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“The fire top—his scene name is Heatwave—is cooling her skin so she can handle the heat of the fire a little longer,” Brick murmured. “The contrast of the two temperatures also heightens the sensation.”
When he put the smaller towel down next to her hip, Heatwave turned away to pick up two metal sticks. One came from what looked like an empty jar. The other was lying next to the jar. White cloth wadded up like marshmallows were on the ends of the sticks. He touched the one that hadn’t been in the jar to a candle, sitting on a table a few feet behind him.
As he stepped back to the table, he had both sticks in one hand, crossed like an X between his fingers. When he passed the unlit one over the woman’s bare back, Les saw a faint trail of moisture, just enough to make her skin glisten. The lit one ignited the substance. Les drew in a breath at the leap of the blue flame, which the man allowed to burn a couple seconds before smothering it with the damp hand towel he’d picked back up.
“That’s a fire wand he’s using,” Brick told her. “This is called fleshing.”
“Was that alcohol he put on her?” She kept her voice low. A handful of people stood with them, watching.
“Good nose, doc. 70% isopropyl alcohol is one of the most common fuel types for this kind of play, so you’ll smell a lot of it in this area. But Heatwave probably has his own mix.”
Heatwave fell into a rhythm, one wand passing over her flesh, the other igniting the alcohol. Then the second wand caught fire and he was drumming both along her buttocks, thighs and back, up to her shoulder blades and back down again. The woman started to lift to his touch, feeling the heat, her arousal intensifying. Sometimes she made a little noise and shuddered, as if she’d felt the burn more acutely before he extinguished it with the towel.
“Skin can be more sensitive to the heat in some places versus others. Like most kinds of play.”
Les nodded. She had her hand on Brick’s side. Whenever the woman reacted more strongly, or her hips and body flexed, seeking a coital rhythm with the flame, her fingers tightened on him, held, stroked, tightened again.
Brick was kneading her nape with his strong grip, bringing her closer, pressed against his hip. “A lot of fire tops play with the solution as they get more experienced, using higher percentages for a hotter, longer burn, mixing it, or using other fuel types, like butane bubbles or cheap hair mousse. The cheaper mousse is more flammable.”
At her inquisitive look, he nodded toward another station. “They’re using some over there.”
When they reached that space, she saw another woman lying on a table. The fire top here was a short woman with caramel skin, woolly gray hair and dark eyes. She wore a close-fitting black tank that revealed a left arm pitted with old burn scarring.
“Imelda was in a house fire as a kid,” Brick explained at Les’s startled expression.
She couldn’t imagine why someone who’d been through that would want to do this, same as her curiosity about Brick’s interest. Holding that question for now, she gestured toward the damp towel Imelda’s fire bottom was lying upon.
“That’s a precaution,” Brick explained. “If the fire gets out of control, the fire top can wrap the bottom up in it, fast.”
“What about the blanket beneath the other woman?”
“It’s cotton. Synthetic fibers are far more flammable, though anything can burn. Just different flash points. Some people like to use the fire blankets, but they’re scratchy.”
“Which do you use?”
“I started with the fire blanket, but over time I grew comfortable enough to use the cotton.” He trailed a finger over her upper arm. “I like to take care of my sub’s skin. Sometimes after I do fireplay, I rub vitamin E oil on it.”
She imagined Brick rubbing the soothing oil into her back, over her buttocks…the slide of his hands over her skin. Her grip on his shirt tightened, though she brought her attention back to the scene in front of her.
This submissive was also naked, her pubic mound shaved bare. Imelda laid another towel over the top part of her face and her long blonde hair, in a thick braided tail draped over the table’s edge.
The bottom’s lips parted, and she shifted in aroused response. She liked being blindfolded, or she liked the towel the fire top had used. It had a pair of handcuffs and the words My Mistress loves me embroidered on it. Les thought it might have been a gift from this submissive.
Imelda applied the mousse around her bottom’s nipples, did a loop over her navel and drew a line down to her mound. She added two elegant swirls over the hip bones and connected the design at either side of the navel area, forming a loop. The foam was an inch high. She picked up a long-necked lighter.
“Is my baby hot?” Imelda asked.
The submissive nodded. “I want to be even hotter for you, Mistress.” Her voice had a breathless rasp.
“Good.” The Domme touched flame to the mousse at the nipple, and the hair care product ignited, bringing the pattern to light. Rather than flashing, it reminded Les of a translucent blue ocean wave, following the line of the mousse around the full track, dancing over her pale skin. The submissive’s hand tightened on the table edge, clutching the blanket as Imelda’s fascinated yet watchful expression followed what the fire did to her, how it moved. The submissive made little gasps as the fuel burned, Les assumed because she felt the heat build.
“More…please…”
Imelda flicked the lighter to restart the flame’s path along the trail of mousse. Each time it completed the circuit and died back, she’d re-light it to start the process again.
“It’s burning the alcohol in it,” Brick murmured to her. “Once the alcohol is used up, the mousse will stop burning.”
Watching the graceful movements Imelda had used to apply the mousse, and the other Dom had employed when fleshing, Les recognized the art to it. And not just for this. Whether the medium was wax, whips, rope, or role play, an undeniable creative passion was part of what was happening in the building. It could be playful and sexy, or so intense those involved barely seemed aware of their surroundings.
