Page 96 of Vampire's Choice

“All right.” He let her go.

Irrational and frustrating disappointment flooded her like a caustic poison, but before she could push past that to make a graceful retreat—or say something mean to him to vent her spleen—he’d drawn her against his side, an adjustment, not a withdrawal, and they were aloft.

He landed them in the audience’s seating area on the uppermost bench, which had the most shadows. He’d chosen a center ring section, for optimal view of everything happening below. Merc guided her to sit, but he didn’t sit next to her. Instead, he took the bench one row below hers and faced her. He clasped his hands between spread knees. “Back straight,” he murmured. “Hands braced on either side of the bench. Knees spread. Do it.”

A submissive posture, open to her Dom. When she complied, with a brief, quivery hesitation, he touched her knee, making her spread it out another couple inches, which pushed her hips back and her chest out. The dress stretched, but it also slid higher up her legs. If he chose, he could dip his head and see what she didn’t wear beneath it.

Instead, his gaze rested on the curves of her breasts in the low neckline before it lifted back to her face. “That dress isn’t going to survive the night,” he promised. “Start to your left, and look at each scene. You have to watch it until I tell you to move on to the next one. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Start now.”

In the left ring, a new suspension scene had started. Depending on the form chosen, the bottom would often feel pain at first, even if the right kind of pain. The key was settling into it, because beyond that pain, euphoria could wait. She’d learned that by talking to one of William’s go-to servants who enjoyed suspension play at his hands.

The bottom for this scene was a contortionist, and the Dom wanted to push her beyond her normal threshold to that ecstatic level. He’d drawn her backwards like a hairpin, her head touching her buttocks, arms stretched toward her ankles and tied there. It put her in a teardrop shape.

Multiple ropes created a fan shape above her prominent rib cage, like a hemp bloom balanced on the curve of the teardrop. As he surveyed his work, the Dom caressed the jut of her hip bones and stretched lengths of her thighs. Her sex was pressed against the crotch of the pink leotard she was wearing, the damp labia clearly defined. When the Dom put her in a slow spin, his hand trailing over her, the sub moaned at his touch.

“Move to the next.”

Reluctantly, her gaze went to an electric play scene. An arc of white-blue power moved from the top’s fingers to the sub laid out on a board, wrapped against it with thin silver cord. His body danced, caught up in a river of shocks being applied along his naked torso.

“Next.”

His close regard had her wanting Merc’s hands. The posture he was making her maintain didn’t allow her that. It was all dependent upon him. Her body shuddered, and he wasn’t even touching her. Just watching her watch all of this.

Just as she’d imagined.

Impact play was next. The Dom who’d spoken to her had found a playmate, an equestrian performer. She did acrobatics on the Percherons, plus skits with the unicorns.

They also had a Pegasus in the troupe. Ruth imagined Merc riding Pegasus, the two sets of wings aligned. Had he ever done that? Or were the animals as leery of him as Medusa’s snakes?

The Dom had put the rider’s hands against one of the steel tent poles and bound them there. He stripped his belt out of his jeans and doubled it. She was clothed, but only in a thin dress with nothing beneath. As the male gathered up the filmy cloth, he revealed neat, firm buttocks. His fingers played over the seam, stroked the curves and her upper thighs. Warming her with his touch, readying her for what would come next, while enjoying the intimate contact.

When the first slap of the belt came, she had her bottom lip in her teeth. Ruth was emulating her, digging into plump flesh, her tongue tasting the moisture against her teeth.

The simplest of scenes so far, and it captivated her.

Merc was gathering intel on what excited her, uncovering those deep desires she couldn’t show anyone.

The score music had given way to someone’s play list. “Goodbye’s Been Good To You” by Teddy Swims. The rough voice and insistent beat matched the insistent sexual percussion throbbing through the Big Top. The Dom matched the beat in his strikes.

“Next,” Merc said, after the Dom had administered twenty blows. Her own buttocks throbbed. Her nipples ached. If Merc had touched them, she would have whimpered from the sensation.

“I can’t see the next station. There are people in the way. It seems popular.”

Merc put his hands to her waist, and they were aloft again. He took her up into the scaffolding, giving her a direct downward view of what she hadn’t been able to see.

Those who loved D/s play could be endlessly creative. And the Circus had access to toys and equipment that most didn’t. In this case, the claw machine had been brought into the Big Top. On performance days, it was on the midway. A guest inserted a ticket, activated the claw inside, and tried to capture the stuffed toy or trinket they wanted.

In mundane carnivals, the toys were packed down, making it difficult for that to happen. The carnival received far more profit than gave away toys.

At the Circus, the toys were tossed in loosely. Almost everyone won, with less than two tries. The Circus made their nut from sold out shows, special engagements and performances, like with BDSM clubs such as Club Atlantis. Being indulgent with their games meant happy attendees and more return business.

The claw machine had a very different use tonight. The toys had been removed, except for a layer on the bottom. A woman was inside the box, bound to a pole that had been added to the space. Her feet and ankles were buried in that layer of colorful plush toys, but a spreader bar held her thighs apart. Straps bound her hips and waist to the pole, while another was cinched above her breasts, emphasizing the lush curves and tight nipples. Another strap was over her forehead.

Her upper arms were held to her sides at the elbows. Her wrists were cuffed securely together, no slack, and her hands were folded and tied around the handle of a vibrator, the tennis-ball sized head pointing downward.

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