꙰ 2,867 words, Blackfem!reader, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), riding, doggy, throat fucking, exhibition (the mime watches while the other freak shaboings you), masterbation, creampies, size kink, multiple rounds, jealousy, degradation, name calling, ect ꙰
You weren’t supposed to be here.
Midnight had long settled over the tents like a heavy veil, trapping the scent of buttered popcorn, sour sawdust, and animal dung in the air. The crew was lost to a collective, drunken stupor, leaving the lot to the sound of chirping bugs and the low, rhythmic thrum of the generator. The ringmaster—your father—was passed out in his private railcar, whiskey on his breath and the keys to the main attraction locked in his coat.
But you’d stolen the spare weeks ago.
You stood before the main attraction, the spare key a cold, jagged weight against your palm. The gilded cage loomed thirty feet high, its gold-painted bars peeling to reveal the rusted iron beneath. Above it, the hand-painted sign groaned in the wind. It read: BEHOLD THE BEAST THAT EATS SIN AND BLEEDS DESIRE!
Your father called it showmanship. He called the thing inside a "composite"—part man, part experiment, a monster they found in the dirt somewhere far off, drugged up and dressed in chains for the crowd in a bording town. But you’d seen what it did to the others. The way it tore through steel. The way it only ever looked at you.
It was looking now.
Two spheres of molten gold stared from the shadows of the cage.
“You came,” he rasped. The voice wasn't human; it was a resonate bass, gravelly and wrecked with a hunger that sounded like it had been decades in the making. “You smelled like you would.”
Your hand trembled, the key scraping against the lock with a sharp, lonely click of metal.
“You’re not supposed to talk,” you whispered.
“I do for you.”
You swallowed hard. His presence was a physical weight in the shadows—all heat and silent want. You were pinned by the sheer, dark intensity of him.
“I-I shouldn’t—”
“But you will.”
The lock surrendered with a heavy thunk.
Your breath hitched.
Chains clanked.
As you stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. The air near him was hot—unholy and thick with the scent of musk, old blood, and a strange, metallic sweetness. He didn’t lunge. Didn’t snarl or growl. He just rose with a terrifying, fluid motion.
He's a mountain of stitched muscle and dark, marble-slick skin. Veins like black rivers branched across his chest, pulsing with every heave. His dick—god, that thing hung heavy between his thighs, a thick ridge of thing that looked far too large for any human anatomy already half-hard from scenting you, already weeping pre-cum.
“You smell incredible ” His nostrils flared. “Come closer.”
You walked closer.
His hand closed around your wrist—massive, calloused, and shockingly careful. You expected the bite of claws, but his touch was… reverent, almost desperate. He caught your waist, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips as he lifted you. You felt like a doll, light and fragile against his strength.
“Let me taste you,” he said, voice shaking. “Let me worship what I’ve only been allowed to watch."
You straddled his lap, and the contact was an electric shock. He was a furnace. You felt the thick, heavy length of him against your folds, a hot weight that made your breath hitch, and when he dragged his split tongue up your throat, you shuddered.
He growled at the sound.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your skin. “So breakable.”
“You won’t break me,” you challenged, your fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair at his nape.
“I want to. I want to see if I can fit."
Your hips rolled slick against his cock and his head dropped back. His hands gripped your thighs, then your ass, then your ribs like he didn’t know what to touch first.
“Use me,” he begged. “Ride me. Fuck me. Come on, make me yours.”
You sank down slowly—agonizingly—the friction of him stretching you until your vision blurred. Your body protested the invasion, your muscles tight and weeping as they tried to accommodate the sheer scale of him, like your body wasn’t built for it. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe no human should take him this deep, but you did. You pushed through the burn, bottoming out until your pelvis slammed against his with a wet, heavy thud.
The Beast moaned, his head snapping back as his clawed hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh like he was trying to memorize your shape through his palms.
“You feel good,” he choked. “S-so good.”
You rode him slow, grinding deep, your nails drawing red lines across his massive, scarred shoulders. Every thrust was jarring. A rhythmic, heavy rutting that filled the cage with the sound of slick skin and your own jagged moans.
“I dreamed of this,” he panted, his hips bucking upward to meet you. “Every night. You... on top of me. Calling me yours.”
“Say it again,” you gasped, your mind a white-hot haze of lust and adrenaline. “Say whose you are.”
“I’m yours,” he groaned softly, his voice a broken prayer. “Yours to ruin. Yours to fuck. Yours to cage.”
The orgasm hit you like a physical blow, a violent convulsion that left you sobbing into his neck. The sensation broke him. He thrust one last time, deep and brutal, his whole body turning to stone as he came. You felt the hot, thick ropes of his release flooding you, an endless, scorching stream that made you feel permanently claimed.
He didn't pull out. He stayed buried in you, his heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence. His hands, still shaking, stroked your back with a strange tenderness.
“I’ll stay in the cage,” he whispered, kissing your throat. “I’ll be good. I’ll behave. Just… come back. Let me have you again.”
You kissed him—a deep, filthy claim that tasted of salt and greasepaint—and left him in the dark.
⋆ ˚｡
One Week Later...
It had been a week since you last saw him.
Seven days since you unlocked the cage and let him split you open like you were made just for him.
You hadn’t gone back. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you couldn’t. Your father had tightened security after he’d noticed the silence. The Beast hadn't roared; he hadn't fought his chains. He had simply waited, and that stillness terrified the crew more than any rage.
But tonight, you walked the grounds with a different monster.
“Nice arms,” the knife thrower murmured, leaning into your personal space. His grin was boyish, practiced—all charm and calculated mischief. “You ever think about joining my act? I could teach you how to handle sharp things.”
You laughed, a light, flirty sound that felt hollow in your chest. You let him stand too close. You let his hand brush your elbow.You didn't notice the golden eyes watching from the cracks in the canvas. You didn't see the way the shadows in the tent seemed to thicken and coil as he watched the knife thrower touch what he'd been missing.
But the Beast remembered... and he was done being good.
⋆ ˚｡
You visited him again later, just before midnight, but the guards were gone, replaced by a silence so heavy it made your ears ring.
The cage was already open.
You froze. He stepped out of the shadows before you could run—barefoot, bare-chested, wild hair sticking to his temples. His golden eyes burned, they tracked you with a terrifying, possessive focus.
“You smell like him,” he said.
“Who?”
“The one with the blades." He closed the distance in a single stride. “You let him touch you. I smelled his steel on your skin before you even reached the lot.”
You straightened your spine, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “So what if I did?”
His reaction was instantaneous.
He moved faster than a man should—slamming you into the bars with one hand around your throat. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his palm was a promise. He held you there, his thumb resting over your pulse, feeling the frantic skip of your heart.
“You’re supposed to be for me,” he growled, his face inches from yours.
“You didn’t come find me,” you gasped, the metal of the bars cold against your back.
“I didn’t need to. I thought you’d remember where you belong.” His mouth dragged over your jawline, his breath a scorching, unhinged heat against your skin. “Let me remind you.”
He spun you around with effortless strength, bending you over a weathered equipment crate. The wood was rough, smelling of old pine and dust. Your skirt was hiked up in an instant. No panties. You were bare and weeping for him, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the temperament of his body pressing into your back.
He let out a low, vibrating growl that hummed through your spine. “Still wet for me. Even after touching him.”
His dick pressed thick and hard against your slit, already leaking, already twitching. You could feel how angry he was in the way he grabbed your hips—like they were handles made for his hands.
“You want me to ruin you again?” he rasped. “Stretch this filthy little cunt until it remembers my shape?”
You pushed back against him, your voice a wrecked plea. “Do it.”
He slammed in.
The air left your lungs in a ragged scream. Your fingers clawed at the splintered wood of the crate, your whole body jerking forward as he bottomed out in a single, brutal thrust. “Fuucck,” he moaned, his forehead dropping against the nape of your neck. “Tight little hole forgot how to take me.”
He didn't give you time to adjust. He began to fuck you with a deep, ragged rhythm. The silence of the night was shattered by the obscene, wet sounds of flesh clapping against flesh and your own high, jagged moans. His hands were everywhere—bruising your hips, gripping your ribs, claiming every inch of you as his territory.
“Bet you let him look at you like this,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic and violent. “But you didn’t let him have it, did you?”
“No,” you sobbed, your head lolling back.
“Didn’t let him stretch you out. Didn’t let him spill inside. That’s mine.”
He leaned down and bit your shoulder—hard enough to draw a sharp, iron-tasting bead of blood. You cried out, your thighs trembling as he licked the wound clean.
“Mine."
He was relentless—a heavy, driving weight that learned your internal limits only to force its way past them. The friction was a white-hot burn, turning your mind into a hazy fog where only the weight of him existed.
“Ughn... I should—mmghn—finish inside of you,” he grunted, his pace reaching a frantic, feral peak. “Breed you full. Stuff you so deep you never even think about another man. Your internal muscles clenched around him, a desperate, rhythmic pulse of approval.
“Oh, you like that?” He let out a dark, breathless laugh. “Want me to fill this sweet little body until it’s dripping? Want me to fuck a baby into you?”
“Yes—yes—ahn—!”
He let go of your hair, his hands anchoring deep into the crate as he roared. He slammed in one last time—deeper than you thought possible—and came. It was a monstrous, messy release, hot ropes of cum gushing into you until you felt heavy and overfilled, the excess running in a thick, white stream down your inner thighs.
He didn't pull out. He stayed buried, his body twitching with the aftershocks of his climax, his heavy chest heaving against your back.
“I’ll kill him,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “If he touches you again, I’ll snap his neck.”
You looked back at him over your shoulder, your lips swollen and your eyes heavy with a dark, satisfied exhaustion. “You really think anyone else could take me now?”
His grin was wild, his golden eyes obsessional.
“Try me again, girl,” he murmured, dragging his length back—slow, agonizingly thick, and still rock-hard. “See how many rounds I can go before you break.”
He hauled you up, his fingers like iron clamps around your bicep. The air inside the bars was a familiar, suffocating cocktail of rust, old adrenaline, and the drying musk of his previous release. This was the dirt where he first unmade you, and the shadows here felt heavier, more permanent.
He threw you onto the floorboards with a jarring thud that rattled your teeth. His grin was a feral line in the moonlight. "On your knees," he commanded. "Hands behind your back. Mouth open."
You obeyed without blinking, the splintered wood scraping your knees.
He loomed over you, his cock a heavy, veiny column, still glistening with the slick evidence of your last encounter. He didn't wait for your approval. He gripped your jaw—the pressure of his thumb nearly bruising—and forced himself in. Slow and tentive.
"Look at me while I fuck your throat, and don’t you dare hide from it."
Your eyes watered, the back of your throat protesting the sheer volume of him, but you held his stare. And then, you saw the shift in his focus.
His eyes didn't leave yours, but they sharpened, tracking something over your shoulder.
A silhouette detached itself from the midnight gloom outside the bars. A face of cracked porcelain greasepaint. A nightmare in black and white with four limbs that unfolded like a slow-motion prayer.
The Mime.
The oldest freak in the crew.
He stood there, silent as the grave, the red-painted tear marks under his eyes catching the faint moonlight.
You tried to pull back, a spike of cold panic hitting your chest, but the Beast’s hand tangled in your hair, anchoring you. "No," he hissed, each movement stealing your breath. "Let him watch. I want him to witness every bit of this… You want him too. Isn’t that right?"
The Mime tilted his head, all four arms draped over the bars with an effortless, liquid grace. He was a statue of regal fixation.
"Show him," the Beast urged, slapping his pelvis against your lips with a heavy, wet thud. "Show him how well you choke on me."
He pulled out, the sound of it loud and wet in the quiet lot, and spat into your mouth before hauling you up by your waist. "Get on your hands and knees. Face him."
You trembled, your body a map of his touch. You turned, presenting yourself to the bars—to the silent, four-armed freak watching in the dark. The Mime’s eyes widened, a dark, glittering hunger reflecting the scene. Those ink-black pits for eyes traced the rhythmic shudder of your breath and the glistening trails of salt on your skin, never once blinking. Two of his hands gripped the bars; another slid down his own striped trousers in a slow, repetitive motion that needed no explanation.
"See that?" the Beast whispered, lining himself up behind you. "He’s enjoying the show. Just like me."
He slammed back inside, the impact wrenching a high, jagged yelp from your throat as you clawed at the floorboards for purchase. He began to fuck you with a renewed speed, his weight crushing you forward against the bars.
You were pinned in the heat of him, forced so close to the cage that the cloyingly scent of the Mime’s face powder filled your lungs, blurring the line between the body behind you and the silent observer in front.
"Louder," the Beast ordered, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "I want the whole lot to hear you."
You wailed his name, the sound bleeding into the humid night. He bucked with commanding, heavy strikes, his hands tightening on you. "You want them to hear? To know I'm breaking you in like a bitch in heat?"
"Yes—yes—fill me—make him see—"
The Mime’s black tongue snaked out, licking his painted red lips. His hidden hand moved faster now, a silent, frantic mirror to the Beast’s brutality. He seemed to savor the way you trembled, drinking in the frantic dance of your gaze as you struggled to keep both of them in sight.
The Beast flipped you onto your back, pulling your knees to your chest so you were completely open to the moonlight and the Mime's unblinking stare. He plunged into you over and over, his golden eyes blown wide, infatuated with your wreckage.
"You like him seeing you like this?"
"Yes—"
He silenced you with a kiss that tasted of iron and salt. His tongue claimed your mouth as his length claimed your body. "Good little freak toy," he murmured against your lips. "Cum for the show."
You shattered, the orgasm crashing you in long, violent waves that stole the air from your lungs. The Beast was right there with you. A low, guttural roar tore from his throat as his muscles locked into living stone, anchoring you in place. He came deep inside, a scorching, endless stream of heat that flooded your core and left you both trembling in the aftermath.
You layed there, a wrecked heap of sweat and arousal.
The Mime stood slowly, his extra arms moving with sickening, bird-like grace. He pressed one palm to the bars, then raised his hands in a silent, mocking applause. He wiped his mouth, tucked himself away, and vanished back into the shadows without making a single sound.
The Beast remained buried in you, his heart hammering against your spine like a drum. He kissed your temple, his voice a low, dark caress that promised no escape.
"You liked that? Being our little show?"
You nodded, unable to find your voice in the heavy air.
He smiled. "Next time, we’ll let the whole crew watch."
