Being a clown is a noble profession, I'm sure, but for me it was simply a way of earning the extra money I needed to finally graduate from college.

Normally a rather bashful person, I learned several years previously that dressing in ridiculous clothes and painting your face provided a humiliation-free barrier. Almost anything a clown does is accepted as part of the routine.

My first gigs were just what you might imagine, kid's birthday parties and the like. Then one day I got a call from a woman who wanted me come to a surprise party for a friend taking the final plunge into marriage. She wanted me at the stroke of midnight and when I declined (it wasn't my type of clowning), she offered to double the fee.

When you're an aspiring college student, money talks. So I agreed to meet her outside her home at 11:45 the following Saturday night.

Before I go any farther with this story I have to tell you something about myself. I am not a social person, but I study people. My chosen career, if I make it through college, is to be in the field of abnormal psychology. A psychologist has a license to get intimate with people's thoughts without having to be intimate with the people themselves. That's me in a nutshell, don't get involved.

But to make matters worse, I have always been very uncomfortable around women. I'm not gay, but I just don't like all the mind games it takes to woo and impress a woman just for the sake of having sex with her. Sex in its purest form can be purchased or even imagined. But that's fodder for another story. Anyway, that's enough about me, let's get back to the story.

At precisely 11:45 I was standing in the caller's driveway adorned in my usual clown suit, fluffy orange hair, huge bulbous shoes, baggy pants with pockets deep enough to store the links of silk scarves and the multitude of balloons for the usual animal "art". The music blared and every light in the house was on. I just hoped I could perform and get out of there before the police arrived in response to the neighbors.

By the time the witching hour arrived I was pissed, but instead of just going back to the dorms and counting up to bad luck, I decided to go to the door and demand payment for my time. There was no response to my knocks. I knocked harder and louder. Still no response.

With the music blaring, it was easy to understand why I wasn't heard. Then it occurred to me, I didn't hear any voices. No squeals or giggles or laughter that should be part of such a wild celebration.

I pushed the large wooden door open and stepped in. The music hit me like a physical force, coming from a large living room just beyond the foyer. But as I stepped into the room, the deafening music ceased to be my concern. There in the center of the floor were no less than 15 women forming a loose circle around a large ottoman, on which was draped a smallish woman, lying on her back with her head, arms and legs splayed and hanging loosely over the edge of the cushions.

The women all appeared to be asleep, or unconscious or even comatose. My eyes took in the entire scene as my mind raced. A variety of spent booze bottles lay around the floor and to the edge of the poorly formed circle sat a bong, like you might to see in a police museum of impounded drug paraphernalia.

Outside the circle, toward what must have been the kitchen, stood a tall podium-type piece of furniture with a flat glass-covered top. On the glass were neatly rowed lines of what I assumed to be coke. The fear factor reached a peak. If the cops came right now, I would get busted just like the rest of them. I had to stop the noise.

It wasn't hard to find the music and I shut the power off. The silence was audible and my ears continued to feel the thumping of the base. Instinctively I went to the closest woman and checked for a pulse. It would have been just my luck to stumble into a mass suicide or some other weird shit. But her heart rate was normal, if not a little fast, and she was breathing easily. I checked the next woman, then the next. I didn't see the need to make the full circle.

What had happened was obvious. These women were all drunk and drugged and lay around in a circle of what must have been some party activity when they all finally succumbed, each trying to outdo the other. I guessed the one in the middle to be the guest of honor.

Then a smile came to my face as I noticed this had been a typical pre-nuptial party. Each of the passed out women was dressed in costume. There was a ballerina, a belly dancer, and a hobo. One was in a man's three-piece suit, another in a space suit. One had hair dyed black on one side and white on the other like that character in the movies with the Dalmatians.

I laughed as I made the rounds. The girl in the middle was dressed like Shirley Temple, with a long skirt covering a multitude of petticoats. I ignored the twinge in my loins when I noticed how young she looked dressed up like a little girl. My first thought was to find a phone and call the police. That would teach them for stiffing me.

A phone lay on a table near the stereo, but before I could make the call, I noticed some of the gifts that had passed to the soon-to-be bride that evening. Cards with money, occasional small appliances, the usual lingerie and what I hoped was a joke, a huge rubber double-headed dildo. Its overall length must have been 20 inches and it was as big around as one of the beer bottles that strewn the floor.

I picked it up and was laughing out loud when the idea struck me. Could this really be happening? Dare I take any liberties with these helpless past out women? They did owe me after all.

I lay the dildo down and walked back to the circle. If it was to be, I knew that my target would ultimately be Shirley, but I still walked the perimeter. Miss Belly Dancer was a striking black-haired beauty. She lay on right her side with her knees pulled up and her left arm under her head.

There was no question that the satin top covered the real thing and that the large breasts were not part of the costume. I pulled both knees up until she lay on her back, then let her legs fall apart. Although the bikini bottoms were veiled as part of the getup, her position allowed for a great beaver shot.

I resisted the desire to pull the leg of the panties aside and get a good look at her pussy. All in good time, I thought. The ballerina's last conscious position had been sitting cross-legged, but now she slumped forward. I grabbed her by the ponytail and lifted her head, then let her fall over backwards. With my foot I pushed her legs out straight and spread them. I stood between her legs and gawked at her flimsy one-piece out fit.

From a kneeling position I grabbed her ankles and spread her wide at the hips, keeping her legs straight. I wondered if, perhaps, she wasn't actually a dancer, since there was no resistance to the point of a full splits position. She wore no tights and the material of the costume cut her tight in the crotch. The narrow band of material didn't fully cover her pussy and in the absence of panties the dark pubic hair was visible on her outer lips. I grasped the material at about her belly button and pulled upward. The material sliced her cunt and made a perfect camel toe.

The crotch was a snap-away and in a single motion I ripped the snaps apart to reveal a near perfect pussy, recovering its natural shape once freed from the fabric. Very nice, indeed.

I continued the circle spreading legs and lifting skirts, not bothering with any of the women who wore costumes too difficult to remove easily. One tiny red head wore a Winnie the Pooh outfit. It was one piece with attached bear paws. As she lay flat on her back, the mound of her pussy rose above her flat stomach and I placed my hand on her mound. I gripped her pussy hard, digging my middle finger toward her hole. She must have worn panties because I could not penetrate her.

I wondered if her cunt hair was as red as the hair on her head. I grabbed the light pajama-like material at the seam of the crotch and ripped it open. Beneath I found full brief silk panties snuggling around a large and well-formed pussy. Reaching inside the outer garment, I pulled the waste band of the panties down over her feminine hump and stared at the thick auburn pussy hair, beneath which protruded large lips and a hooded clit.

Farther down I saw a string extending from her pussy hole. Obviously, this was a bad time of the month. I felt instant panic when I heard a moan from the other side of the circle. The three-piece suit rolled to the side and puked on the white carpet, then lay motionless with her cheek in the gore.

It dawned on me that this situation couldn't last forever. Some of them were bound to wake up or a husband or boyfriend would be here to pick them up. If I were going to do more, I had to hurry. Subconsciously I turned to Shirley Temple. While I love skirts and panties and the occasional beaver shot, I found the petticoats to be annoying.

Fortunately they were easily removed from her hips and down her legs without compromising her original splayed position. As she lay there helpless, she reminded me of a virgin sacrifice on some pagan altar. Tonight she would sacrifice herself to me.

Her hair had been done in ringlets that hung in long blond tresses from her head, which lay almost inverted over the edge of the ottoman. Her hair collected on the floor and was the most beautiful blond color I have ever seen. While blond is not my favorite, this hair was gorgeous. Even her frail eyebrows showed that same pretty tint.

I started by gently unbuttoning her ruffled blouse and exposing a one-piece sports bra. I didn't really want to move her, but I did want her completely nude before me. I went to the kitchen and pulled drawers until found a sharp carving knife.

When I returned I systematically began cutting her clothes off. I cut up the arms to the neckline of her blouse then in one quick motion I cut the bra between her breasts and watched it spring to the sides. She lay nude from the waste up on the tatters of her costume. Her breasts seemed small because of her arched position but the nipples were hard and pronounced. The skirt buttoned and zipped on the side and was no trouble removing.

There she lay with nothing but a pair of light purple bikini panties. There was no camel toe, only a smooth tight fit of semi-transparent material. I put the tip of the knife in the leg hole and up to the waste band.

I cut in a slow continual motion, the material pulling apart under the tension and finally snapping aside. I repeated the motion on the other side until all that covered her pussy was a loose piece of material that reminded me of an unattached loincloth.

My first thought when I removed the last remnant, was that she had a shaved pussy. However, on closer examination I was amazed to find her pussy was completely covered in a super fine downy coat. The hair was almost invisible but was quite abundant. It wasn't long, but rather, thick like kitten fur, and so soft I could barely feel it on the tips of my fingers. I rubbed softly up and down her mound, then moved my fingers lower on her pussy.

Her legs were not spread far apart, about 2 feet at the knees. In that position there were no pussy lips or clit visible, only a deep crevice in the skin formed by her large outer lips. As I spread her legs, small pink inner lips appeared topped by a tiny knob of a clit. I recalled the large lips of the red head and thought hold much fun it would be to line all the women up in a row, with their naked pussies exposed to compare their sexual anatomy.

Instead I concentrated on Shirley with the furry pussy. Once spread and exposed I rubbed her clit and lips with my fingers. While her clit and lips were tiny, her spread position caused her hole to gape slightly and only darkness shown beyond the entrance. I pushed one finger in and was surprised at lack of resistance. I really expected that a pussy that looked this good would feel even better.

I'm not saying it was bad. On the contrary, it was marvelous. It just didn't quite suck at my finger like I expected. Two fingers were not a problem, but three without lubrication became more difficult. With one hand I spread her lips, while the other rammed three fingers in hard, only to withdraw and ram again.

I needed something to grease her up with so I could fuck her with one hand and jack off with the other. My hard on, still hidden in the baggy clown pants, was ready for some action. Perhaps there was lotion in one of their purses, or the bathroom.

Then I remembered the gift table. Surely there would be some lotions or bath oils there. Sure enough, one of the gifts had been lavender scented massage oils. How timely! I stopped abruptly only a few steps from the table, turned and smiled as I picked up the huge dildo.

Aside from an occasional groan, there were no interruptions, no ringing phones, no conscious women. Still I was nervous to do my deed and leave. The thought occurred to me that Shirley might wake up when I fucked her with the gigantic dildo.

As a precaution I used my clown scarves to securely tie her left wrist to her left ankle and the same on the right. Then I blew up a small round balloon and stuffed it in her mouth, holding it in place with yet another scarf. She was a sight to behold, all trussed up and waiting for my perversions.

I poured a very liberal amount of the sweet smelling oil on her pussy, allowing it to run in all directions. Some ran down and puddled in her belly button, but the majority flowed down the crack of her pussy to her ass. I smeared and rubbed until all of her exposed body, between mid-thigh and breasts, was a glimmering mass of flesh. The three fingers went back in easily as I released my hard cock from the baggy pants. Stoke for stroke I fucked her hard with my hand and jacked my cock to near orgasm.

I worked a fourth finger into the action and my thumb would crash into her tiny clit with every forward stroke. Even though I had limbered her to accept four fingers, I was still unsure if the dildo would fit. I poured more oil, both on her pussy and on the realistic rubber cock. I forced the head of the monster dick into her pussy and the skin pulled tight around the shaft. It was hard to insert beyond a few inches and my grip was poor on the oiled cock.

However, a good clown is never without an abundance of "magic" scarves. Wrapping one around the exposed end of the dildo, I forced it farther into her hot pussy. The sight was exhilarating. The rubber dong stretched her pussy at least 2 1/2 in diameter and I thought the tissues around her cunt might tear at any time.

Then her body jerked and her head came up. The look in her eyes was a mixture of pain and panic. The knife lay on the floor where I had dropped it earlier and I calmly picked it up.

The only words of the evening were, "Lay still or I'll cut you bad."

Her eyes shut and her head fell back down. She must have lost consciousness again for there was no more movement. I didn't fear being identified, I was still in disguise, orange hair, big nose and all. I must have been a bad dream to Shirley.

I returned my attention to fucking her hard with the dildo and jacking my own engorged prick. Not only had she taken the thickness of the fake cock, she had taken well over half the length. I took a step to reposition myself and almost fell on a beer bottle. I cussed briefly, then got another idea.

I slowly pulled the big cock from her stretched pussy. As the slightly larger head pulled from her hole, it made a sloppy sucking noise like a plunger on a stopped-up sink.

Before her pussy could shrink back into shape I rammed the empty beer bottle, bottom first, all the way into her cunt, until the shoulder of the bottle disappeared and only the neck was visible. The sight was too much for me and my cum exploded out the end of my cock.

My body quivered with the hardest orgasm I had ever experienced and my seed shot to the carpet in large globs. Finished and satisfied, I retrieved all of my scarves and cleaned the carpet as best I could. Shirley still lay unconscious with a beer bottle peeking from her stretched cunt.

I retraced all my footsteps that night and left no sign of my presence. Before I left I called the police and reported a domestic disturbance, knowing that with all the drugs and booze to contend with, there wasn't much chance that I could ever be traced. And how would Bo Peep describe me? As some clown who fucked her with a bottle and her own dildo?



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