I Got Pegged by Pennywise, and I Guess I’m Into Clowns Now
Alas, this did awaken something in me.
I love how sexuality is constantly evolving. It keeps life interesting. The things I was into at 16 are different from the kinks I had at 20, my desires at 25, and what I crave sexually now.
At the ripe age of 30-something, I am far kinkier than I was at 17 when I lost my virginity. I have fallen down that rabbit hole and have experimented with most things, and most things, I’m indeed into. Still, there is always more to try—more kinks to discover— weird and twisted paths that lead to sexual freedom, autonomy, and pleasure.
But up until recently, if you asked if I thought there was a chance I was ever going to be sexually attracted to clowns, I would have replied, “I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.” But I would have been wrong. It turns out I may just be more attracted to Tim Curry as Pennywise than Dr. Frankenfurter—a recent development.
I was on my “HOME” trip. It’s a group of 40 of us whom, three times a year, rent a large cabin in the Poconos to dance, fuck, and be merry. While we are not a cult, we are also not not a cult.
Each evening we have a different theme—Western, the 80s, Winter Wonderland, etc.
On this trip, one of the themed nights was “Circus,” which I kept accidentally calling “Freak Show.”
I went as a 1930s, Great Depression “hobo clown.” Think blue striped overalls, comically large clown shows, a sad face, and the big red ball for a nose. M went as an attractive horror clown.
I have had a crush on M since we met years ago; we were hired to be sexy nymphs at a cannabis supper club. Dressed in marijuana paraphernalia, we laid on a large mattress, puffed clouds of smoke, and made out. We had to stare deep into each other’s eyes, and if that isn’t a way to kickstart love, I don’t know what is.
(M and I, the night we first met.)
But our schedules never aligned, and then there was a universal pandemic that prohibited us from connecting, so my crush—lust—remained unrealized.
So when I learned she would be on this HOME trip, I had one goal, get her to dick me down. While her appearance is undeniably more feminine, her energy skews masculine, embodied by the “Daddy” necklace she wears around her neck. I knew she’d know how to lay some pipe.
Come midnight, when clothes started coming off, I asked M, seemingly out of the blue, if she’d like to peg me. She paused to think—I don’t think she was expecting my bluntness—and eventually said, “Yes. Let me grab my strap.”
Her strap was a standard seven inches, which I knew meant I would have no problem taking it. While I’m not a bottomless black hole like some of you pigs—lol, who am I kidding?—I can take up to nine inches without any issues.
I ripped off my overalls, revealing a vibrant, royal blue jockstrap, and assumed the position—face down, ass up with my back curved like a crescent moon.
M rolled a condom over her purple dick, lubed it up, and glided that fatty deep inside of me. I was tight, but she fit right in. At first, she started slowly, but then, she could tell my hole craved more. She pushed my head down on the mattress and grabbed a clump of my long hair. She then pulled it, cranking my head upward as she thrusted harder and harder.
With my head up, my face was met with a juicy, juicy booty. The woman in front of me was deepthroating her boyfriend, so I asked her if I could taste. With his cock deep in her mouth, she mumbled, “Yusss.”
With each thrust, my tongue delved deeper into her wet pussy, causing her to deepthroat his cock even more.
M’s thrust became so strong; I couldn’t focus on the dripping pussy in front of me. I pulled her dick out and turned around so that I could sit on it.
While riding that cock like the champion I was, M leaned forward and grabbed the back of my head. That’s when, for the first time, I really, really saw her face. The long diamonds over her blackened eyes. Her red, curved lips. The two puffballs on her head.
(M, the clown in question.)
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