Free The Grand Ballast by J.A. Rock

or get fucked by multiple people at once. Sibyata
had a massive blue dildo she strapped on for the
purpose.
    Tonight would be Bode’s
first performance without the Haze, and he was anxious, convinced
he wouldn’t know what to do. The Haze wreaked havoc on awareness,
but made obedience simple. Under its spell, Bode wouldn’t have been
able to describe his routine to anyone, but he could perform it
easily. Tonight he would just have to count on muscle memory to get
him through.
    At last, the snake charmer
finished, and Mr. Lein pushed Bode toward the entrance to the ring.
Kilroy said something into the microphone about the Grand Ballast’s
star attraction. About beauty and skill. A cheer went up. Mr. Lein
slapped Bode’s ass. “Get on in there.”
    Bode stepped into the ring.
Curled his toes in the fine sawdust and blinked in the harsh
lights. He looked up at the shadowy top of the tent and saw the
dust caught in beams. The trapeze rigging high above. He looked
down at his footprints. At Kilroy’s boots. This crowd’s murmur was
gentle. So different from the roar during the other
acts.
    The music started. The
spectators hushed. Bode looked at his feet.
    It struck him suddenly
that he was in control . If he chose not to slide his toe that first inch—if he
chose to move in a different direction instead, chose to move out
of time with the music, he could change this show. He didn’t have
to be a prisoner to choreography, to Kilroy.
    But precisely on the beat,
he moved his toe. He began a dance that took him spinning and
leaping, kicking up falls of dust. He glided in and out of the
light, trying to move gracefully in spite of the uneven ground. LJ
waited for him in the center of the ring. His mind flickered, and
he wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing—if he was doing some
dance from long ago. A moment later, he saw Kilroy walking toward
him with long, deliberate strides.
    Should he stop
moving?
    He wanted to get away, more
than he wanted to follow the music. It took a moment to convince
his body to cooperate, but once he took the first intentional
misstep, the music’s spell snapped and he staggered away from
Kilroy, nearly falling in the dust.
    Kilroy lunged for him, and
Bode whirled, raced, no beauty and all fear. Kilroy barreled into
him. Knocked him to the ground. The crowd cheered and rumbled.
Stamped in the bleachers . Kilroy whistled for LJ.
    A moment later, LJ was in
Bode’s mouth, jerking and thrusting. LJ lost his hard-on partway
through, and Kilroy made some joke that guarded the edge of his
temper and took over fucking Bode’s mouth. He seemed just about
ready to call the other performers into the ring, when someone in
the audience shouted, “Clock the whore.” Laughter. Something
slapped wetly against Bode then fumped in the dust, and he thought
for a moment he was bleeding; he could feel liquid running down his
side. He lifted his lips from Kilroy’s cock.
    A tomato lay in the ring,
side-bashed and leaking and coated in dust. Bode stared at it.
“Keep going,” Kilroy whispered fiercely, pulling his
hair.
    Bode glanced up at Kilroy.
Kilroy’s face was red, contorted. He held Bode by the neck. Choked
his mouth open and stuck his whole hand in, rummaging around Bode’s
teeth and tongue, pushing back into his throat. Bode
gagged.
    Kilroy pulled his fingers
out as Bode vomited onto the sawdust. Dragged Bode to his feet and
drew the ring stick from his belt. Struck him with it once, twice.
Bode didn’t even feel where the thorns cut. He struggled hard,
ignoring the pain. People applauded at first. But as the struggle
went on, a loud jeer filled the tent. “He’s got a mind of his own
tonight,” Kilroy called to the crowd.
    Someone threw a bag of
popcorn. It hit Bode with a thwack and spilled across the dust.
    Another sharp, wet slap,
and Bode turned to see Kilroy’s face dripping red-green goo. Kilroy
blinked. Swiped the tomato from his eyes and glared at Bode
furiously. The audience’s