wicked bastard,” she said levelly, looking into his eyes. “You hypnotized me!”
The ringmaster shrugged, “I merely allowed you to express your hidden desires. One cannot be hypnotized without consent. That would be quite improper.”
“No, this is improper. Let me go and give me back my clothes!”
His reply was simply to reach out and grasp a nipple between finger and thumb. Amy squeaked in outrage and tried to shrink back from the invasive hand, but merely bounced on the ropes as his grip tightened. The ringmaster grinned.
“I think not,” he said. “I’m merely following your own express desires, as announced to a hundred or so witnesses… And such a performance you gave! You’ve the makings of a good trouper. I saw it in you as soon I clapped eyes on you. Plus, you have such a wonderful body; it’d be a sin to hide it under clothes.”
Performance? What on earth had he made her do while she’d been under his influence? A shudder of revulsion started somewhere deep in her belly. But there was something else, some half-memory, in the back of her mind.
His hand was still roaming over her breast. If Amy had been the kind of person who’d learned to spit, she’d have spat in his face.
“Untie me! Now! And get that… that woman to stop doing… what she’s doing… with Paula! Or else…” She stopped, the stretched position straining her belly and taking strength from her lungs, and tried to take a deep breath.
The ringmaster’s hand circled her tit teasingly, then held it as if testing its weight. The extended position she was restrained in had flattened Amy’s naturally pert shape, so there wasn’t much to test. She endured the fingering with clenched teeth.
“Or else…?” the ringmaster demanded. His face was in shadow but she could see his amusement. “On the contrary, what I’m doing now, and what I shall be doing shortly, is exactly what you really want me to do: I’m letting you join the circus. Consider this your interview.”
She digested this information with incredulity.
“What you mean is, you’re kidnapping me? Is that what you do, traffic in women?”
The smile grew wider. “Kidnapping is such a harsh word. Let’s just say I see women with… potential. And I give them the training necessary to bring out their particular skills.”
Amy forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “So, kidnapping and then slavery. Next you’ll be selling me as a prostitute and telling me I’m an artiste!”
“You’ve a lot of fight in you. I like that. It’ll make things more… interesting.” A movement outside the tent flap had evidently caught his eye. His head turned, “Ah, I have business to attend to. We’ll talk later.” He patted her belly proprietarily, causing Amy to squeak in outrage, then yelp as the ropes bit again to contain her struggles.
Amy’s eyes followed the ringmaster as he turned away to deal with the newcomers—a middle-aged man, puffy in the jowls and broad in the gut, wearing a brown suit, and a slim, slight woman with shining black hair coiled on the top of her head, wearing an ankle-length black cloak at the neck of which was a broad metal collar.
“This is the one you were telling me about?” the ringmaster asked the brown-suited man.
“Indeed,” he replied smoothly. “Allow me to present Pearl. Pearl…?”
Without a second’s hesitation the woman shrugged off the cloak, revealing herself to be completely naked except for boots and the collar. She moved her legs slightly apart—Amy noted there was no triangle of hair—and clasped her hands behind her head, a move that showed tiny breasts to their best advantage. The ringmaster looked her up and down critically, and did to the woman what he’d done to her—took a nipple between thumb and forefinger, and pinched. The woman’s face remained expressionless. She didn’t even flinch. Releasing the nipple, the ringmaster casually walked around her for a rear view, then unleashed a slap on her backside that rang round the tent. Amy shuddered. The woman accepted it without moving a muscle.
Reaching into the woman’s hair, the ringmaster removed the grip, allowing her mane to uncoil and flow down her back like a long black snake. It stopped just short of her high, trim ass.
“So what does she do?”
Amy realized that the ringmaster was, in all seriousness, looking at the woman as a piece of meat. The brown-suited man was selling her, the ringmaster was considering whether to buy. The fact that this was happening before her very eyes, might indeed happen to her, formed a small knot of tension in her belly and she shivered violently, feeling her nakedness even more intensely.
“Trapeze. High wire. Acrobatics. Magician’s assistant. Some fortune telling if you want.”
“Trapeze and high wire,” the ringmaster snorted. “I think we have one or two people who do that already.”
“Blindfolded, with their hands tied behind their back?” enquired the brown-suited man. The ringmaster shrugged, “I suppose that does make a difference.” He turned to the woman. “You speak English?”
“Yes, master,” she replied without hesitation, not breaking position. The ringmaster grinned, exposing canines that were almost fangs. “I’m not your master quite yet, my dear… If you’re going to join the circus you have to expect to pull your weight. Can you clean, sweep, cook, look after animals…?”
“Oh yes, master. And I’m a good fuck. Very tight, you know? Make you cum quick and hard.” She smiled sweetly, “Ask my boss.”
Despite her own predicament Amy found it in herself to be shocked at the woman casually describing herself as a ‘good fuck’—and was then even more shocked at a sudden series of high-pitched, yet somehow guttural, barks from the corner of the tent. They came from the woman who’d placed herself directly over Paula’s face. Her body now trembled, breasts visibly shaking, head thrown back in abandon. Paula had evidently been forced to pleasure the bitch intimately with her tongue. And yet, relaxed in her bonds and with an enigmatic smile on her face, she seemed to have enjoyed doing it.
And as if tonight she were to be witness to complete depravity, one of the circus hands, who’d been lounging in the shadows, stepped forward. He grabbed the rope pinioning Paula’s arms behind her and roughly pulled her to her knees. “My turn now,” he said with a grin and unbuttoned his breeches, allowing his cock, as virile and strong as the rest of him, to spring free. To Amy’s amazement, without any fuss or protest Paula leaned forward to take it in her mouth. After a few seconds her head began to bob up and down…
“…If I may?”
Amy’s attention was dragged back to the brown-suited man, who’d obviously concluded his business with the ringmaster. At any rate, the latter was now attaching a leash to the Chinese-looking woman’s collar and the other was gesturing in Amy’s direction.
“She’s not trained,” the ringmaster cautioned him, “but by all means, see what you think of her.”
Brown-suit approached eagerly and Amy squirmed as his hands rudely explored her breasts, belly, inner things, and then let out a pained squeak as she felt his finger part her cunt and slide a little way inside. No one—no one—had ever treated her sex with such bold contempt.
But his chest, while covered by his shirt, was invitingly close to her mouth and his smell, a slightly earthy yet oily odor, not unpleasant but somehow low-class and menacing, enclosed her. Reacting instinctively she bent her head forward and took a sudden bite at his chest.
He cursed softly, but didn’t try to back away from her. Instead he grabbed Amy by the hair and roughly crushed her face into his chest, covering her mouth and nose. She found herself unable to breathe, though held onto him with her teeth for some seconds longer, finally releasing his skin as she began to feel increasingly faint.
“Well,” he said, amusement mixed with something a little harsher in his voice, “a right little spitfire and no mistake!”
The ringmaster looked round from inspecting the Chinese woman. He had her bent forward, forearms resting on a barrel, small breasts hanging free and her legs spread wide.
“Anything wrong, Seb?”
“She tried to bite me. You’re right about her not being trained.”
“Then,” the ringmaster suggested casually, “you should have the privilege of starting her training. Here…” He attached the leash on the Chinese girl to a hanging chain, patted her on the backside as if telling her to wait and moved to join brown-suit. Moving behind Amy he appeared to be selecting something from a bag.
A blindfold, she discovered. It was made of tough canvas, but soft and well-worn with use. It cut off her vision entirely. Her body shuddered but she quashed the instinct to toss her head. Whatever she did would hardly prevent them putting it on and would only make them treat her more harshly. She felt her hands being untied from the poles, but the cords around her wrists weren’t loosened. Instead, as the ringmaster reminded her not to struggle because her ankles were still tied, the two ropes seemed to be knotted together so her hands were in front of her. Only then, and with one of the men, presumably the brown-suited Seb, holding the rope tight, were her ankles released.
“Tie her to one of the wagons,” the ringmaster advised. “And here, use this…” Amy felt fear spasm through her belly. Whatever ‘this’ was, it must be some instrument to punish her with. She felt herself jerked forward by the wrists and took a step to avoid falling, but the pull on her arms kept Amy off-balance. Another stumbling step, the blindfold forcing her to trust her captor not to make her trip. Then another. She shivered in the chill night air as he dragged her from the tent. The man, Seb, evidently noted this. “Not to worry, girl,” he said harshly, “ye’ll be warm enough in a short while.”
He walked her for a couple of minutes before Amy felt her hands pulled roughly upward and secured over her head, as the man’s hand in the small of her back thrust her forward. She was, evidently, tied to a wagon, facing a large wheel with her wrists against the top of it. Cold metal pressed against her stomach. The pressure of his hands on her calves told her she should splay her legs. Then… nothing. He was, she imagined, standing back to admire his handiwork. Amy froze, listening for any sound that would indicate his movement.
Then he was next to her, his fleshy fingers stroking her breasts, squeezing a nipple until she gasped, then travelling down to casually invade her cunt, making her squirm and gasp in outrage. “Hmm. You need warming up,” he observed nastily, and with his free hand gave her a hefty spank on the ass. Amy flinched, determined not to cry out, not to give him that satisfaction. It was incredible to her that a man, any man, this complete stranger, would assume the right to lay a hand on her.
The second spank came on her right ass cheek and she shuddered silently, her belly coming up hard against the end of the axle.
Thwack! Again, and then more. Each time the blow was strong enough to pitch her off-balance. Her backside began to burn and after the tenth smack Amy’s determination gave way and a guttural moan forced its way up from her throat. Seb merely laughed, and gave her half a dozen more in quick succession that elicited a series of squeaks and yelps. She broke position, twisting her body in a vain attempt to present some different target.
Yet when he stopped to ask her if she’d learned her lesson, she bit her lip and refused to answer. He snorted, as if her silence was amusing.
“Very well. Now I’ve warmed you up I was going to punish you anyway. The only question is how many strokes.” He raised his voice. “What’s the going rate for a young brat who tries to bite?”
“Six of the best!”
“No, a dozen!”
“Did she draw blood?”
Amy was shocked rigid. The sound of a horny hand on bare buttocks, and undoubtedly also her vocal reaction, had drawn an audience! She was not only naked and tied, exposed to all who cared to look; she was clearly about to provide the brutes with something they thought of as entertainment!
“No, no blood,” Seb answered.
“Then beat her till she apologizes, but don’t draw blood yourself,” the stranger pronounced.
Amy heard the whip sing in the air a split second before it cracked across her already-reddened ass. The sharpness of it could not have been worse had it been a red-hot poker. Her lungs emptied in a shriek and she felt herself lifted onto tiptoe as the whiplash reverberated through her entire body.
The bastard waited until her heels touched ground and she could breathe before letting loose the second.
“Yeeeiiowww!” Her backside felt as though cut with a saber, her legs were jelly, and tears soaked the inside of the blindfold.
“You can, of course,” Seb reminded her, “apologize. Then it will stop.”