Contortion

Stephen lay naked on his bed, little more than a futon laid out on the floor, and stared at the hard white ceiling of the trailer. There was little privacy in the circus life, but he knew for a fact that his parents were rehearsing, and wouldn't be back for at least another hour. He was not in very much of the act yet—he was only 17, and didn't have much experience—so he was allowed to quit the rehearsal early. He was supposed to be doing his homework, but he was not.

Instead, Stephen was lying naked on his back, tugging at himself, and thinking wistfully of a faceless man, someone he had not yet identified, but knew was there, someone who would come and ravish him and do horrible, unspeakable things to his body. He groaned to himself, fingering the tip of his cock lightly. His family were the circus's contortionists, and there was no other group of people at the circus who left their bodies so open and visible, so vulnerable. It had tainted him, he thought, feeling all those eyes run over his body every time he performed. The skintight leotard he wore left little to the imagination, and as he twisted and contorted on stage, he imagined that the audience was assessing him, wondering just what that flexibility could mean...

Stephen closed his eyes and imagined the heat of the audience's gaze, all the eyes focused on him with laser-like precision, gazes swarming over his flesh like grasping fingers. He imagined doing his performance naked, imagined growing hard in front of all those eyes, imagined one of them bold enough to break the fourth wall of propriety that surrounded him, coming forward to touch, to support the arch of his back and run rough fingertips down the prominent ridges of his spine, feel the twisted muscle and supple bones and verify Stephen's fantastic flesh with his own hands.

Stephen grasped his shaft firmly in hand and pulled, sliding up, drifting down, pulling again. He was caught up, descended into his fantasy, and heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs only just in time; as the door swung open, he had just enough time to start out of his repose and flip over, hiding his erection under him by lying on his stomach, holding his legs together tightly so as to best hide the aroused state of his body.

The person who entered the trailer was Claude, Stephen's longtime friend, also a circus brat and only two years older. Since the onset of puberty, when Claude had grown from a laughing, freckled boy to what Stephen's mother described as a "strapping young man," Claude had also earned the additional title of "crush." Or perhaps, more accurately, "lust object." Stephen didn't like thinking of Claude as a "crush," because it made him feel silly and effeminate. But there was no denying the heat of his skin when Claude smiled, or the tingle in the small of his back at a casual arm slung around his shoulders. Claude was the apprentice lion-tamer, and was daring and broad-shouldered and adventurous and master of the beasts. Beside him, Stephen felt weak, felt vulnerable and naked, in a way made literal by his current situation.

Claude grinned at Stephen's state and raised an eyebrow, then tossed back his short black hair with a chuckle. "And what were you up to?" he asked, his voice full of smug laughter.

"I was doing my stretches," Stephen said with as much dignity as he could muster. "I was feeling stiff earlier, and I was worried that maybe I hadn't been limbering up well enough before and after the act. It was just, uh, hot in here, so I decided to take my clothes off. Makes the stretching easier, anyway."

Claude closed the trailer door behind him. "Want some help?" he asked.

"Uh..." said Stephen, caught completely off-guard by the offer.

Claude did not wait for Stephen's answer, plunking himself down easily next to Stephen's pallet and grabbing one of Stephen's arms. He pulled it across Stephen's back and twisted it so the palm lay flat against Stephen's opposite hip. The muscle stretched placidly—not a particularly difficult position for Stephen. Claude repeated the move with the other arm, before Stephen could even find his voice.

"It's alright," said Stephen finally, as Claude finished with the arms and started pressing firmly on Stephen's back. He'd often done this before, but Stephen had never been naked for the ministrations, and was distinctly unsettled. "You don't have to. I'm okay by myself."

"Nonsense," said Claude dismissively. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Ah, but-" Stephen began, when Claude picked up Stephen's lower leg and bent it backwards until the sole of his foot lay flush against his buttock. Stephen started, worried that from this position, if his legs were spread enough, Claude might notice that Stephen was hard. He shifted in discomfort, feeling his erection press solidly into his stomach. Claude's hands were not helping the matter, pressing firmly down on the leg before repeating the action with the next one.

"Where's the oil?" Claude asked, referring to the massage oil that the contortionists often used to soften and relax the muscles.

"Uh, on the dresser," Stephen answered, "but you really don't have to-"

But Claude had already returned with the bottle, pouring the oil onto his hands and returning them to Stephen's back, massaging once more. "Wanna do a bridge?" he asked. "I can get your stomach that way."

"Uh, no!" Stephen said hurriedly. There was no way he could bear to turn himself over at this point. "No, no, it's fine. It was just the, uh, the back of my legs that felt a little stiff. The stretch that you were doing before on them was fine. I think I'm fine now, really." He knew he was talking too fast, that Claude would know he was nervous, but he was unable to stop himself. The warm hands were distracting him, drawing the blood right out of his brain.

The hands moved to massage his buttocks, and then the tops of his thighs, and Stephen's buried his face in his pillow, feeling as though his skin were on fire. He resigned himself to the embarrassment, hoping that Claude would leave while Stephen's dignity was still somewhat intact, and wondering if there were a polite way to throw him out.

Claude repeated the stretch he had done earlier, bending the lower leg back and pressing down. He seemed to be leaning his weight on the limb, and Stephen, still buried in his pillow, realized that Claude must have moved around behind him.

The other leg was bent back at the same time, and Claude's weight pressed down against both of them, holding them bent fully double. It was not a difficult stretch by any means, but the heat and weight of Claude so close to his back was making Stephen nervous. Claude's hands returned to his buttocks once more, and for a moment Stephen thought he was returning to massaging. But the fingers rubbed a few times, then descended down and inward, kneading the soft flesh around Stephen's anus.

Stephen's head snapped up. "Wha-" he started, but a "Shhhh," from Claude made him stop, heart pounding. He said nothing as Claude shifted his weight and poked the tips of two of his fingers gently into Stephen's anus, as if in exploration. Stephen nearly bit his tongue, but kept his mouth shut, lowering his face back down to the pillow.

The oil returned. Stephen could feel Claude pouring a puddle of it into the small of his back. There was the sound of the oil's cap snapping back into place, and then fingers dipping into the pool of oil, rubbing it down in a trail towards his tailbone, and then slipping easily, fluidly inside him, passing the tight ring of muscle and delving into him, roving restlessly inside him, feeling his passage and stretching it, wiggling about as though trying to get comfortable. Stephen suppressed a whimper. Claude's fingers felt big inside him, and he wasn't sure how many there were, only that Claude was stretching some of the few muscles of Stephen's that didn't get a lot of exercise.

The fingers stilled slightly, and Stephen felt Claude's other hand dip into the small of his back again, mopping up the leftover oil, and smearing it over Stephen's feet. Stephen blinked, confused, but didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. He felt as though a single word on his part might break this spell, might destroy this fantasy world in which Claude was touching him, Claude was putting his fingers in Stephen's ass and holding him down with a solid weight pressed against his bent legs.

The fingers in his anus shifted, and Stephen felt the distinct sensation of being stretched, opened, of cool air intimately invading him, slipping inside him like a gentle caress. Then he felt Claude shifting his weight again, and felt his own left leg being pushed slightly over and down-

Stephen gasped as he felt his own heel being forced into his splayed anus. It was shallow, but very thick. Claude leaned his weight down on Stephen's leg once more, and Stephen let out a choked swallowing noise as the added weight forced the heel deeper inside him. Claude shifted his weight again, leaning forward and back in pulses, stretching the muscles of Stephen's leg and forcing the heel into him in swift, shallow thrusts.

Moments later, Claude's weight lifted, and the hands withdrew the heel only to grasp the ankle of his right leg and repeat the process, forcing Stephen's anus open wide enough to take it, before plunging it inside and using his weight to fuck Stephen with it. Stephen's mouth opened, but no sound came out, only breath that left him in hot, open-mouthed pants that matched the timing of the thrusts into him. Claude switched again to the left heel, then moments later back to the right, and again, until Stephen felt as though there were two people, two men taking turns fucking him, each one taking only a little pleasure for himself before the other got impatient and pushed him out of the way, thrusting himself inside back inside Stephen.

Stephen realized that he was thrusting his own hips, trying desperately to get some friction on his member from the pallet. The tight pressure of his own weight forcing him down against the rough fabric was already driving him mad, building a desperate whimper in the back of his throat.

He tried to hold it back as long as he could, but as his left heel once more took over for his right, the whimper wiggled past Stephen's control and escaped, fleeing desperately into the thick, moist air of the trailer. At the sound, the pressure of Claude's thrusts increased, shifting Stephen's whole body every time he moved, rubbing Stephen's cock against the bed.

This was too much, altogether too much, and the next time the heels switched, the next time he felt the thick, rough flesh descend into him, he came helplessly against the sheets, his whole body shaking with his spasms.

Slowly, Stephen's heartbeat fell back to earth, and he felt the weight lift from his back. His legs fell back down to the bed, right heel sliding easily from his tired anus. He heard Claude's soft footsteps come around the side of him, and saw his friend's shoes come into his field of vision. He looked up as Claude squatted down to his level. From here he could easily see the straining fabric of Claude's pants that meant the lion-tamer's apprentice was just as aroused as Stephen had been.

Claude's eyes followed Stephen's, a lazy, predatory smile on his face. "That's your fault," he said, his voice low and rough. "I expect you to come find me later and take care of it. Maybe we can do this again, and it'll keep your mouth occupied in the meantime. I'm rather curious as to just how flexible you really are."

Claude stood, bouncing to his feet, and left. Stephen lay on the pallet, listening to his receding footsteps, his heart once again beating furiously.