K's Costume Ch. 01

1. An Effed-Up Dream

K had friggin' Miley Cyrus in her head, of all damn things. Couldn't shake it off. That stupid Wrecking Ball song. Actually not the song itself so much as the trashy sleazy silly video she made that everybody freaked out over—well, for five minutes, anyhow. And God, that nonsense was like at least a year old already, wasn't it? Or two? The world had moved on, or should have, and forgotten all about it. But at the moment it was stuck in K's brain, super bad. An endless loop.

Thing is, let's try to be fair ... it wasn't exactly a terrible song. It worked like pop songs are supposed to. Way it was performed and put together, it pushed the buttons they're supposed to push. And the damn video, too. Sure, it was a trashy stunt, more than anything else. On that level, it had certainly accomplished its principal goals, stirring up trivial "controversy" and an accompanying sales boost. All these young wholesome Disney stars charge to the opposite extreme, soon as they get old enough. They can't resist it, one right after the other. Disney's bs fundamentally programs them for it. Pents these adolescents up until they can't stand it anymore and they explode out of harness. The whole system's meant to manufacture good healthy role models, or it pretends to, and in the end, over and over, they spit out exactly the reverse. It's pretty damn twisted. Worst of all, behind the scenes, you know a bunch of evil sons of bitches are making ginormous shitwads of money off it, both sides of the process. Building them up and then cutting them loose to tear themselves down. And the whole time, each of these chicks are thinking their proving something. Making some necessary statement about personal freedom of expression and so on.

A vast ugly exploitative con, from start to finish. That's what it really boils down to.

The central image of the song and, more explicitly, in the video, was actually a pretty strong metaphor. The bitch was on to something there. Yeah, ok, it was a goofy image—the naked teenage pop star riding a wrecking ball like a tire swing, or a rodeo bull—but that didn't take away the fact that it was compelling and that there was real heat in it, as well as a significant tangible degree of genuine emotional and even dare-one-say spiritual truth. 'Cause yeah, love/lust is like that. Love/lust really feels that way. A giddy goofy dangerous ride, just like the video illustrates and symbolizes. You really feel exposed like that, clinging to this huge heavy powerful force that's carrying you along in dizzy swoops and circles through the air, smashing the whole world apart around you, and it's equally awesome and scary at the same time. You feel powerful and powerless. You feel proud and arrogant, and you feel embarrassed and anxious. You're both a goddess and a slave, in the exact same moment, through the whole experience. A living contradiction. That's love and lust—especially when those two separate feelings get tangled together and you can't tell the difference between them.

Miley hadn't come up with that shit herself, no way. Some other fucker must have, like the video director or whoever wrote the song for her. Now maybe that was wrong—maybe K was just being bitchy, thinking this way. But K wouldn't bet any money on that, not a dime or a nickel. The idea, at the root of it, was simply too good. K couldn't seriously believe anyone like Miley friggin' Cyrus would come up with that shit all by herself. Sorry but no.

Night before, she had a dream with that video in it—or rather, with herself in the video. It hadn't been an exact replication, but the overall gist had been there. The key bits.

First she'd been in an amusement park with a bunch of friends, which was more or less a true memory from high school she'd been reliving, and then it all turned into a crazy video game, which if she remembered right, they had started out playing in the amusement park, in an arcade—that part wasn't something she or her friends had done or would ever really do in real life, they weren't video-game type people, but there was one time she took a younger cousin to another amusement park for his birthday and that was all the stupid dorky fat retard wanted to do the entire time, and to hell with the rest of the rides, so that memory must been where the game-playing came from—and then of course pretty soon it changed again so she was actually in the game all the sudden, not just controlling it and watching it happen but living the thing. The video game world and the amusement park had blended together ... A huge sprawling scary castle with rollercoasters jumbled through it. Or actually, it was more like the castle had been made of the rollercoasters.

She hadn't been riding on the coasters. The trains or whatever you were supposed to call them were evil and full of monsters and chasing her, trying to run her down. It got pretty terrifying. She had been swinging around through the whole mess on big chains. Which then eventually turned into wrecking balls. So there you go.

After that, for a spell, she wasn't swinging around trying to dodge and escape the evil trains anymore, jumping like Tarzan from chain to chain, but trying to steer her swings to hit the cars and kill them as they zoomed by, and to knock over the rest of the mountainous castle-tracks caging her in while she was at it. She turned into the aggressor. For a while this was real good fun. Then it changed and it got scary again. As most of the castle tracks were destroyed, and dust clouds were rising up all over the place, a bunch of big fires started, and then there was lava all the sudden beneath her. The dust became smoke.

And then, for a bonus, she realized she was naked. Didn't even have on work boots like Miley got to keep. And it was mortifying. She nearly wet herself. Maybe if she had, she would have woke herself up.

K had to constantly kick her feet up to prevent her bare toes from touching the lava—the surface had rose too high, too close. Harder she kicked, the more it made the wrecking ball swing, which made the chain grind against her bare body and her crotch. Real hard, and scorching hot. The surrounding flames had heated up the metal. Then the steaming, glowing chain, and the ball she was sitting on, both started vibrating too. And they were rusty and started crumbling as they shook, flaking away more and more in her hands and between her thighs, shrinking and weakening. The chain was obviously going to break any second, or the ball would shatter, whichever came first. Any second she knew she was going to get dropped into the lava ...

She was absolutely terrified. Screaming for help and knowing it wasn't gonna do any good, nobody was gonna show up to save her.

Tried standing up on the ball and climbing the chain before it gave out. Extremely tough and scary. Her feet kept slipping. The ball had shrunk too much and its surface had got too flaky, and her feet were too sweaty. And then soon as she finally managed to make a tiny bit of progress, the whole damn thing dropped off the end of the chain! Second she got her feet planted properly and straightened herself up. Wham! Happened so sudden and startling she couldn't even scream when it fell away.

She didn't fall with it—kept hold of the semi-molten chain with her arms and with her legs too. It burned her, but not as bad as a semi-molten chain really would have in real life. And after that she found she wasn't strong enough to pull herself any higher, and the chain was still vibrating more and more and continuing to flake and thin out and stretch and crumble. Making squeals and screeches and scratchy chattering sounds. While inevitably the buzzing narrow coiled red-hot length of it was mashed between her clenched thighs directly against her pussy and her clit ...

Harder she clung to the chain, the deeper it was forced into her cleft. She had kept jerking up against it and then slipping right back down. Mashing her parts on the chain like she was humping it—like she was doing it deliberately. But she wasn't! It was just she couldn't do anything else. Had to keep trying to climb-the only chance to escape and save herself. Couldn't help how it felt—that was just a side effect. Sheer friction. Out of her control.

It had made her weep, though, and it made her moan. It felt exactly like fucking someone, or getting fucked. It shouldn't have—but it did. She dangled there naked and fucked the chain and the chain fucked her, and she wept and moaned and got closer and closer to a humiliating unstoppable orgasm.

And now all the monsters from those evil roller coaster trains earlier, they reappeared all around her, hundreds of them. The smoke had cleared to reveal a stadium surrounding her, with monsters in every seat. Grinning at her and panting and masturbating as they watched her. Huge hairy hands stroking huge green and purple monster cocks. Hundreds of them all pointing at her from every side, like dragon heads, like cannons. Every single one getting ready to spurt at her, closer and closer. She knew it would happen as soon as the chain made her orgasm. That would bring on all of theirs. All together.

She felt so dirty and ashamed and desperate and eager for it.

Didn't happen. She hadn't come. Woke up before she could. Always happened to her, when she had a sex dream. Not that it happened very often. Whenever one did, once in the proverbial blue moon, she always woke up before it finished. A weird mix of relief and frustation.

Would have to attend to the matter by hand, before she could go back to sleep.

She had tried to come up with a different scenario, as she went to work—something more palatable, something less wacko. Hadn't succeeded. The other nasty images wouldn't surrender and dissipate until she gave in to them. More than a little disturbing. Your own brain shouldn't be able to do shit like that to you, subconsciously or otherwise. It shouldn't want to. But sometimes it does, God knows why. Doesn't make sense, but it happens.

Sometimes crazy wacko shit like that is the only shit that'll get us off, when we need to get off. Everything else stops working 'til the wacko shit has had its way and run its course and wrung you out and exhausted your system.

Couldn't get the job done with just her fingers, like normally. Ended up having to fish the vibrator out of her nightstand drawer. She hardly ever used the thing—always afraid her roommates would hear the noise. And as good as it felt when you first used it, toys like that tended to overstimulate and tire out her parts pretty quick. She had another dildo that was less aggressive. That night, though, the buzzing power-tool was a necessity, whether her roommates heard it or not. Under her blankets and with a pillow too, over her middle, for extra pressure as well as muffling, she clenched it lengthwise along the outside of her passage, in imitation of the chain in her dream.

Bingo. She hadn't needed to move it or push it inside, after she switched it on. Just let it lay there and do its thing. Driving her out of her mind.

The buzz wasn't too audible under the pile she'd made. She'd yelled, though, at the very end, when the climax exploded down there. Just for a second but real loud. It was one of those times where you just had to. Or her head would have burst.

Nobody ever said anything to her about it, thank heavens, but she knew she woke at least one of her roommates up, 'cause she'd heard footsteps pattering in the hallway and the toilet flush in the bathroom, a few minutes later. Pretty damn mortifying.