His hands had been on her thighs, but now he slid them towards her honey pot and used his thumbs to stretch her lips as far apart as possible. He pulled his head back to admire her, and I suddenly realised I had been inching further forward to get a better angle. My new friend saw this and didn’t complain, and the man mountain still hadn’t noticed. I was close enough to see the bright gash of pink, and I envied her for having a man open enough to want to admire her beautiful pussy. Diving back in, for a few minutes he concentrated on long, slow brush strokes that began at the bottom of her pussy and ended on her clit. Each stroke was finalised with a squeal on her part.Deciding he needed more, he rose and lifted his arms, the signal to his girl to release him. I was desperate to see him, because if he was in proportion… I crept forward another few inches to try and gain a better view. She was fiddling with his crotch, and seconds later his jeans were yanked down with little recourse. Out of a fog I could see a metal gate. Inscribed upon the gate were the words, Der Zirkus der Nacht. The gate creaked open from a sudden burst of wind. With the wind came the scent of candy apples and popcorn. I could see the carnival rides in the distance. Their lights surged on, and within my view, I saw the tents. But they were not the obnoxious red and yellow circus tents. They were faded and in various hues of black, white, and grey. My eyes caught a shadow that moved within the maze of fabric. I felt like Alice following the white rabbit. Within the tents and booths arose a strange house. It was an old Victorian home but painted entirely black and rested on wheels. I tilted my head as the door of the house opened. Without thinking, I walked inside the unfamiliar darkness. Lamps turned on, and the furniture was the same shades as the rest of the circus. I turned a dim corner and saw him. He was sitting in a large black leather chair and had his feet propped up. He was blowing.
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