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Third Place “Pure Filth” Competition.
Baby Blue

Baby Blue

She'll call herself Baby Blue when they're desperate for a name to moan. Stole it from a billboard ad along highway 70. Thinks it was the name for a zoo's newborn seal; bit like that song... Baby Beluga? Blue Jean Baby? Can't say for sure. Doesn't really matter. All that does is the power it seems to hold over men, especially those graying at the temples. They'll whisper it with beer breath, hand on her thigh. Baby Blue. Desperate for the tight gash they no longer get at home.  

It’s not really a name she chose herself. If she had, she’d have chosen something that didn't sound like so much jailbait. That rolled off the tongue: like Delaney or Melanie. Trouble is, she looks too much like a Baby Blue now to be anything else. Names have to fit. And she couldn’t wear either of those names anymore than she could slip on the one she'd thrown away back at her too quiet, too pristine neighborhood. 

And yet, she's feeling nostalgic as fuck right now for that trashed name, though not the life it's attached to. But she's also blazed as fuck right now, unsure if her mind's just spiraling on daydreaming clouds of nonsense. 

The pungent tang of weed fills her lungs. She lets slide a lazy, quirky grin. The music burns in her, royal blue kicks pounding out the erratic rhythms of the punk rock boy band pulsing from giant, thundering speakers. The blood roars in her ears and sweat slick bodies shimmer and glide against her, pressing in on all sides. As she pulls from the arms of a sultry brunette that tastes of blueberries, she head-bangs to the return of heavy guitar riffs while something hard presses against the gauzy material of her dampening skirt. She smiles. Shakes raven hair streaked with electric blue and grinds back on mystery cock. The heat from his body spills into her, warms her, makes her mouth water.

She doesn't want to give in yet. But the need is already on her tongue, between her legs. A little taste wouldn’t matter. Call it an appetizer.

When the song ends, she leaves him tucked into a corner, ballcap pulled low, like he’s sleeping off the greatest of highs.

She’s in the Salt Pewter’s extravagant tour bus after the show, their newest groupie, a diminutive devil with a metallic blue soprano and a head full of twisting dreams, hitching away from vanilla livin' with the sorts of people that know shit all about Coltrane, or Lockjaw, or silky smooth Parker. Just sugary pop that burn holes in heads.

She dances for them in all the ways her fiancée would disapprove of: fedora tilted Sinatra style over punk-rocker hair while mocha cream limbs sway to music only she can hear from Rollins to Redman and back down to Adderley.

As she moves with ballet grace and stripper’s eroticism, they leer drunkely, sharing perverse wants over cans of Four Loko and freshly rolled joints. Wants that make her cold flesh burn hot.

Her eyes open, casual observations spinning and spooling in her head. Zigzagging lines of black tribal ink slope over broad shoulders. Intricate sleeves of color are splashed over muscular arms. Spiked blonde hair. Shaved heads. Small gauges glittering in their ears. All desperate attempts to be dangerous. Edgy. They aren't. But she is. 

Blue smiles to herself.

There’s black hunger in her bones that can’t be quenched, a layer cake of debauchery and greed, desires that can’t be quantified, that were all stifled by expectation and demand until… glass broke and Baby Blue emerged.

Crass aughter dies in their throats when she begins to peel off her clothes: flimsy white button-up goes first, sliding off shoulders to reveal hardened nipples. She pirouettes, the shirt fluttering to the floor as her knees bend into a mock bow. When she looks up, she knows she has them in the palm of her hand. Their red-tinged eyes are glazed from spiked alcohol and reefer. She feels herself dampen, soaking through barely there panties.

The black voice inside her sings as she moves toward the keyboardist. Zane? Maybe? She doesn’t really care for anyone’s name but her own.

His left arm is a maze of colorful ink, the only one without a skull. She likes that. He licks his lips as she pushes him back into the seat before mounting his lap, skirt riding high on toned thighs. What was he? Seventeen? Eighteen? High school dropout? Maybe he’d opted for music over college, like she had. Music can do that to you.

Her fingers thread into his short spiked locks and she leans down, tongue flicking out to trace his chin, bruise over his lips before retreating. He groans, sweat on brow, eyes twitching, cock growing hard in ripped up skinny jeans. 

She moves in slow circles till he’s whimpering. His friends laugh, tell her he’s a virgin. He gives them the finger. She takes his hands and places them on her butt as she continues to grind. Tells him to call her his Baby Blue, all while her mouth presses to his and his tongue fumbles awkwardly past her blue painted lips. The black voice purrs in satisfaction. Then she’s off, slipping from his lap and his grasp, but placing the fedora on his head with a wink.

Blue passes from lap to lap, a cruel teasing smile playing across butterfly lips as she kisses each of them in turn, rubbing her dripping, panty glad snatch over their jeans. Then it’s the keyboardist again, all boyish good looks and virginal nerves. He gasps when she tugs his pants down, face scarlet as her cool hand envelopes him.

“Don’t shoot too fast,” the dark skinned drummer cackles.

She gives him the finger this time and lowers her head, taking Zane’s hot prick into her mouth.

Three bobs and a snake-like hissing of tongue is all it takes before he’s painting her mouth with his seed. She coos, suckling him like a watermelon Popsicle, drawing every last drop out before pulling back to flash the thick heavy cream. A devilish grin splits her face as the black voice hums. Sticky, lipstick blue lips press to his and he squirms, trying to pull away. Strong hands hold him in place and she probes until mouth slips open and her cum stained tongue melds with his. Giggles wrack her body when he pulls her to him, sucking down his own juices with surprising intensity.

“Fuck, man. That crazy bitch feeding him his cum? Disgusting,” the nameless drummer whistles.

They say that, Blue thinks, but a momentary glance weaves a different tale: jealous lust burns in their vulture eyes.

When Zane’s passion fizzles, she dismounts and turns back around. Clothes are strewn all over the bus and the remaining band members recline naked in their seats, skin flushed, eyes hungry, fists wrapped around beautifully cut cock. The scene sparks another wave of dark lust in her, arousal leaking down her legs.

“Roll me a joint,” she says, settling on her knees between the lead vocalist’s legs. Doesn’t know his name either. Still doesn’t care.

Someone hands her a joint and she tucks it between her blue lips, inhaling deeply, savoring the taste and the warm buzz after effects.

At least they knew enough not to skimp on quality grass, she thinks.

Smirking, she puffs a smoke ring over the singer’s fat spongy head before passing it along. 

“Fuck that’s the good stuff, isn’t it, baby doll,” he slurs. “Yea, Baby Blue. That too,” he sighs, cock twitching as she licks her way up the lean muscle of his inner thigh before capturing him in her superheated mouth. His groan is high-pitched and girlish and now it’s Zane’s turn to laugh. When fingers thread into her hair, she slaps them away and chuckles leak from everyone’s mouths.

She moves from throbbing erection to throbbing erection, inhaling a small cloud of delicious black gold before teasing them with nibbles and sucks and lazy strokes. By the time the joint crumbles to ash, the sweet scent of her arousal hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the flavors of her mint shampoo and clean sweat.

Blue mounts the drummer first, relishing the tones of mocha and dark chocolate merging. If only their sex mirrored those flavors, she thinks idly.

The drummer reaches behind her with deft fingers to unhook her school girl skirt. She catches his wrist. Tells him to leave it on. He nods lazily, but she has a surprise. Her balled up thong, wet and sticky, presses against his nose.

“Open up,” she commands.

Reluctantly, he accepts her gift and she rises up, slots him against her messy sex and drops with a harmonized, guttural grunt. A breathless gasp and hummed praises, a scream when his fat head prods her womb, length and girth forming just the right combination to quake her lithe frame.

Time stops. Restarts. Stops again. Over and over like a buggy video.

They pass her round like a toy and she lets them – one cock after the next sampling her velvety snatch, stirring her sweet smelling juices into a sloshing, foaming mess. She imagines herself as a frosted pastry. Wishes their cum was whipped cum. Wishes she had a clone of herself. If there was, she’d be desperate to feast on her own messy cunt.

“Take it all, Baby Blue,” they say, harmonizing the words into lyrical chorus.


She winds up on her knees on the floor of the bus, her perfect bubble butt slapping against the abs of the skinny bassist pumping her from behind and pausing just long enough for keyboardist to slide down her throat until she’s deliciously skewered at both ends.

The ones left out complain, stroking themselves as they lean back into leather couches, entranced by Baby Blue’s hedonistic ritual. Her fingers prod her engorged clit and her pussy spasms. The contractions are too much for the skinny bassist and he cries out, pulls out, and shoots a hot rope of cum up her still cool back. The prick in her mouth jumps next and she does her best to swallow, semen bubbling at the corners of her mouth. When they pull away, she collapses on her side, panting.

Excited grunts ring out and she’s pushed onto her back. Her chest is straddled, smooth balls slapping down between the valley of her breasts. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re like ice. What the hell?” he grunts. She shrugs, drags his ass forward, and wraps her wet lips around him.

Hands push her knees apart and a baldhead wriggles between her thighs, nose tickling her blue furred mound, tongue knifing through her wet folds until they bloom open.

“Fuck,” she sighs contentedly, savoring the warm talented tongue tracing musical notes around her pussy. He teases treble cleffs over her hardened clit, carves bass cleffs down near her ass, then plunges deep inside her sopping wet gash.

All she can do is lay there, the oral onslaught sending thunderbolts throughout her body. Her fingers squeeze the ass planted atop her breasts and she sucks harder, lets control begin to slip. Blue sucks up the musician’s heat like a sugared drug. It warms her, fuels her. His body temperature drops, her rises, and she eases off until it’s only a trickle.

A few more licks and her mouth floods salty warm again. His body shudders and he pops from her mouth before he’s done, spunk spurting across her lips and cheek. He crawls off and collapses next to her.

“Kiss me,” she demands.

Tentatively, the spent youth works his way back to her. Mouths meld again, sharing the warm slimy mess.

“Holy shit, Blue,” a voice grunts as the wriggling bald head between her legs is replaced with hard cock that rabbit fucks her with blinding intensity.

He doesn’t last long. A minute. Maybe two. Then he’s uncorking into her sloppy snatch, a hot stream that seems to last longer than his fuck. He pulls off and sweet, awkward Zane settles between her legs. He stares at her dripping hole, cock twitching as he debates the logic of entering her sodden, stained gash.

She opens her arms, a playful grin on her lips. “Don’t you want me?” she teases.

Delirious, he nods.

“Come here then. Fill your Baby Blue back up.”

Zane crawls on hands and knees, pendulous erection swaying hypnotically until he’s hovering above her. She pulls him down to her mouth, crushing his tan, scarred chest to her breasts, cock slipping and sliding across her slick sex. Sweat beads on his forehead and his face flushes crimson while he struggles to bury himself in her slippery folds. Frustrated, she grasps his arms, slowing him, cooing into his ear. The muscles in his pelvis twitch when she takes him in hand, pad of her thumb drawing circles over his throbbing, leaking crown. She gets him notched just inside her slick walls and lets him finish the job.

“Push,” she commands.

He lunges forward and bottoms out immediately, the combination of her juices and the bassist’s cum providing oily lubrication. What he lacks in size, he makes up for with eagerness and the one special trick he’s blessed with – a cock curving up like a sickle, pressing hard against her g-spot with each thrust.

“Hah, little Z a fan of sloppy seconds,” the drummer laughs. “Always figured the little fucker was fucked in the head.”

“Don’t tease him, Bennyboy,” the bassist laughs. “Let the virgin have his fun. Besides, this bitch is smokin’. Well all know who you wet your dick with the first time. Little run down senorita with a coke addiction. You lasted what, five seconds?”

“Fuck you, Johnny.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Blue whispers in Zane’s ear. “You’re doing great.” Her hips rise up and their groins meet with wet slaps.

He doesn’t respond, so she strokes the hair at his neck, tells him to own her, fuck her like his good little slut, his Baby Blue.

A small orgasm rips through her when teeth nibble at her nipples.

“Good things can come in small packages,” she giggles, snatch rioting and clenching tightly.

His bandmates cackle madly. 

With Zane nuzzling her neck, she chances a look at the rest of them, sizing them up. The one’s who’d been recovering are nursing newly sprouted erections, eyes locked on her curvy hips.

“Fuck this,” the vocalist grunts. What was his name? Blaze? It was something ridiculous like that. “May as well be watching a porno. I need some action.”

“Turn her over, Z.”

Zane mutters out a fuck you, so she has to take charge, hooking her ankles around his legs and rolling them over. She pushes a finger to his lips when he tries to protest.

“Shhh. Not going anywhere,” she teases, hips rolling, grinding down hard on his cock.

“About damn time,” Blaze says, walking around, prick swinging hypnotically. She grins, reaches up, and takes him all the way into her throat. He sighs, strokes her head, heaps filthy praise on her. 

Her body twitches when large hands massage her ass, squeezing her cheeks together, causing her inner muscles to contract sharply.

Zane grunts.

“Ever take it up the ass, Baby Blue?” Benny the drummer asks. “You crave it, don’t ya? This ass was made to fuck.”

She hadn’t and she did. That’s why she was here. It was why she was Baby Blue. It was why a fiancée of thirteen hours was sitting at home, working, expecting she’d be home in the morning. Ready to settle down. Give up music. Push out a few kids. But the ice-cold… thing that had crept atop her in the middle of the night, melted through her pours, took refuge in her blood, told her what she’d always wanted and had always denied. Gave her both power and addiction, a desperate need for heat.

So she wiggles her ass atop Zane, giving Benny all the answer he should ever need. He produces a bottle of lube from thin air and smears his it all over his cock. She shivers when a cold wet finger probes her anus, tracking the crinkled flesh before plunging inside. The black voice sings louder. She pulls off the cock in her mouth and mouths a keening whine.

“Buey!” Johnny interrupts. “Wait, dude.”

“For what, Johnny?” Benny says, the head of his cock prodding her tabooed hole.

A plastic baggy full of pills dangles from his hand.

“Bummed these off the organizer. Said it’s high quality Molly. Should get this bitch high as a kite and keep our dicks energized for hours.”

She’s already higher than hot air balloons though. The weed and the alcohol pumping through her, working in concert, make her body thrum. But the poisonous black voice inside her demands greater and greater highs.

Baby Blue holds out a hand and Johnny drops a white pill in her hand. She rolls it between her fingers, staring up at him. She swallows it with a swig of whiskey and the band laughs. Johnny switches to Spanish as he watches, muttering about something about taking this piruja gang-style. A seedy laugh spills from her lips. She answers in Spanish, surprising him.


Pills are dolled out like skittles, and even perpetually nervous Zane, who needs only one more look at Baby Blue under the teasing of Benny and Blaze, swallows one down.

They form a little circle around her, teasing and tantalizing with feather light strokes, waiting for the pills to take effect. It doesn’t take long. Minutes. The room spins and her body is lightning, hot and crackling with energy. Her fingers stroke and pinch swollen clit and sensitized nipples.

Someone lifts her off the ground and she grasps onto the hard, knotted biceps. It’s Benny, with the chiseled frame and the horse cock jutting up from his groin. Her legs wrap around him and they kiss, slowly, passionately, the drugs burning in her tummy, sending waves of pleasure coursing up her chest and lancing into her brain. She feeds off him as well, stealing little drops of heat, just enough so he won’t notice. The effect is another orgasm wracking her body, arms squeezing around Benny’s back. He chuckles, rubs the small of her back in circles.

“Ready to get stuffed, Baby Blue?” he whispers in her ear.

She moans pitifully and he lowers her back down until she’s straddling Johnny’s washboard abs. Hands planted on either side of his head, she grinds her crotch over his stomach, coating him in a thin film of honeyed juice. Hands massage her curves, teeth nip hard at her nipples and he serenades her in Spanish, words that leave her mocha skin flushed a dark rosy pink. He grabs her hips and pushes her back until his erection prods the crack of her ass, seeking entrance to her steaming pussy. A giggling moan sounds when he presses in, hips lifting to bury himself in to the hilt.

“You like that Spanish cock, arana?” He gives her a vicious thrust that has his balls slapping her bubble butt.

She babbles incoherently, the power of the drugs taking full effect, turning her to twitchy, orgasmic jelly that cares for little else in the world right now besides the jolts of pulsing electricity in her flaming hot cunt.

A squirt of liquid splatters against her crinkled star and she moans when a thick digit runs down the cleft of her ass, pushing into her virgin hole. Her heart skips beats as the digit loosens her, twisting in slow circles.

“Ready to become a little anal slut?” Benny asks, leaning over her sweaty back to nibble at her ear. Her response is drowned out as Johnny slows his thrusts, pulling her into a hungry kiss.

Another digit wedges into her dirty hole as Benny continues prepping her. “You like it, don’t you? Tell me, Baby Blue. Who you want popping that anal cherry?”

When she doesn’t answer, his fingers stop, and Johnny’s thrusts slow to a crawl.

“Tell him, arana,” Johnny implores. “Who do you want inside this perky ass first?”

“Fuck,” she moans, wigging her body on his prick, trying to speed the fuck back up. Strong hands, however, hold her firmly in place.

“Tell me,” Benny repeats.

“Doesn’t… matter.”

“Good enough.” Benny’s body shifts back and he slaps his shaft against her cheeks, drumming out a lascivious beat.

Cock notched into place, he pushes. Or rather, he tries to. His fat mushroom head stalls at her tight knot.

“Fuck, Baby Blue. Relax,” he grunts, trying again with little success.

“Monster cock not paying off huh, bastard?” Zane cackles.

“Fuck you, Z,” Benny grunts, cock sliding up her slippery crevice. “She’s gotta have the tightest fucking package on the planet.” He spanks her lush mocha globes, grinning as it jiggles. “Come on, baby, open up for me,” Benny pleads. The drugs coursing through his cock have him at an uncomfortable diamond hardness, desperate for release in the confines of her dusky hole.

“I’ll warm little Blue up for you,” Zane laughs madly, dropping to his knees next to Benny, the drugs finally replacing the thin awkward keyboardist with someone darker, more brazen, and deliciously confident.

“Whatever, needle dick,” Benny mumbles, crawling back around and pushing his thick prick against her mouth. She leans up on all fours, blowing his gorgeous purple head like a grape flavored tootsie pop.

Crouched behind her, Zane bends low and nips her butt. “Mine,” he says before spreading her cheeks and worming his tongue past her dusky star. The warm wet sensation surprises her, has her chocking around cock, squeezing around Johnny.

“Shit, Z,” Blaze laughs. “She’s turned you into one twisted little shithead.”

Zane only shrugs, never letting up his assault, bringing a fresh wave of foreign pleasure Blue has never experienced before in life.

Blue’s fiancée was mostly vanilla incarnate in bed. Had her use mouthwash after blowjobs before kissing him. Only reluctantly and halfheartedly licked her cunt. And anal would always be off the table. Giving. Receiving. By tongue or by cock. Bzzt. Survey says no, sweet Baby Blue.

So she put up with her girlfriend’s tales of hot wild sex. How most men were all too willing and all too desperate to sink their pricks in their tabooed holes. They dreamed about it. Craved it. Everyone except her high school sweetheart, who ended up far too sweet for her tastes, like a spoon full’a sugar.

And now the thing inside her is unlocking doors, unlocking power, and unlocking debauched freedoms.

“Watch where the fuck your tongue is going, pendejo!” Johnny shouts when Zane’s tongue strays to close to his pumping shaft.

“Calm down, Johnny,” Blaze laughs again. “At least your dick is buried in that buttery little pussy of hers. I gotta settle for a goddamn peep show.”

“Fucking disgusting though, Blaze.”

“Yea. Yea. Suck it up, bitch.”

Zane doesn’t seem to care though. The only response is the noisy wet smacks of tongue on ass. The drugs, tearing through his system, shatter all inhibitions until the only focus is raw, corrupt pleasure.

She feels his talented tongue slip out and lick once more before leaving, replaced by the spongy head of his dick. Much smaller by both girth and length, he pushes in with little resistance, grunting as he bottoms out in her dark heat.

“Fuck,” Johnny moans. “She’s tightening up like a goddamn vice. “

Blue’s eyes crack open to look at the youth below her; his eyes are screwed shut and sweat beads on his upper lip. She can’t help herself this time. The pleasure inside her is volcanic. Her snatch is drooling out hot sticky syrup over Johnny’s belly.

The kiss is hellfire and pixie dust. She bites his tongue. Draws blood. Sucks the metallic liquid into her mouth and rolls it around. The thing swirling inside her hums its thanks and grants her more control.

Blue finally lets go, and their heat flows into her, from throbbing pricks to squelching cunt and slutty ass, up her belly, before coursing around her heart, pumping at three times fast, a pace that should kill her, not fuel her.

“Can you feel it, bastardo,” she moans into Johnny’s ear. “Little Z’s dick pushing inside my ass. I love the feel of your nasty pricks rubbing against that thin wall, straining against each other. You like it, don’t you? Feeling his smaller cock rubbing against your.”

He grunts, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

“It’ll be our little secret,” she whispers, her sultry tongue plunging into his ear. “Baby Blue is your obedient little toy. I’ll be anything you want for tonight. Do anything you want. Wang my finger up your ass?”

Johnny mutters incoherently in Spanish, slaved to her, to the thing inside her.

“Fuck this,” Blaze mutters, pushing Benny out of the way to grab her head and sink his warm dick past her lips until it bumps the back of her throat.

For ten precious seconds, her body freezes.

Then she loses it.

Her body spasms and orgasmic seizures thunder throughout her pliant body. She’s a hurricane of motion and Zane, and Blaze, and Johnny hold on desperately, plugging her corrupt holes, trying to stave off their own orgasms for as long as possible.

Blaze loses himself in the roiling storm first, spurting down her throat with a heavy gasp before stumbling back and falling to his ass, cock geysering straight up like a ruptured fire hydrant. Meanwhile, Johnny and Zane keep at it, flinging her slim body back and forth between them, playing her body like an instrument, creating decadent music, as if they were back on stage performing.

She fantasizes for a fleeting moment, what that would be like. To fuck on stage, merging the oldest performance art with her love of music. She’d turn dive-bars into havens of unquenchable lust and immorality. Wrangle the world back into reliance on animalistic instinct and want.

Baby Blue,

Queen of Sax and

Queen of Sex,

Imbibing on surging cock

and sweet gushing cunt.

She liked the sound of that. Immorality only exists because we dine to decide what was good and what was wrong, what was immoral. What if those concepts were finally allowed to die? And the world just… enjoyed itself. Completely.

That kind of dream has her howling and the thing inside her swirling erratically. And the wet squelch of her lubed ass and dripping cunt forms the song that solidifies herself as Baby Blue. Now. Always.

She feels Zane twitch, pull out, and spunk her stretched hole, bathing it in pearled cum before pressing back inside; the chemical cocktail boiling inside him gives him a superhuman boost of endurance. He ruts inside her freshly creamed ass for a few lazy minutes with long slow strokes before pulling away and falling onto his butt, sucking in big gulps of oxygen, his cock still standing impossibly stiff and proud as semen leaks down his shaft.

“Finally,” Benny grunts, moving in to replace him. “Gonna fuck this sweet ass of yours now, Baby Blue. Gonna fuck it real good.” He takes hold of her hips with large meaty hands, the python between his legs traveling up through her stained crevice. His fingers press painfully into her sides as he tightens his abs and thrusts, meeting with a split second of resistance before spearing through her slick ring of muscle. A roar of triumph sounds from his lips and he wrecks her insides, his thick member sliding through the natural lubrication Zane left behind.

“Who likes sloppy seconds now, Bennyboy?” Zane gasps, still fighting for breath. “Fucking bastard.”

Berry isn’t listening though. He bores into Baby Blue’s tight ass like a bull in a china ship, headless of her clipped cries of pleasure-laced pain. He paws at her like a bear, hands moving roughly over her nubile body, pinching and pulling. He spanks her ass, leaving giant red handprints.

“Fuck, little Blue. Your ass was made for me, wasn’t it?” Spank. “It’s clenching like crazy. Clinging real snug-like.” Spank. “Love that stretch, dontcha?” Spank. “Gonna mold this slutty hole to my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” Spank.

Benny bounces her ass off his cock and her cunt onto Johnny’s, taking charge of the brutal, frenetic song.

Drool leaks from Blue’s mouth and her eyes slide up onto her brain as Zane takes over the hole Blaze vacated, sticking his turgid prick into her warm mouth, holding her head in place as she hungrily tastes the mixture of flavors staining his shaft.

Colors explode and dance beneath her eyelids, the chemicals burning inside her, peaking, the slithering creature inside her ready to suck all the heat pulsing inside the bus. Her mind fragments and she hovers out of body, looking down at the scene inside the hazy tour bus. It’s filthy, degrading, and undeniably intoxicating. She watches her body shudder between the tattooed teens, a delicious sandwich of dark chocolate, warm mocha, and creamy vanilla. Veins pop in the necks of Benny and Johnny. Zane clenches his jaw. Blaze hovers, a bottle of Jack swinging in one hand, a freshly lit bong in the other. Desperate for a taste, she crooks a finger and sucks down some Zoom.

Baby Blue becomes Queen Blue.

She pulls back into her body just as the storm reaches its crescendo, thundering an earth-shattering clap of electric energy.

Benny roars, his abs slapping into her ass, racing to the finish line. Johnny’s arms circle her soaked back, pulling her off Z’s prick, squeezing her to him, cock expanding.

The volcano erupts. World warps. Glassy-eyed, she tilts up, demands forming on her filthy tongue. Demands not needed to be vocalized. Z just smirks, knowing what she wants. His jacks his reddened prick furiously till abs contract, balls jolt up, and his cock head splits, painting her with lines of white-hot goodness.

Johnny doesn’t last much longer. She presses her cum stained face to his, moaning. He shudders and floods her sloppy snatch with a cannon blast of white lava that fills her to overflowing, fluid leaking out and splashing his groin like a broken pipe.

Benny clings on desperately, courageously even, given the tabooed heat of her quivering dark tunnel. It’s a valiant effort, but meaningless. With superhuman talent and control, she ripples her kegels and pulls his spunk and his radiating heat from his prick. The world spins and she dumps another load of honey over Johnny’s flagging member.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck,” Benny chants with scratchy sharp gasps of air. He tries to keep moving inside her, unwilling to pull from her scalding heat. He feels cold. Numb. Wrung dry. A fucking raisin in the sun and not at all for the reasons his boy Langston Hughes wrote about. She’s a fucking bonfire. Goddamn solar flare. And pulling out meant arctic ice.

But Baby Blue squeezes around him again and he can’t take any more stimulation. He struggles out of her stretched ass and slumps back, watching the river of semen bubble out.

Hands pull her from Johnny’s limp body, lifting her. She clutches weakly at corded muscle and a smooth shaved head.

“I got no problem being last, Blue,” Blaze whispers in her ear. “These cum slick holes mean zero friction, dollface. I can fuck for hours like that, Baby.”

She nods, hopes his name means he has more heat in him that the one’s lying numb and unresponsive on the floor of the bus.

Her cheek presses into cool leather and she has no concept of time or space as Blaze treats her like a slutty rag doll. She’s only aware of sounds and smells, her nose wrinkling at the pungent aroma of sex and sweet smelling bong. She surrenders herself to his erratic thrusts, moaning at the sounds and sensations of his rigid prick forcing out the syrupy collection of his band-mate’s spunk.

He has her lick his ass while he lazily pumps his erection, eyes rolling hard as he milks the bong like tits.

She enjoys this, the power her tongue has over him, the heat she’s siphoning slowly from him with each hissing wriggle. She especially enjoys the glint in his eye when she pumps a honey slick finger past his own dusky ring of muscle.

He sings her praises with newly minted verse. The kind of debased lyricism you wouldn’t even hear whispered in shadowed strip clubs or beneath red lights and neon glowing skin.

He finishes with a hoarse cry of release, pulling from her sore cunt to detonate against her crinkled, stretched star. The heat is reality warping. Mind altering. It floods into her with a deluge of cum and a burst of nuclear energy, the best kind of enthalpy thrumming deep inside her chaotic hole.

She lets him push inside to spit out every last bit of heat he has. She coils her inner muscles around him like a boa, then orders him to dine on her own reddened ring. He slurps the bubbling remnants of his orgasm from her like a starved puppy until, finally, he seizes up, and collapses.

She drags them out naked one at a time, inhuman strength coursing through her muscles. Dumps them in the grass of the abandoned venue. Smiles up at the waning crescent moon. Heat steams off her smooth mocha limbs as she goes to work.

Baby Blue.

She signs her name with a cobalt shade of lipstick to each of their cold backsides, giving each one an appreciate squeeze for a job well done. Whoever finds them, will think them dead. Bodies still and icy as if rigor mortis had set upon them for hours.

Yet, that wasn’t quite accurate. They were very much alive, from a certain perspective. She wasn’t a monster. The thing inside didn’t consider itself that either. It was simply… living. Uninhibited.

They’d never feel true warmth again though. It’d be like living in a freezer the rest of their lives. She was their only relief. They’d have to seek out her heat, even as she kept stealing it from others. Maybe she’d start with her old fiancée of… what would it be? Almost twenty-four hours?

She’d show him things that'd warp his mind.  


A cherry red pickup stops her on her walk out of the venue. Asks if she needs a ride. Tells her it isn’t safe. She nods agreement. Slides in on the passenger seat, smirking in the dark as his eyes trace her long legs.

He’ll do, she thinks, taking note of his barreled chest and treebranch arms. Looked like a lumberjack, complete with shiny black beard and plaid. She can taste the sweet heat radiating off him like pineapple grilled on cedar planks.  

She takes note of the powerful bulge already straining against his jeans. Her cum-soiled thong dampens with fresh arousal. Benny and Blaze were disappointments. But this... this was a man

She pictures herself on hands and knees on their bed, giggling as Mr. Lumberjack violates her greedy snatch in front of her fiancée. Squirming. Penis rising. Desperate for her. Begging to taste her asshole. Horrified and impossibly aroused at her devolution into wanton slut. Willing to slurp the stranger's scalding cum from her pussy before feeding it to her.  

“What’s your name,” the stranger asks with rich hazel baritone. He’s staring at the shaved portion of her punk rock hairdo.

She smiles. Notices the bright gold ring on his finger. Licks her lips. Thinks they might need to make a detour first.

“Baby Blue,” she says, stretching out tender limbs, savoring the feel of the Salt Pewter’s semen still swimming in her belly. “Call me, Baby Blue.”

She props her royal blue kicks on the dash and lets herself dream.






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