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I quickly turned away from staring at them. They weren’t the typical bright circus clowns, but they still made my stomach turn.
"Let's go inside," I said quickly. But Manson had spotted the approaching clowns and recognition lit up his face.
“I know those guys,” he said. “Hey Vincent! Lucas!”
“Don’t fucking call them!” I gripped his arm in absolute horror. One nervous glance back told me the clowns had heard their names called, and were heading directly for us. “Nope, no, no-”
Manson gripped my arm, preventing me from sprinting for the house in terror. “Are you…” He laughed, as if in disbelief. “Are you actually scared of clowns?”
“Yes!” I whispered. “They’re fucking creepy and gross and - oh my god -”
They were right there, enfolding Manson in a giant hug, patting him on the back, meaningless conversation droning from their mouths. The only thing I could focus on was those horrible painted faces. Their exaggerated smiles only got worse as they bared their teeth and smiled.
Ugh. Gross. It took every bit of self-control I had to not run for the house. I grit my teeth and wrung my hands behind my back, keeping an awkward distance. Manson would scold me if I left, but I wanted as much space between me and the clowns as possible.
Unfortunately for me, my staring was noticed. One of the clowns spotted me shifting coldly from foot to foot, and decided to be polite.
“Hey, hi, I’m Jason,” he extended a slim hand. Long fingers, pale skin. I absolutely cringed as I shook it. “You okay? You look a little, uh-”
“She’s afraid of clowns,” Manson said, sounding so amused I wanted to slap him. “She’s my slave for the night.”
“Don’t just fucking say that,” I snapped, but it was too late. The secret was out.
"Well done, my man," one of them clapped Manson on the back, as Jason gave me a long, appraising look.
“Aren’t you Jessica Martin?” he said. “You were a cheerleader?”
“Yeah,” I answered begrudgingly. I was trying to figure out a way to hide myself behind Manson - anything to put some kind of barrier between myself and them. It felt silly, but I couldn’t help it. Clowns were creepy, and gross, and uncanny - something felt wrong about them.
“Let me introduce you properly,” Manson said, hooking his arm around my waist and dragging me up alongside him. I pressed against him, hard. “This is Jason, Vincent, and Lucas.”
“Cool, hi, yeah, nice to meet you,” I muttered, forcing a very tight, very uncomfortable smile onto my face. Now that I was forced to look at them straight-on, I could tell that beneath all the makeup, they were really normal looking guys - if not pretty attractive. Manson explained how they’d all been in metal shop together, and that Lucas had started a band, but I was growing more distracted the longer I looked at them up close. There was a peak of colorful tattoos at the top of Vincent’s jumpsuit, Jason was wearing multiple rings that looked hand-made, and Lucas had fit large, stretched black tunnels in his ears.
Somewhere in the mingling of my fear and torturous horniness, a very weird reaction was occurring. They looked terrifying, but their bodies were muscular and their smiles were almost charming. For how creepy they looked, they actually seemed...nice. One of them was wearing cologne, something bright and citrus-y that contrasted with Manson’s dark, musky scent. It gave me a little rush, the thought of them touching me - but god, that awful clown makeup...
“She’s shaking!” Vincent laughed. “It’s just paint, girl! We’re not gonna eat you.”
“Or maybe we will,” Lucas snapped his teeth, and I gripped Manson’s hand, gulping down my scream.
"I'm just cold," I muttered angrily, as the heat rushed to my face. I felt like a cornered rabbit, waiting to see which wolf would have a go at me first. I was also a very horny rabbit: instead of feeling sick with fear, this was giving me an endorphin-high.
I had never liked clowns, never. But facing them meant I was pleasing Manson, it meant I was being a good girl, and it meant I was one step closer to him finally taking me inside and fucking my brains out.
“Don’t worry about scaring her, boys,” Manson said, giving me a little squeeze. His grip was reassuringly tight. “It’s good training for her.”
“Is she from the club?” Vincent said. I had no idea what “club” he was referring to, but Manson apparently did. He shook his head.
“No, she’s a newbie. Remember Kyle, from high school? She was his girlfriend.”
“Yeah, yeah, I thought so,” Vincent was nodding. “Who knew Miss Popular would be into that kinky shit.”
“She’s learning,” Manson smiled in the face of my glare. I still wanted to hit him: for denying me, for spanking me, for making me wait, for making me stand there and face my fear. I managed to hold my fists in check, but not my tongue.
“Manson...can’t we...can’t we just…”
“Don’t you know it’s rude to whisper around friends?” Manson chastised, with a tone in his voice that let me know just how much he enjoyed getting to scold me in front of them. “Can’t we just what? Go inside so you can finally get fucked?”
I must have turned red from head to toe. My eyes darted back and forth between the clowns as they laughed. But they didn't seem at all confused, or even surprised by the situation. Maybe they were used to this. Maybe this was Manson's thing. The sudden thought that perhaps there were other girls taking Manson’s commands and kissing his boots invaded my mind, and jealousy gripped me with shocking intensity.
“Let’s just go back inside,” I whined. “Please Manson...you’ve made me wait long enough...” My hand snaked down his chest and over his jeans. I felt his hardness and squeezed, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
He didn't even flinch.
“You know better, angel,” he warned. “This is on my time, not yours. And you're neglecting to properly address me.”
I couldn't say it in front of his friends, I couldn't. I looked back and forth between them nervously, and my embarrassment was only made worse when I noticed the eager expressions on the clowns' faces. They were enjoying seeing me squirm.
"I can't say it here," I winced. "I wanna go inside. Come on." My voice sounded petulant and utterly bratty, even to my own ears.
"More worried about what they think of you than pleasing me, Jess?" Manson said, and tsked. "That's not how good girls behave."
I could sense an impending punishment and whimpered, furious as I snatched my hands away from him and folded them against my chest. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get off. Now.
“Gotta use the restroom,” I muttered, before Manson could continue his scolding. “I'll be right back.”
I expected him to try to stop me. Instead he just said slowly, “Don’t take too long." As I hurried away, I could just barely hear him say, "She's a bratty one, boys. Only one good way to tame her.”
If I was going to come back to another spanking, then I was at least going to get off first.
The restroom was occupied, of course, and I waited outside the door impatiently until a drunk girl finally stumbled out. A line had formed behind me, so I knew I had to be quick. There, alone in the quiet room, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. My hair still looked good, and my makeup was luckily intact, though it was only a matter of time before that changed.
