The bus is pitch dark. Blaze uses a long BBQ match from her kit to light a battered storm lamp and a couple of Mexican sugar skull candles.
‘Sorry, hope you don’t mind mood lighting, the battery is gone’.
Your let her chatter. Watching as she drops her kit bag on the floor and get a couple of heavy cut glass tumblers and a bottle of single malt scotch from the wood panelled cupboard.
Exasperated by your silence, she treats you to a teasing glance and adds
‘One thing I can divine – you do possess some side-show talents.’
‘Indeed. I’m an accomplished memoriser’.
‘Oh, is that so? Cause what I actually saw in my crystal ball was an aptitude for playing with fire.’
‘Now, that’s a cheesy line par excellence’
‘My bad. But, well, I was hoping you’d find a way to prove me right.’
Blaze pours. Starting to undo the zip of her Onesie as she crosses the narrow space to hand you a brimming tumbler.
She’s still wearing her wire corset, but had shed the brass brassiere. Angry white indents mark the place where the metal had dug into newly tanned skin under her small pert breasts.
Stainless steel studs pierce both nipples. Each fleshy rose- gold areola is stretched. The tips erect. As Blaze turns towards the storm lamp, you catch a glint of ruby.
Her demure brings to mind a diva from a 1940’s film. The sultry sex kitten. What does this make you? The dashing rascal, you suppose.
Right on cue, she whispers ‘Tell me, stranger, how many broken hearts were hanged on those cheekbones?’
Ignoring the offered compliment and drink, you pounce, grabbing Blaze’s mane in your fist, pushing her back against the counter.
She swallows. But keeps looking you straight in the eye, a wordless taunting ‘Do your worst!’.
You brush a finger across her nipples. Letting a low voltage charge, hardly discernible, vibrate through the roughened tips. Her breath grows ragged. Your gaze still locked on her copper flaked jade eyes, you pull the zip further down, until it catches on something spiky.
Under the soft flannel, Blaze is wearing a wire codpiece. You suppress a chuckle. This nod to a warrior’s shield is hardly an effective defence. In fact, it will make an excellent conductor.
You unclasp the codpiece, leaving it dangling around Blaze’s rotating hips, and run the palm of your leather gloved hand through her ginger pubic hair, pushing against the swollen lips, then curling your fingers to give her a hint of what’s concealed under the kid skin.
Withdrawing your reinforced fist, you lick a nipple, tasting salt and inhaling her ripe carnival odour: bonfire smoke, sweat and smuggled whiskey.
Then, leisurely, you release her hair, turning the painful pull into a feather light stroke, down to her cheek as you remove your glove. You cover her mouth exactly at the same time as your other hand twists to let her feel the diamond knuckle duster. It jingles when hard cold metal scrapes stainless steel as the duster bangs against the rings in her labia and clit hood.
As the truth hits home, Blaze whimpers through your gagging hand, fear creeping into her eyes. Her powerful thighs tense, ready for a kick.
So you increase the pressure and let a surge of higher voltage run through the knuckle duster. You don’t really need it, but it’s useful to have a prop – an object to mediate the flowing current as mere battery generated electricity, initially assisting the victim in forming a comprehensible pattern from the shreds of reality flying around them.
It’s Just a cunning toy, says their addled mind, so the fact of being fucked by an augmented creature, possibly a monster, eludes them for a little longer.
The brass knuckles also help you to hold back the urge to invade their brain. Projecting your power through the filter of a physical object, so you can savour a slower, longer penetration.
Blaze stops squirming. Her mind must be racing to keep up with her body, already regulated by the pulsing metal on her cunt.
You insert three fingers inside her, maddeningly slowly, until your diamonds and brass knuckles spread her open, grazing and crushing the succulent labia.
Blaze’s whimpers turns into a harsh meow. You breath in her ear, hot tongue lapping, and start extracting your fingers. She moans in protest.
‘Light your sticks, circus freak. I want to fuck you while you eat fire.’ You murmur. Removing your hand from her mouth, your spread the fingers now encircling her neck and press, lightly.
Blaze trembles. ‘I have to control my breath very carefully when eating fire.’ she croaks ‘Doing it like this is really dangerous.’
‘I know.’ you hiss, your hand tightening against her windpipe ‘That’s the point.’ You draw back, then shove four fingers back in her hot wet cunt, diamonds swirling against her cervix.
A small scream escapes her lips.
‘OK, OK. I’ll give it a go.’ She manages a lopsided grin ‘Don’t try this at home’.
You release Blaze’s throat, deprive her of your fingers, and plant yourself behind her, keeping the knuckle duster, now on high voltage, poised against her clit.
The peacock tails tattooed on Blaze’s arse cheeks curve and spread in perfect wiggling arches as she bends to lift her fire kit. Beads of sweat making the gaudy ink shimmer.
You grab her hips and hold her fast against your crotch. She can feel your hidden lips, still oblivious to the boiling jets and the other surprise in store for her.
But then you unzip your leather suit, and there’s no escaping the organ emerging from your cunt. You let her feel every inch of it’s supple solid bulk and the rubbery barbs on the segmented shaft.
The suction cups will pop out later, driving her beyond reason seconds before her final annihilation.
Gradually, you increase your external organ’s temperature. And Blaze is pressed against it, trapped between the metal bruiser on her cunt and the giant, misshapen alien cock twitching in her arse crack. She lets out a frustrated gasp and struggles, futilely, only succeeding in sliding down your front so your monster organs’ head is now threatening her arse hole. She freezes.
Blaze’s words come out in rasping fragments ‘I…I need to be upright’
You are dazed by desire, so hardly stop to wonder how come she never expressed any surprise at the outlandish augmented genitalia. The first one to date not to freak out at the very notion of such a beast existing in this world. Not to mention displaying every intention of fucking her brains out. Either you are becoming more adept at subtle hypnoses, or Blaze is the biggest pervert you had ensnared.
You haul her up, making sure she is still holding the torch, fuel and match box, drag her to the bus window, and push it open.
Blaze takes a long deep breath and glances around her.
‘What, afraid your freaky mates will see you get shafted?’
She doesn’t answer. But lets you push her hand to the match, then the torch. The gasoline flame flares up, nearly melting her fake eye lashes.
Blocking out the reek of burned plastic, you suck your finger and trace a line from Blaze’s racing pulse to her rock candy nipples, planting contact points, DNA ports and back doors, all the way down to her dripping cunt. Then you dip the loaded digit in her contracted anus and give the silent command; a trail of fire starts sizzling through Blazes nerve ends.
You close the circuit with the knuckle duster, each diamond vibrating and humming, just brushing her clit, and growl ‘ Eat it!’
Blaze arches her back, bends her head back, and starts inserting the flaming rod into her open mouth just as the barbed head of your cock opens up her cunt.
She screams, chocking, as the long thick shafts slowly pushes in, deeper and deeper. When the suction cups come out she starts howling and convulsing.
Tears flood from her eyes, lit by the blazing torch diving into her throat as her head bangs against the window frame and she spasms around you, cumming so hard she seems to hardly notice the searing heat branding her insides.
Wait, something is wrong. Your receptors overload trigger is doing it’s work, rendering Blaze wide open to the onslaught of countless probing electro-chemical tentacles. But while the fire eater is thrashing wildly, growling and yelping – you still can’t reach her mind.
Something is resisting your assault. Barring you from truly penetrating, sweeping her senses with unbearable pleasure, pain, and the devastating imprint of your parasite mind.
Suddenly, they are coming for you – electric pulses. Chaotic yet demanding, generated from Blaze’s jerking, sweat sleek Amazon body. Faint, at first, but increasingly invasive. Steadily growing in frequency and strength.
Before you manage to gather your wits and draw back, Blaze grabs the window frame, and with astonishing force, drives both of you back to the kitchenette table. Still sitting on your organ she crashes your cuntcock and sends hundreds of electric needles into the shaft, your lips, scorching your entrails. The ignited feelers climb up. How long till they reach your brain?
Blaze turns around, trusts the burning torch in your face, and snarls
‘How do you like it now, mind fucker? Didn’t I warn you this is dangerous?’
The shadows of the flame shorten abruptly as something lights up outside the long bus windows.
The carousel horses are on the move. The Gallopers’ gaily painted wooden nostrils flaring, their maddened eyes flashing as they rock up and down in an illuminated magic circle.