This choice: Breaks free and says he wants to try the games. • Go Back... The clown slowly drags Jesse towards the tent, her strength overpowering his body and her presence overpowering his mind. She could have him inside in an instant if she wanted, and they both know it; she's toying with him, and she's loving it.
"I don't know why you're fighting," she says, pulling him close, wrapping her arms around his body just at the precipice of the tent. Her fat arms and taloned hands rub all over his naked skin, her cotton-candy-scented breath lingers against the back of his neck, and her tongue lolls out of her mouth to trace circles around his left ear. Jesse trembles and shudders, and not entirely from fear. The clown lowers her hands to his hips. She slowly, rhythmically grinds against his back and his ass. Her tongue stretches farther and farther, leaving sticky, itchy, sweet-smelling saliva wherever it brushes against him.
She finally speaks again, her voice dripping with sinister menace and control. Jesse knows he's almost completely lost, and for a moment he doesn't care. "But I can understand why you're hesitating," she taunts. "Look at me, I can't decide whether to breed you or feed ..."
"Wait!" Jesse says, lurching forward and away from the clown and the tent at the last minute, before his mind is completely gone. There is no way he was actually strong enough, physically or mentally, to just pull himself free, but for whatever reason the clown lets him go. She smiles--a sinister but genuine smile--as she sees Jesse exert himself against her, even this small amount.
"I'm waiting," she says.
"I ... um ... I made up my mind. I'd like to try the games. Before the ... next show. If that's still okay."
The clown considers Jesse's words. "You're strong. I like that. I think you'll have a good time at the games. Wait, before you go, here, take these." She reaches somewhere behind her and hands Jesse five tiny green strips of paper. "Five tickets to get you started. Win a prize for me--a good prize for me--and then come back for the next show. Have fun!"
With a wave, she disappears into the dark recesses of the tent. Jesse's hands tremble as he tries to get his uncooperative overalls back on. One strap just won't fasten, so it has to hang limp at his side and he has to hope his ass and dick won't be on display if he ever has to bend over.
He sees more clowns now. Dozens of them, going about their business. They are all women, or look like women, or look as close as whatever species these clowns really are can make themselves look like women. They're also all huge--the clown he saw at the tent is actually small compared to some of them. He passes between two huge clown women with nearly identical makeup and hair and costumes, the shorter of whom is almost eight feet tall and must weigh over 1,000 pounds, and shudders as they brush against his body.
The larger one, maybe 8'4 and 1,200 pounds herself, grabs his wrist as he starts to walk away. She pulls him close and sniffs him, not saying a word. He thinks he can hear her purr. She tears Jesse's one good overall strap off and lets the garment fall useless to the ground. He hears wolf-whistles coming from every clown who can see him, and he's aware of just how many are watching now.
The shorter clown of the pair pats her companion on the back, then pats Jesse on the chest and stomach. "Bertha? Triple B? I think this boy's got tickets," she says. The bigger clown (Triple B?) sees the tickets and releases Jesse's wrist. The (relatively) smaller clown sighs with relief and smiles at Jesse. "Sorry about that," she tells him. "My cousin thinks you're cute. And I think she's right. Shame we have somewhere to be, but I think we'll see you around." She reaches towards Jesse's tickets and plucks one out of his hands. "But I'll be taking this now. Let's call it the Bertha toll."
The gigantic clown cousins spin around and continue to wherever they were going, and Jesse is left naked and surrounded by leering clowns.
He clutches his remaining four tickets like they're a life raft as he explores the games section of the Midway. There are games and challenges aplenty, but they all cost tickets, and he doesn't see anywhere where he can buy more ... or have any money on him to buy them with, for that matter. He knows the clown's order to bring her a good prize wasn't just banter, it was a command. Somehow, and he isn't sure how just yet, but his survival is going to depend on bringing her the best prize his tickets or gameplay prowess can buy.
What even are these games? They look like traditional carnie games, but twisted and angled and sinister, just like the other clowns running them. This one over here looks like a cornhole game, but instead of beanbags he'd be throwing realistic--disturbingly realistic--child dolls into an animatronic clown's open-and-shut mouth. Then there's the "fill the balloon with water" game, only it looks like he'd have to straddle the very suggestive water gun and try to inflate a rubber clown. There's also a ring toss that ... looks like any other ring toss, and he doesn't know what to think about that.
There are other attractions, too. Jesse's gotten turned around a few times, but he can swear he's seen three different halls of mirrors and four distinct haunted houses. Then there are the smaller tents and sideshow exhibits with short signs that radiate menace. "Fortunes Told!" isn't that bad, and the "Kissing And More Booth" actually looks fun, but "Escape the Witch!" looks very menacing considering it's just a one-room tent. A blacklight booth called "Guess How You Die" gives him the willies. He is relieved that there's a "Medical" tent, but the clown-nurses staffing it look every bit as predatory as the other clowns he's passed, and they have knives and needles and tourniquets and tubes. He walks right past the "Missing Children" tent. He does not look to see if the pile of bones outside is real or fake.
Finally, there are the contests. There's a tent complex with its own massive neon sign proclaiming "Test Your Strength!" and offering tickets and prizes to whoever can prove themselves. Maybe Jesse can stretch his four tickets into a decent prize here if he's lucky, or maybe even more tickets. Peering into this tent, he sees a strongman-style mallet, a wrestling ring, and what looks like the start of an arm-wrestling tournament. That could be promising.
He also realizes he's close to the "Kissing And More Booth" attraction, and he just now notices a "Help Wanted" sign leaned against the exterior of the building. What could they possibly need help for? And do they pay? And would he be able to maybe finagle some clothes out of them since he'd technically be staff here? Maybe that's worth a shot.
Suddenly Jesse hears a whistle. He turns and looks, and sees the two huge clown women from before--how long before? It couldn't have been ore than ten minutes, surely--walking towards him with great purpose. "Triple B" (maybe that's some play on "Big Bertha?") and her smaller-but-still-huge cousin are approaching him like fat, grease-painted wolves who see a lone sheep.
"Just the boy we wanted to see!" says the smaller gigantic clown. "You look lost, and we'd love to take you and show you around, give you a grand tour, take you to the places you'd never see on your own."
They're right on top of him now.
"Um, actually, I was just about to go in, um ..." Jesse begins. He looks left towards the "Test Your Strength" tent, right towards the "Kissing and More Booth," and hesitates for just a moment too long. Triple B bodily grabs him, squeezes him against her huge belly that is barely contained by her stained and strained leotard, cups her hands under his butt and lifts him just off his feet, giggling.
"No, I think you're coming with us," says the other one, maybe her name is "Double B" or something similar. "You're just lucky nobody else snatched you off the Midway first, they wouldn't have even talked to you first. Come on, cuz, we're gonna have fun with this boy."
As the clown cousins start to carry him away to an uncertain but terrible fate, Jesse finds just enough leverage to slip out of Triple B's grip. He hits the ground and sprints in a random direction. Where does he go?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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