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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: clown.txt (M/F+, drugs, nc)
Authors name: Macfar (chrysler@premaonline.com)
Story title : Clowning Around
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
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Clowning Around (MF, drugs, nc)
by Macfar (chrysler@premaonline.com)
***
Being a clown is a noble profession, I'm sure, but for
me it was simply a way of earning the extra money I
needed to finally graduate from college.
Normally a rather bashful person, I learned several
years previously that dressing in ridiculous clothes
and painting your face provided a humiliation-free
barrier. Almost anything a clown does is accepted as
part of the routine.
My first gigs were just what you might imagine, kid's
birthday parties and the like. Then one day I got a call
from a woman who wanted me come to a surprise party for
a friend taking the final plunge into marriage. She
wanted me at the stroke of midnight and when I declined
(it wasn't my type of clowning), she offered to double
the fee.
When you're an aspiring college student, money talks. So
I agreed to meet her outside her home at 11:45 the
following Saturday night.
Before I go any farther with this story I have to tell
you something about myself. I am not a social person, but
I study people. My chosen career, if I make it through
college, is to be in the field of abnormal psychology. A
psychologist has a license to get intimate with people's
thoughts without having to be intimate with the people
themselves. That's me in a nutshell, don't get involved.
But to make matters worse, I have always been very
uncomfortable around women. I'm not gay, but I just don't
like all the mind games it takes to woo and impress a
woman just for the sake of having sex with her. Sex in
its purest form can be purchased or even imagined. But
that's fodder for another story. Anyway, that's enough
about me, let's get back to the story.
At precisely 11:45 I was standing in the caller's
driveway adorned in my usual clown suit, fluffy orange
hair, huge bulbous shoes, baggy pants with pockets deep
enough to store the links of silk scarves and the
multitude of balloons for the usual animal "art". The
music blared and every light in the house was on. I just
hoped I could perform and get out of there before the
police arrived in response to the neighbors.
By the time the witching hour arrived I was pissed, but
instead of just going back to the dorms and counting up
to bad luck, I decided to go to the door and demand
payment for my time. There was no response to my knocks.
I knocked harder and louder. Still no response.
With the music blaring, it was easy to understand why I
wasn't heard. Then it occurred to me, I didn't hear any
voices. No squeals or giggles or laughter that should be
part of such a wild celebration.
I pushed the large wooden door open and stepped in. The
music hit me like a physical force, coming from a large
living room just beyond the foyer. But as I stepped into
the room, the deafening music ceased to be my concern.
There in the center of the floor were no less than 15
women forming a loose circle around a large ottoman, on
which was draped a smallish woman, lying on her back with
her head, arms and legs splayed and hanging loosely over
the edge of the cushions.
The women all appeared to be asleep, or unconscious or
even comatose. My eyes took in the entire scene as my
mind raced. A variety of spent booze bottles lay around
the floor and to the edge of the poorly formed circle sat
a bong, like you might to see in a police museum of
impounded drug paraphernalia.
Outside the circle, toward what must have been the
kitchen, stood a tall podium-type piece of furniture with
a flat glass-covered top. On the glass were neatly rowed
lines of what I assumed to be coke. The fear factor
reached a peak. If the cops came right now, I would get
busted just like the rest of them. I had to stop the
noise.
It wasn't hard to find the music and I shut the power
off. The silence was audible and my ears continued to
feel the thumping of the base. Instinctively I went to
the closest woman and checked for a pulse. It would have
been just my luck to stumble into a mass suicide or some
other weird shit. But her heart rate was normal, if not a
little fast, and she was breathing easily. I checked the
next woman, then the next. I didn't see the need to make
the full circle.
What had happened was obvious. These women were all drunk
and drugged and lay around in a circle of what must have
been some party activity when they all finally succumbed,
each trying to outdo the other. I guessed the one in the
middle to be the guest of honor.
Then a smile came to my face as I noticed this had been a
typical pre-nuptial party. Each of the passed out women
was dressed in costume. There was a ballerina, a belly
dancer, and a hobo. One was in a man's three-piece suit,
another in a space suit. One had hair dyed black on one
side and white on the other like that character in the
movies with the Dalmatians.
I laughed as I made the rounds. The girl in the middle
was dressed like Shirley Temple, with a long skirt
covering a multitude of petticoats. I ignored the twinge
in my loins when I noticed how young she looked dressed
up like a little girl. My first thought was to find a
phone and call the police. That would teach them for
stiffing me.
A phone lay on a table near the stereo, but before I
could make the call, I noticed some of the gifts that had
passed to the soon-to-be bride that evening. Cards with
money, occasional small appliances, the usual lingerie
and what I hoped was a joke, a huge rubber double-headed
dildo. Its overall length must have been 20 inches and it
was as big around as one of the beer bottles that strewn
the floor.
I picked it up and was laughing out loud when the idea
struck me. Could this really be happening? Dare I take
any liberties with these helpless past out women? They
did owe me after all.
I lay the dildo down and walked back to the circle. If it
was to be, I knew that my target would ultimately be
Shirley, but I still walked the perimeter. Miss Belly
Dancer was a striking black-haired beauty. She lay on
right her side with her knees pulled up and her left arm
under her head.
There was no question that the satin top covered the real
thing and that the large breasts were not part of the
costume. I pulled both knees up until she lay on her
back, then let her legs fall apart. Although the bikini
bottoms were veiled as part of the getup, her position
allowed for a great beaver shot.
I resisted the desire to pull the leg of the panties
aside and get a good look at her pussy. All in good time,
I thought. The ballerina's last conscious position had
been sitting cross-legged, but now she slumped forward. I
grabbed her by the ponytail and lifted her head, then let
her fall over backwards. With my foot I pushed her legs
out straight and spread them. I stood between her legs
and gawked at her flimsy one-piece out fit.
From a kneeling position I grabbed her ankles and spread
her wide at the hips, keeping her legs straight. I
wondered if, perhaps, she wasn't actually a dancer, since
there was no resistance to the point of a full splits
position. She wore no tights and the material of the
costume cut her tight in the crotch. The narrow band of
material didn't fully cover her pussy and in the absence
of panties the dark pubic hair was visible on her outer
lips. I grasped the material at about her belly button
and pulled upward. The material sliced her cunt and made
a perfect camel toe.
The crotch was a snap-away and in a single motion I
ripped the snaps apart to reveal a near perfect pussy,
recovering its natural shape once freed from the fabric.
Very nice, indeed.
I continued the circle spreading legs and lifting skirts,
not bothering with any of the women who wore costumes too
difficult to remove easily. One tiny red head wore a
Winnie the Pooh outfit. It was one piece with attached
bear paws. As she lay flat on her back, the mound of her
pussy rose above her flat stomach and I placed my hand on
her mound. I gripped her pussy hard, digging my middle
finger toward her hole. She must have worn panties
because I could not penetrate her.
I wondered if her cunt hair was as red as the hair on her
head. I grabbed the light pajama-like material at the
seam of the crotch and ripped it open. Beneath I found
full brief silk panties snuggling around a large and
well-formed pussy. Reaching inside the outer garment, I
pulled the waste band of the panties down over her
feminine hump and stared at the thick auburn pussy hair,
beneath which protruded large lips and a hooded clit.
Farther down I saw a string extending from her pussy
hole. Obviously, this was a bad time of the month. I felt
instant panic when I heard a moan from the other side of
the circle. The three-piece suit rolled to the side and
puked on the white carpet, then lay motionless with her
cheek in the gore.
It dawned on me that this situation couldn't last
forever. Some of them were bound to wake up or a husband
or boyfriend would be here to pick them up. If I were
going to do more, I had to hurry. Subconsciously I turned
to Shirley Temple. While I love skirts and panties and
the occasional beaver shot, I found the petticoats to be
annoying.
Fortunately they were easily removed from her hips and
down her legs without compromising her original splayed
position. As she lay there helpless, she reminded me of a
virgin sacrifice on some pagan altar. Tonight she would
sacrifice herself to me.
Her hair had been done in ringlets that hung in long
blond tresses from her head, which lay almost inverted
over the edge of the ottoman. Her hair collected on the
floor and was the most beautiful blond color I have ever
seen. While blond is not my favorite, this hair was
gorgeous. Even her frail eyebrows showed that same pretty
tint.
I started by gently unbuttoning her ruffled blouse and
exposing a one-piece sports bra. I didn't really want to
move her, but I did want her completely nude before me. I
went to the kitchen and pulled drawers until found a
sharp carving knife.
When I returned I systematically began cutting her
clothes off. I cut up the arms to the neckline of her
blouse then in one quick motion I cut the bra between her
breasts and watched it spring to the sides. She lay nude
from the waste up on the tatters of her costume. Her
breasts seemed small because of her arched position but
the nipples were hard and pronounced. The skirt buttoned
and zipped on the side and was no trouble removing.
There she lay with nothing but a pair of light purple
bikini panties. There was no camel toe, only a smooth
tight fit of semi-transparent material. I put the tip of
the knife in the leg hole and up to the waste band.
I cut in a slow continual motion, the material pulling
apart under the tension and finally snapping aside. I
repeated the motion on the other side until all that
covered her pussy was a loose piece of material that
reminded me of an unattached loincloth.
My first thought when I removed the last remnant, was
that she had a shaved pussy. However, on closer
examination I was amazed to find her pussy was completely
covered in a super fine downy coat. The hair was almost
invisible but was quite abundant. It wasn't long, but
rather, thick like kitten fur, and so soft I could barely
feel it on the tips of my fingers. I rubbed softly up and
down her mound, then moved my fingers lower on her pussy.
Her legs were not spread far apart, about 2 feet at the
knees. In that position there were no pussy lips or clit
visible, only a deep crevice in the skin formed by her
large outer lips. As I spread her legs, small pink inner
lips appeared topped by a tiny knob of a clit. I recalled
the large lips of the red head and thought hold much fun
it would be to line all the women up in a row, with their
naked pussies exposed to compare their sexual anatomy.
Instead I concentrated on Shirley with the furry pussy.
Once spread and exposed I rubbed her clit and lips with
my fingers. While her clit and lips were tiny, her spread
position caused her hole to gape slightly and only
darkness shown beyond the entrance. I pushed one finger
in and was surprised at lack of resistance. I really
expected that a pussy that looked this good would feel
even better.
I'm not saying it was bad. On the contrary, it was
marvelous. It just didn't quite suck at my finger like I
expected. Two fingers were not a problem, but three
without lubrication became more difficult. With one hand
I spread her lips, while the other rammed three fingers
in hard, only to withdraw and ram again.
I needed something to grease her up with so I could fuck
her with one hand and jack off with the other. My hard
on, still hidden in the baggy clown pants, was ready for
some action. Perhaps there was lotion in one of their
purses, or the bathroom.
Then I remembered the gift table. Surely there would be
some lotions or bath oils there. Sure enough, one of the
gifts had been lavender scented massage oils. How timely!
I stopped abruptly only a few steps from the table,
turned and smiled as I picked up the huge dildo.
Aside from an occasional groan, there were no
interruptions, no ringing phones, no conscious women.
Still I was nervous to do my deed and leave. The thought
occurred to me that Shirley might wake up when I fucked
her with the gigantic dildo.
As a precaution I used my clown scarves to securely tie
her left wrist to her left ankle and the same on the
right. Then I blew up a small round balloon and stuffed
it in her mouth, holding it in place with yet another
scarf. She was a sight to behold, all trussed up and
waiting for my perversions.
I poured a very liberal amount of the sweet smelling oil
on her pussy, allowing it to run in all directions. Some
ran down and puddled in her belly button, but the
majority flowed down the crack of her pussy to her ass. I
smeared and rubbed until all of her exposed body, between
mid-thigh and breasts, was a glimmering mass of flesh.
The three fingers went back in easily as I released my
hard cock from the baggy pants. Stoke for stroke I fucked
her hard with my hand and jacked my cock to near orgasm.
I worked a fourth finger into the action and my thumb
would crash into her tiny clit with every forward stroke.
Even though I had limbered her to accept four fingers, I
was still unsure if the dildo would fit. I poured more
oil, both on her pussy and on the realistic rubber cock.
I forced the head of the monster dick into her pussy and
the skin pulled tight around the shaft. It was hard to
insert beyond a few inches and my grip was poor on the
oiled cock.
However, a good clown is never without an abundance of
"magic" scarves. Wrapping one around the exposed end of
the dildo, I forced it farther into her hot pussy. The
sight was exhilarating. The rubber dong stretched her
pussy at least 2 1/2 in diameter and I thought the
tissues around her cunt might tear at any time.
Then her body jerked and her head came up. The look in
her eyes was a mixture of pain and panic. The knife lay
on the floor where I had dropped it earlier and I calmly
picked it up.
The only words of the evening were, "Lay still or I'll
cut you bad."
Her eyes shut and her head fell back down. She must have
lost consciousness again for there was no more movement.
I didn't fear being identified, I was still in disguise,
orange hair, big nose and all. I must have been a bad
dream to Shirley.
I returned my attention to fucking her hard with the
dildo and jacking my own engorged prick. Not only had she
taken the thickness of the fake cock, she had taken well
over half the length. I took a step to reposition myself
and almost fell on a beer bottle. I cussed briefly, then
got another idea.
I slowly pulled the big cock from her stretched pussy. As
the slightly larger head pulled from her hole, it made a
sloppy sucking noise like a plunger on a stopped-up sink.
Before her pussy could shrink back into shape I rammed
the empty beer bottle, bottom first, all the way into her
cunt, until the shoulder of the bottle disappeared and
only the neck was visible. The sight was too much for me
and my cum exploded out the end of my cock.
My body quivered with the hardest orgasm I had ever
experienced and my seed shot to the carpet in large
globs. Finished and satisfied, I retrieved all of my
scarves and cleaned the carpet as best I could. Shirley
still lay unconscious with a beer bottle peeking from her
stretched cunt.
I retraced all my footsteps that night and left no sign
of my presence. Before I left I called the police and
reported a domestic disturbance, knowing that with all
the drugs and booze to contend with, there wasn't much
chance that I could ever be traced. And how would Bo Peep
describe me? As some clown who fucked her with a bottle
and her own dildo?
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 21