The tension in the tent grows when one of the girls are brought out and strapped forcefully to a spinning wheel by another two clowns. The spotlight focuses on her, illuminating her anxious face which is probably fake. The man who swallowed the sword now holds a set of axes; his expression emotionless and as the wheel starts to spin rapidly, he launches the axes at her causing my toes to curl. Each one lands dangerously close, but luckily never touching her. The crowd hold their breath with every throw just as I fucking do, only exhaling when the act is finally finished.
I lean closer to Madame, whispering, “I wonder how they manage to stay so calm when they’re doing all of this.”
Madame smiles faintly, her eyes never leaving the ring. “Years of practice, trust, and a lot of insanity. It takes a certain kind of person to thrive here, darling.”
When the ring is cleared, a dark, huge figure enters from the shadows, each step he takes makes the ground thump beneath him. His body is a patchwork of horrific scars and stitches and chains rattle around his ankles as he is led into the ring, his black eyes simmering with rage. On the other end of the chain is Hell and he has them tightly wrapped around his strong, tattooed arms in an attempt to control him.
As my gaze lingers on his shackled ankles, a sense of sadness washes over me, sparking my own harrowing memories of how I was once chained in the same fucked-up way.
Madame leans in beside me, catching my attention, “He is Hell’s pet. The Monster.”
My brows pinch as I turn my head, “Pet?” I respond with a shudder. She gives a small nod before looking forward, “He is the only person in this place who is able to control him.”
The ringmaster’s voice booms through the speakers, “Feast your eyes upon The Monster! Who here is brave enough to tame him?”
A volunteer in the front row is chosen, a trembling old man reluctantly stepping forward and The Monster roars, the sound vibrating through the tent, making my body tense. The man is handed a whip, his face pale with fear and he cracks it once in a stupid attempt to assert control.
The Monster lunges forward, chains snapping and dragging Hell forward, his eyes burning with murder. The lights suddenly flicker, then plunge the tent into total pitch black. The screams that follow are piercing, a sound of bloodcurdling pain, but when the lights came back on, the ring is completely empty, and my mouth drops open in surprise.
As I observe all the performances, I can’t help but reflect on my own place here in Oddity. The danger, the thrill, the constant dance with death—it is all amazing, but there is a dark feeling of the thought of being trapped in this place, also, Blush’s words that this performance tonight is not even remotely as horrifying as Dark Night will be gnaws at me. How the fuck can it get any more terrifying than this?
After some other acts, I can sense the final act is approaching, and the anticipation in the air is electric; The Hollow’s are about to take the stage with their motorcross bikes. The lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd.
Suddenly, the roar of engines fill the tent, echoing like a thunderstorm and the spotlights swing around to show the Hollow’s, helmetless and lacking safety, but I expect nothingless. Their painted faces and spiralled contacts glow with menace and every single one of them are shirtless, exposing their ripped, tattooed skin; all alike, yet so different from one another. They rev their bikes, the engines growling like caged beasts ready to be unleashed.
When they’re ready, the Hollow’s speed around the ring, weaving in and out with incredible speed. They perform deathly ramp tricks, soaring high into the air, twisting, and flipping through rings of fire. The heat is intense even from where I sit and with each leap they land with a perfect execution.
Next comes the death wheel, the massive rotating structure that the Hollow’s use to defy death itself. They ride along the vertical walls of the wheel with speed, and it causes it to spin faster and faster. I hold my breath, the tension almost unbearable. One wrong move, one fucking slip, and it would all be over, but the Hollow’s prove me wrong.
Then, the death dome is descended from the ceiling—a giant metal sphere with a skull logo. The Hollow’s ride into the dome, their engines roaring even louder within the confined space. They circle inside, crisscrossing paths in a dizzying display while it flickers wildly with red lights and the dome pulses as they barely miss each other.
Suddenly, ascending from below the center of the death dome, bound and vulnerable, is Pearl. Her eyes wide, holding fear and defiance, her body rigid as the bikes speed around her. The roar of their engines are deafening, and the sight of Pearl in the middle of the chaos only adds an extra layer of tension.
The Hollow’s continue their cruel stunts, weaving around her with terrifying perfection. As the act reaches its end, the Hollow’s begin their finale, and the dome is engulfed in a ring of fire, the heat and light almost blinding. Then, as quickly as ithad begun, it is over and the lights cut out, the fire dims and the engines cut off, leaving a silence in their wake.
When the lights are switched back on, The Hollow’s and Pearl are no longer there, all that’s left is a gust of dust and smoke.
The audience erupts and I find myself clapping along as well with a big smile on my face. As I think about my performance and everyone I watched tonight, I feel a small sense of pride inside of me that I am a part of this mad world.
Standing in Dolly's closet, since she decided to put fucking curtains up to stop me from watching her, I wait impatiently for her to return home. The rain pelts down hard on the trailer and drum against the windows. I know Limp Dick is not here tonight, so I broke in after the show.
As I listen intently, my senses are on high alert, until I finally hear the door open. I peer through the thin shutters and watch as she enters. Her long blonde hair is soaked and now has a tinge of red in it from her performance. Her broken dolly face paint streaks down her cheeks, darkening her piercing blue eyes, but even in this dishevelled state, she is still a stunning sight.
She pauses, her focus fixed on the black rose I left on the bed, confusing her. Her brows knit together, walking quickly toward it. She halts at the end of the bed, continuing to stare at the flower for a moment more before finally leaning over to lift it, but as soon as she does, she drops it with a hiss, her lips curling in pain.
I smirk slightly as she gazes down at her pricked finger, a bubble of blood now forming and she growls softly before placing it in her mouth, sucking on the small wound.
The sight of her reaction, the mix of pain and confusion, stirs something dark within me. I continue to observe her every move, savouring the moment, knowing that she is now fully aware of my presence and the games I intend to play. She quickly turns around, dashing through the trailer, probably trying to see if I am still here, hidden, but when she returns to the bedroom, it’s clear she thinks I’m gone.
Still not taking her eyes off the rose, she drags her cropped leather jacket down her arms, tossing it to one side before moving on to her tight black jeans. After unbuttoning them, she pulls them down her legs, the wet fabric peeling away from her skin, and she winces as my inflicted wounds on her thighs sting.
Once she has stepped out of them, I keep my full focus on her body. She is now in black panties, the strings sitting high on her curvaceous hips, and a black cropped t-shirt sits just below her nipples, offering a mesmerizing view of the curve of her tits. I have to stop myself from pouncing on her, from taking her in this vulnerable state.
She heads for the small bedside table, muttering things I cannot understand, but I can sense her anger. My frantic eyes move all over her figure, the roundness of her peachy ass and how it wobbles with every step she takes until she opens a drawer, pulling out a pack of makeup wipes before tossing them onto the bed. Then she gazes inside again, pondering, before finally reaching down to withdraw something else. When she lifts out a black, medium-sized dildo, I shake my head once, the sight of it stirring something within me, a blend of jealousy and possessiveness.
Looking at it curiously, her small hand wraps tighter around it, until finally, she decides she is going to fuck herself with it and tosses it onto the bed. My cock throbs painfully in my wet jeans; there's no fucking way I'm just going to be able to watch her screw herself right in front of me.
My palms sweat, balling tightly into fists and my leg starts shaking, my control dissipating as she strides to the end of the bed. She bends over, crawling up it before stopping and positioning herself on all fours, reaching for her dildo. She gives me the perfect view, which is unfortunate for her and for fucking me.
