Chapter 3

Joan Engle stood by the ringside of the main tent and watched the circus performers work out.

In the middle stood a blonde Adonis supporting the weight of twelve men on his shoulders. It was the young strong man, Justice Holt. All the circus posters were full of his face.

He was built like Michelangelo's David. His gaze as it peered regally from the cardboard signs that were shouting from every shop window that the circus was in town charged deep thrills into the hearts of romantic women, insisting: You shall come to see me perform. You shall come.

And Joan could see why the signs were so effective as she stood just outside the ring and her eyes met Justice's. He was cool and sure of himself under the weight of twelve sweating men. Her eyes dropped with practiced acumen to his loins and beheld the fist-like bulge.

What a magnificent beast! she breathed to herself wishing to humble her mouth at this proud bulging staff. Sometimes it's like I need a man after a night with Prince, Joan thought and wondered at the compulsion.

But the man did not seem willing to acknowledge her interest. He was a base beneath a tree of people; he did his job and that was that.

Realizing he could not simply stride over and take her to his cave, Joan eyed the strong man and amused herself with imagining kissing his cock and mouthing his balls. Her face must have been telling quite a story, for a female voice surprised her as it purred from beside her:

"He's not of the animals, kitten." Joan turned to find herself looking into a face identical to Amanda's, only lustier.

"I'm Myrna Westmore and you're Joan Engle," Amanda's twin said without doubt of her conviction. "Amanda told me everything about you and her description fits you exactly."

Without wishing to reveal it Joan was taken aback by the woman's presence. She was, indeed, Amanda with a whip in her hand: a woman who tamed big male cats. A shiver akin to fear chilled through Joan.

"Yes, I'm Joan Engle. How do you do?" Joan answered finally and felt like a fool with her formal tone.

Myrna laughed, "You can call me Bwana Lady later. But until you get to know the place, make it Myrna, okay?"

Joan relaxed a little, hoping Myrna was human after all. "I'm sorry. It's just that, well, he's so strong and all." She motioned vaguely at Justice standing beneath the twelve man triangle.

"You know, they always look like a pool rack to me." Myrna's voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper with a grin. "Only trouble is the cue ball would have to be Justice and there'd be nothing to stroke but air without him."

Joan was not sure she knew what Myrna meant but she laughed anyway and let the woman lead her away from the center ring.

Everything seemed to twirl about the girl. It was as if the lives who moved through the giant tent were caught forever on a ferris wheel. What would it feel like to be a part of all this big top?

Unknown stories above her head she could see an aerial team flying through a work out. The taut, bright hi-wires seemed as full of people as musical notes to the awe-struck girl. And all day long it was like that. The following hours were a maze of brightly colored people drifting through Joan's eyes. She felt in a daze like fog on a horizon and was nearly exhausted when finally she found herself alone late that night.

She had been assigned a compartment on a train car just big enough to stash a bag and her body in for a night's sleep. It was a box smaller than a closet laid over on its side.

'Where to get out to?' was the first question that struck her mind. The canteen. But there was only another railroad car containing so many new faces she didn't feel up to facing.

Her mind drifted back to the day's beginning and she remembered Justice. Like a clear light the remembrance pierced the daze of her thoughts. That was something she would like to do. What she hungered for was some man cock raw and wild. She thought of the thick smooth body of the Grecian boy, Justice Holt, and the hunger thickened in her throat and tongue. She imagined the hot head of his purple prick tip glazing the depths of her throat with the force of his giant muscles and she nearly wilted with desire. Quickly she rummaged through her suitcase for her elastic leopard leotards.

Joan's face wore a feline expression of awakened hunger. Just like the cloth into which she molded her body, she became a cat that hunted at night. She was thinking of what the hairy cave between his buttocks might taste like to her tongue. Only when she had tasted the sweaty musk of his asshole would she be satisfied her hunt was done.

Where would Justice be this time of night? Joan forced herself to ask logically. Well, if he had been paying any attention to her appraisal of him during the morning, he just might be looking for her about this time. And if he was looking for her, of course he knew she was connected with Myrna and the animals. So, Justice might be somewhere amidst the animal cages?

Joan left her compartment door unlocked, then returned and locked it hurriedly, slipping the key in the only available place, between the mounds of her breasts. Fool she thought to herself at the unthinking gesture, it'll work its way down the front and into my cunt. But that did not matter, she would take it out if it hurt.

Once outside, which took only a moment, Joan became a huntress. She stuck to the shadows while surveying the circus grounds, the huge arc lights were just dimming out, and as the girl watched a smaller light adjusted the circus to bedding down.

Tired people trundled between the elephantine tents, performing the last tasks of a long day, and Joan was struck with how brave these people must be. To lead lives ceaselessly in motion before a sea of leering faces was an awesome task indeed.

Like fireflies her eyes lit hungry sparks into every shadowed corner where she hoped to find Justice's handsome shadowed face regarding her with easy grace.

She drifted further on until she came again to the center ring. She found the main tent strangely quiet. The performers had quit it after the show, they would not step back into the circle until after dawn and the echoes of the night's crowd were completely gone. As she stepped across its boundaries a mysterious feeling fell about her. All that she had seen that afternoon of the performance came rushing back to her.

She heard the way the crowd had hissed with a sizzle as it quieted down when the Wolfgang Flyers came on. The flyers tumbled from tower to tower using the swing to spin on, until Joan imagined there was a huge, unseen juggler beneath spinning them like bowling pins. The silence had deepened further still when the melodramatic voice of the ringmaster proceeded their finale with a description of death-defying gloom. Everything was so vast and mysterious about her that she scarcely had noticed the clowns rig the membrane of spider-webbed nets below the trio of flying heroes.

Yes, the Wolfgang Flyers will do a triple axle with Hans hanging from the narrow swing while Sara and Hart lock legs with each other and the three whirl about the trapeze like burning torches.

The red glittering hunk of a man that was Hans Wolfgang began to swing on the high flying bar in longer and longer arcs between the two towers where Sara and Hart stood poised like statues. Hart was sequined in black, Sara in white. Hans now spun gaining momentum with his arms and legs stuck straight out from his body. He then hooked some gadget from his belly button to the bar and started to revolve slowly head over heels around the swinging bar like a swiftly moving clock.

From where Joan sat in the front row on the left of the center aisle to the ring, the energy of twenty-five thousand people seemed to catch on one breath. Tension was knotted at the base of her upcraned neck. Beneath the sky blue umbrella of the tent the lights dimmed until all that could be seen were the lighted, glowing torches hooked to the sides of the three performers. The mood of the music changed and cracked into an excited, building roll as Sara leaped from her tower like a tumbling dive? and curled into a ball. The flame lights revolved slowly twice then jerked to a stop as Hans caught her fall.

The lights came up on the high flying pair now both revolving around the trapeze as it continued to swing between the high towers. With a powerful thrust, Hans doubled up and allowed Sara's muscular hands to grab his ankles. The movement gave added momentum to the bar for the next stage of the spectacular stunt.

The crowd let out one breath, then uniformly gasped another as the ringmaster said:

"And not to be outdone by his sister, Hart Wolfgang will attempt not two--but three!--three complete tumbles, Ladies and Gents, in freefall before Hans stops him with a catch."

Hart seemed to stiffen majestically. The music quickened while again the lights dimmed. The stage was set. The twirling wheels of fire sent off conical shapes like magicians' hats and within the tent a spirit akin to Halloween took hold.

Then, almost as slowly--or so it seemed--as a goldfish in a bowl, Hart started to swim toward the top of the tent. He reached an airy pinnacle and turned into a burning fist that wheeled about itself once, a second time, and three times, then jerked out straight. The audience grasped and started to applaud. But the stunt was not done.

The three balls of fire were swimming around and around the arching trapeze bar at the top of the tent and still the lights did not come up. The flyers were twirling around up there attached only to Han's buckle.

Now, as Joan stood in the ring above which this fiery feat had been performed earlier, she was suddenly aware of how quiet the big empty tent was and she shivered with the magnitude of it.

"It's big, isn't it?" A deep melodious male voice retrieved her from her reverie with a start. Justice Holt's grinning Greek face mocked her from the dark.

"It's you who brought me out tonight," she answered simply directing her words to his more hidden question.

"I'm glad. Because I wished it would turn out this way."

"Do you have somewhere to take me?" Joan asked meekly while she stood like a slave before the massive dimly lit man.

The face of Justice looked down from the strengths of its peaks to a cleft chin. His handsome olive eyes took in Joan with appreciation as she stood like a vixen kitten glowing sex in the dark of the ring. Leopard spots of orange and black clung to her curves and left hefty shadows in which he feasted his eyes. She had come for him as he had known she would this morning.

She was in Justice's mind like a yellow balloon on a rainy day, a treat for being true to what he was.

Because of that truth, he was there to be obeyed blindly. Even he did not know the causes of all events and he devoted himself just as blindly to that thought. Whatever the woman wanted of him, if she were as devoted as he, Justice would perform.

"There is no need to go anywhere While we are in the center, no one will intrude. It is the understood code," Justice said grinning wickedly.

Slowly he took Joan into the palm of one strong hand and felt her willow with his strength. She just lay there like a muffy kitten with delight in her eyes. He stroked her spine, feeling the butt of her hips swell off her back, and then cupped the firm mounds of her heart shaped ass in his hand. He could feel the heat from her bowels jab like a point into the center of his hand and he crushed her pelvis to his prick.

The join cloth the muscle man wore flapped aside, and Justice felt the lips of the girl's cunt clutch for the head of his prick. But it was not enough. The material of her leotards was between the feeling of her flesh and his.

"Take yourself from that suit so I can feel you," Justice said to Joan. She made no reply but stepped back and peeled the zipper down.

The garment had a zipper both front and back so that when undone Joan was split up the middle with a swath of resilient flesh. Something flashed to the ground and Justice saw it was a key. He stooped to pick it up, then rose as her eyes urged him to look at what she had revealed.

Her breasts were cleft so deeply that Justice thought they resembled what his hand had felt cupped about her ass. He wanted to suck on those strawberry nipple tips.

Joan's breasts were indeed nearly as firm as her butt for she was as sinewy as a mountain cat. Her heat rose sumptuously out of her cunt while Justice took off his loin cloth.

A gasp of delight escaped Joan's lips when she saw the trunk of the man. From that incredibly wide chest full of bulging pectoral muscles his waist slipped into hips of such narrow ramrod strength that his pecker had the scope of a pool cue.

So that's what Myrna meant about a cue ball, Joan thought as she kneeled before the man's magnificent member. With her pixie- cut hair she looked like a court page before a pagan king. Her pulse quickened and heat seeped from her womb when she beheld the staff protruding from his hips. The bulb of it was red and swelled as the slit of it peered evenly between her eyes. She saw how the vee shape of the glans narrowed its sides up the slope of the prick head's elliptical mass.

The trunk of Justice's prick looked long and lean as it disappeared into the blonde briars about his balls. His balls were unusually large and seemed to be held in an almost translucent sack causing Joan to feel she must taste the fruit there first.

She let her tongue lick out to soften the briar with wet hot licks. Then her pouted lips kissed in the thatch and suckled onto Justice's ballsack. The tender skin felt baby smooth beneath Joan's tongue and she licked between his balls at the cave of his ass. Then she led her sharp tongue up the steep base of the Greek's massive erection. She could taste the sweat of the day's performance on him.

She worshipped at the glans with hot pouting kisses and sent wings of pleasure sailing through Justice like a flock of doves. Like the sound of the birds' greased wings Joan hummed her love while her pink tongue tip wriggled beneath the head of Justice's cock.

Joan let her voice growl up and vibrated her taut lips all over the slick elliptical surface of the Greek man's pecker head. The effect of her lips was electric on his organ and Justice began to rock his heels to a rhythm of his own. While her lips vibrated on Justice's turgid bulb she let her tongue glaze the crease of its tip. The red eye opened to the intruder like a slit in a rock to a snake. Joan made her tongue tip small and dry then reamed the tiny slit as she thought of Eric.

Justice knew this kind of worship from Myrna as well and he could not help but compare the techniques of the two different women.