Big Cat Circus (3 page)

I bent to join
her on the sheets but she held up a hand, shaking her head. “No
clothing, liebsten,” she whispered, “you must be naked if you wish
to perform in the ring of love.”

I immediately
fumbled for the catch of my bra to oblige, but she shook her head
and pointed to my panties, her eyes dancing with mischief, so I
slipped them down for her, aware that I was showing Hans my big
full ass. My belly was huge and round, my thighs round and white,
and my pussy heavy and pronounced, covered like Ute’s in a silky
mink stole of dark fur.

Ute licked her
lips with a tiny pink cat’s tongue and began to stroke her own
cunt, pulling it open so that I could see her inner lips and very
swollen clit. Her scent was warm and welcoming, and I was aware
that my own pussy was responding in kind, and, tearing off my bra,
I slid onto the bed with her like a white whale submerging itself
into a dark pool.

Ute’s lips met
mine as my body splashed onto the satin, its caress cool to my
burning skin, her kiss deep and penetrating, her tongue exploring
my mouth like a hungry sea creature. I sucked on it hard, filling
myself with her, them pushed my own curious one into her, our two
animal tongues duelling as our bodies melded, lips to lips, cunt to
cunt.

Eventually, I
came up for air and looked into her eyes that were gold and
flecked, her face pink and sleek. “Eat me,” I begged, “eat my
pussy, Ute, put your tongue inside me and lick my slit, kiss my
clit…”

Her hair was
cut short and was blue-black, her eyes big and hungry. She licked
her lips again, then pushed me down on the bed, straddling me on
all fours, her legs spread wide open so that Hans could see the
little pink asshole between her straining butt-cheeks.

She began to
kiss me again, starting at my neck and working her way down, her
taut little ass always up in the air so that her brother could see
her puckered little starfish and open slit. Animal like.

“Turn around,”
I begged, when she finally reached my pussy and started to kiss and
lick, her little pink tongue lapping at my snatch as if it were a
bowl of cream. “Turn around so that I can do all that to you
too…”

Her little head
was buried deep in the snow-clad valley of my massive thighs, but I
heard her laugh, then her tongue found my clit and I was lost. Most
of my orgasms had been self-induced, lying in the hot dark in my
bunk at night fingering myself, remembering the clothed bulges of
the big cocks in that night’s audience, or the hot salty taste of
cum in my mouth as I went down on some farm-boy for a fifty-cent
trick.

An old farmer
had once paid Pa a dollar to fondle me, stripping me naked like a
hog he was skinning and rubbing oil on my slit, patiently worming
his way into my pussy, teasing my clit until I was hot and wet and
then entering me, not thrusting but just feeling my heat around his
long and surprisingly inflexible cock while he played with me,
eventually making me come hard and long and letting my pussy’s
convulsions bring him off.

He was the only
person that had ever bothered to pleasure me, but tonight Ute was
doing a wonderful job of sending me to heaven with her thin fingers
and little pink langue de chat. I could feel her sharp little claws
down there, pulling my fat fleshy cunt apart, pushing her tongue in
me and up me, kissing, licking and sucking my clit until I finally
came, screaming out her name.

She bounded up
and kissed me while I was still thrashing, letting me taste my own
pussy and spendings, driving me wild with desire and hungry for
more. I outweighed her at least three to one, if not more, and I
threw her down and started to kiss her body, rushing what I knew
that I should savour in my hurry to get to her cunt, taste her
salty sweetness, get deep inside her.

She was panting
long before I got to her slit, her scent feral and intoxicating,
like a bitch in heat, a she-wolf on the prowl. I jerked her thighs
apart the way Pa had done to me in the tent that day and pulled her
dark furry pussy open to expose her slit, my superior weigh not
brooking any protest from her.

She resisted
for a moment and then relented, letting me pull her this way and
that, gasping as I kissed and licked in all her most intimate
places, eventually being unable to stop myself and ferociously
lapping at her stiff clit, rushing it and making her cum violently
and quickly.

I could hear
her screams and feel her needle-sharp nails clawing at my back as
she orgasmed again and again, getting stronger with each wave that
hit her. Finally, she dragged my face up and kissed me hard, her
fingers bloody, and I was about to offer my pussy up to her for
seconds when I felt heat down my side and turned to see Hans on the
bed.

Although he had
seemed Aryan blonde in the car his hair was now blue-black like his
sister’s, cut short to show off the shape of his masterful skull.
He was completely naked, his ballet dancer’s body as sinewy as a
panther, his skin white like Ute’s but completely covered in short
dark body-hair, his chest a sleek mat, his lower abdomen dark and
thick, a veritable jungle around his cock.

His balls were
like a Doberman’s, blue-black and furry, his dick like a beast’s,
hugely and obscenely erect, the wet purple head sticking out like a
hungry sea creature, his circumcision making him look even more
naked.

“Come, it is
time, Babe, my darling,” he whispered urgently, and I could smell
the scent of his huge demanding cock as the cats all roared in
agitation and flung themselves against the bars of their cages
outside. “Ute will show you what to do.”

I didn’t care
about Ute any more, I wanted his cock, in my mouth, in my pussy, up
my ass. I didn’t care, I had to have that cock. I pushed the skinny
girl aside and straddled him, easing his big, bare-headed dick into
my hot wet slit, feeling it stretching my big cunt as I lowered
myself onto him, when Ute suddenly pulled me off him with a
lioness’ strength and brought me to my knees, her voice incisored
like a whip.

“Down, down on
all fours,” she commanded, “lift your big ass into the air, bow to
your master.”

I found myself
complying, remembering the thrill I had felt when I first took my
panties off knowing that Hans was seeing my big round butt. There
was something delicious about what I was about to do, showing him
what even the tent crowds had never seen, feeling his big
naked-headed tool inside me, filling me up, going into virgin
territory. I felt him behind me and opened my legs and reared up
like a beast and let him see, feeling his hot hands on my flanks as
he pulled my cheeks apart, his curious fingers deep in my open
pussy as he greased them, then slipping up my tight ass-hole,
wetting, lubricating, teasing.

I clenched and
trapped him there, begging for his cock, and he slipped his fingers
out when I relented and eased the head of his huge member into me.
I relaxed as much as I could to let him penetrate me, and, sensing
it, he thrust forward, the big purple head going inside, pushing
deep into me and then, maddeningly, stopping.

He muttered,
“too dry” and pulled the beast out, guiding it into my pussy and
pushing in hard. I was soaking wet and covered him in my juices,
the air full of the scent of my arousal, and he slid right in,
feeling as if he was so deep that he was in my stomach, then came
out again quickly and pushed at my puckered anus, his naked cock
slippery with pussy juice, and thrust right home.

I let out a
gasp of beautiful agony as he thrust deep, hurting and turned-on
simultaneously, and he suddenly started to fuck me in earnest, deep
in the heat of his passion and not caring about my wants or
feelings as he rode me like a dog. Ute was in front of me now,
kneeling to put her face level with mine, her full blood-red lips
hungry as she met mine in a fierce embrace, Hans’ cock plunging
into my ass like a deranged animal as the beasts roared and howled
outside.

His hands were
like steel claws and he fucked me mercilessly, pounding into me,
tearing me, filling me up like I’d never been filled. Ute was
scratching viciously at me, her nails bloody, and then I felt Hans’
teeth sink into the back of my neck, his sharp incisors tugging
relentlessly at my sleek fur, my whole body blue-black and sinewy,
my scent filling the tent as he came into me and transformed me,
awoke the sleeping tiger and turned me into the wild rutting beast
that was my destiny.

* * *

Life has been
good in the Circus of the Big Cats and we have travelled the world
over the years and seen many strange sights. We never grow old,
which is good, and I live for the ring, the gasp of the crowd when
I stride in naked and powerful, my savage roar frightening even the
strongest men in the big top.

It’s only when
Hans and Ute become old and weak and we journey out to the
crossroads on the blood moon night that out wrath becomes palpable,
our jealousy unbearable, and we hurl ourselves at the bars of our
iron cages, bestial and impotent with rage, our scent feral and
unrequited, screaming to be mastered by our beloved man-beasts just
one more time…

THE POISON PIXIE
FICTION CATALOGUE

The DANNY Quadrilogy by
Chancery Stone

THE DANNY
QUADRILOGY is a huge stylistic achievement, a Jacobean drama on an
epic scale, reaching into realms far darker than anything ever
dreamt of in Shakespeare's philosophy. It belongs more firmly in
the shadowy corridors of John Ford, the secret rooms of Christopher
Marlowe, the feral imagination of John Webster - in short, in a
place where gouging out eyes with steel spikes and unwittingly
fucking your sister are commonplace tragedies.

For modern
audiences, however, it may be imagined more easily as film noir, a
long running soap opera from the dark side, something that HBO
might commission as a creative pièce de résistance designed to
out-swear Deadwood, out-abuse OZ and out-rape Rome.

It is the home
of supernaturally compelling characters, blessed with the
phallocentric charisma of sexed-up animals, goats in human form,
satyrs. They act out every sick fantasy in graphic detail,
strutting their sex, violence, perversion and addiction as if they
were proud of it.

It is beyond
good and evil, it is simply necessary.

Discover The DANNY
Quadrilogy by Chancery Stone today

Each mega-volume is
available as an eBook or hefty paperback.

DANNY 1.0

Hope House

ISBN
978-0-9567154-3-2

The Jackson Moores have been tilling the land
of Hope House Farm on the West Coast of Cumbria for many
generations, but they have been harbouring a dangerous history of
dark and sinister secrets for far longer: cancerous secrets, that
have slowly eaten away at their family, their sanity and their very
existence.

Nemesis comes in the shape of P.C. James
Henderson, when he first spies Danny - youngest son of the family -
on his way to commit a crime - or at least to conceal one. This
pivotal moment sets Henderson on a doomed road of infatuation and
addiction, ending in ruin and, ultimately, death. For Danny is no
ordinary boy and he belongs to no ordinary family.

Until now, the Jackson Moores have managed to
keep their skeletons firmly inside the closet, but when Henderson
unwittingly uncovers their twisted House of Usher, the whole rotten
construct starts to sink into the mire, dragging everyone with it
in a spectacular display of ruthless revenge.

*

DANNY 2.1

Die Schwarze
Engel

ISBN
978-0-9567154-4-9

Die Schwarze
Engel – the mythical black angel of death, of evil, of sorrow. Or
of something darker than all three…

Danny has been
missing for six years, when one night, drunk and confused, Stephen
thinks he sees him reflected in a bar mirror, like an apparition
from the past.

But surely he
has imagined it? Danny haloed and burning above him like an
avenging angel. Danny rescuing him from a midnight street in a
sinister, dark car. Danny smelling as sweet as lemons and dressed
all in black silk, as dry and caustic as Lucifer himself. Those
drunken visions can’t be true, can they?

But Rab
believes they must be, Stephen fears they might be, and Conley
knows they are. Danny is back. And now there is one overriding
question burning in all their minds. What has he been doing during
those mysterious missing years? And with whom?

Vulnerable,
lost, and deep in mourning, Danny is ripe for the picking. But that
shadowy other is ever-present, like an unspoken third, a revenant
determined to be at the party, ruining their fun. Is the ‘Schwarze
Engel’ real, or just a figment of Danny’s diseased imagination?
And, more importantly, can anyone finally set him free from it?

*

DANNY 2.2

Eilean Mhor

ISBN
978-0-9546115-3-8

Eilean Mhor is
a small island off the West Coast of Scotland, surrounded by ocean
and blessed with long white sandy beaches. It is here Danny sets up
home with his oldest adversary, and greatest friend.

At first all is
wine and roses, glowing sunsets and fun on the beach. But it isn’t
long before old jealousies and ugly frictions start rubbing the
bloom of newfound happiness off Elysium.

First there is
Ewan of the violet eyes and heart-shaped face, idolising Danny and
hero-worshipping the dangerous Jackson Moore charisma. Then there
is Morag, buxom, sweet and keen to replace her unsatisfying local
boyfriend with something hunkier. And then there is Iain – a new
Iain scarily like the old one in the one way Danny fears most: a
cuckoo in the nest determined to steal his life for his own.

DANNY 2.2 is
the most seductive and alluring volume of The DANNY Quadrilogy, and
offers us a different portrait of the Jackson Moores: happy,
optimistic, even secure. But how long can it last, with hungry
interlopers sneaking in every door, their gaze fixed firmly on
everything Danny holds dear?