The lionesses were wild and unruly, slinking around the stage. Contorting their beautiful faces to snarl bright, white teeth. The Circus Master unfurled his whip – a creeping slipper-slap as it unravelled onto the boards. Several meters of platted leather, two centimetres in diameter at the hilt, tapering down smoothly, thinner and thinner, until it was just a single strap of hide with a wiry thread of a tongue. He stirred his fingers and the ripple danced down the line, tip darting and snapping. Sophie’s loins bristled, a little wobble in the knees. The Circus Master flicked his wrist to flourish the whip with a dramatic crack.
The feline performers responded, swinging their bodies 180 degrees and growling with menace. But they continued to prowl, one of them sidling to the front of the stage and adopting a stealthy, predatory posture – as if stalking the audience. Oh yes! Sophie imagined herself getting hunted by the lionesses, chased down with biting teeth and slashing claws… and then dragged back to face the Circus Master! The performer dipped her head and snarled, slyly waggling her buttocks as she prepared to pounce. And then rearing up with claws aloft.