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Winter Circus This Way Cums

Dizzy swarms of sleet sliced his face in a thousand, icy stars, obscuring Davin's sight. Had he passed the cabin? Pulling his jacket tighter, he heard it -- a discordant clatter of glae-whipped patio chimes. Boots crushed a path toward chaotic tinkling. Droplets of ice clung to his hair and eye-brows.

Under the thick layers, the toe of his Danner boots tripped an unseen root with a hollow thunk. Chopped wood scattered from his arms and Davin sprawled face-first into the snow bank like a broken angel. He crawled the last few paces to the awning.

Collapsing onto the thresh mat, his head thudded back against the door with a groan. Above him, candlelight flickered impossibly in the entry lanterns and he craned his neck. This wasn't the cabin. Where was he?

His vision blurred as the warm glow of lamplight enveloped him with warm immunity from the freezing storm. Involuntary shivers wracked his body and blackness won.

*****

The sensation of sinking roused him from drowsiness. Stripes were ascending his vision, he was falling. A veritable Alice through the rabbit hole the world was slowly tumbling upward around him. Dreamy bobs of colored lights encircled him, followed by the high row of antiquated wooden bleachers then...the most bizarre sight he had ever beheld.

Seated all around the circumference of the big-top were creature-people beyond description. His mind grappled to make sense of the twisted masquerade. A falcon-headed man in Victorian suit and jabot sat next to fawn-eared lady, face discretely hidden behind a cocoon-silk fan. Here there was a vole-like creature pushing spectacles up its long nose, there cardinal lady fussed over her red plumes.

Abruptly he realized he wasn't falling, he was being lowered - upside down. He shook the last vestiges of the blizzard from his mind, jerking at his limbs. The storm seemed like ages ago and Davin strained to lift his brown mop of hair against gravity.

There he was strung: naked. Literally hung for all to see.

Tied and splayed in a great "X" of a cross, he began to rotate and the circus slowly turned upright. Struggling against his restraints the crowd burst into a cacophony of flapping, clacking and cawing cheers upon seeing that he had regained a lively consciousness.

What the hell was this place??

Silver bells of laughter rang out through the dome, causing the walls to tremble. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as the grotesquerie of creatures adjusted in their seats.

Then, with a crack like a snapped tree limb under the weight of snow, there appeared the Ringmaster in a perfect circle of spotlight. With a second, icy snap of the whip, her arms raised up in a "V" and her voice rang out, "Ladybugs, Germs and Hidden Ones, the Winter Circus this way Cums!"

From the benches a riotous clamor of wings, claws and guffaws exploded with raucous applause. The Ringmaster laughed, cool as ice. She was unlike anything he had ever seen. A vision of white-on-white, in glistening knee-high boots and an impeccable tuxedo complete with top hat and tailcoat.

Her corseted breasts plumbed upward and he found himself licking his lips at the thought of tasting those perfect, daiquiri-ice dollops. Davin's naked cock swelled, center-stage and heated against the cold air. His whole body felt suddenly flush.

The human roulette he was on clacked into the upright position with a jolt so that their newly found subject could truly behold the dizzying vision before him. Around the perimeter like a Gravitron carnival ride were slabs of nude men in varying states of consciousness. He was horrified to see that their limp genitalia had been stuffed into a series of clear vacuum tubes that rose into the blackness of the rafters.

From that very peak of darkness a knife-switch lowered into the Ringmaster's raised hand and without pause she threw it. The room began to spin, gaining momentum. He watched as the centrifugal force pulled their cocks into erection one by one.

In the front, a spectating row rock-creatures clattered in gravelly approval.

"Round and round and round she goes, where she stops nobody knows!" Her voice was so cool he couldn't help but want her to pour it down his throat like chilled wine.

A crescendo of moans began to rise from the stretched men, vaguely aware of their circumstances. Once again the Ringmaster flipped the switch and circled the human cock ring. She dragged a gloved finger along their flesh prongs like a baton across a wrought iron gate.

Rounding widdershins, a cascade of albino peacock feathers bustled over her round buttocks, tumbling to the floor. The Ringmaster glided to a halt where he could plainly see her. With a flick of her slender wrist a baton-wand buzzed to life and he flinched, eyeballing the device.

This elicited a glint of smile from her, a silver blade across pale features. Lifting her chosen subject's balls, Davin watched as she pressed the electric wand up under his scrotum for a stimulus shock. A burst of cum shot out of his prick and was sucked up through the vacuum into the darkness above.

Outside, a gale of blizzard whipped round the tent, flapping the walls violently. Snow flurries snuck under the billows. The crowd oohed and clapped enthusiastically, cat-calling for more.

"He's done. Take him away." She ordered, and a scurry of circus-mice carried him away on their backs.

With an audible pop, she detached the now unconscious man's dick seized the tip of his prick. Squeezing out one final droplet of white man-juice, Davin's pulsing erection betrayed his desire to feel those satin gloves pinching the head of his cock.

Steel-blue eyes skated across the room, up his body and locked onto his with a sinister flash, as if she had read his mind.

With a snap of her fingertips, the used man's residual cum flurried into a whisk of powdery flakes. Davin's eyes widened, darting between the spectacle and his Ringmaster. Is that what was to become of his semen?

"I see you understand." The slice of her smile widened. "The question is, how will I collect your cock-fuel tonight?" Impossibly long legs strode toward him, whirlpools of dusty snow stirred up by the swishing of her whip. The white lady spun toward the gathered, "What say you, my midnight friends? Shall we take him for a spin?!"

The bestiary of observers surged to their feet in uproarious approval. Some waved streamers in the air, others threw confetti of crushed ice. Davin's heart pounded.

Strapped up on this human-sized wheel-of-fortune, he was able to look right down onto the milk-white mounds of her breasts. God, he wanted to bury his face in her cleavage, to feel her frozen nipples shoved into his mouth forcing him to suckle at the cool dessert.

"Lower the cock-pump!" she called, and from the oblique strutting above a tube with a baggie unfolded like an oxygen mask on a plane. Davin tensed, having a sense of what was about to come. Before he could object, his balls were in her satin-gloved hand.

"Hey!" It was contention in vain, if his dick had any say in the matter. He blushed, loving the brisk feel of her gloves cupping his hot scrotum. Davin groaned against his own will.

"There, there." She crooned coolly, then turned to the crowd. His balls felt impossibly heavy as she jostled them for weight and shape, making a grand spectacle of him. "It seems we have an eager donor!"

They went wild, chittering beaks and stomping feet. A dusting shook down from the roof and her laughter rang out like rime frost. He gasped as she gave his balls a squeeze for good measure. The Ringmaster was all theatrics, pinching his buttocks, dragging a silken finger up his inner thigh, slapping the taught muscles of his abdomen.

He struggled against the restraints, but was splayed firm and fast on his cross. "What is this sic—" His words snapped off with a deafening crack of her leather whip.

Ripping a glove off her hand, she balled it up like a satin snow. Davin half-heartedly tried to look away as she gripped his chin and crammed the accessory into his mouth. Her menthol skin gave his flesh a shock.

Oh god, he practically inhaled the glove.

"That's better." Turning to the crowd, she presented him again and laughter rolled around the hall. "Only those who want to cuuum to Winter Circus, find Winter Circus."

Reaching for the ceiling-tube, she grabbed his cock. It throbbed into her hands and she stroked it as if she were charming a cobra.

A moan escaped him.

All his thoughts were suddenly consumed with the overpowering wish that her body would just brush against him. Precum wetted the head of his prick, glistening in the strange light. Apparently, this pleased her for she held his erection out for all the spectators to see and they cheered and flapped.

"He's so eager to please, isn't he?" With that she affixed the suction tube to the tip of prick and explained. "The game works like this." His eyes followed the extension of her slender arm toward the baggie, higher up the rubber tubing. "You provide the snow-fuel, we create the blizzard. You don't get to leave until you've met your quota."

Davin's eyes widened and something like an expletive muffled through his gag.

"Don't worry," The Ringmaster reassured him sadistically. He was sliding down the slippery slope of her voice. "No one ever has, so you won't be alone. A spot just opened up for you." She wound a gloved arm toward all the spent men, strapped to their slats on the wall. Her smile prickled gooseflesh across his skin.

OK. He could do this, he was surprised by his own thoughts, aching to play her sick game. Wanting so badly to out-perform them all. What was wrong with him? His balls hung low, as if they hadn't been emptied in a year.

Another whip-crack started the circus whirring. With a mechanical rhythm it slowly began to build speed, and the inhuman voices of the onlookers chanted with it: "pump, Pump, PUMP!"

His pulse pounded in his ears as the world around him dissolved into a distorted carousel of motion. Soon, the Coriolis effect tugged and pulled at his engorged cock. Indeed, it was the only thing he could focus on, centered there the eye of the blurry storm that whirred around him.

Faster, faster, until it reached a steady, rhythmic sucking and pulling. His member was painfully swollen, but he didn't think he could finish, he'd never performed before an audience. Dizziness prevented him from holding his head up right.

Then, through the spinning chaos her voice, a chilly whisper caressed his ear. "You naughty little cum-cow, I said fill that fucking bag!" A single, satin finger stroked the length of his shaft luring him to thrust into the pumping action as his load shot like streamers into the machine.

Intoxicating relief washed over him as the room spun, his prick no less hard for donation. A merry-go-round of applause swam in every direction and he kept fucking himself into that tight, hungry opening with a second spurting.

Was the Ringmaster clapping now? His cum-bag began to expand. A raging gale shook the walls of the big-top, whipping up the epaulets outside. Hail pelted the roof of the tent.

As the saying goes: no rest for the wicked. Davin's eyes fluttered closed as he found himself throbbing again and again. The world was a menagerie of sensations and sounds. All the while, the Ringmaster's gloved hand gripped his whole cock, squeezing, working the next white load up from the bottom of his testicles. The clamor of acorn-rattles and cuckaws filled his ears.

All hesitation melted away and he floated on the approval of his mistress of the ring. She kneaded his balls, stirring up another shot of needful seed to fill the pouch. He imagined the whiteout his cum must be creating and soon again laid another blanket of white into her collection purse.

The Ringmaster circled him counter-clockwise, unsnapping a spider-silk braid from the shoulder of her white jacket. A tip of the top-hat, a wicked grin and she was binding his cock-and-balls up in that cord, ensuring a continual erection.

The machine pulled and pulsed and sucked at his swollen, purple glans until he cried out against his satin muffling. Even Davin wasn't sure if he was begging for more or pleading a moment's break. It didn't matter. The calliope whirled and yet another delivery was mounted from his loins.

His stomach muscles burned from pushing himself into her hands, into her machine like the good little cum-generator he was. Outside the walls, a furious record storm whipped and churned.

"Thrust, Thrust, THRUST!" chanted the stilt-legged heron-men and burlesque kitsune. "Pump, Pump, PUMP!"

Stamping hooves and paws shook the frozen ground, and Davin rode the reverb until it seemed that a thin stream of ejaculate coursed from his unrelenting member. "Good, good," encouraged his mistress, for he was the subject of her wicked cirque d'hiver now. "What a naughty prick you have, to store so much snow-feed in those taught balls."

"BURST! BURST! BURST!"

When she milked them once more, he thrust and gyrated, crying out loudly. The sensation was overwhelming on his tender manhood. Davin ejected a white-hot blast into the ravenous pump with a loud explosion.

Grinding wheels, cold-metal screeching, a whistling wind of cheers all echoed and morphed into the winter storm at his cabin.

*****

White confetti fell from the open skies as he lay collapsed on his doormat. Frost had placed her frozen kiss upon his lips and he licked them, melting the tiny crystals on his tongue. Drinking them in thirstily.

How long had he been lying here? What a fucked up nightmare. His muscles complained as he tested them.

There, under his hand, he found a snow-globe of white confetti falling over a circus bigtop.

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