She’s gorgeous in her black bottoms and bright red vest. The light reflected off the sequined top fills the air around her with red sparkles, making her appear to shimmer and shine. Long tresses hang in loose curls down her back and he finds himself wondering what they would feel like wrapped around his hand, his cock buried inside her as he takes her from behind. He sighs, knowing that he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. She is his assistant, after all.
He watches as she steps into diamond crusted heels, fishnet stockings amplifying her round bottom. What he wouldn’t give to feel those round globes in his hands. To pull them apart and run his tongue through her folds. Shaking his head he turns and walks away, adjusting himself inside his trousers. Watching her prepare will not help clear his head.
He stands center ring, his arms outstretched. As the head magician for Cirque de Luxure, he understands the importance of making an entrance and takes the time to practice each day. Not because he will forget his illusions or how to anchor the audience to the scene but for the safety of all involved. This circus is a special one, no clowns or lions to be found here. Here you will encounter the best performers of the deviant arts. Only voyeurs of the most depraved acts would occupy these seats. Each night was a sold-out show.
While you could find almost any act being enjoyed, if one knew where to look, tonight’s main performance would involve suspension. How he adored wrapping her with his ropes, holding her close to him to bind her as he desired. To see her curves amplified as he twists her to his pleasure. His fingers tingle at the thought of touching her, wrapping her to his will. If only he could tell her how he truly felt.
The spotlights seem particularly intense this evening. The heat from them warming her skin. She loves this part of the night, the calm before the real entertainment begins. Her eyes are covered, keeping her in darkness but his hands running along her limbs to bend them this way and that is all the comfort she needs. To say she trusts him is not enough. He has shown her that his trust is deserved.
Having her stand center circle, he pulls her back against him until she is unsure where he ends and she begins. His body is solid behind her, his form unyielding. She relishes these moments, where he’s deciding where to place the ropes and bind her to his desires. She finds calm in his touch and even blindfolded, feels her eyes close shut, a sense of surrealness washing over her.
Wrapping her torso, again and again, he coils a red rope around her, each layer tighter than the last. He cinches it tight before securing the end to his lead rope. Once he is satisfied that the threads will hold, he steps back and gives the length an energetic tug. She stumbles into his arms, their mouths a whisper apart. His breath is warm against her cheek and she shivers in his embrace.
Roughly pulling her head back by the length of her hair, he arches her spine, weaving the red coils into her braided strands. Running his hands along the length of her body, he pulls one leg behind her and ties the length off to a single toe, arching her body in an elegant curve, her breasts pushed out for the audience’s appreciation. Tying one wrist, then the other, her arms are secured to the ring above, outstretched to either side. She stands gracefully on one foot as he ties the center rope to the suspension ring, lifting her onto the tips of her toes.
He spins her in place, allowing the crowd to be mesmerized as he, by her beauty, the twinkle of lights that fill the air. She hears sighs from the women, a few muted grunts from the men as she rotates, resembling a dancer, spinning in a pirouette. He allows the rotations to naturally slow before pulling the lead rope and effectively removing her foot from beneath her. She feels weightless in that second before the tension of the rope stops her momentum as she’s tipped forward, her chin brushing the stage floor.
Taking her free leg and bending it at the knee, he binds her foot to her thigh. She looks graceful in her unnatural position. Years of training and practice have helped her become supple and malleable. With the simple tug of a single strand, her body raises through the air, turning gently as if caught in a breeze. Another rope is pulled and she changes positions, her head coming up as her leg tips down, she shifts and bends like a puppet on a string. A marionette trafficking sexual desires. The audience “oohs” and “aahs” with each movement, whether from the performance or Mystiques’ beauty and aura of serenity, he cannot say.
With a final reposition, the dark of the tent above them is lit up with millions of tiny stars. The lights give the Magician the distraction he needs to change her position once last time. With just a flick of his wrist, the rope coiled around her unravels and the crowd collectively gasps, sensing impending doom. She descends rapidly, ten then twenty feet before coming to a stop, suspended above him. He takes his time to reach up and run his fingers across her body, tweaking her nipples as they fight to be let free from their sequined cage. Pulling the rope once more, she’s tipped face-down, her lips inches above his own.
In the quiet of the tent, she can hear his breathing. It seems the crowd is also waiting, just as she, wondering what will happen next. She feels his fingers skim across the surface of her lips, a single-digit dip in to press down on her tongue. Momentarily she thinks of his cock being pressed there, how she would swallow around him, given the chance. She moans lowly, a sound only the two of them hear.
His manhood responds to the intimate noise released from her perfectly rouged mouth. He knows the scene must end, but cannot find the will to release her. Instead, he tips her one last time, bringing her to his waist height. He levels her out, leaving her suspended above the floor, straight as a board, her one knee inches from connecting with the stage. Running his hands over her hair, he tugs her braid, loosening it from the ropes grasp. Tipping her head back further, he removes the blindfold, a question pleading in his gaze. Her eyes meet his and he sees the trust there, the sexual desire that he also feels. Sensing his unspoken question, she whispers “yes” and he removes his engorged member from his pants.
Licking her lips, she struggles against her bonds, attempting to devour his length. She shudders at the size and wishes he had thought to put it somewhere else. Before her words can be spoken, he’s pressing his length into her hot mouth, a groan escaping him as he pushes deeper.
She savours the musky taste of him, how his length presses against the back of her throat. She hums in appreciation, feeling his manhood jump at the sensation. Grabbing the lead rope, he pulls her forward and pushes back, using her body as one would a battering ram. He stands solid in his stance, only his arms moving to push and pull her in and out, using her face at his leisure. The audience has gone quiet, their focus singled out to the scene displayed before them.
His climax comes all too soon, and he pulls back, hoping to prolong the magic of her mouth, but knows he is not fully in control. With a roar, his seed shoots into her throat, the lights above them blink out to cast the tent in darkness. When the artificial illumination returns, the stage is bare. The only evidence of Mystique and the Magician is a single red rope, coiled neatly center stage.
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