Sunday, January 18, 2009

Circus of Freaks - Chapter 5

The freakishness continues at the circus. Don't worry. I still haven't forgotten chapter 3. It's just not ready yet.

(c) 2009 Josef Howard

None of the men of the circus understand how the purple hash changes us, just as none of us understand why it affects us differently. Increased muscle mass and exaggerated primary sexual characteristics are a constant, but sometimes it changes us in other ways as well. One man might grow fur and another might grow wings. Some of us think its effects are affected by our individual or collective fantasies. There is no question of the affect that witnessing the changes have on the average man in our audience.
My name is John. When I joined the circus a few years ago in my teens I was scrawny and bookish, obsessed with the pulp fantasies. My father took me into the men’s show tent to shake me out of my daydreams, to show me the excitement of the physical world around me, but the show shook him up more than me. He couldn’t talk about it afterwards. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I ran away from home by the end of the week to join the circus.
The entire tent is pitch black as the MC announces my act. When the spotlight illuminates me, I stand alone wrapped in a long cloak without sleeves, half again as tall as the average performer, my shaved head shining in the bright light.
One mighty muscled arm slides through slits in the black cloak, then another. I shake the blood into them as I loosen up, and then I begin to flex them, allowing the audience to appreciate their size and shape. The veins rise to the surface and the muscles look as smooth and hard as ivory, yet limber and strong. My teeth glint in the stage lights as I smile with pride.
And then, as my arms dance in the air around me, captivating the men with their fluid movement, something stirs inside my cloak. The movement beneath unsettles it from around my neck and it flutters to the stage. But no one is looking at my cloak. All eyes are riveted on the second pair of arms that unfold and dance in harmony with the first. The reason for my extra height is obvious now. An ordinary man’s torso ends at his waist, but beneath mine is another equally muscular set of shoulders, my second set of arms, and another chest.
As I flex my upper body, the audiences gasps, and their appreciation makes something else stir beneath the black, loose-fitting pants that ride on my hips. My posing slows as I allow my attention to drift below my waist. I watch as my trousers rise. I rock my hips gently to encourage the flow of blood to my snake. I reach my lower right hand under the loose elastic and squeeze and tug at it, sharing my pleasure with the men in the tent. With my lower left hand I reach deeper and fish out the end, pulling, pulling until two feet of thickly veined cock flesh flops out above the straining waist band.
Although by this time the audience has seen equally well endowed men on this same stage, they are plainly not jaded. They look at it in awe, their mouths wide open and dribbling, as I twist and twirl it like the rope it resembles.
Now from the darkness outside the spotlight steps the man they have seen just a few minutes before who has proven his ability to devour cocks like this with unsurpassed ease. He lays at my feet and slowly raises his head up, engulfing the thick knob at the end with his mouth, then vacuuming inch after inch inside his throat as he raises himself up higher. My cock swells and stiffens like a board as he succeeds, making his task increasingly difficult the further he goes, but his lips pull his mouth up along the shaft like a snake’s, without regard to the capacity of his distended throat.
When at last it is all inside of him, I start to withdraw and to thrust, taking advantage of him the way he wants me to. The tiny veins in his muscular neck pop in stress as I fuck him and he turns red for lack of oxygen. At last I withdraw completely and as his chest heaves he catches his breath. Still I bury his gasping lips in my groin.
His hot breath causes something else to stir. I slide my lower hands under the elastic waist band. My pants slide over my hips and drop to the floor, revealing an equally thick rope of cock flesh below the first, and under both and array of four lemon-sized testicles inside a wrinkly skin purse. The imaginations of the men are enthralled to the possibilities of pleasure.
The sword swallower laps at the newly discovered cock flesh with his tongue and then begins a second ascent, seducing it as thoroughly as he had seduced the first. But this time I wrap all four of my meaty hands around the top cock and work it with all my might. That only sends the blood racing into its twin all the faster.
The sword swallower pauses again to catch his breath as my twins bob in front of his face and I play with them both with all four of my hands in every combination of potential attention. Then my compatriot sets himself at his task again, beginning this time with both enormous heads and straining as he devours both of me more slowly than before, but just as deliberately.
It is a sight that no one in the audience will likely see again in their lifetimes, and it elicits unprecedented enthusiasm as strangers go wild on each other, uncontrollably fighting for release even as they are unable to take their eyes off us. Before the sword swallower can satisfy me, every knob in the house has squirted, filling the tent with such an intense scent of spunk it finally sends me over the edge as well, squirting simultaneously inside the stomach of sword swallower. Then freed of his confines, pouring more of my cum out on the stage in thick volleys that spray into the front row.

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