This is not an original story, however I'm unsure of whom I should attribute it to. "The Clowning Touch" Ever since I was a little girl, clowns have always scared me. Now I know why.
I work for the Edmondson's as their live-in helper. A week ago, Mrs. Edmondson's daughter was about to celebrate her seventh birthday. The food had been prepared, and the so-called enter- tainment had been arranged. The clown was due at noon. I intended to sequester myself into my room until he left. At 11:45, however, Mrs. Edmondson knocked on my door. Her daughter had been taken ill, and she had been forced to call off the party. Unfortunately, the scheduled clown was already en route and could not be reached. While she was at the doc- tor's office, I would have to pay the clown and send him on his way. Fifteen minutes later, I heard a honk. Not of a car, but of a clown's horn. The entertainer had arrived in full makeup. Through the door's peephole, his red nose seemed bigger than his face, and his wig shot wild wisps of orange in every direc- tion. I took a deep breath before opening the door. "Hey there, hi there, ho there! It's Captain Dingle, boys and girls!" he sang. His crazy rant was met with silence. He furr- owed his brow at the obvious lack of screaming children. "I'm sorry, sir. The party's been canceled." I explained the rea- son and gave him his money. He seemed dazed and walked in- to the living-roomsofa, accidentally honking his horn when he sat. "That's the fourth time this month ol' Cap'n Dingle's been canceled," he said sadly. "A clown starts to get a complex, you know." "I'm sure it's not you, sir," I consoled, sitting beside him. "I'm sure you're a good clown." He place his hand on my cheek and smiled wanly. "Thanks." He pulled a dozen pink roses form under his billowing sleave and handed them to me. I smiled like a schoolgirl; this kind of vulnerability was unseen in the strict Edmondson house. Then I smelled the flowers and kissed his cheek, leaving red lipstick upon his white greasepaint.
He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me warmly; I felt I'd known this clown all of my life. He ran a hand along my pine, pulling me closer into his chest. My right breast brushed against one of the red pom-poms that dotted the exterior of his garment.
I pulled away and stared into his glowing eyes. "Come with me," I whispered and led him into my room, the sound of oversized shoes flopping against the hardwood floor.
My room was dark and surprisingly cool for a June afternoon. Sunlight filtered gently through the blinds, casting oblong sha- dows across my single bed. We talked, kissed, and talked some more. My heart raced. I hadn't made love to a man in three years, and the last time had been my first, when I was 18. I was more mature now and felt better prepared to please a man.
The kissing intensified. I traced the exterior of his painted, red lips with my tongue. The cotton cloth of his gloved hand reach- ed inside my black-and-white maid's uniform. I unzipped the back and let the outfit drop off my shoulders. He closed his eyes and smiled, dropped his gloves to the floor and rubbed perspir- ing palms into my tiny breasts. He lowered his head and ran his tongue along the nipple, grabbing the flesh nugget with his teeth and biting me lightly along my areola. A tingle ran down my spine to the top of my bottom.
I grabbed his orange wig and began to pull it off his head. He suddenly baked away and returned the wig to its original posi- tion.
"Please don't," he frowned.
"I'm sorry," I forced out, feeling self conscious.
He put his finger to my lips. "Do you trust me?" he asked , his fake eyebrows arching oddly in the shards of sunlight.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Will you let Dingle perform?" he asked, now a little more agg- ressively.
"Yes," I said, trembling.
He pinned my arms to the bed, pulled off his big, red nose and shoved it into my mouth. He flipped my body over, unfastened his giant clown belt and bound my hands behind my back. I craned my neck and saw a beaming smile on his face as he pulled inch after inch of pastel stockings form his left sleeve. He tied my ankles to the bedposts. I was spread-eageld and sil- ent, thrilled, and only a little frightened.
He opened my butt cheeks with both hands. A trickle of saliva fell into my little hole, which flinched and throbbed when he slid his tongue inside. The movement of his mouth against my arse forced a dribble of moisture to escape from my vagina. He stopped the flow with a well placed thumb. He continued slid- ing his Little Jack Horner digit in and out of my pussy, still sucking my anus like a chocolate Lifesaver.
My nipples scraped against the wooly fabric of the bedspread, and his thick thumb probed deeper into my vagina.
I was near orgasm when he lifted his smeared face and yelled, "It's party time, Jimmy!"
He spritzed my ******* with a water-dispensing plastic flower that hung from his lapel. The crystal geyser flowed inside my parched bumhole. When the squirting water had ceased, a new sensation bumped my pussy -- his penis.
His boner felt disproportionately large, as if the head were bigg- erthan the shaft. He stuffed himself past my outer labia and into the deeper recesses of my womanhood. I wanted to adjust my hips to ease his thrusts, but my legs would not budge. I was at his mercy, and mercilessly he pounded away, stopping only to switch portals of pleasure.
"Ever feel like life gave you a bum deal?" he cackled, and rubbedsome kind of greasy gunk into my backside. One finger and then two squeezed into my butthole, preparing it for the painful pleasure of his nobby ****.
I would've screamed with agonizing delight, had not the rubber nose kept me quiet. He laughed, his orange wig shaking with excitement. The deeper he plunged, the more I liked it, espec- ially when he pulled out of my ass, pushed inside my mommy box and then roughly back inside my backside.
I wiggled both my hands free of his restraining belt and reached downto pull my butt cheeks apart wider, to allow him more free- dom within. When I arched my neck and looked over my shoulder, I was shocked to see a tiny tear sliding down his cheek, making his greasepaint makeup smear even worse.
"Please don't," he sniffled, and turned my face gently away with his hand. He was oddly silent until his pace quickened. My ass- hole was on fire.
He shrieked loudly like a crazed animal. "AWWWW!" His ****'s convulsions stretched my elastic sphincters wide. Warm liquid flooded inside my colon; it felt like I was digesting a hearty meal, only backward. The room smelled of anal sex, and I struggled to catch my breath. My head was spinning throughout his long ej- aculation, and when his creamy flow had subsided, he collapsed against my back.
When he finally pulled out of my butt, my tiny hole burned. I felt something sharp scrape against my sore *******. I craned my neck again and saw the clown inserting a straw into my butt. The deeper the plastic probed, the more sinister his expression became. I finally dislodged his rubber nose from my mouth and said bitterly, "What are you doing?"
He smiled.
"Dingle eats what Dingle buries."
As he sucked on the plastic, his sperm traveled in clumps through the clear straw. He sucked harder, and a gush of wind rushed through my guts as he finished his task, removed the straw and gulped his load down into his belly.
"Magically delicious," he giggled, and wiped his mouth.
After untying my legs, he kissed my forehead and clomped his way to the front door. I didn't talk; I was too disgusted.
My opinion of clowns has definitely worsened.
(reposted from my friend KEVIN)
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Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
