found.
“Ah, well,” Victor said at length. “I’d better get down there and do my act.” He rose from his seat. “Make it down here before three o’clock.” He winked.
Sylvia hesitated. Pikesley wanted information. Quite possibly there was no such evidence of the sort Pikesley wanted in existence, and it wasn’t like he was about to assign her another job. Something about this exhilarated and scared her, as though she rode the crest of a wave just about to break. If she had to keep coming down here, she might as well play this game.
“I’ll see if I can make it.”
She had to get up so he could get out, even though the aisle was fairly spacious. Sylvia watched him head down through the audience and up to the stage. Vaughn put him in the stocks and tore his costume off him. Then the audience pelted him with fruit while Vaughn buggered him with the blunt end of a pitchfork.
She tried to imagine how Victor must feel, being restrained and violated, total surrender of control to Vaughn. He must get a massive adrenaline rush out of it, from not knowing what was going to happen or if he was going to be able to stop it if he didn’t like it. And letting Vaughn humiliate and use him in full view of all those people–that must take enormous confidence. It was starting to make more sense.
A stab of envy hit Sylvia. What if it was her doing that to Victor? If she had that power to capture him and do what she willed, and he craved it and feared it at the same time? If she could muster the courage to stand up there and touch him wherever she wanted–and let them laugh if they thought it was improper or immodest–and force him to orgasm in front of everyone, and make him utterly ridiculous and helpless.
Who was to say that something someone did was dirty, or immoral, if it had no effect on anyone else besides that person? This festival was a celebration of weirdness. Why did so many people object to it? Why not just not go to it, if they thought it was all that bad? What business of theirs was the choice of those who did want to participate and weren’t made to? She slipped away amid the commotion and went back to her locker for her clothes.
Chapter 4
Sylvia had to get out of work early. Not least because she suspected Victor might be interested in learning her true identity if he was not already outright suspicious of her motives. She needed to think up a way of sneaking into the Sideshow without exposing her uncostumed self to the scrutiny of any prying eyes, human or electronic, that he might have posted to gather intelligence of his own. Getting in early, before the crowds, and with a valid excuse to be there would also provide adequate opportunity for her to look about for signs of any suspicious activity while it was quiet.
She stuffed a write-up of the lack of evidence she’d so far managed to acquire into Pikesley’s pigeonhole. Sylvia had reached the main door of the station and was about to leave when someone in the corridor behind called her name.
“Price!”
She turned to face Constable Baxter. Baxter was inclined to waffle, always using ten words where two would have done. If Sylvia let him get talking to her, it’d be the start of the school-run rush hour before she got away.
“I need to talk to you about–”
Sylvia cut him off sharply. “I’m sorry, Mike, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m on special ops today, Pikesley’s orders.”
Before he could say anything else, she pushed through the door and headed to the car park.
Sylvia shoveled into her mouth a hurried lunch of bulgar wheat and roast vegetables out of a plastic deli pot while she waited for the lights to change out on the main road. The plastic pot spilled the remains of the meal over the passenger seat when she pulled away, and she swore at it.
When she got home, she put on the kettle and made Max relieve himself out the back while she waited for the water to boil. After she had made her tea, she took
“Ah, well,” Victor said at length. “I’d better get down there and do my act.” He rose from his seat. “Make it down here before three o’clock.” He winked.
Sylvia hesitated. Pikesley wanted information. Quite possibly there was no such evidence of the sort Pikesley wanted in existence, and it wasn’t like he was about to assign her another job. Something about this exhilarated and scared her, as though she rode the crest of a wave just about to break. If she had to keep coming down here, she might as well play this game.
“I’ll see if I can make it.”
She had to get up so he could get out, even though the aisle was fairly spacious. Sylvia watched him head down through the audience and up to the stage. Vaughn put him in the stocks and tore his costume off him. Then the audience pelted him with fruit while Vaughn buggered him with the blunt end of a pitchfork.
She tried to imagine how Victor must feel, being restrained and violated, total surrender of control to Vaughn. He must get a massive adrenaline rush out of it, from not knowing what was going to happen or if he was going to be able to stop it if he didn’t like it. And letting Vaughn humiliate and use him in full view of all those people–that must take enormous confidence. It was starting to make more sense.
A stab of envy hit Sylvia. What if it was her doing that to Victor? If she had that power to capture him and do what she willed, and he craved it and feared it at the same time? If she could muster the courage to stand up there and touch him wherever she wanted–and let them laugh if they thought it was improper or immodest–and force him to orgasm in front of everyone, and make him utterly ridiculous and helpless.
Who was to say that something someone did was dirty, or immoral, if it had no effect on anyone else besides that person? This festival was a celebration of weirdness. Why did so many people object to it? Why not just not go to it, if they thought it was all that bad? What business of theirs was the choice of those who did want to participate and weren’t made to? She slipped away amid the commotion and went back to her locker for her clothes.
Chapter 4
Sylvia had to get out of work early. Not least because she suspected Victor might be interested in learning her true identity if he was not already outright suspicious of her motives. She needed to think up a way of sneaking into the Sideshow without exposing her uncostumed self to the scrutiny of any prying eyes, human or electronic, that he might have posted to gather intelligence of his own. Getting in early, before the crowds, and with a valid excuse to be there would also provide adequate opportunity for her to look about for signs of any suspicious activity while it was quiet.
She stuffed a write-up of the lack of evidence she’d so far managed to acquire into Pikesley’s pigeonhole. Sylvia had reached the main door of the station and was about to leave when someone in the corridor behind called her name.
“Price!”
She turned to face Constable Baxter. Baxter was inclined to waffle, always using ten words where two would have done. If Sylvia let him get talking to her, it’d be the start of the school-run rush hour before she got away.
“I need to talk to you about–”
Sylvia cut him off sharply. “I’m sorry, Mike, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m on special ops today, Pikesley’s orders.”
Before he could say anything else, she pushed through the door and headed to the car park.
Sylvia shoveled into her mouth a hurried lunch of bulgar wheat and roast vegetables out of a plastic deli pot while she waited for the lights to change out on the main road. The plastic pot spilled the remains of the meal over the passenger seat when she pulled away, and she swore at it.
When she got home, she put on the kettle and made Max relieve himself out the back while she waited for the water to boil. After she had made her tea, she took
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