“VIP says turn the pear of anguish and make her vaginal canal wider,” the guy sitting behind the computer calls out, “He just sent over ten grand and said to draw it out.”
I make a move in an attempt to stop this, but Tyler’s arm shoots out in front of me, blocking me.
Not yet.
He mouths the words to me.
My entire body purrs with murderous intent, but he’s right. We still don’t know how many people are inside this room. If we rush this and someone catches us off guard, this turns into a bloodbath before we can get the girl out without harm.
Standing behind the girl like some nightmare ringmaster waiting for the show to continue is the most hideous clown I’ve ever seen. He slides his hand over her thigh next to him and between the girl’s legs, then turns the heart of the device,enlarging it inside of her. The clown snickers with disturbing fascination.
Her head drops forward with a strangled cry, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming louder. When she leans back, blood tints her teeth crimson.
The clown’s outfit looks like it was taken out of a flooded circus tent and stitched back together by someone utterly unstable.
The costume is oversized and filthy, layers of disheveled fabric hanging densely from his broad frame in mended sections of faded yellow, blooming red, and moldy blue. The material was probably once bright and ridiculous, designed to make children laugh, but now everything about it feels contaminated. Muck and oil are dispersed throughout the fabric and something darker has soaked into the seams permanently.
Gigantic pom-poms run down the front of the suit, but several are ripped open or dangling by a thread. The sleeves are deteriorated at the cuffs, sporting gloved hands.
His gloves, once white, are now a brownish-red. I didn’t realize that at some point he'd picked up a paddle, holding it slack in his grasp in one hand while lazily pushing the swing with the other.
The clown shoes are enormous and made to look old, the red paint flaking from the top and one of them has a hole in front.
The collar around his neck is excessively large, designed for dramatic effect.
Waves of stiff ruffled fabric circle his throat, but it’s collapsed in places, contributing to his appearance of something decaying in the costume.
The wig is somehow the worst part. Bright synthetic curls in shades of red, green, and yellow stick out in different directions under a tiny, tilted carnival hat attached with elastic under his chin. Parts of the wig are matted together like it hasn’t been washed in years.
Thick white greasepaint cakes his face so thickly it splintersevery time he smiles. Black paint circles his eyes lopsided while the red grin carved across his mouth spans far beyond his natural lips into something heinous. Sweat runs through the makeup in thin trails, making parts of the painted smile droop below the hot circus lights.
When he shoves the swing forward something else becomes noticeable. It’s the wider end of a yellow juggling club sticking out of her backside.
The entire thing is staged like some grotesque performance and she’s the main attraction.
My eyes track to the right side of the room, the neon carnival signs cast pink and red light across the men operating the equipment, while headsets crackle with static and fuzzy audio feedback.
Numbers climb in the corner of the screen.
Tips, the VIP’s demands, and comments overflow the screen.
“VIP demands you push her higher and spank her ass with the clown paddle more aggressively,” the man at the computer states casually without even looking away from the screen. “He just sent five grand.”
The clown laughs and it comes out like a choking sound.
Then he yanks the swing seat backward hard enough that the girl gasps.
The bells on her costume jingle. Then he lets go and she’s almost all the way forward and then-SMACK- he strikes the juggling club that’s sticking out with the paddle, driving it deeper inside her. Her eyes blow wide in shock as painful sobs wrack through her.
Heat withdraws from me, leaving behind something merciless.
My vision jerks as I’m thrown back into my own experience in a warehouse.
He pulls my hips up, spits on his cock, and pushes it into my ass with one swift thrust. The feeling of degradation and humiliation floods my body.
I blink back to the present and all I see in her is the girl I used to be.
The cameraman adjusts focus, zooming in on her face.
