A simple character reaction-esque list, just simply asking the freaks what part of their Darling they love the most. Requests are open for people to send in if they want to see anything specific.
Pierrot -
It’s hard to find a part of you that Pierrot doesn’t like, but truthfully he loves your heart the most. It is the most honest part of you, always so boldly broadcasting whatever you’re thinking. Of course, he has to be close enough to you to hear it, but he always listens so intently to every ba-thump it makes. When you sleep, your heart sings a soft serenade to him, telling him of your love for him. Yet he also craves to hear it speed up, the gentle love song it sings turning into a chorus just for him.
But while the heart can’t lie, it can be misunderstood. Because when he approaches you, blood-drenched and with a wicked, possessive look in his eye, your heart races. Surely it means that you love him, and so touched at his display of how far he’d go for you. You wouldn’t fear him, would you?
Harlequin -
If you asked him what part of you he preferred, he would likely toy around with his answer, implying that it was one of your sexual features only to fluster you. He just loved to watch your face burn as he poked and prodded at you, verbally and otherwise. Because truthfully, he genuinely loved your eyes. They are the windows to the soul after all, and he wanted to possess you completely, past your skin and bones down to your very essence.
Whatever color they are, your eyes gleam so brightly, tell him so much about you and what you are thinking. No matter how hard you try to hide it, he can tell exactly how you are feeling. Whether he actually uses this for your benefit is completely up to his mood. He especially loves it when he catches your eyes wandering, especially at him. Your eyes are like gemstones, and he isn’t against wearing some jewelry.
Doctor -
There are many parts of the human body that interest the Doctor, but only one that he genuinely enjoys. Your hands. By themselves, they are a marvel of evolution, implements that have aided humans from the dark caves they were born from into the sprawling, shiny metropolises of today. Even losing a single hand would be a dire handicap for a human that, while not impossible to overcome, would certainly require great willpower.
But that’s not why he truly delights himself in your hands. No, it is just how he can see the life you’ve lived through them. Softer hands show how little you’ve had to labor and how much you need him, but firmer hands show more independence with a harder life lived. Nails that are kept short to show how you often work with them, longer or painted nails show your vanity. Even how your hand trembles in his, small and pathetic compared to his hands that have rendered flesh from bone more times than he can recall.
Jester -
As if there is a single part of a human that the Jester finds appealing. Perhaps he even truly believes that, but if you really look into his actions, he shows an unusual fondness of your hair. Long or short, straight or curly, thick or thin, it hardly matters to him; all he likes is hair that has clearly been cared for.
When you misbehave, it is often the first he grabs, his hold making it easy to force you to your knees where you belong. He’d hate to pull hair out though, but if you make him, then what is he to do? But when you behave, he might stroke it like you would a pet, especially with you on your knees by his side, head on his lap as you stare up for a command. Then there’s the rare times when you make him proud; that is when he’ll place a single chaste kiss on one of your locks before sending you away. Then, a little while later, he will give you a gift, usually something you enjoy or a hair care item you need.
Ticket Taker -
His answer is cheating, but the sound of your voice is what he enjoys the most. It sounds like music to him. A softer voice is like a flute; a deeper voice, a cello. Different instruments, yes, but any instrument can play a song; it only requires a skilled master. He has dabbled in many instruments over the years, though he hasn’t found a single one that he truly deems best.
Even if you don’t know he’s nearby, he can still hear your voice. Humans love to talk to one another; even the most introverted must talk once in a while. While it wouldn’t be the same, often he wants to make recordings of the favorite sounds you make; laughter, whispering, begging, crying, screaming.
Columbina -
There is no hesitation in her answer; she adores your legs, from the hip bones down to your toes. Not for her own gratification, even despite how often she’ll lay her head on your lap, intricately manicured nails trace love letters on the meat of your thighs. No, Columbina loves to dance, loves to watch you dance; dance with her, or dance for her. The perfect rhythm of your feet, properly taught where to step, guiding your knees and waist in every turn of your body.
It doesn’t matter to Columbina if you know how to dance at all when you meet her, nor how bad a dancer you might be. She’s an excellent teacher; she’s more than happy to show you how it’s done, to guide you through dancing and through the harsh life within the circus. When your eyes stray too much, looking past her and into the terrible world beyond, she will take your hands and waltz with you till your feet bleed and your muscles burn. That way, she can keep her favorite dance partner in her loving, safe embrace, so you can’t run from her.
I now am writing Columbina because I'm a stupid delulu wlw and love women. Since we don't have much info on her personality, I based hers off of the Columbine archetype from the Commedia Dell'arte, which is described as down to earth and cunning but also similar to the Arlecchino (Harlequin) archetype in being flirty, cheeky, and impudent. Also has big tits. I've added Columbina to all prior imagines too.
Pierrot - Gift Giving
There is no single form of love that Pierrot will not show you. You so much as smile just a little wider for one type of display to show his burning devotion than the rest, he’ll lock onto that immediately. If you blush a little deeper than usual as he lists off all the things he loves about you, he’ll write an entire sermon of his love for you. Should your hugs linger a little longer, or just let him hold you for as long as he wishes, there will never not be a time when Pierrot is touching you while you two simply speak. If a person could drown in love, then you are the bloated, water-laden corpse floating among the reeds and cattails.
But out of all those, he finds the most joy in giving you gifts, all of them made by his hands, all of his love poured into every iota of his present. From his favorite brigadeiros, the bouquets of flowers that he’s sure scream his painful yearning for you, to the star embroidered ribbon he uses to tie your hair back on a windy day. Never forgetting to plant a kiss on the gift before it’s in your hands, like that enchants every gift like a love potion. However, if you were to give him a gift, to him, that would be like you confessing your love, truly, passionately, and loudly. Pierrot would accept the gift happily, then he’d hide it somewhere only he knows, somewhere only he can see it. The more gifts you hand him, the larger his shrine dedicated to you shall grow. But don’t let him see you give a gift to anyone else; he’d go mad with jealousy and confusion, and any human would certainly end up dead by the next morning.
When he finally steals you away, he works so hard to ensure you are as comfortable as you can be. He even does his best to prevent you from being harmed when he does, but he doesn’t realize how fragile humans are until he breaks one of your bones when you fight too hard; it was an accident; he swears. Pierrot will do anything, anything, if it makes you happy. Are you too uncomfortable sleeping in a bed with him? Then he’ll get you all the pillows and blankets you want, and he’ll sleep on the floor. Miss your home from before? Well, thankfully, Pierrot remembers everything inside and will buy you duplicates. Are you scared of the others in the circus? Then, he’ll ensure you can’t leave his little corner of the circus and make it clear that no one is to interact with you without him there too, that way you feel safe because surely you trust Pierrot will protect you. Even if you ask for nothing, he will make his hideaway become yours, trying to copy your bedroom from home even if it means erasing what’s his. Just please, please don’t say something so cruel like how you hate him or how you don’t want to be in the circus, he doesn’t know if he can hold himself back from doing something he’ll regret later.
Harlequin - Receiving Words of Affirmation/Giving Acts of Service
With how much he does so, you’d think Harlequin’s way of showing love is physical contact, especially of a more carnal nature. But every lingering touch, strokes of your locks, and grips that got too dangerously close sometimes, were nothing to him, merely tools for him to use, no different from a hammer or pair of scissors. Humans are so malleable, so easy; he’s learned how to trick some fool to come alone with him somewhere isolated under the promise of the sweet fruit Harlequin had. If Harlequin thought they were cute enough, he’d wait till after letting them get a taste of what he offered before he devoured them. He found seduction easy, calculated, like a script, and was almost offended when you didn’t react how he expected.
No, Harlequin’s love is much more subtle than that. You’ll find him waiting for you after work, no ulterior motive there when he walks you home; perhaps he’ll even tease, prod to see if you’d let him in, but he doesn’t mean it. On the coldest days, he’d always just so happen to have some soft gloves or a scarf for you; on rainy days, an umbrella. If you ever let it slip that you’re having a problem, Harlequin would do anything to fix that problem, including getting rid of a bothersome human, especially getting rid of a human. Small things he’d tell you about, tease you for having struggles over something so stupid, but bigger things, the things that’d make you feel guilty if you knew, he’d keep to himself. If you wish to return the favor, make him food he can eat back at the circus, let him sit inside the cafe to relax, or give him a warm drink on winter nights; well then he might just really fall in love with you.
To really make him clay in your hands, you just need to tell him you care about him, that you hope he’s okay when other people harass him, that you trust him, that he’s special to you, and you have to mean it; he’s too good at saying empty words, he knows how to spot them. Harlequin is bound to reject your words, tricking himself into believing that he’s manipulated you to say those words and that if you were in your right mind, you’d never say things like that. All you have to do is keep your arms open, and one day, he’ll walk into your warm embrace without a fight.
Jester - Quality Time/Gift Giving
The Jester’s love is cold, but is far from cruel; ice without the burn. For many, it would not even be considered love, but more so possession, like ownership over a decorative item. That is his only way to show affection; it is to show that you are his; his to control, his to protect. At first, he’d deny how he felt towards you to any who dared ask, including himself, not wanting to believe that something so weak and fragile could slip between the cracks of his glacial ribs. Not someone like you, not you, never. It will start out simple, subtle. The Jester will just slip into your life in the smallest ways, able to find you no matter where you are and yet make it seem so happenstance, harmless. The easiest way is to just get a small drink at your place of work, though he always throws away the drink that was made for him, a waste yes, but the drink is abhorrent to his tastes. Maybe you’ll see him when he’s shopping for essentials, or he’ll take a break in a park that is a part of your routine; small glimpses of you just enough to keep the gnawing feelings away.
But Jester is a covetous man; he’ll always want more of you before too long. His cage will trap you before you even realize what’s happening until it’s too late. Not until you are trapped by his side, collared and unable to leave, sat by his side as he doesn’t pay you any mind; like a pet. He hates useless people, those that don’t carry their weight around the circus, and when he trusts you enough that you won’t run off, he will have you do your part. Until then, however, he’s content just forcing you to kneel beside him, on the floor of course; you’re not his equal. He won’t pull the collar too hard, but every once in a while he’ll tug it to command you to come closer, to lay your head on his lap so he can stroke your hair. Your use to him is just your presence, something about hearing you breathe, the fearful beat in your chest, having to urge you back awake when you start to fall asleep from boredom; it calms him, lets his worries slip away for just a little while. As long as you behave and stay in his hand, he’ll treat you well; he may be a monster, but that doesn’t mean he has to act like one, if you behave. He’ll even let you keep things that aren’t the circus’s or his, little things that are yours, granted, only if he gets them for you. Just be his cute little songbird in his golden cage and don’t even think about flying away; the Jester will not hesitate to clip your wings.
Doctor - Physical Touch
The Doctor knows what love is, at least hypothetically. It starts with initial sexual attraction; the brain releases testosterone or estrogen depending on the subject’s physical sex. With prolonged contact with their target, the subject’s brain will, at their own natural psychological predisposition and circumstance, produce dopamine and norepinephrine. This is the stage where lust is now considered love, when the subject now sees their target as not a potential mate but someone more to build a nest with, or home as humans call it. Love can be fleeting, quick ‘crushes’ when someone’s brain releases dopamine and norepinephrine quickly but doesn’t move onto the last stage. When the subject finds a suitable mate and they mutually agree to a long-term commitment, the brain produces oxytocin and vasopressin; all to ensure that a subject sticks to a singular partner so that both partners can properly raise their offspring.
The effects of those specific brain chemicals create several symptoms too long to list. When the Doctor thought of you much more than he did any potential subject, he believed it was only because you were so fascinating; a red ticket holder who watched him with knowing eyes. That was only the first symptom, and like rabies, once the first symptom is seen, there is no way back, no saving the victim. Before he even realized it , the foreign body that was loved had aspirated in his lungs. He began to crave you, all of you, your flesh and blood, your captivating mind, both the meat of the brain and the electric signals that made you you. Oh, how just your mere heartbeat made the Doctor’s head spin, like an adverse reaction to a drug, but no matter how horrible his reaction to your drug was, he was addicted to it.
He needed to study you, up close, and he preferred keeping his work in a more controlled environment. You fought of course, textbook survival instincts, and when neither flight or fight worked, you moved to freezing. Whenever he drew close to you, pulled you into his arms to feel the life inside you breathe, you learned quickly not to fight it. He couldn’t have you assist in his experiments; that would be unprofessional and unsanitary to allow someone with no medical expertise in; but he forced let you watch so you could learn. But every second he wasn’t doing an experiment, you were expected to help in his ‘exposure treatment’, because it hurt so much when he couldn’t feel your warm body on his. There was something wrong with him, surely, because why would not feeling your touch cause him so much pain? Maybe he overindulged in his needs enough, he could become desensitized to the lack of you against him. Until his treatment works, he expects you to be in his lap while he works beyond his experiments, to hold his hand when he walks around, and to stay in his arms from the moment he goes to sleep to the moment he wakes. Oh, how he wishes for you to move to his favorite survival instinct displayed in humans, fawning.
Ticket Taker - Acts of Service
At first, he saw you at best, just another human wretch, or at worst, a potential threat to the safety of the circus. The Ticket Taker had no clue why those two walking, talking liabilities found you of all humans so enthralling. You were better than most humans, that he’d grant the other two, you carried yourself well, ensured you were presentable, and most important of all, you were polite. Most circus goers don’t even think to say please or thank you, and when they did, it was always so hollow, more of an obligation than actual desire. But you, you looked him in the eyes, enunciated every word, and said please and thank you like you meant it. That turned his gaze towards you, lied to himself that he wasn’t enthralled like the other two dullards as he watched you move throughout the circus. It certainly pleased him that when you went through his own attraction, you listened to his orders well.
The Ticket Taker starts out subtly in his attempts to court you, so subtly that he doesn’t even realize that he is; he finds it arduous to admit his affections towards you. At first, when his rare chance to relieve himself of his duties for a few hours came along, only for it to be rained out that he thought himself unlucky. But it was luck that he just so happened to spot you, huddled under an awning to save yourself from the rain. He walked you home that day, umbrella in his left hand as walked on the right, closer to the curb and any potential reckless drivers. You burned your address into his memory. His courtship grew more obvious with time until he could no longer deny it to himself. You told him you loved tea; he brought you his favorite tea blend despite how rare and expensive it is. Then you told him your favorite flower, and he bought you a bouquet of those flowers despite them being out of season; ‘No reason, I simply desired to do so,’ he claimed. He escalated quickly, slipping into your home when he knew you were out, and he had been sure to pass out as many pink tickets as needed that day. While you yourself were presentable, your home was not, likely because you rarely invited people. At least you weren’t no,harlot, picking up partners; no, you kept yourself pure, pure for the Ticket Taker, that he was plenty happy of. Even if you aren’t as pure as he thinks, as long as he doesn’t see proof otherwise, he’ll convince himself that you are. Still, he was a busybody, and did some small, less noticeable chores around your home before you got back.
Finally, when the Ticket Taker couldn’t stand it anymore, he wrote you a letter of his admiration for you and slipped it in your mailbox. He didn’t get to see your face when you read it, he was behind you after all, and you didn’t see him sneak up behind you until it was too late. It isn’t polite to manhandle the one you love, but you gave him no other choice when you struggled. He made sure you were… distracted though, enough you wouldn’t fight him. Now that you were by his side, he expected you to remain polite, pristine, and submissive to him. The Ticket Taker is a busy man, he tires himself out every day ensuring that the Jester does not. Now that he gave you a better life, surely it wouldn’t be hard to relieve him of some of the smaller chores; bring him his breakfast, brew him his coffee and tea when asked and often before he asks, fold his laundry and the like. He won’t tolerate disobedience, and he whips any of that out until you behave, which he hates to do; lashes always spoil your image, even if you earned them. Once you have properly learned how to be his partner, then the two of you can officially get married, as is right. Though, the Ticket Taker doesn’t know if he can wait too long before he fulfills your conjugal duties. He doesn’t want to taint your purity, but he has needs too.
Columbina - Physical Touch/Quality Time
There’s a little mental quirk that exists in some people called cuteness aggression, where they see something so cute that the explosion of emotions makes them angry. Columbina is one of those people, because when she sees someone as cute as you, she almost loses herself and tears an innocent bystander apart. Columbina doesn’t of course, that’d be cruel, and she’d hate to spoil your cute face with fear. It doesn’t take long, likely not even an hour, before she makes herself known to you, cuddling up to you like you two are lifelong friends. It catches you by surprise, but Columbina’s bubbly, friendly nature melts away any uncertainty that she’s a danger. Humans really are so stupid that they are fooled by a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but that’s just another cute trait of yours; adorably simple-minded.
Columbina visits you at the cafe you work at as often as she can without being scolded by the Jester. Greeting you every time with a smile so warm that it’d melt all the snow in the world and steal as much of your time as she can. Just one more pastry, just one more drink, she swears she just forgot that the other circus members wanted it; hell, she’ll even make up other circus members just to get you to keep serving her. You likely don’t even get spooked by her; she’s just so airheaded that it makes sense that she’d forget something. Not to mention, when you think of a stalker, you picture an older gross man far too ugly even to dare to even stand beside you and taint your prettiness. You’d never consider that a beautiful woman who spoke to you like you were her closest friend could be your stalker. You’d never expect her to follow you home and take pictures of you as you sleep; you’re just too cute for her to resist taking at least a couple photos. Even if her touch lingers too long, slips into being a little too intimate, you don’t suspect her of having ulterior motives at all.
Before long, Columbina promises you a special tour of the circus while it’s closed and will insist till you give in. Columbina gives you the full circus experience, arm in arm with you, letting you play any game and even mimicking the others’ acts. She’ll do everything in her power to keep you there until you get hungry, at which point she’ll offer you any circus food of your choice, all free for you of course! You won’t even realize you’ve been drugged until you wake up in her bed, bound and gagged. It’s just to keep you safe from the world outside, she promises you, you’re just too soft, too perfect, to be out in such a dangerous world. Columbina can keep you safe here, she will keep you here. It’s too dangerous to let you walk around the circus, around the others, even if they all know you’re there, so she keeps you restrained and hidden away. But the moment she gets done with work, Columbina will cuddle up to you and tell you about her day. You won’t have much freedom with her, but freedom means uncertainty, so you don’t really need it and you’re so lovable when you cry that Columbina won’t even consider giving you any at all. She can’t wait to spend her life with you; she’s already planning out some cute outfits for you to wear; her own personal doll.
Bad Timing and Good Outcomes - The Freak Circus - Harlequin/Reader/Pierrot
Ao3: Link
Warnings: Cucking, Hate Sex, Voyeurism, Harlequin/Pierrot, Anal
Pierrot goes into rut, but you aren't available to help him out. Luckily, the rut spreads to Harlequin.
Request Fill for @the-dumb-bun
Tumblr Version Below
It started with a tingle in the back of his throat, like cotton fibers clinging to sensitive flesh. It had been so long since the last time Pierrot had felt it, just an instinctual urge that had long since put out like a fire that was never fed wood. Perhaps it was because of you, your presence, that the fire was relit, now more of a forest fire than a small campfire that it once was.
Pierrot was in a rut.
He hadn’t been feeling good after breakfast, like he was neck deep in water and forgot how to swim. To try to get some energy back, he took a nap. That nap went from what should have been no longer than an hour lasted instead five whole hours. The rut set in while he slept, and he awoke to his lust wrapping around his chest and a desperate need for you.
Pierrot stumbled through the circus in a haze, panting greedily as his mind tried to remember where your tent was. It wasn’t too far from where Pierrot’s own tent was, but after Pierrot spent more time at your tent than his own, Jester made him move his tent away from yours. Why couldn’t the two of you share a tent instead? Why did you insist on having your own tent?
As Pierrot turns a corner, a smaller body runs full force into his own. He doesn’t even flinch, bleary eyes turning down to look at Harlequin as he rubs his face in annoyance.
His sharp teeth flash as Harlequin snarls at Pierrot, glare sharper than the knife thrower’s well-kept daggers. “Have you gone blind or just gotten dumber?”
Pierrot’s eyes squint, trying hard to focus on the other members of the circus. On any other day, Pierrot would grit his teeth just seeing Harlequin, but today his mind is too drenched in desire to feel much else. The look plastered on Pierrot’s face isn’t lost on Harlequin, whose face shifts to suspicion. “What’s wrong with you? You look drunk.” Harlequin sneers. Then he stops, sniffing at the air and then at his own cloak, where he’d collided against Pierrot. The sickly-sweet scent of pheromones disgusted him. “Oh? Is the innocent little Pierrot rutting? Maybe if you weren’t such a prude, you wouldn’t be reduced to this gross display.”
Pierrot blinks, slow and hazily, any words dying on his tongue. Met with quiet, Harlequin only rolls his eyes and points behind him. “Your dear human is in their tent right now. Go fuck them and leave me alone. I don’t want your rut to spread to me. Eugh.”
That is all the goading Pierrot needed to shove himself past Harlequin, his feet moving quickly towards your tent. Everything is a blur as he almost runs towards your tent. The only thing in focus is the dark tan tent; all else means nothing to him now. He tears past the opening, falling to his hands and knees onto the rug beneath, eyes scanning for you.
His eyes stop when he finds you sitting at your desk, your eyes meeting his with concern. “Pierrot? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” you ask, your voice so divine to him he almost falls apart from it just gracing his ears. You're about to get up from your chair before Pierrot crawls forward quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist as he buries his face into the soft flesh of your stomach.
Breathing in your scent, he pants as he looks up at you, pleading with his eyes alone. “Please, my Dear, I, I need you.” His hand closes around your thighs, dangerously close to your sex, making his intention clear. “Just a couple of hours, then I’ll be better, I promise. I just, I need you so much that it burns.”
He continues to plead with you, whining, begging for just a simple yes from you. It’s so adorable that you just want to say yes, but- “I’m sorry, Pierrot,” you reach down and pat his head. The sensation alone nearly makes him jump on you like the predator that he is at his core, but your words are ice cold to his burning desire. “But, um, it’s November 6th.”
Pierrot blinks slowly, head tilting to the side. He struggled to find a connection, no doubt made worse with how lust-drunk his mind was, between the date and your availability for sex. His clear look of confusion spurs you to explain.
“So there’s this thing called No Nut November where some people don’t have sex for the entire month of November.”
Pierrot blinks again, then once more for good measure. “Why?”
“I,” you pause, looking away. “I don’t actually know. It’s just a challenge that I’m just doing for fun this year.”
You had to be joking, were you really only saying no because of a silly challenge you didn’t even know the purpose for? His grip on you tightened, growing more and more desperate. Maybe if he just conveyed how much he needed you, you’d relent. “Please, my Dear, I, I’m in a rut, I just, it just, I just need you. Please, please, please, just grant me relief from this torture.”
“Rut?” you query, head tilting to the side. It takes a second for you to understand. “Like how animals go into heat and get super horny to breed?”
Pierrot nodded, smiling wide to know that you understood. “Yes! Yes! My Dear! We, I, I haven’t been in a rut for so long, it’s torture. I can hardly bear it. Please, I’m begging you, help me.”
Hesitation flashes in your eyes, looking away from Pierrot with a light blush on your cheeks. It’s not like this would be the first time the two of you would have sex; that wasn’t where the pause came from. But you wanted to prove to yourself that you were above needing sex for an entire month. You reach down, cupping his face gingerly, your resolution cracking as you see him press his entire face against your touch.
“I can’t help you with this. I want to help, I do, but this challenge means a lot to me.” You watch as despair fills his expression. “Can you try just jerking off? That has to account for something, right?”
“But, my Dear,” the words die on Pierrot’s lips. He wouldn’t force you; he’d never hurt you in such a way, even as much as it hurt himself to submit to your own wants. “Can I, can I stay here at least?” he asks, begging for at least that much. Maybe if he showed you how desperate he was, he could sway you from your silly challenge.
You nod, granting him at least that mercy. With a thumb, you gesture over to your bed, a place that Pierrot knows well. “Go right ahead; do what you need to do. You know where all the sex toys and lube are, go help yourself. I’m just going to get some paperwork done. Ticket Taker is overrun with it right now.”
Pierrot quickly scampers to your bed, his clothes being discarded along his path, what little was left of his rational mind kept him from tearing his clothes off. He’s barely even nude for a second before he sprawls out on your bed, smelling your sheets for your scent with his hard cock in his hands. He was already hard and ready by the time he was in your bed, dripping out arousal all over your sheets. The blankets end up around him, cocooning around his upper torso while his waist and below remain open to the air. He wants you to watch, to look at him, to see what he’s been reduced to.
But you don’t watch; you turn back to your stacks of paperwork, doing your job. It’s disappointing, but Pierrot knows you can hear him as he whimpers and moans, your name being slipped in often. You can hear him as he writhes in your sheets, fitfully trying to find some relief with his own hand. Even if you’re not watching, you know exactly what he’s doing.
No matter how much he yearned for a little release, it seemed to elude him. He jerked himself off every which way he could, slow or fast, hard or soft; nothing got him to the end. He gave up using his hands, grinding his cock against one of your pillows instead. That only led him to staining the fabric and a minor friction burn.
As time passed, the ache only burned hotter. His hunger led him to diving into your sex toys that you’d offered, grabbing out a lube before applying it to his fingers. Making sure you’d get a good view of him if you looked over, he bent over, pressing two wet fingers into his anus as he sought any release no matter how embarrassing. His face was buried in your sheets, nearly suffocating in your scent, as he quickly worked himself open while still keeping a tight grip on his cock.
His fingers are soon replaced by a dildo, shoving it in long before he was ready, too horny not to be reckless. Pierrot frantically fucks himself with the dildo, matching the speed that he jerked himself off. Your sexual explorations of Pierrot’s body helped him learn where exactly he needed to angle the dildo, and he abused the spot till he saw stars.
All of Pierrot’s attempts were met with failure; he couldn’t climax on his own, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t even tell how much time had passed since he had started; the shadows cast had moved across the floor since he had started. It certainly wasn’t just a couple of minutes, that’s for sure. At least an hour, more likely hours. Yet not once did he cum, and only twice did you glance over at him; you remained glued to your work.
“My Dear,” Pierrot panted, his voice weak and breathless. All of his tools were forgotten on the side as he reached for you. Maybe if he could just touch you, just a little, then he could actually cum for once.
You look over just as he slips off your bed, hitting the ground hard; he’d be bruised if it weren’t for the rugs on your floors. “Are you okay?” you ask, even though he’s clearly not okay.
“My Dear,” he repeats, getting to his hands and knees. “I, please, just one time, help me cum just one time,” he crawls to you, head low and pleading pitifully for you.
He reaches you quickly, wrapping his arms around one of your legs as straddles it. Your own consent to this is forgotten just enough for Pierrot to grind his cock against your leg, humping like a damn dog. His eyes wrench tightly shut, tears slipping down his cheeks, lip trembling as his hips buck up against your limb.
For only the sake of the challenge, you want to get him to get off. But you can’t, not when he’s this pathetic and needy. You couldn’t do that to him. Just letting him hump against your leg surely doesn’t break the rules of the challenge, right? You’re not an active participant; you’re barely even a passive participant.
There’s no beauty in his race for relief, only an animalistic desire driving him further. Even if you’re not the one touching him, but he’s the one touching you, he is already finding some more relief in this act than any prior act. If only you’d just forget your silly challenge, then Pierrot wouldn’t have to suffer like this.
Pierrot’s first orgasm hits him soon enough, outright crying as his seed splatters beneath your chair. It’s hardly a single drop of water to the still-burning inferno of his need, however, his cock still hard and ready for more. He’s hoping you’ll let him continue for as long as he needs, his hips only stilling for a moment before he’s rutting against your leg again. “Just a couple more times, my Dear, that’s all I need, please, please.”
Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, trying and failing to turn your attention back to your work. You have things to do; you can’t just let the Jester down, and Pierrot’s actions are distracting, to say the least.
You’re about to tell him to stop before a voice tears through the tent flaps, angry and frustrated. “Where is he?!” The voice is followed by Harlequin, face twisted in anger. He finds Pierrot quickly, sees the lewd display before him, and he laughs. “Ha! Poor Pierrot, does your dear human find you disgusting now?”
“No,” you’re quick to defend him. “I’m just trying to go a whole month without sex, and he caught me on day 6. No Nut November, you know?”
Harlequin regards you with confusion, eyebrows lifting high. “That’s… why?”
“Because I want to,” you snap back. “What do you want? Don’t you have a job to do?”
“What do I want?” Harlequin steps forward, shoving a finger at Pierrot. “I want to beat that miserable mutt for what he did to me. That pathetic, sniveling, disgusting, poor excuse of a-”
“You’re in heat too?”
Any further insults die on Harlequin’s lips, his eyes snapping up to you, his pinked cheeks deepening to a fiery red. “It’s, it’s a rut!” he sputters out. “Heat is for females! Don’t you know this kind of basic knowledge?”
“Okay,” you shrug. “So why are you mad at Pierrot then?”
“Why I’m mad is because that mutt spread his rut to me,” Harlequin stomped closer to the two of you. Pierrot didn’t even flinch; if not for his stilled hips, you’d think he hadn’t even noticed that you both aren’t alone anymore. “If it weren’t for that mutt running into me, getting his pheromones all over me, then I wouldn’t be in rut myself! It’s his fault!”
You think for a second, then point at Pierrot. “Well, since I can’t help either of you here, why don’t the two of you help each other out instead?”
Both men react poorly to your offer. Harlequin scoffs loudly, while Pierrot’s grip on your leg turns bruising, his eyes snapping onto yours. “My Dear! I’d, I’d never do such a despicable thing with him! Never! My body is for you and you alone, I swear!”
“Oh, don’t act so revolted by that!” Harlequin snapped.
“Pierrot, darling, look at me.” You reach down, brushing some of his sweat-dampened hair out of his face. “I will not make you, but I do think it’ll help you. I hate seeing you like this, especially since I can’t help you right now; and…” you pause, looking away as you try to suppress a coy smile. “It’d be kind of hot to watch you two go at it.”
His resolve crumbles in a second at your admittance. The idea of having sex with Harlequin had never passed his mind, but with you voicing your desire to watch, the idea seemed so incredibly tempting. His body was yours, completely and entirely, even if he had sex with someone else; that fact wouldn’t change. Especially for you, anything for you.
Behind him, Harlequin laughs, jabbing his toe into the meat of Pierrot’s back. “Hear that, Pierrot? Your darling little human has some interesting fantasies, don’t they? Are you really going to disappoint them?” he verbally prods at Pierrot.
Pierrot is on his feet in a snap, clutching around Harlequin’s waist and neck as he forces the other against his body. His lips meet Harlequin’s, a soft yelp leaving Harlequin’s mouth as Pierrot’s tongue is shoved down his throat. The kiss is starved and demanding, with no romance to be seen, a kiss that makes Pierrot want to throw up if it wasn’t exactly what he needed. His hands feverishly tore at Harlequin’s clothes until the latter slapped his hands away and took to disrobing himself.
“Unless you’re going to pay for replacements,” Harlequin growls between breaths. “Don’t tear off my clothes like some feral beast.”
The two of them end up on your bed quickly, Harlequin’s costume discarded onto the floor with Pierrot’s. Harlequin lands below Pierrot, who slots himself between Harlequin’s legs. The rut has left Harlequin just as desperate as Pierrot, his own two tentacle cocks already out and writhing in the air.
Pierrot’s cock, still hard and dripping with need, slides over Harlequin’s cock, grinding down for some friction. A sharp whimper leaves Harlequin’s lips at the feeling, instinct driving his cocks to curl around Pierrot’s length. With the sensation almost feeling like a hand wrapped around his cock, Pierrot’s hips snap forward, thrusting into Harlequin’s pelvis with reckless abandon.
Soft, needy moans leave both men, their hips meeting over and over as Harlequin’s dicks milk Pierrot’s own length. Pierrot’s eyes are wrenched shut, trying so hard to fool himself that the one he’s fucking is you and not Harlequin. But with a loud cry from Harlequin tugs Pierrot away from that fantasy. Pierrot’s hand snaps up from where he’s leaving bruises on Harlequin’s hipbone and moves to his neck. He applies enough force to shut Harlequin up, drool and frustrated tears dripping down the side of Harlequin’s face.
This is all so wrong, having had sex with Harlequin of all people. Pierrot would rather beat the constant annoyance into the ground than do the very thing he’s doing now. If it weren’t for this stupid rut, Pierrot wouldn’t have to lower himself to this level, to fuck this whore. No, it’s not just because of this rut; it’s for you too.
Pierrot’s eyes opened, his golden gaze lifting and seeing you across the tent. You’re just sitting at your desk, body turned to the scene in front of you, with your legs crossed and biting at one of your fingers. Your face, it’s one that Pierrot recognizes and craves, you’re enjoying this. You’re watching Pierrot fuck himself against Harlequin, using the smaller man as a sex toy, and you look like you’re watching your favorite porno. Ah, you just look so happy, all because Pierrot would debase himself this way.
Pierrot cums again with a loud cry, his seed splattering up Harlequin’s torso. His grip around Harlequin’s neck tightens until Harlequin slaps at his wrist; only then does he release the other from his hold. Sputtering and coughing, Harlequin glares up at Pierrot.
“That's it? You’re a one-pump chump?” Harlequin goads further. “Going to leave your partner unsatisfied?”
Any further insults are silenced as Pierrot shoves Harlequin over, pushing his face into your pillows. One hand grips Harlequin’s fluffy hair, pinning him there, as Pierrot’s other hand grabs the briefly forgotten lube. With a single flick of his claw, Pierrot pops open the lid before squirting a generous amount of lube over Harlequin’s taint. The cold lube makes Harlequin twitch as it touches his hot, sensitive skin.
Little preparation is given before Pierrot pushes two of his lubed fingers down into Harlequin’s anus, pushing down to the knuckle. A pained squeak leaves Harlequin’s chest, but his hips still push back into Pierrot’s hand. Pierrot sets a brutal pace as he shoves his fingers in and out of Harlequin, every movement from Harlequin earning a tighter grip on his hair.
Harlequin writhes beneath Pierrot, legs kicking against the bed and hips bucking against Pierrot’s hand with every thrust. You almost want to tell Pierrot to be a bit more gentle if it weren’t for how wanton and lewd the muffled whimpers coming from Harlequin were. Despite, or because of, the rough treatment, Harlequin was loving this.
It’s Harlequin’s turn to cum, his cum spurting from his two cocks and landing on your bedsheets. Pierrot almost wanted to beat him for daring to get his disgusting fluids on your property, though he only snarled in distaste instead. His grip on Harlequin’s hair releases instead of landing on his hips before he pulls his fingers out of Harlequin’s ass.
He doesn’t give the other much time to cool down after his orgasm before Pierrot presses his cock against the Harlequin’s entrance. Before Harlequin can even voice a complaint, Pierrot slams his hips forward, shoving his cock into Harlequin, down until right before the knot. The other lets out a sob, back arching and toes curling.
“Damn it, Pierrot,” Harlequin grumbles. “You really are just an animal, aren’t you?”
“Just be happy I even bothered to prepare you before,” Pierrot grumbles right back. He pulls back, almost until his cock is about to slip out, before he thrusts back in with the same amount of cruelty as before. If Harlequin had any more quips to say, they are lost in the moaning on his lips.
Pierrot quickly falls into the same brutal pace that he had when he was using his fingers, every thrust with his hips feral, brutal, and fast. With every thrust made, Harlequin sobbed and whimpered, tears of pain and pleasure rolling down his face. If it weren’t for the wanton smile and lolling tongue hanging from Harlequin’s mouth, you’d have demanded Pierrot be more gentle. But Harlequin was showing his true colors now, nothing more than a masochistic whore, finding great pleasure as he’s treated as nothing more than a hole for Pierrot to use as he pleases. He looked so happy that you almost could believe that this was what Harlequin wanted all along.
Pierrot looks up at you again, searching for your approval as he fucks another. Some small part of him almost wants to see you upset, jealous, as you watch your lover’s cock be thrust into someone else. That part of him is silenced when he sees you watching, hearts in your eyes and thighs rubbing together to find your own relief. This is a beautiful display for you, a perfect form of entertainment.
And Pierrot always strives to make sure you’re happy.
Pierrot’s arms go under Harlequin’s armpits, his hands going up to Harlequin’s hair once again. With a sharp pull, Pierrot pulls Harlequin’s torso up off his elbows until he’s kneeling on your bed. You’re given a good view of Harlequin front, his two cocks writhing against one another in the air as his face twists into delirious pleasure. Every thrust of Pierrot’s massive cock makes a slight bump appear in Harlequin’s stomach, giving a good visual on how Pierrot’s cock was ruining him from the inside.
With his grip on Harlequin’s hair, Pierrot forces Harlequin to lift his head towards you, that way you can see how much of a slut he is. His eyes are half-lidded and fluttering, tears stain his cheeks, and drool drips from his chin. He barely even looks conscious, so drunk with pleasure and masochistic pain that there’s no shame as his eyes meet yours. He almost wants to tease you for enjoying this so much, for loving being cucked like this, but he can barely even find a single word in his skull to use.
Harlequin climaxes with a whimper, his cum shooting into the air and landing in your direction. Even though there’s a couple of feet between you and where his cum landed, Pierrot still takes insult to it. Somehow, his thrusts become even harsher, using his grip on Harlequin’s hair to slam the other down onto his cock. Overstimulated sobbing leaves Harlequin as his hole is abused further, almost pleading for Pierrot to stop.
It doesn’t take too long before Pierrot orgasms himself, his cum filling Harlequin. With a groan, he drags himself out of Harlequin, his cock flopping out with a wet pop. He releases Harlequin, letting him fall forward onto the bed and gasping for air.
“Feeling better?” You ask, smiling.
“Not yet,” Pierrot’s voice softens when he regards you, eyes so full of love as he looks at you. “Are you enjoying this, my dear?”
“So much,” smiling, you nod and answer. “You both look like you’re enjoying yourselves, that’s for sure.”
You shouldn’t even have to bother with what Harlequin is feeling. If Pierrot had his way, Harlequin wouldn’t be enjoying this at all; instead, he would beg for mercy. But you’re such a kind person, Pierrot knows you wouldn’t want that, and Pierrot can at least allow Harlequin a bit of pleasure.
Treating Harlequin like a doll, Pierrot shoves him onto his back. He climbs on top, straddling Harlequin’s lap as his hand grabs at Harlequin’s cocks, trying to ignore how disgusting it feels to touch. Harlequin barely has enough time to steady his cocks before Pierrot sinks down onto Harlequin’s lap.
“Fuck!” Harlequin gasps, his claws grasping at Pierrot’s hips. His grip is quickly snatched away as Pierrot uses a single hand to pin Harlequin’s arms above his head. “Damn Pierrot, you’re tight. Don’t tell me you’re letting me fuck your virgin ass?”
“Shut up,” Pierrot snarls, not bothering to even tell Harlequin if he’s right or not. As if Harlequin deserves to know anything about your and Pierrot’s sex life.
The pace Pierrot sets as he rides Harlequin is not nearly as cruel as how he fucked Harlequin. Though there is still a lustful desperation as he grinds his hips down against the other’s lap. Inside him, Harlequin’s cocks twist around, exploring the tight, wet walls of Pierrot’s anus. It’s abhorrent, but a single look up at you to see how much you’re enjoying this fresh sight makes it all worth it.
With every drop of Pierrot’s hips, Harlequin thrusts up to meet his flesh. His tentacles slip against Pierrot’s prostate by accident, the sensation making Pierrot’s body jerk in surprise. A smug smile drags across Harlequin’s lips, adjusting beneath Pierrot so that every thrust aims for that little spot. “Found it~” he hummed, pleased with himself.
Your name spills from Pierrot’s lips every time his prostate is stimulated, his hands moving up to cover his face. This just feels too good. How desperately Pierrot wished it was you beneath him instead of the bastard Harlequin. He almost wants to look at you, but his shame at what he’s doing makes him wither under your pleasant gaze. But he knows you’re watching closely, you can see how Pierrot trembles as he fucks himself onto Harlequin’s cock. He’s so gross to enjoy this, but it’s so pristine how you do the same.
Pierrot is too lost in the pleasure to stop Harlequin before his back is now against the bed, lying on his side as Harlequin grips his leg. The new angle makes every thrust even deeper inside Pierrot, his hands moving to cover his mouth as such pitiful moans leave his lips. His eyes crack open, meeting yours once more, your elation clear.
Sobbing, Pierrot cums for a fourth time, his eyes locked on yours as he wants you to watch. He’s trembling now, his large, lithe body now almost appearing weak as it shakes. Harlequin doesn’t let up, almost like he’s acting out of revenge, as he continues to fuck Pierrot into overstimulation. All the cries that leave Pierrot only seem to fuel Harlequin, taking a great deal of effort to ensure that every thrust is abusing Pierrot’s prostate.
Pierrot’s legs kick and flail around; what little of his conscious mind is left between the overstimulating thrusts is put to keeping himself from digging his claws into your bed. He’d never forgive himself if he ruined your items. “Please, please, just cum,” Pierrot whimpers, begs Harlequin. “It’s, it’s too much! Please!”
“Pfft,” Harlequin scoffs. “Not so mean now that you’re the one getting fucked, huh? Well, since you asked so nicely.” With that, Harlequin lets himself cum inside of Pierrot, claws digging into the flesh of Pierrot’s thighs. He thrusts a few more times, pushing the sperm deeper into Pierrot, before finally slipping his cocks out of Pierrot. “Bet your darling human thinks you look cute, getting fucked like that.”
“Fuck, fuck off,” with a lazy shove of his foot, Pierrot pushes Harlequin away from him. Harlequin lands on his back, and he stays there, body too exhausted to get up now. Both of their rut’s needs have been met by now, but Pierrot just needs a little more.
Pierrot, with a body already close to exhaustion, pushes up and crawls back on top of Harlequin. “Really? Still?” Harlequin says with a scoff. Despite that, he still opens his legs, welcoming Pierrot closer.
“One more,” Pierrot gasps out. “Just once more and I’ll be good.”
“Just make it quick, I’m tired.”
“I don’t care.”
There’s a lot more delicacy present as Pierrot presses his cock against Harlequin’s hole once more. Any anger he held towards Harlequin was forgotten in the fatigue in his muscles. He leans forward, trapping Harlequin between his arms, as he slowly pushes his cock back into Harlequin’s ass. It’s easy for Pierrot to slide his cock back in, Harlequin’s entrance almost welcoming as it sucks him in.
The thrusts are slower this time, lazy and with little rhythm anymore. Both men are far too weary for the sex to be as desperate as before, now only needing just one more orgasm to fulfill their goal. Every roll of Pierrot’s hips makes them both moan in harmony, an unusual display of mutuality between the two of them.
Like this, it’s a lot easier for Pierrot to pretend that it’s you beneath him. He’d never fuck you as cruelly as he fucked Harlequin. You were special, fragile. He’d hate himself forever if he hurt you, broke you. Yet still, as he gazed down at Harlequin, who for once was without some insult lashing from his tongue, he almost didn’t mind that it was Harlequin beneath him.
Pierrot’s knot aches, neglected during this entire ordeal. Something instinctual inside him complains about it, whispering to him that he needs to knot his partner, breed them. It’s a stupid notion, because Harlequin can’t be bred without a womb to be had. Not to mention, Pierrot would hate to have a child with Harlequin even if it were possible.
It takes multiple grinding thrusts before Pierrot’s knot slips inside of Harlequin, the massive girth making Harlequin fall apart. His arms reach up and wrap around Pierrot’s torso, pulling him closer so that they almost look like lovers. Over and over, Pierrot pulls out his knot from Harlequin only to push it back in, picking up speed with a newfound caution. Even with the restrained pace that Pierrot thrust with, every push in with the knot made Harlequin’s nails dig into Pierrot’s back. Yet still, he wrapped his legs around Pierrot’s waist, pulling him in tighter.
Footsteps distract Pierrot from Harlequin, both men’s attentions being turned towards you. You walk up to the two of them on your bed, beaming at them both like they’ve given you everything you ever wanted. “You both did so great,” you say with a voice full of adoration. “Just a little more now.”
Your praise makes Pierrot’s chest flutter with elation, and while he’d never admit it, Harlequin’s did too. You reach out, taking Pierrot’s hand into your own, urging him to keep going. Whether it’s out of jealousy or just a genuine desire for affection, one of Harlequin’s hands falls away from Pierrot’s back and reaches out for you. With a smile, you take his hand too. For some odd reason, seeing you hold Harlequin’s hand, Pierrot finds himself not minding for the moment.
There’s one last burst of energy as both men grind their hips together, seeking one last orgasm to share. It doesn’t take long, both of them shaking as they reach climax together in an almost enlightening orgasm. That perfect lasts for a good few seconds, before the fatigue finally hits Pierrot and he slumps forward, passing out with all of his weight pressing down on Harlequin.
“Ugh, fucking really Pierrot?” Harlequin grumbles, trying to wriggle out from beneath Pierrot. It’s hard, considering how Pierrot’s cock is still buried deep within his ass.
“Let me help,” you offer. It takes you both to readjust Pierrot, and you are much more gentle than Harlequin is, but you get his cock out of Harlequin and lay him on his side. “You can stay,” you offer as you adjust the sheets over Pierrot’s unconscious body.
Harlequin takes a moment to debate it, then figures there’s no point to, since he doubts he’d be able to walk over five feet in this condition. “Sure, as long as that mutt doesn’t tear my throat out while I sleep.”
“He won’t,” you promise. For good measure, you slide between the two of them, knowing Pierrot won’t do anything violent with you in the way. You take to being the one to adjust the pillows and blankets for Harlequin, letting him relax as you get him comfortable. Once he is, you finally let yourself relax between the two. Even when unconscious, Pierrot’s arms seek you out. wrapping around your waist and pulling you in.
“You did good, Harlequin,” you whisper.
“Shut up.”
His tone is sharp, shameful, but it’s hard to miss the blush on his cheeks. Even when you pull him closer, he doesn’t even voice a single complaint. Before long, all three of you slip into sleep, dreaming of one another even still.
Our favorite clowns and what kind of dates they'd take you on.
Pierrot
What would be a more perfect date than just staying inside, somewhere private where neither of you have to worry about others staring? Whether it be at your apartment or the circus, both are great options, though preferably your place because that means a certain green bastard won’t come along and ruin the romance.
Of course, a date does mean you two have to do something besides just stare lovingly at one another, even if Pierrot would be just fine with that. So typically you find something else to do, like watch a movie or TV, play a board game, or just talk. He would also love to cook for you, but considering the Circus’s rules to not eat in front of outsiders, you’d be the only one partaking in his food. That’s fine to him too, just watching you eat what he’s made makes him smile, and when you compliment his cooking, he is over the moon.
Harlequin
A date of his choosing would be an introvert's nightmare and an adrenaline junkie’s dream date. He’ll take you to arcades and theme parks, making you go on all the scariest rides. It’s not even because he particularly enjoys those things, he just loves the look on your face when you’re experiencing them. The excitement, or terror, on your face is just exquisite.
Going to an arcade however, if you are at all competitive then the two of you will likely compete over who can win the most tickets. He’ll always win of course, and he’ll make sure to shove it in your face every time. Still, he’ll use his tickets to get you something nice, because all the prizes are useless crap and not really because he just likes seeing your eyes light up when he gets you something good.
Jester
As if Jester would EVER be seen on a date with a human.
Well maybe if you really wanted to and you’ve earned it. He’d still pick what the two of you would be doing though. In the end, he’d pick something that you’d benefit from, like going to an art museum, but certainly one that had art dating back a hundred years at least. He’d spend half of it trying to inform you on the history of the pieces, the culture around them and what the artist must have been experiencing at the time. The other half would be him trying to get you to voice how the paintings made you feel. If you made him at least a little proud, he’d buy you both a bottle of good, but not too expensive, wine. To drink separately, of course.
Ticket Taker
He’d hate to dedicate time to a date, something so pointless and would be of no real benefit to anyone. But if it made you happy enough to stop bothering him about it, then he’d relent and let you choose. If you still wanted him to decide, then he’d begrudgingly decide on just a simple hike out into the woods where at the end, you two can have a picnic. It’d be a short trip, taking no longer than an hour and a half, two if you were slow.
The picnic at the end would be simple, a simple charcuterie spread. Like the rest, he wouldn’t partake in the food, just letting you eat as you two talked. Nothing special, just the two of you together enjoying the serenity of nature and the company of one another.
Doctor
You mean you sitting in the same room as him as he works isn’t a date? That’s news to him, but then again he barely even knows what a date is. But if you insist, then he’d gladly take you along with him on what really is a glorified chore run. He’s very nocturnal, so most places are closed when he’s out and about, so most of the time it’ll just be the two of you no matter where you go, though if one was open that late, he’d really want to bring you to a greenhouse.
Most dates would be him taking you along as an assistant when he scavenges for medicinal herbs in the surrounding area. These hikes can often turn into overnight camping trips, which he always prepares for even if he needs less comfort than you to camp. Still, he’ll make sure you’re comfortable enough, then watch over you as you sleep, making sure no local predators dare to get too close. Stay up long enough however, and he’ll take the time to tell you about all the constellations in the night sky.
Columbina
Columbina would want nothing more than to do simply mundane things that humans do. She can hide amongst humans well, a little concealer here, a cute, long skirt to cover the more noticeable features there, and she’d be just another beauty walking the street. But what would be the point of that if you weren’t with her, walking hand in hand as you indulged in public displays of affection? If Columbina had it her way, if the Jester would let her and you consented, she’d be by your side from the moment you leave your home till the moment you step back in. She certainly wouldn’t mind just entirely being by your side at all times, actually, going about your day with her following along to her watching as you sleep in her arms.
Her first choice would be to go shopping with you, buy some nice clothes, makeup, jewelry, all those girly things that make you both shimmer and shine. Columbina has learned how to use her allowance from the circus well, all of it taught to her by the Ticket Taker. So even if you have little money to spend, she is more than happy to spoil you, as long as you let her pick it out for you. Other times, she’d make an adorable picnic basket full of food you love (even though you never told her about your preferences), help you buy groceries, give you spa nights so she could spoil you more, or walk with you through a romantic garden. If you asked her to join you as you file paperwork, she’d beam and agree without hesitation; somehow making even the long, mind-rottingly boring tasks fun for you both.
You've been flirting with the Ticket Taker for weeks now and he finally makes a move.
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Who doesn’t love a gentleman in a nice suit? Not you, that’s for sure.
No matter how much you flirted with the Ticket Taker, no matter how raunchy your innuendos were, he’d never even so much as flinch at them. It was like he didn’t even register what you were saying, just treated you with complete professionalism and called you a ‘Dear Guest’ all the while. Sure, maybe you were probably sexually harassing someone who was just trying to do their job, but if minded at all, he never made it clear. He never banned you from the circus, never asked you to stop, never avoided you, just always welcomed you in like a proper gentleman.
You were actually beginning to feel guilty about potentially sexually harassing him, just about to stop, when he finally changed up his behavior. You’d never seen him outside the circus before, until now, seeing him standing in front of you as he ordered a single black coffee in the early morning. Seeing him here, in a more casual place, flustered you, even if casual meant your workplace instead of his. He was still the utmost gentleman even here still.
“And your order, sir,” you give him a bright smile as you hand the coffee off to him, playing up your friendliness past what was your typical customer service attitude.
“Thank you, dear,” Ticket Taker replies so sweetly you can almost hear the smile behind his mask as he takes his order from you. A single finger brushes against yours, the brief touch enough to make your heart skip a beat like you were back in your high school years again.
Even with his drink in his hand, paid for and everything, he didn’t move from his spot. Instead, he just continued to look at you, as if he was expecting you to say something. If he were, he didn’t wait too long before he spoke up first. “You come to the circus often, so you must enjoy your time there.”
“Oh! Yeah,” you nod. “It’s really fun seeing the shows there, and I know you won’t be around forever, so I’m just trying to enjoy it as much as I can while I can.”
Ticket Taker nods right back, accepting your words. "I should also say that very few guests receive red tickets, so you must have gotten quite close to the Pierrot. Though I find it quite humorous how often the Harlequin comes to ask me if you’ve made use of his green ticket.”
He pauses, and you’re unsure of what he’s getting at. With his free hand, he taps his gloved thumb and middle finger together, almost fidgeting as he thinks about something. Then his hand slips up, reaching under the lapel of his suit and pulling out a ticket, deep blue. He places it on the counter in front of you, sliding it forward with his pointer and middle fingers.
“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, the different tickets bring with them different perks,” he explains. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the perks that come with my ticket, if you wish to use it.”
By the time you came back to your senses after that euphoric moment, he was gone, the blue ticket still sitting on the counter in front of you. You were grinning from ear to ear like a spoiled brat on Christmas Eve as you picked it up. The rest of your shift was spent riding that high.
The day couldn’t pass fast enough, and by the time you knew the Freak Circus of Horrors was opening up, you were practically falling apart with excitement and anxiety. But the time came, and you got there before when you knew the crowds would get bad.
When you arrive, Ticket Taker is in his usual position at the entrance to the circus. He isn’t helping any customers as you walk up, and gives you a polite nod as you do. “Welcome back, Dear Guest.” He doesn’t betray even an ounce of excitement as you approach.
“Couldn’t stay away, especially not after your invitation.” You can barely hide your excitement as you try to play it off with some casual flirting. You produce the very ticket he had left for you hours earlier, and you swear that at the sight of it the Ticket Taker’s head tilted ever so slightly up, almost smugly so. Behind his mask and unseen by you, a smug smile pulled itself across his lips. “So what is that special perk you promised me?”
“I’m so very glad to see that you used my ticket, my Dear Guest,” he replied, not betraying an ounce of his pleasure in seeing you holding his ticket. He took it from you, punching it like he did all the rest of the tickets you’ve used prior, before handing it back. “When you are ready, you will find me at my tent.”
So he will not tell you what the perk is yet? No matter, you can be patient for a little while. “When should I stop by?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“But don’t you have to handle customers’ tickets?”
“I will have someone else cover for me later,” Ticket Taker replies. His head shifts to the side, looking past you. “But speaking of work, I must assist the customers behind you now.”
You glance back, seeing a young couple quickly walking up behind you, yellow tickets in hand. “Oh, right yes, then I’ll see you later,” you quickly sidestep, letting the young couple by.
“That I shall, my Dear Guest,” the Ticket Taker agrees, giving a polite nod as you pass by him.
The Freak Circus of Horrors is just the same as any other night you’ve been here before. A light spattering of fellow customers drifted tent to tent between one of the many identically costumed carnies, their own roles not special enough to be allowed more unique costumes like Pierrot or Harlequin. You had no genuine interest in seeing any of the shows tonight, besides Ticket Taker’s of course. You were so excited for what he had promised you that you didn’t think you could sit down long enough to watch the others perform. Even if you didn't know precisely what Ticket Taker promised you.
You find yourself among the carnival games and end up playing some games just to release some of your nervous energy. It works to get your mind off of him for a little while, even if you ultimately win nothing. The games are all rigged of course, to minimize the chance of someone actually winning anything from the games to maximize profits. Typical, but you can’t exactly blame the Freak Circus for doing that. Money makes the world go around after all.
After about half an hour of wandering, you finally can’t take your impatient energy anymore and you head straight for the Ticket Taker’s tent. You’d been through his tent before, seen the maze of mirrors all while the Ticket Taker dances between the mirrors, toying with you like a cat does a mouse. You’ve probably lost a good deal of dignity in his eyes considering how many times he’s seen you walk face first into a mirror. It was entertaining at least, even despite the claustrophobic feeling that you always felt inside.
To your disappointment, the Ticket Taker is nowhere to be found when you walk up. It’s no surprise though, you’ve hardly been here that long, and perhaps he wasn’t able to find someone to cover for him in a short amount of time. With a sigh, you stand near the entrance, finding it better to wait there than wander around doing nothing.
Not that you wait any longer than 20 seconds before you hear the Ticket Taker’s voice drift into your ears like a siren’s song. “You got here faster than I expected; eager, aren’t you?”
You turn your head to look at him, grinning at just the sight of him. “You got me. I’m very, very eager. I’m just dying to know what that little perk your ticket promised me is,” you pause, lowering your voice to prod at him. “Well, I hope the perk is actually a big one, if you know what I mean?”
“You’ll enjoy it, I promise,” the Ticket Taker nods his head towards you. “My blue ticket gives you the opportunity to play a special game inside the hall of mirrors. Nothing too hard, you just have to find the exit without my help, like you have needed it before.”
You wince, ashamed that he really has had to help you out every time you’ve gone into the maze. “I’ve already set up the mirrors so that they differ from before, so you won’t be able to rely on your memory of my past labyrinths.”
“This doesn’t seem very special, if I’m being honest,” you can’t help but pout a little.
“Then how about this? I’m going to be within the labyrinth with you, trying to sabotage your attempts to escape. If you escape despite my best attempts to hinder you, then you will be given a reward.”
“And if I fail?”
"Then, of course, I will punish you," he leaned in, looking down at you. He gets close enough you can almost see his eyes behind his mask, smiling down at you. “Don’t worry though, you’ll live.” How comforting.
His hand reaches forward, grabbing your wrist with his silken gloves and pulling your hand closer. You feel him press a cold, circular item into your hand, and when he pulls his hand away you see that he’s placed a pocket watch in your hand. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow.
“An additional challenge, you have 30 minutes to find the exit,” chuckling, he takes a step back. “Are you ready, my Dear Guest?”
You would be lying if it didn't intrigue you. Sure, it was obvious he was stacking the chips against you, trying to ensure you fail, but the idea of what that prize could be if you win draws you in. If you’re lucky, it might actually be something like a date between the two of you, or maybe even something more carnal. As if he’d punish you too harshly if you fail anyway, he likely won’t risk you not coming back.
“I’m in,” you nod.
Your confident demeanor makes him snicker behind his mask, barely biting back the predatory joy of a caught prey. Ticket Taker takes another step back, raising his arm and pulling back the tent flap into his mirror maze. “Then, ladies first. Enjoy, my Dear Guest.”
“Oh, I certainly will.” You walk right past. You showed you pressed the start button on the watch’s timer, getting an appreciative nod from him. “See you inside.”
With a short, dark chuckle from behind you, the tent flap flutters shut and you’re drenched in the dim lighting of the maze. The maze has never been brightly lit before, and now is no different. But tonight, there is something off about the air inside the tent, something more hungry and possessive than before. Like you’re a fly caught in a spider's web.
You shake your head, shedding off all of your bubbling anxieties, and walk. Keeping your right hand out in front of you, you trail along the right mirrors. Your strategy is simple: just follow along the right wall of mirrors and take every right you come across. That way you’re not just blindly guessing which direction to take, though you know that your strategy can easily be thwarted by just a single loop. That means you’ll have to be careful, stay aware of your surroundings.
The maze is eerily silent, especially compared to the circus outside. The Freak Circus always had a constant lull of sourceless carnival music and merry circus patrons, a welcoming buzz that made everything feel alive. But inside the maze, even though you were only blocked off by a tent and layers of mirrors, you heard none of that sound. Instead, you were isolated away in the choking silence of the maze. All you could hear were the sounds you made. The shuffle of your feet on the dirt floor as you tread cautiously along, your strangled breath that hitched every time you almost walked right into a mirror, the ticking whisper from the watch reminding you that your time is running out. The tight placement of the mirrors combined with the only thing you could see within was you only heightened the strangling feeling of being alone, unsafe.
“I would suggest not taking that path, my Dear Guest,” the Ticket Taker’s voice slices through the quiet, almost startling you. Your eyes dance around, trying to see him, but you don’t see even a reflection of him. You can’t see him, but he can certainly see you and how you were just about to take the right at a fork in the path. “It’s a dead end, I’m afraid. You’ll just waste your time.”
You let out a defiant huff, as if you’re going to fall for his tricks. Pressing forward, you take the right turn he told you not to, grinning like you just learned a naughty little secret. The path forward takes several turns with no paths off it, and it leads you forward.
It leads you straight to a dead end.
“I did warn you,” Ticket Taker muses, almost mockingly.
“You said you’d be trying to sabotage me,” you bite back at his words.
“You’ll just have to learn to discern when I’m lying and when I’m being honest.”
So that’s how he’s playing it? Is this revenge for all the times you teased him? He’s teasing you now? Well, you certainly don’t mind; you’re already having fun. You turn on your heel, and resume your path through the maze, keeping your arm out to stop yourself from bumping into any mirrors. A quick glance at the watch the Ticket Taker gave you tells you that you still have 26:40 left to find the exit, plenty of time.
The pocket watch slowly ticks by as you make your way through the maze, all while you only see glimpses of the Ticket Taker. He gives multiple different directions, most of them being lies. Each time you fall for his words leaves you with your time slowly dwindling away.
14:18 left, you wince. Have you really been in here for over fifteen minutes now? You don’t feel close to the exit either; you’re sure you’ve walked past that mirror with a unique scratch on it four times by now.
You take a sharp corner and almost run straight into Ticket Taker. The sudden appearance of someone else in the maze makes you jump in surprise, reeling back and slamming against a mirror behind you. It doesn’t shatter, thank God, but you landed on your ass and made yourself look stupid.
“Oh no, my Dear Guest,” Ticket Taker leans forward, a hand placed on his chest. “Are you alright? Do you need medical assistance?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” your cheeks burn with shame. “You just scared the hell out of me.”
“My apologies.” He reached out his hand for you to take. “Let me help you up.”
“Tha-” instead of his gloved hand, your hand only bumps against the chilled surface of a mirror. A reflection, a reflection scared you.
“I just couldn’t help myself,” his reflection stands up, chuckling to himself. “Do forgive me.”
You pout, and stand back up; by yourself. You shoot a glare at his reflection, only to see him take a step back and his reflection is gone. With your teeth digging into your bottom lip, you huff and resume your exploration of the maze.
Right, right, center, right, left, center, right. The flat mirrors that only reflect you are all that accompany you through the maze, only occasionally joined by the Ticket Taker’s voice. “Go forward, my Dear Guest,” he tells you, and you go right instead. Dead end; forward was the right path to take. That same damn mirror with the unique crack, it’s haunting you now. “Go left this time,” he orders, and you obey this time. Dead end; you swear you hear him laugh.
“2 minutes left, my Dear Guest,” Ticket Taker warns. “Do you believe you can make it out before then?”
“Am I at least close?”
“Who's to say?”
This bastard, if he weren’t so hot, you’d be furious with him. You’re practically stomping your way through the maze now, pouting like a child. By now you’ve just about accepted that you’re not winning this game, not with so little time on the clock. What even was the prize? What even was the punishment?
“Go forward, you’re almost there,” his voice called out to you, almost unnervingly close to you now; like he was whispering in your ear. Your mind flies as you debate believing him this time, but now, now he sounds honest.
You walk forward, following the path he told you to take, a single path with no branches until it leads you to take a left, then a second left. A dead end. A damn dead end, again. Why did you believe him at all? It’s a fresh sight at least, a circular opening in the mirrors like a small room, all the mirrors displaying your frustrated expression. Something crinkles beneath your feet, and you look down to see a tarp covering the dirt floor below with a carpet on top just a little further into the open space.
Beep beep. The pocket watch signals that your time is up, and you let out a defeated groan.
You don’t even register what’s happening as a blur behind you rushes up, only coming to your senses as you’re slammed against a nearby mirror, face nearly hitting the glass surface as you’re pinned against it. A startled yelp leaves your mouth, finding your assailant in the reflection just behind your own.
“The hell, Ticket Taker?” you snap, writhing in his grip. He’s caught both of your wrists, pinning them to your back, while his other arm is snaked around your neck; it takes a lot of you not to enjoy the feeling of his biceps curling against your sensitive flesh. “What are you doing?”
“You ran out of time, my Dear Guest,” his arm that was around your throat pulled back, you watched in the reflection as his hand dropped to your waist. “Now it’s time for you to be punished for your failure.”
In a quick pull, he tugs down your skirt to reveal your ass cheeks to the air. Another surprised yelp leaves your mouth, your hips moving away from his grip on instinct. “Wait, wait! What are-”
His open palm is brought against your ass cheeks, a sharp smack drowning out your pained yip. “Did you think I didn’t see what you were doing, my Dear Guest? All of your little teasing comments, flirting with me, batting your eyes, shaking your hips, and slipping in such filthy innuendos, when I’m just doing my job? You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s come to this; don’t even act like this isn’t what you’ve been hinting at me for weeks now.”
Oh, oh, this was really happening. He knew exactly what you were doing all along, and this is your punishment for stringing him along. What an awful punishment.
“I thought you were a gentleman,” you grind your hips back into his hand, smirking like a cat with a freshly stolen fish. “But this isn’t very gentleman-ly of you at all, Mr. Ticket Taker.”
“Ha!” Ticket Taker scoffs at your goading, his grip on your wrists tightening. He leans in closer, till his mouth is hardly an inch away from your ear. “You don’t know me at all.”
His fingers wrap around your panties, tugging them to the side and exposing your cunt to the warm air inside the tent. You tremble, feeling his gloved hand trace circles on your hips before it’s removed, brought closer to his other hand that keeps you pinned there. With a small push, he wordlessly orders you to stay there before he releases his grip on you. It takes only a moment before he takes off his gloves, tucking them in the breast pocket of his jacket.
One of his hands finds its place in your hair, gripping your locks and keeping you there while his other hand drifts between your legs. It feels like heaven when his fingers trail up your cunt; you have to bite your tongue not to whimper at just a touch. You’ve been wanting this for far too long.
With one merciless push, two of Ticket Taker’s fingers are shoved inside your cunt, dry and thick. You wince at the abrupt stretch, hips jerking away only for his fingers to follow, not letting you pull away. “Fuck! Can’t you go a little slower?”
“What filthy language,” Ticket Taker sneers, punctuating his words with a firm thrust with his fingers, earning a pathetic whimper from your lips. “This is your punishment. I get to do whatever I want with you. So be a good slut and take it.”
You sneer at his words, but you don’t bother actually fighting back, not now that you’re getting what you wanted. Ticket Taker sets an immediately brutal pace with his fingers, slamming them into you repeatedly fast enough you could barely breathe between each thrust. But he knew what he was doing; with every push, he jammed his fingers into your sweet spot, forcing every thrust to be a jolt of pleasure up your spine. It isn’t long before the sounds coming from your cunt are wet and lewd, only matched by your poorly muffled whorish moans. All of this you can see so clearly in the reflection that you are pressed against.
“Don’t hide your voice from me, my Dear Guest,” Ticket Taker hissed out an order, following it up with a sharp thrust that left you seeing stars.
“I, ah! I don’t want people to hear,” you whimper, trying to reason with him.
“No one will hear you here, not even if you scream,” he replied, his words almost appearing more of a threat.
He sounds confident in that notion, and you decide to believe him on this. You doubt he’d lie to you on this and let your moans be heard by other circus patrons; that just feels like a step too far for him. So when you whimper, you let him hear it, even if it makes your cheeks burn in shame.
When he has his fill of fucking you with his fingers, he pulls them out, leaving you shaking. With a commanding pull on your hair, he forces you back and down to kneel in front of him, trapping you between him and the mirror. You watch as his hands unbuckle his pants, mouth watering as he pulls his cock, eyes eating up the sight before you. His cock is just perfect, with a soft pink head and a thick, long length that sits above average with a finely manicured bush at its base.
You don’t need to hear an order from him to open your mouth. “You're really just a filthy slut, aren’t you?” Ticket Taker sneers, dragging his cock over your cheek and smearing it with his salty pre-cum. “Then I don’t need to tell you what to do, do I?”
Obediently, you pull his cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around the head. A soft moan is muffled behind the Ticket Taker’s mask as you suck on his cock, trailing circles around the tip. He tastes clean, immaculately clean, like he’s never missed a single day to scrub his entire body. It tastes as if you licked your arm, just clean skin with only a slight hint of salt from his pre-cum.
You drag your mouth up and down his length, savoring every part of his cock. You’ve waited too long for this to just go too fast, but you definitely didn’t want this to be a one time thing either. No, you wanted this to happen over and over for as long as his circus was in town, just maybe at least not in such a public place. Even if the two of you were alone, you still felt like someone might walk in on the two of you at any point.
“Faster,” Ticket Taker orders. You shoot him a snide smile, slowly down your bobbing just to tease him, goad him on. It works, because his hands grip your head and push it back against the mirror, leaving no space for your head to run. “Then open your mouth and keep it open.”
With little time to adjust, he thrusts his cock deep into your mouth until your nose brushes up against his pelvis. You gag on his length as it fills your throat, your hands flying up to his waist for some stability. Every thrust of his cock makes you gag, and it takes a lot of mental willpower to keep your throat relaxed as he uses your head as a sex toy.
There’s no mercy given as Ticket Taker drives his cock into your drooling mouth, every thrust, he pushes your head forward to meet his pelvis. The sounds coming from your throat as it's pushed to its limits are vulgar and pornographic, underlined by your whimpering moans. He’s being so rough with you, yet your cunt burns with a need for him, loving every second of this. If this is your punishment, the prize you lost was a worthy sacrifice.
His cock leaves your mouth, leaving you coughing up a mix of spit and pre-cum. You’re not given long to recover before Ticket Taker grabs your arm and pulls you back onto your trembling legs. He works quickly, stripping you down to just your socks, only slowing down to fold your clothes before setting them to the side. That gets a laugh out of you, but you’re quickly shut down by a sharp snap of his head; even behind his mask you know he’s shooting you a silencing glare.
Even with you stripped down, Ticket Taker remains clothed with only his gloves taken off leaving you feeling more exposed than you would be if both of you were unclothed. It certainly doesn’t help that you can see every angle of your nude body in the circular array of mirrors surrounding you two. Every inch of your skin is exposed to a man you haven’t even seen the face of.
You don’t get to cover your shame before you’re spun around and bent over, your hands bracing against a mirror. Ticket Taker’s bare hands, his skin unusually cold and nails perhaps a bit too sharp, trace down your back and end at your waist. Your body shakes, watching the reflection as Ticket Taker lines his cock up with your entrance.
Ticket Taker slams his cock forward, filling you in one fell swoop that leaves you crying out from pleasure, surprise, and pain. You can see how your face twists, cheeks burning a bright pink and expression looking near drunk; your face stained with tears and drool. The sound of his hips slamming into your round ass, your pathetic wanton moans and the wet squelching of your drenched cunt fill the air.
Your head drops for only a moment before his hand is back in your hair, tugging your head up and making you look at yourself as you come undone on his cock. “Look at yourself, nothing but a slut,” he emphasizes every other word with a thrust hard enough to make you sob. “This is exactly where you belong, beneath me, like an inferior human should be.”
The words he’s saying are lost to you in your lust-drunk fog; the only thing you can make out is his cock as it fills you over and over. His cock grinds against all of your most sensitive places, overwhelming your senses and making you burn for more. Half-remembered words fall from your mouth, pleading for him to ruin you, to fuck you and make you his own. Not that you’re understood, your pleas are covered up by your needy whines.
“Filthy, filthy slut,” Ticket Taker utters under his breath. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This is why you kept teasing me? Acting like you were? Now you’re getting it; now you’re going to get a lot more than you bargained for.” He leans forward, his hips stopping with his cock buried deep within you as he hisses into your ear. “You better not regret this, my Dear Guest.”
Ticket Taker pulls out of you just so he can throw you onto the floor, letting you hit the ground hard. You cry out in pain, pushing your torso off the ground to look back at him. You’re about to curse him out before he’s on you again, his body pinning you down as his cock reenters your cunt. His hands pin down your shoulders, legs hooked around your own, keeping you from moving as he resumes his vicious pounding into your cunt.
Tears spill from your cheeks, toes curling against the carpet on the floor as you take his cock. He adjusts his hold on you, pressing a forearm against the back of your neck as his other arm snakes around your waist. You almost came from his fingers just brushing against your neglected clit, barely holding yourself back. You don’t want to cum, not yet, too afraid this will end too soon, but you can feel the tight knot in your stomach ache; you’re getting close.
Ticket Taker’s breath is hot and heavy inside his mask, almost animalistic in his growls as he fucks you. Any sign of a gentleman is lost as he uses you as his sex toy. The dichotomy between his prior behavior and his new behavior only draws you in even more. God, please don’t let this be a one time thing; you need this; you need this over and over again. You’d never get sick of this, no matter how many times you did it.
“Cum for me, cum like the slut you are,” Ticket Taker orders, his fingers grinding against your clit. He doesn’t leave much room for you to disobey him, forcing you to cum around his cock and dragging out your pleasure until you’re left begging for mercy. You let out a sob when you feel him cum inside you, filling your cunt with his hot, sticky semen; any potential fertilization worries are the least of your concern right now.
With a last few thrusts to push his cum deep inside you, Ticket Taker pulls out of you. He’s off of you quickly, and you can hear him tidy up his clothes as you lay there just trying to catch your breath.
“That,” you pant. “That was amazing but a really shitty punishment.”
“It’s not quite over yet, my Dear Guest,” Ticket Taker scoffs a little. He walks over to your neat pile of clothes that he so kindly folded up for you, plucking your panties from the stack before tucking them into his breast pocket once his gloves are back on. “I’m keeping these; you can walk home feeling my cum slip down your legs.”
“What? You can’t just-!”
“You agreed to face my punishment, didn’t you?” he turns to look at you. Even through his mask, you know he’s staring you down, daring you to disobey. Your silence shows your obedience enough. You don’t live far enough away for his punishment would actually be too hard for you to do, inconvenient and incredibly embarrassing. “Good, I don’t like guests who misbehave, you know.”
“Just help me up, at least.”
“But of course, my Dear Guest,” like a gentleman, the Ticket Taker helps you to your feet and even brings you your clothes. He watches as you dress, even helping you keep your balance as you get your shoes on, all without feeling licentious in his viewing. Once you were fully dressed, the signs of what you two had done almost completely covered up, he offered his arm for you to take. “Shall I lead you out of the maze now?”
“Please,” you take his offer.
Ticket Taker leads you through the maze of mirrors, navigating them with ease and not even a hint of hesitation. You quickly realize that you two were far from the exit, more likely being almost exactly in the middle of the maze than closer to either end. You really had no chance of finding the exit.
As you two of you walk past the hundreds of mirrors, you finally ask your burning question. “So like, what was the prize if I found the exit?”
“There wasn’t one.”
“What?” You almost stop in your tracks if the Ticket Taker isn’t guiding you forward.
“Because there wasn’t a chance you’d find the exit on your own,” Ticket Taker states so matter-of-factly that you can’t even feel insulted.
The two of you exit the maze and are reunited with the sights and sounds of the other circus patrons outside, not a hint of anyone being aware of what you two did in sight. Ticket Taker was right; none of your obscene moans were heard by anyone but him.
“It is best you head home now, my Dear Guest,” Ticket Taker withdraws his arm from you, stepping back. With a tip of his hat, he continues. “Do get home safely.”
“Uh yeah, thanks,” you nod, then pause, a slight blush on your cheeks. “And um, we should, we should do this again. I really enjoyed it.”
Ticket Taker chuckles, you can feel his gentlemanly facade rebuilding its walls around him already. “I shall think about it. I bid you a good night, my Dear Guest.”
You nod, and walk towards the entrance of the circus. Just once you look back, only to see the Ticket Taker throw your panties into a nearby trashcan.
Warnings: Nonviolent Arguing, mom and dad are fighting vibes
You've managed to befriend the all the clowns except the most distrustful of them all, the Jester. Tonight, he makes his feelings on you clear.
Sorry it's not very romantic of a x reader. But I might add a second chapter that would be a bit more romantic (in a more sadistic, possessive, yandere way)
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As much as your boss didn’t like it, the many clowns from the circus frequently visited the cafe. Their presence made the customers uneasy, even if they were only there long enough to get drinks. But as much as your boss didn’t like them, he was a good enough man not to turn them away. Business was business no matter who the customer was, and at least they never tried soliciting the other patrons while they were there.
Your boss pointed out after a while that they’d only come if you were working; anyone else and they were never around. You laughed it off then, saying maybe it was because you worked more of the opening or closing shifts, the times they usually came in. But really, you knew it was likely because you were just friendly to them; your other coworkers were cordial, professional, but their coldness still underlined every interaction. So when they came, you tried to be just a little nicer to them, to even out how the world treated them if just by a little. So you memorized their orders just to show that you cared.
Pierrot, your most regular customer of the colorful bunch since he came in nearly every day you worked, had a sweet tooth to say the least. His go-to order was, of course, the strawberry and chocolate milkshake with the coffee syrup, but really, anything you suggested he ordered without question. The cotton candy syrup lemonades, the s’mores flavored mocha, the chocolate croissants; he was slowly making his way through the sweetest stuff on the menu when he wasn’t making more custom orders. You two even had a way for him to order without speaking, you having taken the time to make a simplified version of the menu with everything on it printed down onto a paper he could point at. He seemed over the moon when you showed it to him for the first time, and it’s become a regular sight by now.
Harlequin came in also regularly, though he was probably the least behaved of the bunch, earning him the title of your boss’s least favorite. If any of the clowns got banned from the cafe, he’d be the first. While he never bothered the other customers, he certainly teased and flirted with you. You kept professional during his attempts to seduce you, treating him no differently than the gross older men who tried the same; but once you got the go ahead from your boss, you started making small digs at him for trying. Though if anything, he seemed to enjoy that more. Taste-wise, he was the exact opposite of Pierrot, a cortado being the closest to sweet he’d ever get, but he just preferred plain coffee, hot or cold. Though you convinced him twice to try one of the black tea blends.
The Ticket Taker however, was very strict with his tastes, not to mention his schedule. He came in only on weekdays at 6:30am, rarely being even a minute early or late. Then he’d order a single large black coffee, to go of course, and he’d sit at one table with a newspaper while the drink was made. He never got far in whatever he was reading considering how simple his drink was, but he still did it every time. Then you’d bring it over to him, he’d thank you, and then he'd leave with the newspaper under his arm. If he didn’t come in at his designated time, it was safe to say he just wasn’t coming that day.
The Doctor was a very rare sight, coming in only once every other week at complete random. When he came in, it was only when there were less than 20 minutes to close and there were no customers already there. If both conditions weren’t met, then there was no chance he was coming in. His order was the most horrific of all; just the thought of it makes one cringe. He’d order your largest size and tell you to just fill it with espresso, nothing but espresso. He never even took you up on the offer to add chocolate or steamed milk, anything to make the drink less of a punch. The only time this was different was when he asked you to leave a little room in the cup, so you did. Once he got that cup, he opened it up and poured four 5-Hour Energies into it. Then he looked up at your horrified expression, gave you a grateful nod, and left without a word. That scene still haunts you to this day.
That left only one member left, the one who never came into the cafe; the Jester. Until tonight.
You two were alone in the cafe, and just like the Doctor always did, came in shortly before closing time. You didn’t mind; his order was simple and quick to make, a small to-go cup of your rose hip and black tea blend. What you minded a bit more was how he stared at you while you waited for the water to boil. His gaze was like a thousand needles on the back of your neck, stabbing repeatedly into the flesh. He had a problem with you, clearly, and you had no clue why.
The moment you put the lid on his drink was a relief to you, just wanting him to take his drink and leave. That way you could finish closing up without someone you thought you were at least cordial with staring you down like you killed their entire family. That hope was quickly shattered when you actually handed him the drink.
“I don’t get it,” he hissed.
“Pardon?” you asked, just so deeply confused.
“I don’t get why the others actually,” he hesitates, the words sounding like they taste of poison. “Why do they like you?”
This didn’t help your confusion at all; if anything, it just made it worse. Was he saying that the others liked you? And if he was, why did he not like it? What was so wrong about your being friends with his employees?
“I… don’t know what you mean by that, sir,” was your simple reply.
He scoffs, as if he thinks you’re lying to him, trying to trick him. Of what, you couldn’t be sure. “Pierrot, it’s no surprise he’s latched onto you; he’s just so desperate for a little attention and kindness. Harlequin, he cares about nothing but what is immediately beneficial to him, and you give him the attention he wants. But the Doctor? Ticket Taker?” He seemed more offended when he said Ticket Taker, like the Ticket Taker actually liking you was a personal attack on the Jester.
“No, what I really don’t get is why. What motive do you have to get close to them? Do you like leading them on? Getting their attention? Or maybe you just like to see freaks up close, see their deformities to feel better about yourself? Perhaps you tell all your friends about the freaks, show off how kind and humble you are to lesser people? No, I bet you think you’ll be able to get something more financial from them, isn’t it? I know they’ve been rather generous with their tickets, so do you just enjoy free things? Handouts?”
“I-” you try to get in a word, some defense for yourself. “I really don’t-”
“Silence. Whatever drivel you have to say, keep it to yourself,” he interrupts you, not even allowing you a few words. “Whatever it is you want, I won’t let you just have your way with my people. So, do yourself a favor, and back off.”
Then, through a show of either comedic or narrative irony, lightning filled the room. Jester, and you for that matter, jerk in surprise, turning to the door outside just in time for a very unexpected downpour to pelt against the glass. You stare at the sudden storm outside, mouth agape, while only Jester’s eye twitches ever so slightly.
“Look, Mr. Jester, sir, I-” you try to continue what hardly even counted as a conversation, but the look the Jester sends you screams for you to shut up immediately.
“Just do your job.”
“Got it,” you nod, giving him a thumbs up. You don’t need, or want, to make him hate you any more than he already does. “Do you have an umbrella or..?” The answer is obvious; he clearly isn’t holding one, nor a bag for one to hide in. You don’t even know why you asked, because all you got was a razor-sharp glare from Jester. “Sorry, I don’t… Have one either. We get the occasional sudden, random downpour like this around this time of the year, so it shouldn’t take too long for it to clear up. So if you want, you can stay in here until the rain stops or for someone to pick you up.”
His gaze isn’t any friendlier at your offer, and the smile he gives you is more satirical than appreciative. “How generous of you,” he said, like if he was given the choice to swallow razors or say that, then he was only forced to pick the latter because he simply had none to swallow.
So you return to your routine, wiping off the counters and sweeping below them in silence. Jester takes a seat as far from you as possible and as close to the door as he can get, like he is just waiting for the second the rain lets up enough for him to flee the cafe. The air in the small space was as tense as could be, an awful cocktail of volatile and cringingly awkward. He isn’t even drinking his tea, likely because of the odd rule the circus has not to eat in front of outsiders; you hated to think how the tea was only getting colder, not even being allowed its purpose. Even though he was the boss of the circus, you guessed he was a good enough one to follow the same rules the rest of them did.
Only when the air gets so thick with hostility that you think you’ll actually choke on it do you try to ease it. “So, um, Pierrot, how is he?” Jester’s eyes snap to you, narrowing. You wish you'd picked something else to say. But it was hard to find any common ground between the two of you, and Pierrot was likely the most pleasant commonality.
“Why do you ask?” he asks like he’s thinking you’ve done something to Pierrot.
“Well, um, I don’t know if he told you but well,” you shift on your feet. “He got attacked by some lunatics earlier, again. It was worse this time, though. Nasty bruise on his jaw from a punch, costume all torn up, God knows how many injuries underneath. He just, he looked shaken afterwards. I just want to know if he got home all right."
Jester stares at you, like he’s calculating something — either how you look, what you said, or how you said it, before he answers. “He did; the Doctor saw him right away, but his injuries were minimal. He is not as weak as you think he is.”
“Well, yeah, he is an adult. I’m sure he can handle himself.” You put a hand on your hip, a little incredulous with Jester. Couldn’t you at least show some concern for a friend? “But I just think he gets hurt more than the rest. His muteness makes him an easy target for that kind of person. I’m just worried that one day he’s going to actually get seriously hurt.”
“And what do you suppose I do? I cannot watch him all the time, and he must learn to defend himself. It is pathetic that he lets himself be treated that way when he knows he doesn’t have to be.”
God, is he really blaming a victim for being wrongfully accused and assaulted? “He shouldn’t have been put in that kind of situation in the first place.”
“You’re right.” Jester is on his feet in a flash, closing the distance between the two of you in a blink. If not for the counter between the two of you, you almost expected him to grab you. “He shouldn’t have to, but he is because this world is full of awful people. But he needs to learn to protect himself because I won’t be able to protect him forever.”
“You’re not even protecting him now.”
He snarls, snarls like an angered beast, his teeth glinting in the light, and for a moment they look inhumanly sharp. Anger disappears from his face quickly, but the fury remains in his eyes, looking at you like he wants to bite your throat out. “You. Know. Nothing! Know your place, tu vermiciattolo.”
You don’t need to speak whatever language he just uttered to know it’s an insult. Though maybe it’s best you pretend you didn’t catch that. Instead, you stare him down, meeting his eyes with a determined look on your own. If this is a fight of wills, then you at least weren’t going to back down easily.
“If you really care about Pierrot, about the others,” you speak slowly, deliberately. “Protect them and help them grow. Because all you’re doing right now is holding them back by trying to isolate them from the world while ensuring they remain victims to that same world.”
For better or for worse, Jester doesn’t even respond. In the end and against all odds, he’s the one that loses the battle of wills you two had as he turns away sharply to the door. “It is no longer raining, so I shall take my leave.”
Sure enough, he’s right; the rain has let up on the windows outside. The two of you had been so caught up in your petty argument that you hadn’t even noticed until he brought it up. It was a wonderful relief, finally freeing you from this terrible interaction. “Have a good night, sir,” your default customer service script slipping out, minus the slight bite to the last word.
Jester is at the door in seconds, clearly wanting out of this interaction just as much as you do. But despite his rush, he stops at the door, turning to look at you as he’s halfway outside. “You know, there is a quote I think about often,” he says, his tone sounding much more subdued. It didn’t even sound like him anymore. “The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines, are fearful of freedom.”
Then he was gone, his dark costume fading into the night like he as a whole was never there. Leaving you finally, thankfully, all alone in the cafe for you to finish up cleaning. Though you were kicking yourself for saying what you did, you wanted to keep at least a relatively cordial relationship with Jester. But after tonight, with what you’ve said, you’ve surely ruined any chance of ever landing in his good graces in your lifetime.
Not aware that you had in fact, actually done what you had wanted to all along by sheer accident; the Jester’s distrust of you having transformed into something else entirely, though tentative still.
“Jackass.”
[Italian to English Translation]
Sospetto - Suspicion, distrust
Tu vermiciattolo - you worm, in a insulting or derogatory way
The Doctor wants to do a little experiment on a willing human test subject, you stupidly agree.
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“Could you give me a hand with an experiment?” That’s what the Doctor asked. “Just a simple experiment. Won’t hurt you at all.”
You agreed, but you probably should have backed out when he asked you to strip. You definitely should have backed out when he strapped you down to his reclining patient chair. At least he made sure it was sanitized before asking you to get on nude.
“So is this some kind of examination?” You ask, cautious as the Doctor tightens the strap around your left ankle. “Or some kind of weird foreplay?”
The Doctor looks up at you, locking eyes somewhere behind his mask. Lifting his hand, he gives you a so-so hand gesture. “A bit of both, I’ll say,” not exactly the most reassuring response. “More of an experiment in human sexuality. Our bodies are so different from humans, and even among ourselves our bodies vary drastically, so I know very little about the limits of your body. Most humans wouldn’t let me do these sorts of tests on them, and I’d rather have willing subjects. Annoying, the others who have slept with humans don’t let me observe.”
You have to bite your tongue not to call him either a pervert or a cuckold. “Couldn’t you have at least told me that before strapping me down?”
“Ah, should I have?” His head tilts to the side. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No, just would prefer it if I’m told what I’m getting myself into,” you watch as he drifts up closer to your head, leather-clad claws trailing up your arm. “So what am getting myself into?”
“A simple experiment to test the limits on female sex organs, or more specifically, the orgasms,” he explains, his massive hand coming to rest on your shoulder, splaying out over your skin. The leather is just thin enough that you can feel hints of his own body heat on your cold skin. “We should first establish a safe word, though. What word would you prefer to use?”
It takes only a second for you to decide. “Red,” you answer. “Why?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Doctor promptly waves off your concern, even though that only makes your concern worse. He steps away from you for a second, dragging back a stool and an over-bed table. You are too low to see what is on the table, though you can see the chain of his watch hanging over the side. Sitting down on the stool, he adjusts it so it still gives him good access to your body. “For now, just relax your body and let me do the work.”
“Can’t exactly do much like this anyway,” you tug gently on your restraints to make your point.
“That’s the point,” he says, matter-of-factly.
His hand slides against your hipbone, slow and tempting, dipping down between your legs. You flinch as the cold leather drags against your sex; the leather being odd but not a bad feeling. The Doctor stares at your face, studying it as his hand explores blindly between the labia. “Hm, I see you aren’t aroused yet,” he remarks.
Your knees jerk a little when one of his fingers almost dips into your vagina, dry, large and deeply uncomfortable. “Ah, there it is,” he whispers. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for later.”
“You suck at this,” grumbling, you look at him with a displeased expression.
“Yes, yes, I am new to this; my apologies. But I’m just trying to get a feel for where everything is, like,” his thumb brushes against your clit, the sensation making you flinch. “Where your clitoris is.”
Slowly, he leans in closer. “So tell me, Sweetie, how do the others talk to you when you lay with them? Do they tell you what a dirty little slut you are? Tell you how you’re just a weak, pathetic human that any of us could kill without even breaking a sweat?” His ring and middle fingers slide down your length, feeling for any reaction. “Or do you prefer it when they tell you how beautiful you are? How well you’re taking them as they fuck you into the bed? When they look down at you like you are their favorite human?”
“Hm?” His head tilts just a tad to the side; you can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Ah, that’s it. You want to be praised, don’t you?”
Your toes curl as he gently presses his thumb to your clit, stroking. “You want to be treated tenderly, like the soft little human you are to us, is that it? I’ve heard fetishes are instilled to fulfill some need from earlier in life, so did you not receive enough before? Or is it just simply how you are? An age-old question: nature versus nurture.”
You bite your tongue to stifle a hum. “Ugh, shut up with that-,” his thumb presses firmly against your clit, almost a warning. A sharp whine leaves your lips before your teeth sink in.
“Fine, I’ll keep my curiosities to myself then,” the Doctor laughs. “Mostly.”
Up and down his fingers slide across your cunt, the smooth leather getting slicked by your own fluids. All the while, the Doctor just watches your face, keeping track of every little micro-expression you make. It’s embarrassing that he’s watching you so closely like this, and it’s hard not to think about it too.
You close your eyes, trying to just focus on his hand between your legs. Letting yourself relax, your body falls into pleasure. Even with his nonexistent experience and only strictly anatomical knowledge, his dexterous fingers are doing a good job of getting you aroused. It’s no wonder, really, his hands are trained to rival even the most skilled surgeons in all of history. They must have had very content wives.
“You look like you’re enjoying it,” the Doctor muses. “I was worried the texture of my gloves might lessen the pleasure you feel, but it seems that worry was unnecessary. Do understand, it is because of my claws. I would hate to scratch you, especially on your vaginal canal’s mucosa lining. So the gloves are for your own genital’s protection.”
“As long as-,” another rub against your clit makes you jerk. “As long as they’re clean.”
“But of course, I do not neglect sanitation for my subjects that I'd rather keep alive. I would hate for you to get an infection, whether that be a UTI or STI.” His free hand slides up your arm, dragging until it reaches your hair. “With a body as soft and pristine as yours, I would want nothing to blemish your perfection.”
He soon replaces his thumb with his middle and forefinger against your clit, those fingers more suited for pleasure at his position. It isn’t long before the Doctor speeds up his fingers, his gaze not breaking from your face. “I can see what the others see in you, how pretty you look when you descend into pleasure. It truly is addicting to watch. Your heart is beating quickly now, about 122 bpm and rising. Does that mean you are enjoying this?”
You gasp and whimper, toes curling and uncurling as you feel your own climax getting closer; unaware that the Doctor actually wants you to answer him. His thumb rubs against your cheekbone before he gently makes you look at him. “Tell me, Sweetie, how are you doing right now?”
“Good,” you stutter out, whimpering pathetically.
“Good, I cannot ensure positive results if I don’t get your input,” he chuckles. “And by positive results, I mean your orgasm.”
“I got it;” you don’t have the willpower not to roll your eyes this time.
“Then tell me, Sweetie, are you getting close?”
Another jolt of pleasure goes up your spine, causing you to whimper and stutter out your answer. “Yes.”
He’s pleased with that answer, speeding up his fingers even more. His fingers play with your clit, pushing, nudging, circling; all of it is so mind-numbing and sweet. Every second drives you closer and closer to the edge.
You finally cum, a wanton moan leaving your lips as your legs strain against the straps that bind them. His fingers slow to a crawl, letting you ride out your orgasm and only stopping when your climax does too. It takes a second for you to regain your bearings.
Looking over at the Doctor, he must have at some point let go of your face, his free hand now holding his watch. “9.4 seconds,” he remarks, setting down the watch to pick up a pencil. You hear him clearly write the result on a paper before he picks up the watch again. All the while, his moistened hand that’s between your legs never leaves its spot. “Well done, shall we continue?”
“What?” you mumble, only to almost yelp when his fingers start up again. “Wait! I’m still-”
“Yes, the refractory period, don’t worry, I have given your body 10 seconds to relax so it shouldn’t be too overwhelming.”
“What even is this stupid test?” You hiss out, wincing at the sharp sparks of pleasure.
“Simple, I want to test how many times you can orgasm, the duration of the orgasm, and how long it takes between each subsequent one,” he explains. “Please allow me to continue this experiment, but if you do feel genuinely too overwhelmed at any point, then use your safe word. But if you think you can hold out, even if just a little, please do so. You can do that for me, can’t you, Sweetie?”
Another question he actually wants you to answer this time. “Fuck, fine, sure,” your voice comes out lewder than you’d like.
“Good girl.”
His hand drifts down a bit, pressing his middle finger against your entrance until it slips it with ease. Even with how wet and aroused you are, his single finger makes your walls have to stretch around him, a stupid reminder of how much bigger he is than you. The stretch makes you whimper, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, feeling as he takes the time to explore inside you.
“I’ve heard that the vaginal canal often has a so-called sweet spot but that it’s hard to find,” he muses, his words so dry and doing little to help. “Similar to the prostate gland in those born male, though harder to find.”
“Fucking hell,” you grumble at him. “You need to work on your dirty talk.”
The Doctor scoffs at your words, but nods. “Very well, then I take it you’d rather I talk about you? About how hot and wet and tight you are around my finger? About how even just one of my fingers causes you to make such delicious sounds? Or how good of a test subject you are for me and how proud I am of you?”
Your cheeks burn at his words, only more displeased at his words but for a different reason this time. You’re about to tell him just to shut up instead, until his finger massages in just the right place, your knees twitching together but held firmly in place. “Found it,” Doctor sounds just so damn proud of himself.
With your cunt thoroughly explored by his finger, Doctor begins to fingerfuck you painfully slowly, taking great care to hit your sweet spot every time as he grinds his palm against your clit. He watches your reactions closely, whispering out affirmations of how good you are, how thankful he is that you agreed to this. All the while, he takes great care to make sure you aren’t hurt, never pushing your cunt too much as he gradually speeds up. Every time you strain too hard against the straps holding you down, he places his free hand on the strap, gently chiding you to relax.
It isn’t long before you cum again, back arching into the air as far as your body can let it before falling back down limply. “4:36.9 seconds since last orgasm, orgasm lasted 9.1 seconds this time,” Doctor informs you, though he is more speaking to himself as he writes the information on the paper than he is to you.
“How are you doing, Sweetie?” he cups your cheek with his free hand, even with his finger still knuckle deep inside you.
“Mhmm,” you whimper. “Good.”
“Can you remind me what the safe word is again?”
You take a second to remember it, as simple as it was. “Red.”
“Good girl,” he applauds your memory. As if to reward you, his ring finger pushes itself into you, earning a lewd whine from you. “Onto the next one.”
The cycle starts up again as the 10 seconds you’re granted passes, though now two of his fingers are stretching you now. The stretch is almost overwhelming, your cunt not fully relaxed since the last orgasm leaving you sensitive and whiny. But Doctor remains strict in his examination, fingers spreading out from the inside as you writhe on the reclined chair.
This time around, he goes faster, picking up speed and stretching your walls. His fingers slide in and out of you with ease, your fluids dripping down his fingers and staining the reclining chair beneath you. The sounds that are coming out of your mouth are so pathetic and animalistic; the sounds from your cunt only bested their erotic nature.
Your next orgasm hits you like a brick of ice to the back of your head, tearing through your body. Tears slip from your eyes as the Doctor reads out his findings. “3:34.2 seconds since the last orgasm. The orgasm lasted 13.0 seconds this time. I think that was a good one.”
“Fuck off,” your words come out slurred, drunk on nothing but hedonistic pleasure.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Sweetie, you’re doing amazing,” Doctor insists, rubbing his thumb on your pelvis. “Just think of the data that I’m getting from this.”
Your fourth and fifth orgasms don’t take long after that; by then any words you’re trying to say come out broken and messy. It was smart to pick such a simple word as your safe word, even if you were forgetting it in your haze.
“Hm,” Doctor hums before the sixth cycle begins. “Every orgasm is making you more sensitive than the last, though duration seems to remain within the 9 to 13 second range. Would you agree with my findings?”
You let out a sound that somewhat resembles a yes, your head moving up and down. Though your movement was so slight, it might have just been a rogue breeze shifting your hair instead. That’s even just assuming you heard what you were agreeing to, anyway.
It isn’t long before you lose track of how many orgasms you’ve had; you can barely even feel yourself. All your mind clings onto is the Doctor’s voice cooing into your ears and his fingers making your cunt mold around them.
“3:53.9 seconds since the last orgasm, orgasm lasted 11.6 seconds.”
The closest respite you get is when he takes out his fingers so he can change position. Sometimes he switches which side of you he’s on; sometimes he’s sitting or standing, even occasionally switching hands to not strain his own body. Your body isn’t getting the same treatment.
“3:20.1 seconds since the last orgasm, orgasm lasted 13.2 seconds.”
How did you even get here again? The Doctor asked you to help him with an experiment, right?
“3:01:9 seconds since the last orgasm, orgasm lasted 15.9 seconds. That’s a record, good job!”
God, are you drooling? You are, you really are.
“You look so pretty like this, so lost in your lust and delirium. It’s like I’ve drugged you, yet I haven’t. I could just eat you up, and you wouldn’t even fight back, would you?”
“2:58.9 seconds since the last orgasm, orgasm lasted 13.2 seconds.”
“I’ll admit, I am a bit jealous of the others. You spend so much more time with them compared to me. Sometimes I really do just want to eat you, eat you all up and not leave a single drop of blood for them to lick off the dirt. That way, you’d be all mine, forever and always. I won’t; I couldn’t do that to my family. And you, of course.”
What was the safe word again? God, you don’t even care; this feels too good, too mind-numbingly perfect.
“2:42.5 seconds since the last orgasm, orgasm lasted 14.4 seconds.”
His cleaner hand is placed over your eyes, his other hand leaving your needy cunt empty. It’s only gone long enough for him to adjust something on him you can’t see, before his fingers are back to fucking you. Then you feel him lean in closer, his mask lifted just enough to reveal his mouth just before he pressed his cold, almost scaly lips to yours. It is only by instinct you kiss back.
You orgasm with his tongue in your mouth, icy breath chilling your overheating body. He doesn’t even get data from that one, a waste of an orgasm. He doesn’t intend to waste any more of them just to fulfill his need to get his mouth on you, his mask going right back on.
“2:01.6 seconds since the last orgasm, orgasm lasted 12.5 seconds.”
The last words you hear him say, or at least the last words your brain can still process, are hazy as if said through a thick fog in a deep dream. “Maybe I really should just steal you away, let the others mourn you, my favorite test subject.”
Your nostrils are filled with a sharp, pungent smell like a mix of bleach and rotten eggs, hitting your brain like a punch to the forehead. You recoil at the smell, your arms jerking to block it from odor only to be stopped by the leather straps. Blinking your bleary eyes, you look up to see the Doctor standing above your now sitting upright body.
“Good, you didn’t die,” his head tilts back in relief. Below your nose, he pulls back a paper-wrapped stick of smelling salts, the source of the foul smell. “I did not want to explain to the others that I made you climax so hard you had an aneurysm or stroke and died. As proud of my own skills as I would be, it would still be rather embarrassing for us both.”
“Piss off,” you groan.
“I see you’ve kept your sharp tongue, so at least your brain is still functioning,” with the smelling salts tossed into the trash - or at least the surrounding floor, The Doctor didn’t care - his hands were free. The Doctor kneels down in front of you, hands reaching for the straps around your ankles. He does the left ankle first, releasing it and gently massaging the skin underneath that has been rubbed raw to bring blood flow back to the limb. Once both legs are free, he rises to free your arms next.
“How many?”
“Oh, you want to know the results?” The Doctor looks up at you, almost beaming somewhere behind the mask. “You did a great job; you had 22 orgasms before you blacked out. Though I must scold you for not using your safe word before that, that was the entire point of a safe word.”
Your cheeks flush, pouting as you try to defend yourself. “Forgot… what it was.”
A laugh pulls itself from behind the Doctor’s mask, chin tilting back. “Well, I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed it that much.” With your body now freed from the straps, the Doctor stands up, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you from falling out of the chair. Which is good, you don’t even think you have bones anymore.
“I think I have enough data to call this experiment a result, though truthfully, in science, you can never have enough data,” he continues, ignoring your sharp look. “There is another test I’d like to do next though, before we do this experiment again.”
“What else do you need to test?”
Doctor looks down at you, you can almost hear the mischief in his tone, something very unusual and more so dangerous with him. “An experiment to determine the maximum size of a phallus that your genitals without injury,” he leans down. “After all, I’ve heard you can barely handle Pierrot’s cock, and my cock is bigger than his. I want to make sure you can take mine before I fuck you.”
Oh, oh fuck. If he really is bigger than Pierrot, then you doubt you’d be able to be the Doctor at all. But then again, just the thought of it does interest you, to say the least.
“But before we do that experiment,” the Doctor stands up again. “I will have to collect certain materials before then, so it will take some time. Not to mention your body likely won’t be able to handle it right now anyway, can’t risk breaking you.”
“My bed,” you grumble out. “I’m tired, take me.” You can’t feel your legs right now, and considering how you helped the Doctor out, he should at least grant you that. He seems to understand, even with your limited, slurred speech; reaching down to pick you up. “Nnn, not over shoulder,” you add. “Clothes.”
The Doctor pauses, then laughs. He steps back, grabbing a clean blanket and taking a second to wrap it around your nude body before pulling you into his arms, letting you curl against his broad chest. “I must thank you again for assisting me in this experiment.” His arms are cold, even through the thin blanket around you. “I should reward you properly later.”
Despite the laws of biology stating the impossibility, the Reader (who goes by Dona Lucretia) and Pierrot have a child together.
I was inspired to write this by a discord conversation I had with Cu., you can find their tumblr at @opirocudomamadordecana. Also, sorry that I haven't written much recently; life REALLY fucked me over this past two weeks.
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There is a near-infinite list of things that are simply impossible. Some notable examples include collecting clouds in a jar, dancing on the surface of the sun, or singing a wordless symphony in the void of space. All things that the laws of biology strictly forbid.
One thing on that list is one that is rarely broken in the real world, that is that two animals of different species cannot interbreed and create hybrid offspring. In nature, rarely, when two species both evolved from the same point that they are close enough to each other in evolution; hybrids can be born. Coyotes and wolves can give birth to coywolves, as well as coydogs and wolf-dogs. Ligers can be born from male lions and female tigresses; male dromedary camels and female llamas make camas. Most common of all hybrids, because of their heritage making them more genetically rounded in physical capabilities without the weaknesses of their parents, are mules born from male donkeys and female horses.
Whatever the five beings that ran the Freak Circus of Horrors were, they were certainly not human. Monsters, that’s what they called themselves, because what else could they call themselves? There was no taxonomy for them, not even a domain for them to fall under. As far as they knew, there was no evolutionary line for them.
So, the possibility of one of them actually impregnating a human should have been impossible. Humans and monsters shouldn’t have sat close enough on the branches of evolution for it to be possible. Just one more impossible possibility.
As such, no one took notice when the Dona Lucretia seemed more fatigued than usual. No, her ever doting and painfully attentive lover Pierrot noticed and took great concern with, but no one else did. “She’s just exhausted,” the Doctor waves off Pierrot’s concern in those early weeks after an examination that missed the actual cause because there was no reason to look. “She’s human; she can’t work as much as we do nor for as long.”
The Jester, in all his generosity and concern for a human under his care, gave Dona Lucretia only three days off to relax before doubling her workload. At least only after harshly scolding her for the perceived weakness, reminding her she could only live as long as she was useful. If her existence worsened the circus, then not even Pierrot’s love could protect her from the fate she deserved. Pierrot, for his part, was told to quit coddling his common-law wife, that way she’d toughen up for the work she had to do.
It was only when Dona Lucretia woke up one morning throwing up that the others took notice, though still with varying levels of little to no concern still. It was more fascination that led the Doctor to do a more in-depth examination of Dona Lucretia’s body, finally finding the real reason.
“She’s pregnant,” Doctor announced to the room, speaking more like he was speaking about a new breakthrough in science and not about someone else’s pregnancy. In a way, he wasn’t wrong. This was a breakthrough in what they believed about what they were. “She’s still early in the first trimester; I’d say only a month and a half.”
Pierrot was the only one who smiled at those words, dropping to his knees before his shellshocked, terrified lover; not noticing her own expression in his elation. “That’s wonderful, My Lady!” his delirium spreading brightly across his face. “This is a sign of our love!”
The Jester, who stood by, disgust twisting his expression that bore into Dona Lucretia, did not match the enthusiasm or intrigue. He had only wanted to sit in on the results of the examination so he might use the results to his benefit, to show Pierrot how pathetic his human lover was. But this, this unholy gestation of human and inhuman, it would only solidify Pierrot’s love for her. All the harder for the Jester to rid himself of the parasite.
“Now, as your doctor, I should stress that this is unprecedented. I can’t say for certain how this pregnancy will go, both for the mother and the fetus. The chance of miscarriage or even stillbirth is likely very high, and that’s not even mentioning what the infant will be like as half human. It might be in the mother’s, and the fetus's, too, best interest to abort it before it is brought to term,” the Doctor explains, his excitement only briefly being pushed aside. “That being said, if you decide to keep the fetus, I will ensure that Dona Lucretia is tended to as an expectant mother; this chance to study a hybrid such as this is just too much for me to miss.”
“Pierrot,” the Jester speaks up only when he can swallow his disgust long enough so that it isn’t heard in his tone. “Perhaps it is best that we abort the fetus. A human is just too fragile to carry one of your offspring, just think of how it could harm—,” how badly he wanted to call Dona Lucretia a it, a thing, Pierrot’s burden “—your lover. It might even kill her.”
Those words make Pierrot pause, a crack in his exhilaration. He wanted this child; he wanted this child so deeply that it hurt, because he was given something so beautiful from the woman he loved so painfully that he thought impossible. But the thought of his love being hurt, or worse, dying from the gift, it almost made the gift not worth it. He stared wistfully at Dona Lucretia’s stomach, where underneath the flesh and guts his own child was growing, even if it wasn’t even showing yet.
“Darling,” Dona Lucretia spoke up, placing her hands over Pierrot’s as he felt for any sign of his kin inside her. “Maybe they’re right. With our child, we don’t know what life for them would be like. Even if I give birth to them, their life might be painful and confusing.” Her eyes turn downcast, away from Pierrot as she lets her more genuine thoughts slip through. “And this circus is no place to raise a child.”
But a delusion is not easily dismissed. “No, my Lady, our child, that they even came into creation, is a testament to our love! Please, I’m sure our child will come out strong and healthy; they’ll love you just as much as I love you too, they won’t hurt you!” Pierrot pleaded to his lover, his hands trembling as he struggled to not hold her too tightly. She was too soft, too breakable, especially now. “Please give our love a chance!”
The other’s words swayed neither lover. Dona Lucretia’s lips pressed together till they were almost white. Perhaps in a different life, under different circumstances, she too would have wanted this child. But not here, not sitting in the Doctor’s dimly lit tent where the air was always stale and rusty, where dried viscera could never be completely cleaned up. Not when the only one who cared for her couldn’t even be bothered to truly listen to her.
It wouldn’t be hard to twist this to Jester’s favor, to get rid of the putrid thing that’s growing inside the equally vile woman. Sure, he could just simply order the Doctor to get rid of that thing right this second, but that’d only create spite in Pierrot. Or worse, Pierrot might actually refuse the order outright, and defend his pregnant wife with violence. That outcome needs to be avoided for more than one reason. It would be better, safer, if Jester convinced Pierrot to agree to the abortion. It is already easier with the mother also leaning towards that too.
Or maybe he doesn’t even need to. After all, the Jester doubted that a baby born of human and monster origin could ever survive; they are just two very different lifeforms in the end. Even if a human woman could be impregnated, did that mean that the fetus inside Dona Lucretia would survive. In the best-case scenario, the fetus had a miscarriage and killed the mother with it. In the worst-case scenario, however, both survive and become hindrances to the circus.
“Why don’t the two of you discuss it for a couple of days?” The Doctor offers after neither lover persuades the other to their side. “Or even a couple of months, really. You’re still very early; abortions are typically done before twenty weeks.”
Word spread to the last two circus members within an hour after the couple found out. Harlequin himself took great pleasure in teasing the couple for their intimate activities, earning a firm punch from Pierrot. While the Ticket Taker seemed truly apathetic towards the news, perhaps a bit surprised at first but it melted away quickly. Any opinion defaulted to whatever the Jester thought, only out of loyalty.
Two weeks passed like cold tar in one’s hand, every passing day, the pregnancy became more and more obvious. Every morning, the Dona Lucretia vomited what little was in her stomach; cramping and soreness became a daily hindrance; she slept more hours than she was awake, and when she was awake; she was in a constant state of fatigue. As the pregnancy reached two months, the pregnancy showed a small but noticeable bump.
“Hm, a fundal height of 18cm,” the Doctor mentioned during the now weekly checkup. “A larger than expected height.”
“What does that mean?” Dona Lucretia asked, Pierrot nodding in agreement by her side as his grip tightened on her hand.
“Well, it can mean several things. Some options are good, some are bad, some are just mundane,” he explains, sitting back in his chair. “Your fundal height should only be about 8cm right now, give or take 2cm. It’s too early for polyhydramnios or a breech birth, and while it is possible that you have uterine fibroids, you don’t have any other symptoms of that. So it is likely either fetal macrosomia or you are actually having twins. I am leaning more towards the latter, however, as fetal macrosomia is typically only seen with obese mothers.”
The word twins only makes Pierrot beam even brighter than he has before, though it was the opposite for Dona Lucretia. Even one child was tough for her to accept, but two? Bringing two innocent children into this awful world was a scary thought for her. Though maybe if they were having twins, the two of them together would lessen any stings the world brought.
As her stomach grew with every passing day, Dona Lucretia’s life altered piece by piece. Her corsets went from functional to decorative to none; many of her dresses were altered to allow for her growing stomach. She was no longer a participant in the circus’s more active shows, leaving her often sidelined. Her diet narrowed as well, most foods making her nauseous, yet she never felt fed enough. But Pierrot was by her side for most of it. Every moment he wasn’t ordered to tend to something away from her side he was there, smiling as he tended to her every need.
As the day when they needed to decide on whether they had decided on an abortion drew near, Dona Lucretia’s stomach was much larger than the Doctor expected. “Perhaps you’re even having triplets,” he said with a laugh, not taking notice as Dona Lucretia seemed to slump over in her seat. “Have you decided on any names you’d like to give the children?”
It was obvious at that point that an abortion was off the table, Pierrot’s pleading over the weeks having whittled down his lover’s resolve. But while Pierrot seemed to get more excited with every passing day, Dona Lucretia only seemed to fall deeper into despair. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined her child or children suffering under the cruel gaze of the Jester. How they’d see many horrors that no child should ever see, and how, worse, they might not even realize the issues of those sights. Would she be able to steer them well in this awful place, teach them right from wrong, or would they turn out as twisted as their father? She cried about it often when Pierrot slept.
By the sixth month of the pregnancy, Dona Lucretia looked like she was already at full term. Jester, as much as he hated it, allowed her to fully step back from her primary duties until after the birth. What little work she could do was usually assisting the Ticket Taker with paperwork, but even that left her lethargic after only a few hours.
As the pregnancy continued, both the Jester and Pierrot watched her with cautious eyes. Pierrot could see his lover’s condition, how much the pregnancy weighed on her in every way. Literally of course, as large as her stomach was, but emotionally too. Perhaps he knew deep down that she never wanted this, not here, not now, but his own selfishness had gagged him from putting a stop to it while that was still a possibility.
The Jester watched with hope, hoping that he’d wake up one morning to hear that there had been a miscarriage or even a stillbirth. He could see how sluggish the vile woman became, how pale she got and saw how little food she could successfully keep down. Humans were so fragile, and he was right that this pregnancy would be harsh on her body. It was like any day her body could finally give out and he’d finally be rid of the parasite. As much as he wouldn’t admit it out-loud, he found a sick sense of entertainment in watching her slowly wither away, even despite the trepidation it brought Pierrot.
As the eighth month neared, Dona Lucretia’s stomach reached a size that made it hard for her to even move without help from Pierrot. “Fascinating, a fundal height of 57cm,” the Doctor mused one day. “21cm more than what is typical at this point.”
The night after that measurement, late on the 24th of February, Dona Lucretia woke screaming in pain. Pierrot plucked her from their shared bed, taking notice of the large amount of blood that stained their bedsheets. He woke half the circus as he rushed his wife to the Doctor, tears turning to ice in the cold winter night air.
Dona Lucretia’s screams filled the air for hours until early the next day. Her blood congealed on the cold floor, pouring out of her in chunks as her body was torn asunder. If not for the circus’s darker aspects granting easy access to blood, she would have bled out long before the delivery was over. Claw marks covered Pierrot’s arms from where Dona Lucretia scratched and tore at him, mind so inundated in pain that she didn’t even realize she was doing so.
At the fifteen-hour mark, the Doctor finally called it. Ticket Taker and Doctor scrambled to set up for surgery, and an hour later, the baby was finally pulled from the mother’s womb. The Doctor hadn’t wanted to risk a cesarean section, knowing his own inexperience as a midwife and obstetrician, but he knew there was no other chance the baby would leave without it.
Early that blisteringly cold February morning, a single child was born into the world. “A boy,” the Doctor announced to Pierrot as he handed the bloodied child off to his father. With no time to waste, Dona Lucretia was sewn up as Pierrot watched, eyes torn between watching his wife’s fragile body be stitched together again and cleaning off the infant in his arms.
Only when Dona Lucretia’s life wasn’t in immediate danger did the Doctor return his attention to the newborn. “68cm and 9.34kg,” he measured the infant, who whimpered in his grasp. “A considerably large newborn. For a human at least.”
Even with the newborn’s mother being a human, its paternal heritage showed through. Like Pierrot, the mouth was wide and revealed a tongue with a sharp point, their nose barely protruded from their face, and fingers ended in small dull claws, the source of a lot of Lucretia’s pain during pregnancy. The Doctor would later also point out that their white hair and unnaturally pale skin was a product of albinism, not from Pierrot’s own genetics, with the primary point of evidence being their light, pale blue eyes.
For hours after, Pierrot stayed by his wife’s side, listening to her faint breathing between the infant’s own shaky, struggling breaths. He’d never seen or felt anything so fragile in his life before. His wife lingered at the edge between life and death; his own child wasn’t doing much better. It was as he was sitting there that regret bloomed in his chest for the first time. How horrible he was to his wife, making her bear this child. He was no better to his own child for bringing them into this world with a body that struggled to breathe.
The Doctor worked for four days without rest to ensure both the mother and child survived, receiving most help from only Pierrot, who rested little either. Their work paid off when on the fifth day Dona Lucretia opened her eyes again, weary and trembling.
“Pierrot?” she spoke, her voice as present as the melting snowflakes outside.
Pierrot’s head jerked up at the sound of her voice, relief replacing worry as he saw her conscious again. “My Lady!” he nearly sobbed. “Our child, he’s beautiful. Thank you, thank you so much, you did an amazing job.”
He stood up, pulling back the blanket to show her the child she brought into this world. Dona Lucretia looked down at the infant, expression only showing exhaustion as she stared at the unmoving body. With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch her child, feeling its cold skin. For a moment, she feared the baby wasn’t even alive, still and gelid in Pierrot’s arms.
Then the baby let out a small coo, eyes fluttering open at the warm hand touching its cheek. He turned his glacial eyes to his mother, before smiling and babbling, like he recognized her already.
Tears dripped down her cheeks, emotions flooding her chest as she gazed at her child, before she finally smiled. “You’re right; he’s beautiful.” Pierrot nodded, body trembling, but his arms kept safely around his son. “Was there… Is he the only one?”
“Yes,” Pierrot chuckled. “We were wrong about twins; he was just a large child.”
“Yeah, he’s a big boy all right,” Dona Lucretia let out a giggle that quickly turned into a cough.
“What should we name him, My Lady?” The two of them had long talks about the baby’s name before, but having expected twins or even triplets, they now had multiple names to pick. “You should be the one to name him.”
Dona Lucretia pondered over the list of names they’d considered. She watched as the infant tilted its head up to take his mother’s finger into his mouth, gumming down on her digit. Finally, she settled on one.
