84 - Tale of the Sideshow - Firefucker

Jason lit another of his foul black cigarettes from a candle. He seemed to consider the flame for a long moment.

"Fire acts are pretty good. Doesn't matter if you can see those online, folks still like to see it in person. There's something about fire that's more real to them. They can see the danger. And there is danger. Fire acts risk life and limb, even if you know what you're doing, but ask any stuntman in Hollywood. Nothing can be one hundred percent safe. So listen close as I tell you about

FIREFUCKER

Whetu was a Pacific Islander with short-cropped hair, small breasts, and a pair of subdermal implants on her forehead that looked like small horns. The Boss got an invitation to her show, and took me along to see Whetu's act in Baja. She started out with a flaming hula hoop, dressed in nothing more than a pair coconut shells and a long loin-cloth. That would transition, with some patter, to some flaming devil sticks. Then she'd tear aside the loincloth and shells and do a fire walk, her bare feet crunching through the live coals, still juggling the sticks. Fire-eating to douse the sticks, her mouth swiftly enveloping the ends, and then as a finale, she'd drop to her knees and let out a bleching cloud of flame.

It was a pretty good act. Diverse skillset, good rapport with the crowd. A solid performer. The added titillation was definitely a draw for the boss. Whetu was fairly thin and wiry, but she had some extensive tribal tattoos on her shoulders, arms, chest, legs, and crotch, leaving the extremities and her stomach and back bare. How traditional they were, I had no idea, then or now.

She had a headache after the show. That was pretty typical; the fuels fire acts use are poisonous, even when you use them right. Imagine the worst hangover you've ever had, plus blisters on your tongue and lips. Yet what set Whetu apart was her ambition. She wanted to try a daring act. Something the punters hadn't seen before.

"I call it the Firefucker," Whetu said, and immediately I figured out why the Boss had brought me along.

You all know some of what I've done, for the sake of the sideshow. I think that was the first time I felt real trepidation, as Whetu described the act. The Boss had questions. Safety, of course, but also practicality. How much the audience would see. How much the audience would think they see. That can be an important difference during a show. The audience needs the narrative, the illusion. Sometimes we want people to seem tied down securely who can free themselves in five seconds; sometimes we want a plant in the crowd to shout something loud and fast enough the other punters can't do something stupid. Sounds silly, but it's the key to any show, taking the audience with you on a journey. Make them think what they're seeing is real.

Except fire...well, fire is real.

We talked it out, long time. Provisional acceptance to work out the routine. Her act in Baja would be good enough for daylight and regular shows, but for light's out, Whetu needed something more explicit. The Firefucker in truth. So we practiced. A lot. That might sound fun, practicing a sex show, but imagine how difficult it might be to stay hard for hours at a time, while people are watching you, and not being able to actually cum or do anything because that would ruin the performance. So I was popping cialis and we had until my pecker gave out to get in whatever practice we could. Got it down pretty pat in about four days.

Our first live show was a Saturday after-hours. Fat Woman, the Leech Girl and the Girlhole, the Hairiest Cunt in the World, and the Alligator Girl. I was the Freak Fucker, and at the end of the Alligator Girl's segment, I was in a straitjacket and locked in a box, carried over to the big space we'd set aside for the Firefucker. That gave me time to do a quick change. You ever tried to change into a wetsuit in your car? Try climbing into a gimpsuit in a trunk.

Fortunately, Whetu started her routine with some patter, which gave me some extra time and distracted the punters. It's amazing what a burlesque act with flaming tassels will do to catch and hold the attention. She didn't do the full daytime routine, but imagine a young, dark woman naked, spinning three flaming hula hoops at once, only to leap out of them and knock on the box. That was my cue. I opened a hole and stuck my cock out.

The condom wasn't latex. It was actually a thin glass tube, carefully molded to look like my prick, and my cock was slathered with a gel to keep it from burning as she breathed fire. Three bursts of flame, and my heart was hammering, the heat intense for a second but manageable. No, the hard part was when she wrapped her lips around my cock and discreetly slammed her palm against the chest.

That was my cue. I flicked the igniter and burst out of the box.

Imagine you're there in the audience as a man on fire comes out of a box, his erect prick waving in the air. Imagine the dark-skinned young woman bent over, ass in the air. The heat is intense, you can't breath, your dick feels like it's about to explode, and you need to slam that cock into her pussy without hurting her.

You might think you couldn't do. But we had trained for this. She was slathered in a flame-retardant gel. The firesuit I was wearing only had a little bit of fuel, and most of that was on the back. By the time I stumbled over to her, the flame on my crotch had gone out. She still gave a little scream as I plunged that glass prick inside of her...

...and that's when the accident happened. I saw the blood on the glass as my cock exploded, the semen hitting the glass and the temperature differential of me cumming was enough to break it while still inside of her. I'd never cum during practice. Maybe it was just a flaw in the glass sheath, I don't know. But my blood went cold, and I knew there was nothing I could do right then.

The punters only saw about five to ten seconds of frantic thrusting. I never touched her body directly for more than a millisecond, my cock plunging in and out, my hand spanking that ass. Giving time for the flame and heat to dissipate. One of our plants in the audience gave a yell when the fire was nearly out, and then the Boss came in with the fire extinguisher and hosed me down. I stumbled back into my trunk, and Whetu stood up and did her final trick.

She didn't really piss fire. It was a capsule in her ass that let out a stream of paraffin that burst into flame when it hit the smoldering coals from the fire walk. Good way to end the show. I hoped the punters didn't see the trickle of blood and cum ooze from her pussy.

I can't tell you how terrified I was, in that box, peeling off a hot suit, **** to get out there. Whetu was my partner, and I'd fucked up and she was hurt. Maybe bad. Can you imagine what it's like, trapped like that, your cock still hard despite just cumming, and not knowing how she was? For me, that was five minutes of absolute hell.

"Well, Dr. Gyges got to work later, getting the glass shards out. We couldn't do the show again until it healed, and the Boss didn't like it. Too much breakage, too much danger of it happening again. I apologized to Whetu—it had all been my fault—but she just pinched my cheek and thanks me for breaking her firefuck cherry."

With that, Jason blew a plume of smoke and the flame on the candle flickered and died.