Carnie Carnality

“Step right up, lay-dees and gennlemen… every fantasy come true! Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry… why hello there little lady.”

He was suave and handsome and had calculating eyes.  The garish sign behind his booth at the entrance of the tent said “$20.00 for the show of your life!”

She hated carnivals. Yet somehow her friends had convinced her to come with them. Their cries of “it’ll be fun,” and “c’mon–don’t be a spoil-sport” had driven her to acquiesce. Having boys for friends was sometimes fun, and sometimes a pain. She’d seen countless drag racing shows, blood n guts movies, and now this. To punish them for being such jerk-offs, she’d decided to wear her tightest and shortest shorts, and her new halter top. Tied and the neck and mid-back, plunging low in front, all three buddies had stood there, gap-mouthed. She never dressed girlie when they were hanging, always in jeans and tees. They knew she had tits, they’d joked about it often enough, that she was the only ‘guy friend’ they knew with jugs, but now they had empirical proof.

She’d stood, hip-shot, and wolf whistled at them, which had devolved into mock wrestling, jostling, and one sly titty squeeze as they melee’d in the hallway.

Where exactly the three guys had gone off to was a mystery, and here she was standing here, being oogled by a carnie with hungry wolf eyes.

His voice dropped low, speaking only to her.

“For you, sweet cheeks, $10 bucks….but only coz  you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.”

With a reluctant sigh, she passed him the ten, trying to ignore his attempt to peer into her cleavage as she passed. Guys were pigs.

Inside the dimly lit tent, were rows of folding chairs in a circle around a stage. A tired-looking “showgirl” stood just inside the door, passing out masks. She was also wearing one, with pretty feathers around the forehead and temples.

“Put it on dear, it helps with the show.” The one she was handed was just plain black, however.

There were maybe twenty or so people already seated, and she figured she’d sit in the back, at first.

“Nah, they’re trying to get people to sit down front, hun,” said a masked man, who was obviously an usher. He pushed her towards the front. She plodded down there, feeling very put out with her friends.

The dim lights went out, blinked on brightly, making the small crowd moan, then burst into a colorful dazzing show, whirling around the room like a kaleidoscope gone mad. Music thrummed through speakers, drowning out all other sounds. It was tribal, heavy on the drums. She felt the pulse, pulse, pulse of it through the seat of her chair, like a vibe set on low. It made her very tight shorts dig against her pussy as she shifted in her seat. Twisting only pushed the thick seam up against her clit, and she almost moaned aloud at the sudden shocking arousal she felt.  ‘Guess who needs some vibe ‘n porn time,’ she thought to herself, shifting again.


The voice was over amplified, and made her want to clap her hands over her ears.


With a rousing cymbal crash, the lights went dark, then bright, then off.

She sat blinking behind the mask. OMFG, really? She was upset that she’d paid $10 for this rot.

Another cymbal crash and a rush of air and a single beam of light on center stage – and there he stood. Clad in black, from top hat to shined shoes, and clad in a long, floor sweeping cape, the ringmaster glared around the room.

There was a magnetism about the theatrics, or about him. She stared up at him. It felt, when he spoke, like he was talking to her.

“You have fantasies. I know it. You know it. Fantasies are powerful things. Bringing them to life takes enormous power so I need you all to BELIEVE!” His voice rose slowly from  a near-whisper to a roaring crescendo. His finger stabbed out, pointing at the crowd.

“You. And YOU…and” his voice dropped, a sinuous thread of darkness “you.”

This time he was pointing at her.

“Come. Come here, girl.”

She didn’t want to. She was too embarrassed to demur. Oh fuck. Standing slowly, she was assisted, firmly, to the steps on the back of the stage. Before going up, her mask was exchanged for one of feathers. Well, at least she’d get something out of this.

She was led to stand before him. He cupped her chin, staring into her eyes. Every move theatrical, he slid his hand away, stalking around the stage.

“Yes. I can make this happen. Even this. Go. You must be prepared.”

She had no fucking idea what he meant, but in seconds the male usher had moved to ‘guide’ her back down the stairs. She was ushered into a tiny room, told to strip and put on the spangly bra and panties that were laid out. And heels. She hated heels.

“Really?” But she was talking to no one. The guy was gone.

“Hurryitup” He hissed against the door, and she jumped back. Not gone, just standing guard. Fuck. Why she was going along with this was a mystery. Something in the eyes of the Ringmaster, maybe. In moments she had peeled off her shorts, and slipped on the bikini bottoms. A perfect fit, actually. In moments, the spangly top was on, and she admired the winking of the gold sequins as she moved. She looked mah-velous! The shoes, also gold, almost defeated her, and it took the usher coming in to help get them on her. She leaned heavily on him, having never worn stiletto’s so high before. Pausing before the steps, she took a deep breath, and clutched his arm.

“Bend yer fuckin’ knees,” he whispered at her, and it seemed to help.

“look like a fuckin’ penguin if you don’t,” he said as he released her to walk across the stage on her own.

In her absence, a table of sorts had appeared. It was long and narrow and about waist-high, with straps hanging down each side. She only had a second to see it, because he  stepped in front of her, once more cupping her chin and staring into her eyes. She blinked. His fingers gripped harder.

“Yes! We shall make it So!”  Pushing something on the side of her mask, the eye holes were suddenly shuttered. She opened her mouth to yell, but in moments something was pushed into her mouth, behind her teeth. She felt buckles tightening behind her head, and when she would have struggled, felt her hands held in a vice-like grip. She was tugged forward, and felt the table bump her hips. In moments she felt straps wrapping around her wrists, around her thighs. Her legs were kicked apart, pulled apart, held apart, her head hung down, her wrists tied and secured.

She could not stand. She could not move. She couldn’t even close her legs.


A hand reached between her thighs, and unsnapped the crotch of the panties. She hadn’t known that was there! Fuck!

As if the word conjured it, a cock pressed against her pussy, parted her lips, entered her tunnel. He fucked her hard, each thrust making her grunt with the force.

The table never moved. There were sighs and moans from below. She felt like the stage was turning, and perhaps it was, giving everyone a chance to see her being fucked. There was a grunt, fingers digging into her hips as he emptied his balls into her, the feeling of his shrinking cock pulling out.

Thank god it was finally ov-

Another cock filled her. This one was slender, but long, banging her cervix with every thrust. He was a grunter, every press into her accompanied by a small “uungh”, until he too came in her.

As soon as he was done, another cock filled her. This one was heavy, thick, stretching her. She was moaning, groaning. The other two hadn’t — but this one…

She wondered why she’d not fought. Led like a lamb to slaughter. This was one of her most powerful erotic fantasies. Maybe the Ringmaster had read her mind. She’d told no one about these rape fantasies. Good girls didn’t.

She came, squirting her sex-juice all over the fat cock that was reaming her. He was violent, hurting her in ways that made her all liquid inside. It hurt, and it felt so fucking good. Like she’d always imagined it would.

She didn’t know how many cocks, how much cum. Her ass was never touched, except for an occasional enthusiastic swat by one of the many who fucked her.

“And now the end, your deepest nightmare, your most cherished fantasy.”

She shook her head. She knew this one. No this wasn’t ever to come true, see the light of day. . .

She was released from the table, the gag quickly changed to a large open ring. A thick, heavy plug was inserted into her ass, making her shriek through the open donut of her mouth. A rope tied around one ankle, around her torso, and she was bent sideways, standing on one leg, arms behind her back.

A hand fisted in her hair, tugging her forward, impaling her open mouth on a thick cock, while another stepped between her splayed legs and entered her pussy. She came, and again. One long orgasm, from the pressure in her ass, the gagging cock rubbing her throat raw, the plunging cock in her aching pussy.

The music swelled to a loud series of drumrolls as both cocks filled her with their sticky offerings. She was untied, her gag removed, wrapped in something. It smelled like the Ringmaster, and was likely his cape. Blindfolded, she was carried off stage to the mellifluous tones of his voice, and brought back to the tiny changing room.

“I get a turn now,” said the usher, ripping off her mask, and pressing her over the chair that held her clothing. He pulled the plug out of her ass, making her yelp.

“Any more yelling and I’ll drag you down to visit the clowns. You don’t want the clowns to fuck you…trust me.”

Shaking her head violently, she bit her lips as he fucked her ass slow and deep. At long last he came, spurting into her butt.

“Get dressed and go out the back way. I’ll wait to show you. Don’t want the clowns to see you.” He chuckled evilly to himself as he tucked his cock into his pants and heading out the door.

Despite her shaking, it only took moments to rip off the sparkly outfit and don her own clothing. She felt cum leaking from her, soaking the crotch of her shorts.

Opening the door, eyes downcast, she let the usher lead her out the back of the tent, and out into the bright day.

“Go round there, make a right and a left, and you’ll be in the midway. And girlie? Thanks for the fuck. Nice ass.”

She shuddered, feeling the ooze slicking her bum as she walked quickly away.

Her friends were shooting hoops at bottles, a hopeless game of chance, yet they managed to pool their winnings and get her a stuffed bunny.

“So, where were you? ” They asked as they headed towards cotton candy.

“Just catching a show,” she said, somewhat evasively.

“Us too! And we got to help!” There was male laughter and hooting.


“yeah, we got to help some babe live out a fantasy.”

Part 3 Keeping a Slut (She Belongs to You)

spend time with your new pet, as you would with any new creature fully under your control. Give treats when she is good, be swift to punish, and issue praise when new habits are learned. Make certain to mark her as yours in case she ever gets lost.

The cuff around her wrist no longer chaffed. He’d loosened it enough for there to be play around her tender skin, and he had even wrapped a soft bandage around it to keep it unmarred.  After some time, He began allowing the cuff to come off, until the only time she wore it was when He came to put her to bed. With no windows in her room, time was unmeasurable; only the comings and goings of her Sir kept her from going mad. Oh, in the beginning she’d railed and yelled, fought, kicked.

All to no avail.

She wasn’t going anywhere until and unless He allowed it. Gradually He had turned on a low light for her, and occasionally let her read articles He had printed for her. He didn’t want her to be clueless about the world, and they often had discussions about what was going on “out there.”  She remembered, almost all the time now, to not issue Him directives, to sit shoulders back and tits thrust out so that he could admire her body. She kept her hair groomed, and showered with Him when He pulled her into the small bathroom.

He fucked her many, many times.

He beat her, sometimes before, sometimes afterwards. She began to forget the faces of her friends. She had no family, her parents were long ago deceased, no siblings, no aunts nor uncles. She was connected to Him.

The sound of the key in the lock filled her mind. He was coming! Each time the door opened it was like a glimpse of joy.

“Slut, present yourself.”

Rising quickly from the bed, she knelt on the small pink rug. Hands on the small of her back, chin up, shoulders back, tits pressed out and upward as best she was able.


Her eyes flew open in shock. Sir had brought another man here? The sharp snap of the crop on her upper thigh made her slam her lids down. She wondered what that meant. Her heart thudded in her chest.

Hands touched her breasts, pinched her nipples, slid over her shoulders.

“Position three,” Sir spoke softly, and quickly she pressed her forehead to the rug, lifting her ass. Hands touched and smoothed down her lower back, across the rounded mounds of her ass, over her thighs.

“Doable.” The new voice was rough, like an iron bolt turning reluctantly.

“And both are ‘doable’ today?”

“Sure. Where you wanna start? Ass?”

There was a sound of movement, something clinking, opening.

“Need an outlet to plug this inta,” came the mystery voice.

“Remain still, slut.”

“yes Sir,” she spoke softly, but loud enough to be heard, face to the carpet as she was.

There was a loud buzz, and a sudden sharp pain on her ass.


Part 2 Keeping a Slut (she IS yours)

take time at the start to train her well. she will learn quickly, which is the goal, so that more time can be spent in more enjoyable pursuits. Then again, training can be an enjoyable experience…for You….

“Hello?” she called softly, then louder. She tugged at the chain, had a flash of terror, tugged hard.

“Please don’t do that, pet.”

It was Sir’s voice. She quieted, though her heart still raced.

“Where am I?”

“Where would you expect to be? With me, of course. And you shall remain with me. You are mine, now, my pet. You’ll need some time to acclimatize to that, but in time you will be happy with this choice.”


There was the sound of fabric shifting. In the gloom, she could vaguely see a shape close to her on the bed.

“You may not question me, my dear slut. You may obey, and you may ask if you may ask me a question. But for now? No. You will remain here, until our orientation is complete.”

“You can’t keep me here…I’m a free woman and..”

Her rising voice was quickly stifled when a pillow was firmly placed over her face. At the same time, she felt a series of hard strokes along her torso from what had to be a cane or crop…it hurt, yet she could barely draw a breath through the pillow. With only one hand, her struggles were minimal, and she yelped through the pillow, trying to tug it away.

The blows kept coming, and though she kicked, rolled and wriggled, she quickly quieted. Once she was quiet, he stopped hitting her. Her body throbbed along each line, and she felt the tug as skin rose in painful welts along breast, side, belly, thigh, ass…

“Good girl.” His gloved hand stroked her cheek, smoothing the matted hair away.

“You Bastard,” she growled low.

He hit her tit, 5 sharp, hard, aching blows.

She whimpered, shrieked a little when the last one caught across her nipple.

“Respect me. You are angry and I appreciate that. But you will respect me in all you say, and eventually, in all you do.” Rest now. Your body will hurt, and I will return later with some drink for you.

“Don’t..don’t leave me here…” She gasped as another series of blows struck the same tit.

“slut.” He sighed, his voice sounding sad. “You know better than that.  You may not issue orders to your owner. The faster you learn, the sooner you will earn privileges. For both our sakes, I hope that happens sooner rather than later.”

She heard his feet move across the floor, the sound of a door opening, although there was no change in the light of the room. The door shut, locked, and she heard feet moving away.

He had left her in the dark.

Turning her head into the pillow, she wept.