(Written by request for a satin fetish story by James A.)

The music swells and the lights dim under the big tent, as the excitement builds in the audience and the buzzing conversations subside with the rising expectation that something-something special-is about to happen. Strobing lights and laser beams come up, gyrating around on the floor below and under the canopy of the tent above, showing a swirl of activity here and there, tantalizingly vying for attention, everything everywhere. The audience gasps in unison at the brief glimpses of the spectacles to be amazed by.

The lights dim again for a second and then one beam ignites, roams the tent, and comes to rest in the center of the floor below. It picks out the ringmaster, tall and solidly and powerfully built, with thick chest and small waist and a ruggedly handsome face. He is lifting his white-satin gloved hands in the pose of the concert master about to mark the first downbeat.

The audience sighs, knowing that he is there to bring order to the chaos the opening of the performance portended.

The music rises as the ringmaster in the center of the rings twirls his gloved hands, directing with a flourish the attention of the audience to where one act is starting, and to another ring, when that one is winding down. He is clothed in gold satin, with the dash of a billowing red satin cape. High above his head, the aerialists are flying from one platform on a pole to another. They are young and lithe, bare-chested and wearing skimpy blue satin shorts. The ringmaster has had his eyes on the youngest, fairest of them for some time.

The young aerialist stands, posed for the audiences gasp of awe, on a platform for a brief moment-the youngest of the dashingly handsome and courageous Flying Flauberts. Small of stature, but perfectly formed. Alabaster skinned, with a dark, sultry look. Hard body, smooth chest, oversized arm and chest and thigh muscles to meet the requirements of his profession, flat belly, and tiny waist. With a wave of his raised hand, he grasps the trapeze his partner has just flown off and sent his way, and flies out over the arena.

As the ringmaster directs the attention from the aerialists to a scantily clad woman standing on a white horse with gilded trappings that's prancing around the periphery of the rings with a flourish of his satin-gloved hands, a grip between aerialists above slips, and the young trapeze artist tumbles to the netting below. The ringmaster instantly directs the audience's attention to the cage with the lion tamer, and moves, as deliberately but quickly as he can, over, to the side of the net. The young man appears to be unharmed, only momentarily dazed.

The ringmaster caresses the young man's cheek with one satin-gloved hand while using the other to check for possible damage. He is cupping the young man's basket through his blue satin shorts with the gloved hand when the young aerial artist opens his eyes and gives the ringmaster a glazed smile.

The ringmaster whispers, "You seem to be sound. And this is the day. I can wait no longer. We can use your brief absence as a cover. Your partner need never know."

"Yes," the young man whispers back. "Oh, yes." He moves a hand to cover the gloved hand clutching his genitals through the blue satin shorts as an affirmation of what he wants.

"Take him to my dressing room and lay him on the studio couch there," the ringmaster commands to the two clowns who have shown up and who proceed to carry the young man out of the tent, covering the event with antics that convince the restless and concerned crowd that the tumble was all an act. As the ringmaster waves for his understudy to come forward and take over the circus maestro duties, the ringmaster assures himself that there is nothing wrong with the young man that a little special attention won't fix-that his limbs are unbruised and still malleable enough for the positions the ringmaster is contemplating putting them in. The two of them have been dancing around an inevitable coupling for weeks now and it is finally time for the master to make his mark.

The ringmaster enters his dressing room. The young man is lying on his belly on the satin-covered studio couch, his eyes half open in a semi sleep, watching the door of the trailer for the arrival of the older man. The ringmaster sits down beside him, unzips his gold satin trousers, pulls out his half-hard cock, moves the young aerialist's mouth to his cock, and caresses his cheek with a gloved hand while the young man sucks on his cock head, helping him to engorge. He turns his hip up slightly, moving deeper inside the mouth, and then he rocks back and forth as the young man feeds greedily on the thick staff.

The ringmaster then moves his gloved hand lower to pull the young aerialist's shorts down on his thighs, and he starts caressing and squeezing and kneading the young man's plump buttocks with the gloved hand. The young man moans for him and slides his mouth further down the cock.

The ringmaster moves his gloved hands to the root of his cock and slowly pushes the aerialist artist's mouth down it, holding his head between the satin-gloved hands momentarily and stroking the young man's cheeks with a satin thumb before he lowers his head and takes the young man's mouth in his in a deep kiss.

Then, moving to where he is kneeling between the young man's spread calves, the ringmaster works the aerial artist's, plump, firm buttocks cheeks with both hands. Caressing and kneading and separating them. He spreads the cheeks and leans over and blows on the young man's entrance, being rewarded with a groan and a "Please, master." He runs a satin-gloved finger over the hole again and again, making it pucker and open to him.

The young man gasps as, first, one satin thumb moves into the opening and then another, and the two gently pull, teasing the hole open. The young man isn't a virgin. His hole will open to a man, but the ringmaster knows that it will need to open much wider to take him.

"Please," the young man whispers. "Fuck me. Please."

The ringmaster's tongue goes to the hole and his gloved hands separate and stroke the buttocks.

The young man moans more deeply, and he lifts his hips off the surface of the studio coach, searching for the attention. His hands are stroking the satin covering on the couch.

The ringmaster rises on his knees, grasps the young man's waist with the satin-gloved hands, raises his buttocks, and moves his hard cock into the crack and to the hole. The young man breathes hard and gives little yipping sounds as the ringmaster invades him with the cock to the depth of the rim of the bulb. The young man is panting and groaning, learning now why the time was spent teasing the hole open. The cock is a pulsating monster. The young man writhes and lets out a cry as it sinks in another inch.

The ringmaster holds, clucking words of encouragement, imploring the young man to relax, revolving the portion of the cock that has gained purchase, waiting for the channel to give up its resistance.

"You want it, don't you?" he murmurs.

"Yes, oh yes," comes back the answer.

"Then relax, stop gripping your channel muscles."

The young man whimpers, but he does as commanded, and when the ringmaster feels the channel giving into the cock's authority, he slides in to the full depth of him while the young man howls the possession. The ringmaster immediately starts a slow stroke, which quickly builds up speed.

The young man is writhing under the ringmaster, his own cock dragging back and forth on the satin couch covering, his fists bunching up satin material, his mouth ingesting the satin of the couch and sucking on it, as the ringmaster's gold-satin shirt front comes down on the young aerialist's bare back, pushing his chest into the satin couch, and moving his nipples against the cool, slick material. The ringmaster's cock thrust, thrust, thrust, the only sound in the trailer being the heavy breathing of the younger and older men, the mewings of the young man on how well he's being fucked, and the slapping of the ringmaster's balls against the alabaster thighs of the young aerialist.

As the spotlight in his mind already starts to move again, the ringmaster's thoughts go to the creamy, satin thighs of the virginal juggler's assistant who he has only begun to cultivate.

 

Habu

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