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.”

13 thoughts on “Carnie Carnality”

    1. 🙂

      This was how I tried to work my way out of a verrah bad mood (didn’t work…but i got a good story out of it!)

      nilla, still moody.

      1. Hi Tip.

        oh i need a spanking SO badly. Hate when blizzards interrupt my scheduled play times. Two more weeks.


    1. Thanks Dee…

      it was a bit dark…and a lot nasty. Which makes it really good isn’t it?

      If you go to the carnie will you enter the tent alone?



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