Part III - The Clowns

Part III - The Clowns

I’d known it would be torture. But god, I wasn’t prepared for just how awful it was to be horny with no hope of relief.

I kept the pout on my face as I followed Manson around the party. Walking felt so awkward - between my stinging butt and overwhelming arousal, and still without the comfort of panties, I was in constant fear that someone was going to get a peak under my skirt. I’d just had to wear a short skirt to the party, but of course, I hadn’t planned on losing my underwear and my pride that night. Despite my discomfort, I stuck close to Manson and tried my best to be obedient - at first.

I’d warned him that being a good girl was very, very hard.

I wanted him to feel the same torture I was. How could he stand to wait? It had turned him on to spank me, and I could see that same pleasure on his face every time he gave me an order. But that meant that even more intense than his desire for sex, was his desire to make me suffer, to make me desperate, to keep me denied. That was terrifying.

I did try to be good. But my humiliating tasks kept me wet, and the longer it went on, the more my frustration grew. I began to plot a desperate escape to the bathroom, where I could rub one out quickly and maybe he wouldn’t notice.

It was approaching midnight. Kegs had been brought out, people were getting thrown in the pool and shedding their costumes in the water. Manson and I were easily the most sober people there, not that anyone seemed to care. Manson kept spotting people he knew, stopping for conversations, laughing and joking. He seemed to know everyone - even the people that hadn’t gone to our high school. Not only that, but they all seemed to really like him. People’s faces lit up when they saw him, they spoke faster when they answered him. Seeing their enthusiasm actually made me feel proud. I was the one at his side, I was the one getting drinks for his friends.

But I was also the one squirming with horniness, my ass still red and stinging, as I desperately tried to resist the urge to grind up against Manson’s leg like a dog.

I’d felt proud when I dated Kyle - I’d basked in people’s envy, drinking in their jealousy. Kyle and I had been each other’s status symbols - although we were pretty shitty ones. It was the only thing I really had to hold onto from high school and that...that was pretty lame.

Unlike Manson, who apparently had not only friendships but adoration. I always remembered him as being alone, and maybe he was alone before he’d gotten expelled. But that had changed. A lot had changed.

Someone convinced the drunk DJ to play a creepy, haunting track to set the mood, so instead of upbeat dance music the yard was suddenly filled with the slow pull of violin strings and a thumping drum. The cool air had grown absolutely chilly, and I wrapped my arms around myself as Manson stood talking about computer operating systems and Java-something with a bespectacled couple. Glancing around, hoping to find somewhere close by I could go to warm up, I noticed another group had just arrived to the party.

My heart plummeted into my stomach. Cold dread shot through my veins. Without realizing it, I squished myself tightly against Manson’s side.

“What’s up?” he said, glancing back in the way I was staring. “What’s wrong-”

“Clowns,” I hissed. “There’s fucking clowns.”

Three men were walking across the yard from the side gate, beers in hand, laughing and shoving one another. They wore matching black jumpsuits, their hair was buzzed short, and all three wore horrible, pasty white face paint. Black shapes had been filled in around their eyes, and their lips had been exaggerated into horrible jagged grins with black paint.

I quickly turned away from staring at them. They weren’t the typical bright circus clowns, but they still made my stomach turn.

”Let”s go inside,” I said quickly. But Manson had spotted the approaching clowns and recognition lit up his face.

“I know those guys,” he said. “Hey Vincent! Lucas!”

“Don’t fucking call them!” I gripped his arm in absolute horror. One nervous glance back told me the clowns had heard their names called, and were heading directly for us. “Nope, no, no-”

Manson gripped my arm, preventing me from sprinting for the house in terror. “Are you…” He laughed, as if in disbelief. “Are you actually scared of clowns?”

“Yes!” I whispered. “They’re fucking creepy and gross and - oh my god -”

They were right there, enfolding Manson in a giant hug, patting him on the back, meaningless conversation droning from their mouths. The only thing I could focus on was those horrible painted faces. Their exaggerated smiles only got worse as they bared their teeth and smiled.

Ugh. Gross. It took every bit of self-control I had to not run for the house. I grit my teeth and wrung my hands behind my back, keeping an awkward distance. Manson would scold me if I left, but I wanted as much space between me and the clowns as possible.

Unfortunately for me, my staring was noticed. One of the clowns spotted me shifting coldly from foot to foot, and decided to be polite.

“Hey, hi, I’m Jason,” he extended a slim hand. Long fingers, pale skin. I absolutely cringed as I shook it. “You okay? You look a little, uh-”

“She’s afraid of clowns,” Manson said, sounding so amused I wanted to slap him. “She’s my slave for the night.”

“Don’t just fucking say that,” I snapped, but it was too late. The secret was out.

”Well done, my man,” one of them clapped Manson on the back, as Jason gave me a long, appraising look.

“Aren’t you Jessica Martin?” he said. “You were a cheerleader?”

“Yeah,” I answered begrudgingly. I was trying to figure out a way to hide myself behind Manson - anything to put some kind of barrier between myself and them. It felt silly, but I couldn’t help it. Clowns were creepy, and gross, and uncanny - something felt wrong about them.

“Let me introduce you properly,” Manson said, hooking his arm around my waist and dragging me up alongside him. I pressed against him, hard. “This is Jason, Vincent, and Lucas.”

“Cool, hi, yeah, nice to meet you,” I muttered, forcing a very tight, very uncomfortable smile onto my face. Now that I was forced to look at them straight-on, I could tell that beneath all the makeup, they were really normal looking guys - if not pretty attractive. Manson explained how they’d all been in metal shop together, and that Lucas had started a band, but I was growing more distracted the longer I looked at them up close. There was a peak of colorful tattoos at the top of Vincent’s jumpsuit, Jason was wearing multiple rings that looked hand-made, and Lucas had fit large, stretched black tunnels in his ears.

Somewhere in the mingling of my fear and torturous horniness, a very weird reaction was occurring. They looked terrifying, but their bodies were muscular and their smiles were almost charming. For how creepy they looked, they actually seemed...nice. One of them was wearing cologne, something bright and citrus-y that contrasted with Manson’s dark, musky scent. It gave me a little rush, the thought of them touching me - but god, that awful clown makeup...

“She’s shaking!” Vincent laughed. “It’s just paint, girl! We’re not gonna eat you.”

“Or maybe we will,” Lucas snapped his teeth, and I gripped Manson’s hand, gulping down my scream.

”I”m just cold,” I muttered angrily, as the heat rushed to my face. I felt like a cornered rabbit, waiting to see which wolf would have a go at me first. I was also a very horny rabbit: instead of feeling sick with fear, this was giving me an endorphin-high.

I had never liked clowns, never. But facing them meant I was pleasing Manson, it meant I was being a good girl, and it meant I was one step closer to him finally taking me inside and fucking my brains out.

“Don’t worry about scaring her, boys,” Manson said, giving me a little squeeze. His grip was reassuringly tight. “It’s good training for her.”

“Is she from the club?” Vincent said. I had no idea what “club” he was referring to, but Manson apparently did. He shook his head.

“No, she’s a newbie. Remember Kyle, from high school? She was his girlfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah, I thought so,” Vincent was nodding. “Who knew Miss Popular would be into that kinky shit.”

“She’s learning,” Manson smiled in the face of my glare. I still wanted to hit him: for denying me, for spanking me, for making me wait, for making me stand there and face my fear. I managed to hold my fists in check, but not my tongue.

“Manson...can’t we...can’t we just…”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to whisper around friends?” Manson chastised, with a tone in his voice that let me know just how much he enjoyed getting to scold me in front of them. “Can’t we just what? Go inside so you can finally get fucked?”

I must have turned red from head to toe. My eyes darted back and forth between the clowns as they laughed. But they didn”t seem at all confused, or even surprised by the situation. Maybe they were used to this. Maybe this was Manson”s thing. The sudden thought that perhaps there were other girls taking Manson’s commands and kissing his boots invaded my mind, and jealousy gripped me with shocking intensity.

“Let’s just go back inside,” I whined. “Please Manson...you’ve made me wait long enough...” My hand snaked down his chest and over his jeans. I felt his hardness and squeezed, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

He didn”t even flinch.

“You know better, angel,” he warned. “This is on my time, not yours. And you”re neglecting to properly address me.”

I couldn”t say it in front of his friends, I couldn”t. I looked back and forth between them nervously, and my embarrassment was only made worse when I noticed the eager expressions on the clowns” faces. They were enjoying seeing me squirm.

”I can”t say it here,” I winced. ”I wanna go inside. Come on.” My voice sounded petulant and utterly bratty, even to my own ears.

”More worried about what they think of you than pleasing me, Jess?” Manson said, and tsked. ”That”s not how good girls behave.”

I could sense an impending punishment and whimpered, furious as I snatched my hands away from him and folded them against my chest. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get off. Now.

“Gotta use the restroom,” I muttered, before Manson could continue his scolding. “I”ll be right back.”

I expected him to try to stop me. Instead he just said slowly, “Don’t take too long.” As I hurried away, I could just barely hear him say, ”She”s a bratty one, boys. Only one good way to tame her.”

If I was going to come back to another spanking, then I was at least going to get off first.

The restroom was occupied, of course, and I waited outside the door impatiently until a drunk girl finally stumbled out. A line had formed behind me, so I knew I had to be quick. There, alone in the quiet room, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. My hair still looked good, and my makeup was luckily intact, though it was only a matter of time before that changed.

Curious, I turned and pulled up my skirt so I could get a look at my ass in the mirror. So red - still hot and stinging from Manson’s hand. Just remembering my position, held so firmly in place and helpless to escape, made me bite my lip and curl my toes.

God, I wanted him to do that again. I wanted him to hurt me. Hurt me, fuck me, make me scream. I”d irritated him, I knew I had, so there was at least the possibility of another merciless spanking awaiting me when I got outside. What if he did it in front of his friends? What if there was no privacy this time?

Still looking back at my reddened ass in the mirror, I leaned against the wall in front of me and slipped my hand beneath my skirt. My fingers slid over my clit and I rubbed quickly, furiously. I couldn”t take too long...people were waiting...I bit my lip to keep quiet, thinking of Manson”s hand slapping over my reddened skin.

A harsh knock pounded on the door and I gasped out, ”H-hold on...just a minute…” I was so close. I”d gone so long in such a heightened state of arousal that it didn”t take much. My fingers were slick, and I closed my eyes. More pounding at the door, dammit…

I imagined Manson bending me over, holding me tight under his arm, scolding me as the clowns watched, smacking me until I wept openly, uncontrollably -

More knocking. It was angry now, insistent. Fuck, I couldn”t cum like this. With a loud growl of frustration, I tugged down my skirt, yanked open the door and snapped, ”Jesus, I”m done, okay, you don”t have to be such an asshole-”

Manson shoved me back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed me, gripping my arms, and pressed me back against the wall. I was guiltily aware of the stickiness of my arousal on my fingers, a damning indicator of my disobedience.

”Sh-shit...Manson…” He loomed over me, looking at me as if he wanted to eat me alive.

”What do you think you”re doing, angel?” he said. He grabbed my wrist, pulling up my hand. ”What”s all this on your fingers, hm? Did you think you could just sneak off and do something so naughty?”

My breath shuddered as I faced him. ”I...um...there were people waiting out there…”

”Not anymore,” he smiled. ”It”s a big house, there”s other bathrooms they can use. I pointed them in the right direction. We need a little time to ourselves.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” I whispered.

“Oh yes. More than you can imagine. Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes.” I should have been terrified but my entire body was buzzing with anticipation. My fantasies of punishment were nothing compared to the real thing.

“If I cross a line you better damn well use it. Do you understand?”

I nodded again. My pussy clenched and I whined, squeezing my legs together. If I had seen myself a couple years ago how I was now - whining and dripping in front of the boy I’d laughed at - I would have been horrified. I wouldn’t have believed it.

I still hardly believed it.

“It”s time for another lesson, Jess,” Manson said, looking me up and down. ”It was only a couple hours ago that you were getting that cute little ass of yours beat. Did you forget what that feels like already?” He released my arms, and reached around to squeeze my stinging ass. I yelped, dissolving into moans of pain. His touch was electrifying. I wanted him to grip me harder, rougher. I wanted him to slam me against the wall again.

”I didn”t forget!” His hold on my ass pulled me close against him, and I pressed closer. ”You make it so damn difficult to obey! And you didn”t tell me not to touch myself!”

”You little brat,” he chuckled. ”I told you I wanted to see you suffer. I wanted to see you squirm. You don”t get to take that pleasure away from me.” He shook his head in disapproval. ”I really wish I had my paddle on me...god, turning your ass black and blue with that sweet thing would have you obeying as you should.”

I was shaking. I didn”t know if I wanted to mask my fear with anger, or my horniness with sassiness, or if his threats were going to break me and have me begging again. He owned a paddle...he literally owned instruments to inflict pain and humiliation. He was such a freak.

And god, I loved it. I wished he had his paddle with him too.

Instead of sass, I went for a different tactic: sweetness. ”I”m trying so hard to be good!” I whined. ”Come on, Manson- er...Master...please...if you”d just let me get off…”

”I don”t bargain for good behavior, angel. God, don”t you know how long I”ve wanted to do this? Do you have any idea how good it feels to punish the girl who always laughed at me?” He cradled my face in his hands, his hold tender as he kept me pressed to the wall. ”Getting to watch you whine and complain and get so red...but still do everything I say? It”s too good.”

”You”re a jerk,” I whimpered. ”I want it so bad, Manson…”

”What?” He said softly. ”What do you want?”

”I want you! I just want to fuck, please, you”ve got me so fucking turned on I can”t stand it, it”s going to drive me crazy!” I gasped, my desperation exploding. ”Please don”t make me keep waiting, please just - just - bend me over and fuck me!”

Inside I was cringing, but I couldn”t help it. If begging was the only thing that would end this torturous wait, then that”s what I”d do. Manson was chuckling, then laughing aloud, and when I finally fell silent, he said pityingly, ”Oh, Jess. Poor girl. You’re gonna get fucked, trust me. Soon enough you’ll be fucked so hard you won’t be walking straight for a week. But first…” He pulled something out of his pocket: that thin bit of cotton and elastic that he’d taken from me earlier, my thong. He dangled it in front of my face. ”Do you still want this back?”

”Yes please,” my voice was small, defeated. If he was offering my thong, that meant more waiting. I felt as if I could have cried from sheer desire.

“I can’t believe you refused to put this in your mouth for your dare,” he said. ”Think how different this all could have been if you had.”

“I couldn’t! Not in front of everyone…”

“Pride doesn’t have a place in your service to me.” He brought the thong close to my face, caressing the lacey fabric against my cheek. “I just can’t let that dare go, Jess. I really wanted to see you put these in your mouth.”

I gulped. “Manson...please…”

“Put them in your mouth.” His voice was gentle. “Put them in your mouth, face the wall, and bend over.”

My mind raced. Bend over...I’d be completely exposed. He’d see all of me...every dripping piece of flesh. He’d seen me when he spanked me over his lap, of course...but every exposure felt just as intimate, just as degrading, and just as exciting.

Unbidden fantasies flashed through my head. I thought of his fingers caressing me...parting me...pressing inside me...

I opened my mouth, awaiting my gag. There was a flicker of shock at my acquiescence on his face, before a fire lit in his eyes. He pressed the thong into my mouth - not quite a mouthful but enough to smother any sounds I might attempt. I could have spit it out easily, but I closed my mouth just enough to keep it inside. I met his eyes for a moment - a long, tense moment - before I slowly turned, bent at the waist, and clutched my ankles.

My heels made the position particularly difficult. The entirety of my ass was on display, my short skirt useless. Manson’s boots stood close behind me, covered with my lipgloss kisses. He said nothing as the moments passed, moments that felt like an eternity.

“Spread your legs,” he said. “I want you exposed. All of you.”

I shuffled my feet apart, and the cool air kissed over my flesh. I waited, and my legs began to tremble. The difficulty of the position, and my ever-growing arousal, was going to make this an impossible pose to hold for long. Again, Manson was silent. I almost couldn’t bear it.

“Spread yourself open for me.”

A groan escaped me. Every command came so slowly, so methodically. He was giving me the time to linger, to truly feel the depths of my degradation. I hated him for it. Hated it...loved it...wanted more of it. I reached back, trying to get a hold on my tender bits. My fingers were slick, and I could barely manage to pull my labia open, unable to get any grip.

Manson was chuckling at the state of me as I finally managed to spread myself apart. God, I felt so filthy. I felt so exposed. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t even take a step closer to me. I wished he would. I wanted his touch so desperately.

The saliva was building up in my mouth. Unable to swallow, I’d start drooling soon. Humiliation on top of humiliation. My fingers slipped and I had to readjust, pressing my lips apart, exposing my wet and leaking hole. I heard his breath change - it might have been a gasp, or perhaps a soft laugh.

“God, it’s so pathetic how needy you are.” His voice wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t taunting. He said it like it was simply a fact, and I whimpered my agreement around the thong. “Running away to the bathroom to touch yourself, such a naughty girl. Been a while since you got off, hm?”

If I’d been able to form coherent words, I would have agreed. I’d been with other guys since I’d broken up with Kyle; casual sex was my favorite stress reliever. But this was more than just sex: this had awakened another desire in me, a lust for something cruel and unusual that I’d never had fulfilled. It was a glaring, roaring monster that demanded to be satiated.

Manson squatted down, staring at me where my head hung down between my legs. He smiled: an utterly sadistic, wolfish grin. “Or are you just that much of a freak that being ordered to lick some weird guy’s boots is getting you this hot and bothered? Is being spanked and made to beg for mercy nearly enough to get you off? Such a fucking freak.” His gaze shifted, and I knew he was staring directly at my hole.

God please, touch me, touch me, fill me up!

“Service and discipline,” he murmured. “That’s what you’re lacking. You can’t expect to be rewarded for following such simple commands.”

I wanted it so bad - hadn’t he made me wait long enough? Drool gathered against my lips and began to drip. The urge to spit out my thong was growing, but the discomfort felt right. The longer I endured it the better I felt, because it meant I was still obeying. I was still following his orders. I was earning my reward.

You can’t expect to be rewarded for following such simple commands.

“Jessica, look at me.”

I’d closed my eyes without noticing, but I opened them to gaze at him, upside-down between my spread legs.

“Finger yourself,” he said softly. “Just one finger. Slowly.”

“Please...please, fuck…” The words were incomprehensible, swallowed up by the thong. How could I bring myself to do that in front of him? He’d see everything. The choice to say no was there. He’d given me a safety word and demanded I use it, if the need arose. But I didn’t feel that need. I felt humiliated...embarrassed...turned on… I was frightened, but not in a bad way.

I was not frightened of what he would do to me, but of what I was willing to do at his command.

With one finger, slowly, I pressed inside my pussy. My flesh parted, soft and slick. I had to move carefully so my pink acrylics wouldn’t poke. Only one finger wasn’t enough, but the subtle stimulation made my breath shudder. I closed my eyes again, unable to bear looking at him as he watched me.

“Fuck yourself. Come on, Jess. In and out.”

Why did he have to make it worse by talking me through it? I slid my finger out, then slowly all the way back in. Then again, and again. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, even with my eyes closed. With every thrust of my finger, I was drawing out more wetness. My clit felt swollen with need. Instead of continuing to hold myself open, I moved my other hand down between my legs, and rubbed my fingers over my clitoris, sending shocks of stimulation through my trembling legs. I rested my head against the wall to keep my balance. Drool dripped down my chin as I moaned, struggling to keep my knees straight. Unbidden, I added a second finger inside myself, pumping in and out.

I was groaning loudly, not caring if anyone heard me, no thoughts of how grossly embarrassing it was. I was getting close...so close...god, it felt so good, my knees were buckling...

“Jessica, stop. Now.”

His voice cut through everything, like a switch being flicked in my brain. The fact that he was laughing startled me almost instantly out of my desperate, horny fog. I withdrew my fingers, swearing around my gag. I’d been close...so damn close! I should have kept going, I should have had my pleasure when I had the chance! Instead I stood up so quickly that my head spun. I pulled the thong from my mouth and tossed it to the floor, then turned to face him with a glare on my face and my back pressed to the wall. He squatted there, looking up at me, and bared his sharp teeth in a grin.

“How funny,” he murmured. “You’d rather obey me than get yourself off. Even though it frustrates you...you’d still rather obey. That”s good. Much better.” His grin widened as he stood up. He grasped a hand around my throat, but he didn’t squeeze - not yet. He just held me there, pinned to the wall. My breath was unsteady, hot and heavy in my lungs as I trembled. With his free hand, he grasped my wrist and brought it up, looking at the fingers I’d used to pleasure myself.

“You’re more fun than I expected,” he said softly. Gently, he took my finger in his mouth. I gasped at the contact. His tongue slid over my skin, savoring every drop of my juices, his mouth embracing me in a way that was both terrifying and arousing. His lips were tender. His teeth grazed over my skin as he sucked, his mouth enclosing me with a suction that I couldn’t help but imagine being applied to other parts of myself. His grip on my throat tightened, pressing me back, making my breathing difficult but not impossible.

I sucked in my breath as best I could while he slowly withdrew my finger from his mouth. He licked his lips, and his eyes met mine. His look was vicious, hungry. His gaze flickered from my eyes to my mouth, a silent question, a command he didn’t dare give.

So I gave it instead.

“Do it,” I demanded. “Kiss me.”

His hand remained gripped around my throat as he claimed my mouth, his body pressed up against mine, the metal straps on the harness he wore digging into my chest, and the pain made me want to cling to him harder. My hands gripped his hips, then clawed up his back, wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against me as our tongues intertwined. His taste was mint, faint tobacco and beer. He bit my lip, laughed at my gasp, then kissed me again. It was a struggle between us for who could be rougher, who could demand more, as if we were trying to meld our bodies together. I scratched his neck, determined to break the skin, and he shuddered against me.

Suddenly he picked me up, slammed me back against the wall, and held me there as we kissed. My legs wrapped around his body, my hands stroked over his hair and knocked his vinyl hat to the ground. I grasped the hair at the nape of his neck mercilessly, hoping to feel him twitch with pain. I bit at his lip until he moaned into my mouth and I tasted iron. I licked the dripping blood, my tongue sliding over his chin and across his mouth, savoring the violent taste. He tangled one hand in my hair and pulled so hard my scalp ached, while the other hand squeezed my sore ass beneath my skirt. I felt the hardness in his jeans as he pressed against me, that delicious cock waiting for me.

We both paused - breathless. Droplets of blood welled from my scratches on his neck, a satisfying sight. His hand still gripped my hair, cruelly tight. His chest was heaving, heat radiating off his skin as he slowly lowered me back to my feet, but allowed no distance between us. He reached up and wiped at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand, looking at the red smear with a small smile.

“You made me bleed,” he said.

“And you didn’t make me bleed.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Is that a problem?”

I shrugged, trying to seem unimpressed despite being completely out of breath and light-headed with desire. “I expected more. Hell, when you found me in here, I thought you’d make me cry.”

He laughed - a dangerous sound - and shook his head, “Is that what you want, Jess?”

Yes. Instead I said. “I want to slap you.”

He leaned down, his voice a whisper. “Oh do you? Why? You like seeing me in pain, hm? Go on.” He turned his cheek slightly. “Slap me. I dare you. See what happens.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice.

The sound of my palm striking his face was so loud that I wouldn’t have been surprised if they heard it outside, even over the music. I’d put my strength into it, all my horny frustration, all my confusion over how turned on I was by him - but he barely even flinched. Instead, he said softly, “Now I have to make you cry, Jessica.”

We emerged from the bathroom together, breathless, my hand clasped in his. The paranoid part of me expected a crowd to be gathered outside the door, but only one irritated, half-asleep dude was there.

”Upstairs,” Manson whispered, and guided down the hall, through the crowds of laughing, drunken people. We ran up the stairs, our shoes soft on the carpeted steps. My heart was racing, giddiness keeping a wide smile on my face. At the top of the stairs he grabbed me again, kissing me viciously, hands tangling up in my hair. Every time we parted, I felt as if I was breaking the surface of a pool: I gasped for air, vision blurred, my body light.

There was a doorway at the end of the hall, a bedroom with the lights turned off. Manson pulled a lighter from his pocket, and while I lingered near the door, he lit candles around the room, filling it with a flickering orange glow.

”Very convenient mood lighting,” I said, as he walked back to me. ”How lucky.”

He smiled. In the candlelight, his face was cast in strange shadows and he looked even darker, and more mysterious. ”I have a bit of a weakness for candles. Mrs. Peters says the aromatherapy will help my anxiety.”

I frowned. ”Wait...is this…”

“This bedroom is mine. No one will bother us.”

It took a few moments for what he’d said to fully register in my brain. I couldn’t see much of the room, even with the candles lit. The bed had a headboard reminiscent of an iron bar gate, massive and dark. A giant bull’s skull, painted black and adorned with flakes of gold, stared down at me from the wall.

“Wait...wait…this is...” I stuttered. “Did you say this is your room?”

“Yeah…” He looked around, as if refamiliarizing himself with the place, and shrugged. “I started living here after I turned 18.”

I could hardly believe it. Manson Reed...living with the Peters family? One of the wealthiest families in town?

“How? Why?” I could dimly see nik-naks lining the nearby shelves, vinyl records, shining crystals and daggers in glass display cases. Nice things, treasured things.

“Mrs. Peters is a social worker,” he said. He looked uncomfortable. “She was...my social worker. My mom wanted to keep custody of me, but not as much as she wanted to keep my dad around.” He cleared his throat, and the discomfort became even more apparent - he looked pained. “I’d always planned to leave the day I turned 18. I wasn’t about to stick around and get beat on any longer than I had to. I went to Mrs. Peters for advice. But instead of advice I got a place to stay.”

I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? Everyone in town knew Manson’s dad was a mess, leaving when he fought with his wife and then coming back after a few months. But shit...I’d never known it was like that. I’d never bothered to ask...

“That’s...that’s um…” I wanted to apologize, but nothing seemed adequate. After all the shit he”d gone through in high school, he”d had to go home and deal with even more. Selfish, stuck-up kids, harassing him just because we could. It had been so wrong...so fucking cruel…

”Manson, I… I”m so sorry…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said firmly. I didn’t blame him - I wouldn’t have wanted to hash out all the demons of my past either, especially not with a person who caused some of them. ”Maybe...someday. If you actually want to hear about it. Just...not now.”

”I want to hear it. Someday.” I gave him a smile, a true, genuine smile. I meant it: I wanted to see into him deeper, I wanted to hear him talk. I didn”t know if it would make up for being an asshole to him, but maybe it was a start.

Surprise, then a soft, gentle calm came over his face. He caressed his fingers over my collarbone, up my throat, and rested them beneath my chin.

”Someday,” he repeated. ”You mean I”m not scaring you away?”

”Not at all,” I reached up on my toes, and my kiss was chaste this time, an assurance instead of a demand. ”Besides, I like being scared.”

He laughed, almost in disbelief. ”Oh, Jess. You ran with the wrong crowd in high school, you know that? You would’ve fit right in with the freaks.”

I snorted, disbelieving. ”Plenty of people like scary things. I just like them a little...more.” I shrugged, as if this was a perfectly normal thing, and certainly not something I”d only just discovered about myself.

”Oh right, of course, so let”s see: likes scary things...likes pain...gets turned on from being treated like a slave…” Manson did some mock calculations in his head as I rolled my eyes. ”Yeah, definitely sounds like a freak to me.”

”Oh hush.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. ”You said you”d make me cry, remember? You’re getting distracted.”

”Am I?” he chuckled. ”All I”m trying to say is that I think you would fit in with my friends. Even though...you’re scared of them.”

A sudden noise made me jump: a creak from the back of the darkened room...a step...a breath. My body went stiff. Something was moving in the dark.

“Manson...Manson what…”

There was laughter, eerily familiar laughter - and then three unnaturally white faces appeared out of the dark.

“Miss us, Jess?” Vincent murmured, just as I realized I was shut in a room with three fucking clowns.

I might have screamed. I wasn’t entirely sure what noise came out of me as I covered my eyes, shaking my head, determined to imagine that they weren’t really there. Those awful creepy faces, those wide grins, the dark-ringed, skeletal eyes. Manson pulled my hands down and gripped my wrists.

“Oh that’s not very nice, Jess,” he said sweetly. “I couldn’t let them miss out on the fun. Now you can get to know them better.”

I held my breath in an effort to stop whimpering. The clowns lingered in the dark, watching me, grinning at each other. My hands were shaking, heart pounding. I wrestled out of Manson’s grip and clung to his shirt, pressing my face against him so I wouldn’t see them.

“Do you want to leave?” he whispered tenderly in my ear. “Or do you want to face your fear and be a good girl for me?”

I forced myself to steady my breathing. These clowns had names, and under that makeup I knew they were human, even though my brain kept insisting they were monsters. I raised my head slowly from Manson’s chest, peering back at them. Their appearance was only made worse by the darkness in the room: the flickering candle flames made their features appear to shift and change in the blink of an eye. One of them - Lucas - was crouched on the ground, eyes fixated on me. Grinning. Standing behind him, Vincent was twirling something around his finger - something metallic that caught the light of the candles and flashed.

Handcuffs?

The pulsating adrenaline that had flooded through me at the sight of them began to calm. With the fading terror came a strange euphoria, pleasure wrapped in discomfort. I slowly raised my eyes to Manson.

“I...I want to be a good girl…” I said softly. Then softer still, ”You”re so fucking evil, Manson. I like that.”

He grinned, and for a moment, I could have sworn he looked proud of me. He kissed my forehead and said, “Be a good angel then: crawl over to them, and offer them your mouth.”

He stepped back, and without the barrier of his body between myself and the clowns, I felt as if I were looking at them down a long and narrow tunnel. I dropped to my knees and shuffled one hand in front of the other as I slowly made my way toward them, torn between not wanting to take my eyes off of them and desperately wanting to look away.

They’re only human, they’re only human.

They towered above me. I forced myself to raise my head and meet their dark eyes as they stared at me from the black pits they’d painted on their faces. My arms shook as I held them out in front of me, wrists together - an offering.

“You’d better lock those on me,” I said tightly, staring at the handcuffs Vincent held. My fight or flight response was strong, making me twitch. Forcing myself to submit, ignoring the instinct, was filling my body with such a rush of chemicals and hormones that it felt like a drug high.

“Such a good girl.” Vincent locked the cuffs around my wrists, the cold metal sending goosebumps up my arms. Once they were secured, he held up the tiny silver key in front of my face, and with a sadistic grin, rubbed it between his hands. I frowned, confused - but when he parted his hands, the key was gone. Vanished.

“You’re ours now, little angel,” Jason said, circling me. I glanced back, and saw Manson lounging on the chest at the end of his bed, leaning back, elbows propped up on his mattress.

“Don’t forget your safeword,” he reminded me. “Or three taps on their legs, if your mouth is...occupied.” His gleaming teeth shone in the dark, and Lucas grabbed hold of my face, forcing me to look back at them.

“You look even prettier like this,” he said, his voice raspy as he tried to keep his volume low. He turned my face from side to side, and then I felt hands in my hair, caressing it...hands touching up my back...my neck. I felt like a helpless little doll, chained and obedient, scared but ready to be used.

Lucas’s converse kicked apart my knees, spreading them, and Jason leaned around my side, dark eyes eerily close to my face. He slowly lifted my skirt, before looking around with an exaggerated expression of shock.

”What a naughty angel. Wearing no panties, hmm?”

“Getting scared turns the little angel on,” said Manson. “I have a theory that the more she screams and struggles, the wetter she’ll get.”

I shuddered, the frightening words having exactly the effect I’m sure he expected them to: my clit throbbed, my insides pulsing and clenching with the desire to be filled. A hand gripped around my throat, and Vincent’s face came close to mine as he inhaled deeply along my hair, chuckling in my ear. His black painted lips brushed against my cheek, then down my neck, sending shivers over my skin. Jason came around to stand before me, and Lucas moved back, out of my sight. Somehow, not being able to see them was even worse than having to stare at their creepy clown faces.

Jason unzipped the front of his black jumpsuit, baring his chest, all the way down to his thick, hard cock. Dark, bold tattoos covered him like a canvas. His ringed fingers gripped his member and slowly stroked it, and my eyes were mesmerized by the sight.

“Can I…” My voice shook, forming words almost impossible. “Can I taste...please?”

More laughter from the three of them, laughter that seemed to echo all around me in the dark. Vincent’s hands framed the sides of my face and his fingers pressed along my jaw, tipping my head up and back, holding me in place.

“Open your mouth,” Vincent’s voice hissed in my ear. Another hand gripped my hair, and in the corner of my vision, Lucas leaned down.

“Open wide,” he chuckled. I obeyed, my mouth watering for a taste of that terrifying, thick phallus. Jason entered my mouth, sliding over my tongue, slowly filling my throat as I obediently kept my mouth wide.

“Make him feel good,” Manson ordered, and I closed my lips around Jason’s cock, sucking gently, curling my tongue around his head. Jason groaned and began to thrust into me, hitting the back of my throat. Vincent tightened his grip on my face, holding me still as Jason used my mouth.

“Look up at him, angel,” Vincent whispered, and I did my best to obey, my eyes wide as I stared up at Jason, his teeth bared viciously as his breath began to shudder from the pleasure. Suddenly Lucas released my hair and went to stand beside Jason, unzipping his suit and pulling aside his black briefs. My eyes widened looking at him: his cock was pierced, a curved silver bar fitted through the underside of his head. I’d never seen that before - never even thought someone would do that - and I could scarcely imagine how that would feel inside my throat.

Jason tangled his hand in my hair, fucking into me, hard enough that my eyes filled with tears. Excitement spread through me as his cock throbbed, and Vincent’s hands moved from my face to scratch down my back, leaving behind stinging lines from his nails. He reached my hips, gripped into me, then squeezed my flesh until it hurt and I groaned. My noise pushed Jason over the edge. He pressed deep into my throat, cursing as he came, filling my mouth with his seed.

“Good girl, Jess,” I heard Manson get up from the bed and approach me, his boots clicking on the floor, and a chill went up my spine as his fingers caressed the side of neck. I wasn’t sure how I was certain the touch was Manson”s - I just knew. Jason stepped back, steadying himself, and Lucas wasted no time in taking his place. He was rough from the start, pressing deep and hard. The two smooth balls of his piercing pressed against my tongue, and when he reached the back of my throat I gagged, not used to the feeling of metal.

“Easy, angel,” Vincent said, and his hands slid over my hips and down...down between my legs. “Lucas isn”t very nice, is he?”

“Lucas needs to be more careful.” Manson’s voice was a command, as was the grip he briefly had on Lucas’s arm as he circled him. Lucas growled furiously, but he eased up on his pressure at the back of my throat, moving more slowly, allowing me the time to get used to his size and the curiosity of his barbell.

I tried to keep my eyes on Manson, my lingering fear calming as he stood back to watch, a stern face in the dark. But the clowns soon claimed my attention again; Vincent’s hand slipped beneath my skirt, caressing over my clit, and I nearly convulsed from the stimulation. I whimpered, dutifully flicking my tongue over Lucas”s head, savoring the taste of flesh and metal. Vincent’s fingers slid lower - and pressed inside me.

“Oh, so wet, little angel,” he murmured. He pumped his fingers into me, and when he withdrew them they were slick with my arousal. He watched the glistening strings spread between his fingers as he scissored them before he licked them clean. Then he was touching me again, rubbing my clit at a slow, firm pace, until my folded legs began to shake.

“Make him cum, Jess,” Manson said, slipping out of my sight again, circling the scene. Eager to obey, I bobbed my head to take Lucas deeper, forcing myself to accept the press of the barbell against the back of my throat. Lucas’s body grew tense, his movements harsh, my renewed enthusiasm making him moan.

“Such a good little whore,” he growled. His palm made contact with my face, a gentle sting, and I smiled as eagerly as I could with my mouth so full. He slapped me again, slapped me harder, his strength still curbed to make sure I didn’t accidentally get him with my teeth. Vincent’s stimulation over my clit had me shaking, my muscles tensing, bringing me to the edge of orgasm.

“She’s not allowed to cum,” Manson ordered, and Vincent slowed his touches until it was nothing more than a tease, and I nearly screamed in frustration. I would have screamed - if Lucas hadn’t suddenly sucked in his breath, shaking as he came, filling my mouth.

I swallowed him down, gasping, my head light as I finally had a moment to breath normally. Every nerve in my body felt as if it were on fire, sensitive to the slightest touch, and the high of my flooding hormones made everything feel surreal. My whole world was that dark room, those three laughing clowns, the taste of their sex in my mouth...and Manson, watching over it all like a demonic god.

I pulled on my cuffs for a brief moment, just to feel the metal dig into my skin, brutally unbreakable. Vincent was the only one who remained now to be pleased, and slowly, he withdrew his fingers from me and brought them to my lips.

“Be a good girl,” he urged, and I sucked his fingers obediently, savoring my own taste, salty and smooth. I sucked on his fingers like I wanted to suck his dick, and he chuckled as I did it. “Well shit. How can I resist that?”

I looked up at him with a dazed smile as he stood and leaned over me. The others watched, wordless, the sound of their panting breath harsh. There were footsteps behind me, and Manson gently kissed the top of my head.

“Am I doing good?” I said, my words stumbling and slow as I looked back him. He smiled at me, and my heart seemed to swell. There were so many small details I noticed about him now, even in the dim light - how his ears were pierced but he wasn’t wearing earrings, that there was a crookedness to his nose as if it had broken before, that there were tiny scars around his lips and cheekbones. He was handsome...almost pretty. His eyes were deep-set and dark but his features were soft, hardened only by the tension in his jaw.

“Very good, angel. So good that I have a little surprise for you.”

Excitement bloomed in me. Then there was a click, and something glinted in the firelight. Something metallic, gripped in Manson’s hand.

“You asked about this earlier,” he said, turning the knife in his hand so that every movement caught the light and glowed like the sun. “You asked if I still carried it. I do. It’s the same one, the one I scared your ex off with. It goes everywhere with me, and it’s always kept sharp.”

My breath felt cold in my chest as I watched the knife. The thrill of that danger, so close, made me want to both laugh and cry. The candle flames were reflected back in Manson’s eyes, a burning hellfire in his gaze. I realized he’d taken out his white contact, but I found him no less intimidating. I couldn’t look away, even as my heart started up a drum’s beat against my ribcage.

“This is a butterfly knife.” There was another click, a flash, and the blade disappeared - folded back into the curved handle grasped in his hand. Then just as quickly - click, flash - it was out again, spun through his fingers like magic. “They take a lot of practice to handle correctly...and a lot of cut fingers.”

The sight of the blade was mesmerizing. I felt hypnotized, unable to look away, as if I were gazing at a holy relic. His tone sobering, Manson lightly touched my face, drawing my attention back to his eyes.

”Do you want to play, angel?” he asked softly, and gave the knife a little shake. ”With this?”

For a moment, I forgot to breath. I nodded eagerly. ”Yes...yes please…”

”Do you trust me?” The knife flashed. My heart pounded.

”Yes,” I gulped. ”I trust you, Master.”

The blade came closer...it kissed against my cheek and I gasped at the cold touch. It traced down, light against my skin, to nestle against the soft, tender flush just under my ear.

“I won’t hurt you, angel,” he said. “I only want to remind you who’s in charge. I only want to remind you to keep being such a good girl. So when Vincent’s finished, you can finally earn your reward. Understand?”

“Yes,” I answered quickly, resisting the urge to nod in my enthusiasm. That knife should have terrified me, it should have made me scream. But I hadn”t lied: I trusted Manson, I trusted him not to hurt me - not in ways I wouldn”t like.

I’d never thought I could experience so much pleasure just from words, so much ecstasy from fear. I looked up at Vincent, the knife pressed against my throat, and whimpered softly. “Please...please use me...”

Vincent entered my mouth, moving slowly, sliding his length teasingly over my tongue. When I looked up at him, and saw that clown face smiling back, I felt terror twist my gut. But the fear only increased my pleasure, and made my insides tighten with desire. Manson stood behind me, holding the knife tenderly against my skin as Vincent thrust into me.

“You’re doing so well, angel, I’m so proud.” He spoke gently, his voice soothing. ”You look so pretty with your mouth filled up with a cock.”

His words made me squirm excitedly. Pleasing him felt so good, knowing that he was enjoying what he saw. I had to keep almost entirely still - I didn’t want to risk a cut by moving too suddenly. Instead I did my best to stroke Vincent’s cock with my tongue as he moved in and out of my throat.

Vincent changed his pace as he wished, using my mouth like a toy, gripping my hair to steady himself. He pressed himself, deep and slow, into the back of my throat, moaning as I squeezed around him. He began to move faster, harder, gripping me tighter. Manson’s lips brushed against my neck, sending chills up my spine. He left feather-soft kisses beside the blade, praising me for my endurance, my obedience.

I moaned and Vincent gasped, his breath hitching as his movements became rougher. When he spilled in my mouth, he pressed himself deep - I nearly choked as he pumped into my throat. But when he pulled back, I still managed to swallow it all, and smiled victoriously.

“Thank you,” I whispered. My chin was wet with saliva - it had even dripped down to my breasts and onto my bra. The knife left my throat and Manson pulled my head back, a wide smile on his face as he kissed me. His mouth utterly consumed me, his tongue caressing around my own. He pulled me up higher onto my knees, and when our mouths parted, he trailed kisses across my cheek and down my throat, biting gently at my tender skin before planting a final kiss on my collar bone and pulling away.

“We need our privacy now, boys,” he said. “Leave us.”