Carny - October 21
Welcome to my serial Carny! I hope you enjoy this little Halloween treat. New episodes will appear every day through October.
Step right up! For just a dime see wonders beyond imagining!
And maybe we'll let you leave with your soul...
October 21
Venus danced in a scanty black satin bra and panties. She wore an orange scarf around her neck to cover the purple bruises. Copley talked by the stage.
“Here’s our Halloween treat, gentlemen. She’s the goddess of the harvest right here on our stage. Come back for the late show and she’ll show you her pun’kins. And maybe you’ll see a trick or two.”
Andre had run off. Or Andrea. Copley preferred thinking about her that way. He’d never been blown by a guy before, never even considered it, but remembering Andre’s mouth made him hard. He wondered what it would be like to fuck Andre or to be fucked by him.
The jazzy music picked up its tempo and Venus shimmied. When she had awakened in the back of the truck, she moved as if sore in more ways than one. Copley figured she was plenty scared of Andre, but she didn’t rat him out to Boss Willy or Madame Fe. Andre hadn’t said shit either. It was like they both wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Hell, the way Venus looked at Andre now, Copley thought, it was like she might even want more rough stuff. He’d never understand women.
But she wouldn’t be getting any more loving of any kind from Andre unless he came back. In the late afternoon, when the first townies were stumbling onto the lot, Andre was supposed to help at the museum while Mina took a turn on the girlie stage. Copley liked talking while Mina danced and posed. Sometimes he’d sing an old Groucho Marx song about a tattooed lady.
When Copley went looking for Andre, all he got were stories. One of the ride jockeys said he’d seen Andre getting into a big black car that looked like a beetle.
Without Andre, the devil skin act he wanted to premier was screwed, but Copley had gotten everything ready in case his assistant returned.
“Watch her work, boys,” he said automatically as Venus gyrated, the black silk bra failing to contain the bouncing majesty of her breasts.
He had hated touching the devil skin at first, when he had worked with it the afternoon, but then he found it gave him an odd sensation of anxious certainty, as though something amazing was about to happen. For decades, old Doc Neimann had exhibited the skin in a case or on a pedestal, as a figure. Someone had stitched the hide in places around rolled fabric stuffing to give the limbs shape. A sunken ribcage of wires supported the thing’s torso, so the ragged lap dangled suggestively. As he worked with the devil, cutting the crude stitches where he needed to un-stuff the creature, Copley came quickly to believe that what he handled was genuine skin, like thin leather, not a gaff at all, but maybe exactly what Doc said it was.
He considered trying the hide on himself, wearing it like a cape, but the thought made his hands shake. No, he knew that Andre was the only one who could wear the skin. Andre had to wear it.
But then Andre had vanished, run off in that big black car that just had to be Nick’s. Boss Willy said the car was a Scarab, a rare automobile they’d only made a few of back in the 30s.
Copley’s attention returned to Venus and her increasingly sexual gyrations. “Listen, gentlemen. Tell you what. I don’t see any of our friends from the sheriff’s office here, nor any ladies from the Baptist Church. For one more dime, little Venus will show you paradise.” The men shuffled to Copley, handing them their coins. He looked them over. Troublemakers took every shape and size, but this bunch looked fine, barbers and farmers, men whose wives undressed with the lights off. Only a couple of them hung back but he didn’t pay them much attention, working the live ones, using them to shame the bums.
“Listen up, gents. Fair’s fair. Either everyone pays or our Miss Venus keeps her modesty. Don’t be a cheapskate, mister.” He felt the crowd’s attention turn to the two men who hadn’t paid and he knew it was only a matter of moments until the holdouts would come across too, or he’d alibi them out, or have them tossed, whichever felt right.
He’d done this hundreds of times. He took a closer look at the two deadbeats and frowned. They were Nick’s boys…the two thugs he’d had with him last time he came to the lot.
Venus toyed with the clasp on her bra, turning her back to the crowd. The orange scarf waved like a flag as she tossed her shoulders from side to side.
The little crowd seethed with anticipation. Copley kept the pitch running but a knot in his stomach began to turn icy. “Just ten cents, you bums, and you’ll see divinity.”
The two men stepped closer.
“Not giving you a fucking penny, mate,” one of them said and reached for Copley’s lapel. Copley tried to step back but the canvas wall stopped him. The other man was talking to the crowd.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s show her how we treat a whore here.” The barbers and the farmers cheered lustily and began to clamber onto the stage.
Venus stood frozen, bra in hand, too frightened even to scream.
The man began to shake Copley like a hound shakes a possum and Copley considered, for a moment, adopting the possum’s tactic and pretending to be dead.
Step right up! For just a dime see wonders beyond imagining!
And maybe we'll let you leave with your soul...
October 21Venus danced in a scanty black satin bra and panties. She wore an orange scarf around her neck to cover the purple bruises. Copley talked by the stage.
“Here’s our Halloween treat, gentlemen. She’s the goddess of the harvest right here on our stage. Come back for the late show and she’ll show you her pun’kins. And maybe you’ll see a trick or two.”
Andre had run off. Or Andrea. Copley preferred thinking about her that way. He’d never been blown by a guy before, never even considered it, but remembering Andre’s mouth made him hard. He wondered what it would be like to fuck Andre or to be fucked by him.
The jazzy music picked up its tempo and Venus shimmied. When she had awakened in the back of the truck, she moved as if sore in more ways than one. Copley figured she was plenty scared of Andre, but she didn’t rat him out to Boss Willy or Madame Fe. Andre hadn’t said shit either. It was like they both wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Hell, the way Venus looked at Andre now, Copley thought, it was like she might even want more rough stuff. He’d never understand women.
But she wouldn’t be getting any more loving of any kind from Andre unless he came back. In the late afternoon, when the first townies were stumbling onto the lot, Andre was supposed to help at the museum while Mina took a turn on the girlie stage. Copley liked talking while Mina danced and posed. Sometimes he’d sing an old Groucho Marx song about a tattooed lady.
When Copley went looking for Andre, all he got were stories. One of the ride jockeys said he’d seen Andre getting into a big black car that looked like a beetle.
Without Andre, the devil skin act he wanted to premier was screwed, but Copley had gotten everything ready in case his assistant returned.
“Watch her work, boys,” he said automatically as Venus gyrated, the black silk bra failing to contain the bouncing majesty of her breasts.
He had hated touching the devil skin at first, when he had worked with it the afternoon, but then he found it gave him an odd sensation of anxious certainty, as though something amazing was about to happen. For decades, old Doc Neimann had exhibited the skin in a case or on a pedestal, as a figure. Someone had stitched the hide in places around rolled fabric stuffing to give the limbs shape. A sunken ribcage of wires supported the thing’s torso, so the ragged lap dangled suggestively. As he worked with the devil, cutting the crude stitches where he needed to un-stuff the creature, Copley came quickly to believe that what he handled was genuine skin, like thin leather, not a gaff at all, but maybe exactly what Doc said it was.
He considered trying the hide on himself, wearing it like a cape, but the thought made his hands shake. No, he knew that Andre was the only one who could wear the skin. Andre had to wear it.
But then Andre had vanished, run off in that big black car that just had to be Nick’s. Boss Willy said the car was a Scarab, a rare automobile they’d only made a few of back in the 30s.
Copley’s attention returned to Venus and her increasingly sexual gyrations. “Listen, gentlemen. Tell you what. I don’t see any of our friends from the sheriff’s office here, nor any ladies from the Baptist Church. For one more dime, little Venus will show you paradise.” The men shuffled to Copley, handing them their coins. He looked them over. Troublemakers took every shape and size, but this bunch looked fine, barbers and farmers, men whose wives undressed with the lights off. Only a couple of them hung back but he didn’t pay them much attention, working the live ones, using them to shame the bums.
“Listen up, gents. Fair’s fair. Either everyone pays or our Miss Venus keeps her modesty. Don’t be a cheapskate, mister.” He felt the crowd’s attention turn to the two men who hadn’t paid and he knew it was only a matter of moments until the holdouts would come across too, or he’d alibi them out, or have them tossed, whichever felt right.
He’d done this hundreds of times. He took a closer look at the two deadbeats and frowned. They were Nick’s boys…the two thugs he’d had with him last time he came to the lot.
Venus toyed with the clasp on her bra, turning her back to the crowd. The orange scarf waved like a flag as she tossed her shoulders from side to side.
The little crowd seethed with anticipation. Copley kept the pitch running but a knot in his stomach began to turn icy. “Just ten cents, you bums, and you’ll see divinity.”
The two men stepped closer.
“Not giving you a fucking penny, mate,” one of them said and reached for Copley’s lapel. Copley tried to step back but the canvas wall stopped him. The other man was talking to the crowd.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s show her how we treat a whore here.” The barbers and the farmers cheered lustily and began to clamber onto the stage.
Venus stood frozen, bra in hand, too frightened even to scream.
The man began to shake Copley like a hound shakes a possum and Copley considered, for a moment, adopting the possum’s tactic and pretending to be dead.
On to October 22
Copyright 2011 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Copyright 2011 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Posted by Angela Caperton at 10/21/2011 6:27 PM 
Categories: Horror, Carny, Angela Caperton, Erotica
Tags: Angela Caperton Erotica Carny Horror
Categories: Horror, Carny, Angela Caperton, Erotica
Tags: Angela Caperton Erotica Carny Horror
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