Big Cat Circus

Big Cat Circus

Vanessa de Sade

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Poison Pixie
Publishing 2011

Big Cat
Circus

Sometimes, late
at night, when all the kids had gone home but the scent of hot
popcorn and fried onions was still heavy in the air, Pa would
arrange for a special show, and I’d stand on the tent stage and
take all my things off for the folks that paid their ten cents.

They were
mostly men as came, silent weather-beaten farmers that stood and
stared, their eyes hard, seeing me like a side of bacon or a
beefsteak, the opposite of their skinny wives and haunted-eyed
daughters. Some of them came to ogle, I could see that from the
bumps their big cocks made in their britches, but most just came to
see what plenty could look like. Times was hard and that’s what I
was to them. Plenty.

Right from when
I was a little girl Pa had picked me out as special, fed me meat
when we could get it, lots of fried dough, potatoes, oatmeal. My
favourite was fried dough with molasses or syrup poured over it
till it soaked it all up, just a mess of hot fat and sugar, warm
and sticky. Pa got that for me when he could.

But things had
been bad ever since I could remember and my brothers were often
mean to me because I’d get to eat when they’d be expected to go
without. But Pa always said there were two things as were to be at
the forefront of our existence. Priorities, he called them. First
was gas for the truck, so that we could always be on the move to
the next town, and the second was sweet starchy food for me. Pa
said that I was our future. It was kind of a big
responsibility.

Ma and Pa ran
the cooch dance tent in the De Marco carnie. De Marco’s wasn’t much
of an outfit, just the usual rides and some bug-eyed dead fish in
jars of alcohol, and of course, my Ma, naked every night. In the
dark it all looked pretty special, though, the oil lamps putting a
warm glow on the tattered red and yellow striped tents, the scents
of canvas and trampled grass mingling with cooking food and
popcorn. And, let’s face it, the kind of towns we played weren’t
really used to much, so what we had to offer was pretty special in
their poor-house eyes.

Not that Ma
could really dance or was much to look at, mind you, but she stood
on the front stage with her little titties out every night, right
there in front of all the farmers and preachers and their wives and
kids, and she took her pants down pretty quick for those that paid
a nickel to come inside, so everyone left happy, but we were never
more than a cheap sideshow attraction. That’s why we were stuck
with De Marco.

But my Pa,
well, Pa was a visionary, a dreamer. He said that we could easily
make the big time, Ringling Brothers or even the great Barnum
himself, if we just planned and invested in our future, and that
future was me. Most of the hick town boys, Pa figured, could see
their skinny Mamas or sisters in the raw if they peeped through the
holes in the barn walls, and, let’s face it, Pa said, though I
loves your Mama dearly, she’s not the kind of woman that a man’s
going to dig deep into his pockets to pay to see, now is she?

No, Pa would
tell us, when a man pays out to get his dick up hard, it’s because
he’s seeing something that he can’t find at home, and that’s what
I’m going to give him. I’m going to give him a woman of plenty, and
that’s what our Babe is going to be, a woman of plenty, so you boys
just tolerate your lot just now, ‘cause one day Babe’s going to
keep us all in luxury, you see if I’m wrong, boys, you just see if
I’m wrong.

So Pa fed me
sweet and sticky food and the pounds piled on. I had bigger tits
than my Ma by the time I was twelve, and they were close on huge
when I celebrated my eighteenth birthday, and Pa brought out the
length of silk he had been saving up for me, all those years. He’d
been hoarding a dog-eared picture that he’d cut from a magazine
too, of Lottie Grant the Barnum fat lady, and he had old Grandma De
Marco make up a copy of her costume just for me, figuring that it
was time to cash-in on his investment.

I was so
scared, knowing that I was going on show like a freak that evening,
but inside I was just dancing with excitement, because I was going
to be a big star and we’d have a proper trailer and work with
Barnum’s circus, and my Mama wouldn’t have to drop her panties for
dead-eyed farm boys no more.

Pa put up the
tent that morning and by three o’clock the hot canvas was putting
out its familiar baking scent. There were little chinks of sunlight
piercing the gloom inside, but the thick green grass was still damp
and cool on my bare feet when Ma and I went over that
afternoon.

I had the new
costume with me and I undressed and put it on in front of both her
and Pa, ‘cause, hell, they’d both seen me naked about a hundred
million times before, but there was something different in the way
that they both looked at me that day.

Ma told me to
go and stand on the stage where I could hear the roustabouts
putting up the Ferris Wheel outside, and Pa was telling me to turn
this way and that, and Ma was telling me how to smile and give guys
the eye, when Pa suddenly said, well, hell, this was going to be
good, but we’d need to do some special shows at night to bring in
the real money, and Mama nodded.

“What’s special
shows, Pa?” I’d asked, all naïve like, and Ma and Pa had just
looked at each other.

“Well, when men
folks pays to see a pretty girl,” Ma said slowly, “sometimes they
wants to see quite a lot of her, like they do with me, so you need
to learn how to show them as pays extra what they want to see…”

I looked from
one to the other, thinking that it was a joke, but their faces were
deadly serious and I realised that even though we was going to be
rich now, someone was still going to have to show their bare ass on
our stage at nights, only now it was going to be me instead of
Mama.

“Come on,
child, it’s not so bad, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Ma said,
getting up on the stage alongside me, “Elmer, put some music
on.”

Pa cranked up
the Victrola and put on the scratchy record that Mama stripped to
every night, and, as the familiar melody started up we shuffled
slowly through Ma’s routine. “Just do what I do,” Ma whispered in
my ear over the music, and I suddenly realised why Grandma De Marco
had put poppers on all the fastening of my costume rather than
buttons, the top straps springing undone with each bump of the
boogie-woogie beat, our dresses falling to our feet as the pounding
music hit its first refrain.

Pa rubbed his
hands together in glee, counting money in his head, as he saw us
both up there in our bras and panties, Mama thin and bony, me fat
and sleek like a Thanksgiving turkey. “That’s good, now, don’t walk
on your dress, you’ll wear the fabric out too quick,” Mama
instructed, “now turn your back and take your bra off, that’s
right, then hold it out for two beats, then drop it, but not where
they can get it. Good, now clasp your bosoms and turn to face them,
good, now look down and smile and… move your hands away… now,
that’s perfect.”

Pa let out a
whistle of appreciation at our bare tits, mine big and round like
watermelons, Mama’s small and snub-nosed with big vertical
nipples.

“Okay, now
they’ll be cheering,” Mama advised, “so turn again and pull your
panties half down while they’re still hollering and bump and grind.
That’s it, wiggle that big ass and let your drawers just shimmy
down, that’ll drive them wild, so get ready to turn. But don’t just
give it all away just yet, make them beg till the next chorus, cup
your pussy before you face them and hold it tight like I’m doing,
that’s good, and… wait for the music and turn and… now, show them
the goods.”

The music gave
a great drum roll and symbol clash and I took a deep breath and
pulled my hand away real quick like she said, then sneaked a quick
look down into the tent where the audience would be, trying to
visualise what showing my bare pussy to a room full of strangers
would feel like. That was when I saw my Pa.

The lamps
weren’t lit ‘cause it was day time, so the tent was dark and shady
despite the hot sun outside. Pa was standing like a statue, half
illuminated by a shaft of light coming through a chink in the
striped canvas, and he was staring at our naked cunts like a hungry
wolf stalking a baby rabbit, though you’d think he’d be well used
to the sight of me and Mama without our things by now.

The record was
just spinning round, the needle making a thud-thud noise like a
heartbeat or a slow galloping mare, but Pa was still staring at me,
finally shaking himself all over like an old dog coming out of a
creek and saying, “The girl’ll need broken in if she’s gonna turn
tricks for us,” in a strange kind of held-in-check voice.

Mama
nodded.

“Reckon you
best do it yourself, Elmer,” she said thoughtfully, “no sense in
giving away free fucks to strangers…”

* * *

I’d seen a cock
before, Hell, I had seen my Pa and brothers without their clothes
countless times, and I knew the things that men and women did
together, had heard Pa doing it to Ma in the truck at nights, but
there was a big difference between knowing and doing, and the way
it was done to me on the boards of the cooch tent podium that
afternoon was nothing like what I had dreamt about all those lonely
evenings in my bunk.

Ma and I was
both naked on the stage, and Pa just strode up and pushed me down
onto the edge of the platform and roughly spread my thighs,
standing between my knees as he undid his pants, keeping me from
closing my legs again, seeing all the pink inner petals of my
pussy.

“Pa, don’t,” I
whispered, “not like this,” but he was beyond reasoning and he just
dropped his pants there and then, his cock all hard and angry,
standing up straight in front of him like twisted root sticking out
of the dry earth around a dead tree.

My Daddy’s face
and arms were burnt the colour of old leather, but his legs and
lower belly were a pale white, like wind-smoothed desert sand, with
a just a thin crop of scratchy reddish-brown hair not nearly as
dark or thick as my own. My brothers both had short white cocks and
balls that hung down low like the ones on the herds of beef cattle
we sometimes passed on the road, but Pa’s cock was long and thin,
his undercarriage small and tight, his firm balls nestled neatly
below the stretched stiff dick that he was trying desperately to
ram up inside me.

“For God’s
sake, Elmer,” my Mama said, getting in between us and pushing him
gently back, “it’s the child’s first time, let her get something
out of it. Here, Babe, let me show you how to handle a man.”

She took my
hand and put it onto Pa’s big hard erection, and I started at how
hot it was, like a pot handle on the stove, hard as wood and yet
soft to touch like it was covered in old leather.

“That’s it,
squeeze him gently,” she whispered, her own skin soft and silky as
she leaned up against me, so close that I could feel the slight
coarseness of her thick pussy hair on my thigh.

Pa began making
a soft groaning noise as I touched his yearning prick, like an old
tom cat does if you get to stroking him just right behind the ears,
and I moved my hand slowly up and down his hot hard member,
fascinated by the look and feel of him.

“That’s good,
now you’ve got him under your spell,” Mama said in my ear, rubbing
herself up against me, her hot naked cunt hard against my thigh,
“always do that when you’re turning tricks, that way they won’t
hurt you, and you get your pussy good and ready before you let them
inside you.”

“How will I
know when my pussy’s ready?” I asked, squeezing his cock hard and
making little drops of clear white pre-cum appear.

Mama
laughed.

“Oh, you’ll
know,” she said, running her thin hand down my big round thigh and
slipping her fingers into the slippery folds of my slit, pulling my
willing cunt open for my daddy. “OK, Elmer, you can go in now…”

She took Pa’s
big prick in her hand and steered him gently inside me, and it hurt
and burned and felt wonderful all at the same time as he pushed
deep inside where even I hadn’t ever touched before. I let out a
cry of pain and he paused a moment, but Mama urged him on and he
breathed a sound like a horse raring to be given his head, then
pushed in again, deeper and harder this time, and, through my
arousal and pain it felt as if he was right inside me and sharing
my soul.

I cried out
again and Mama whispered, “That’s it. You’ve broken her, you going
to come out or do you need to finish?”

But Pa was a
drowning man at sea clinging desperately to wreckage and he hissed,
“I need to finish,” in a thick guttural voice, full of eighteen
years worth of unrequited yearning, thrusting into me again, harder
and faster as Ma nodded.