Clown White (Part II of The Circus)

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Clown White

(Part II of The Circus)


By Dreadlocks


A Note from the Author: Although this story stands on its own quite well, reading the first part will undoubtedly add to the experience.

Enjoy! Claire




I remembered few things from my childhood with greater fondness than when my father took me to the circus. It was wild and wonderful, with sights that were beyond my comprehension at that young age.

I was never all that interested in the death-defying feats of the daredevils, or the animals as they were put through their paces. No, for me, the most wonderful part of the circus were the clowns.

This was long before all the horror movies depicting clowns as these evil characters, the likes of Pennywise. The clowns from my youth were funny, wacky, and even sad at times. I never really understood the fascination, but it has stayed with me to this very day.

One morning, my girlfriend surprised me with two tickets to what she promised would be an entirely different sort of circus.

“You know how I love the circus, Melody.” I gushed, clutching the pair of tickets in my fingers.

“This isn’t anything like the circuses you remember from your younger days, my love.” She promised. “This is, let’s say, a more adult version.”

“Do you mean like Cirque du Soleil?” I asked excitedly.

“Not exactly.” She smirked.

I looked down at the tickets. On the face, there was nothing to hint at anything she was speaking of. Across the middle of the plasticized card, it simply said, “CIRCUS”. I failed to recognize the venue printed on the very bottom of the ticket.

“I guess I’ll just be surprised.” I mused. Watching her disappear into the kitchen, I heard the kettle boiling. “I’ll have a brew as well, as long as,” I suggested.

Melody and I had been lovers for nearly three years. She was only the second girl I was ever fond of that way. I always considered myself fortunate to have her in my life. She was everything I was not; tall and slim with gorgeous long black hair. In contrast, I was a bit dumpy with an ass than seemed to go for a while and an unfortunate belly that seemed to hang on no matter how many fad diets I tried. Then there was my hair. Of course, I was a bit of a disappointment to my parents, especially when I finally admitted to them that I was gay. My father took it especially hard.

“I’ll not have a lesbo tart living in my house. Pack your kit and go.” My mother wanted to interject, but didn’t dare, and secretly, I think she felt much the same way. And so, I was out, on my own.

For a while, I lived with friends, but eventually, I got on my feet, securing a job with a local newspaper. The income was enough to cover rent as well as tuition at a local college, where I earned my journalism degree.

Father never warmed up to me, but having watched me struggle from a distance, my mother finally came around. She actually admitted to being proud of my accomplishments.

Three years ago, I finally landed the job I had always wanted. Some might think it drab, dull even, but being a book editor was all I really could have hoped for. And I was good at it, as well. Several of my authors were well published, and one was even a best-seller. All was right with the world.

This was where I met Melody. She had started as an equal in the trade, but eventually found herself as my assistant. It was an odd way to begin a relationship, but she soon overtook me. I had no aspirations of being anything more than an editor, but she had her eyes on the prize, and eventually, she won it. The tables had turned, and I now worked for her.

“Thanks, Luv.” I reached up and gave her a peck on the cheek before she sat across from me, setting her mug on the table.

“You know, Win, I really ought to level with you about this…”

“No! I want to be surprised. If you think I’ll enjoy it, then I’m sure I will.” I insisted. Incidentally, Win was short for Winifred, a name I had despised since my teenage years. My gran was a “Winnie”, so I was named after her. Had she not been my favorite, I would have changed my name long ago.

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She chuckled.


The Circus (Part II)


It was a bit chilly that evening, the air filled with the inviting scents of spring, even though our weather forgot. As we parked the car, I was a bit put off by the state of the neighborhood.

“Are we entirely safe here, Mel?’ I asked, earnestly.

“Oh, I think we’ll be alright.” She led me around a corner and a large warehouse loomed up before us. As we walked closer, a small placard spelled it out in the same font as the ticket. “CIRCUS”

We walked casually through the door, where a small woman in peculiar clothing took our tickets, indicating a long dark hallway.

“What is this?” I asked, getting only a mischievous grin from Melody.

Finally, a curtain blocked our way, but upon casting it aside, my eyes were met with the most bizarre scene one might ever imagine. People milled about in various stages of undress, some of them most interestingly decorated. At the center of the room, hung a large cross, suspended from the ceiling. What was most disturbing was the naked woman seemingly attached to that cross.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered to Melody, who couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from wandering about the room. Aside from the obvious centerpiece, small oubliette-like rooms were cast in various lighting to bring a strange ambiance to the place. ‘Were these supposed to be sideshows?’ I asked myself.

I remembered the strange little displays of people with various and obvious differences about them, but my father had diligently kept me away, saying they were not for young eyes.

My eyes were not young, but I wasn’t certain they were ready for whatever this place promised to deliver.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and those of us that find a place between. My name is Para, and I will be your guide through this circus of fetishes and delights. For those that are new to us, I welcome you. For those that return, may you find yourselves enthralled once again, as you once were before.”

Melody seemed completely at ease, taking in each display of sexual debauchery that was presented, and I began to wonder if she fit into that category of those that had returned.

“Have you been to this before?” I asked, close to her ear so as not to disturb the bizarre display of foot worship unfolding before our eyes. All I got in return was a nod, and I began to doubt how well I actually knew my lover.

The last room was a bit different from the rest. Hanging over the wide entrance was a single word which I wished I did not know the meaning of: ‘Trichophilia.’ At the center of the room, a plain-looking wooden chair was seemingly in want of an occupant.

“And so, we come to our last attraction. I see many a young lady out there with manes to be proud of, but which one of you would sacrifice that pleasure for another?” A few gasps rose from the ladies, myself included, and I instinctively ran a hand over my shoulder-length red curls.

“Melody this is…” But as I turned to tell her that I had seen enough, I found her conspicuously missing. Had she run to the ladies without telling me. I raised an eyebrow and returned my attention to a door that swung open at the back of the room.

A woman dressed in black robes was pushed forward by a rather menacing looking woman, who had savage beast written all over her face. Her black hair was haphazardly cut into a style, which, well, it wasn’t one. Just a mess. After the robed woman was forcefully pushed into the chair, the savage viscously clutched the top of the hood which hid her features in shadow.

A dark jungle beat began to play over the sound system as the beast began to dance around the cloaked figure. In her hand was a large knife, and she wielded it almost too perfectly as she moved in time with the music.

Again, I looked around for Melody, thinking that she might be missing the best part of the show. I need not have worried on that score, however, for when the savage finally pulled back the hood, my darling lover was revealed.

My breath caught in my throat, and I almost dashed forward to pull her away from this menacing creature. But then, something held me back. It was the emcee, Para.

“Calm yourself, Winifred. She has been begging for this for so very long.” I looked up into the woman’s eyes, barely able to pry them away from Melody. They were deep, mysterious eyes, deep-set into a gaunt but hauntingly beautiful face.

I watched in shock and horror as this spectacle played out before me. All eyes were on my girlfriend as the savage ran the blade up the front of the robe, splitting it wide open and revealing her nakedness beneath. Again, I felt Para’s firm hand on my shoulder as the garment was stripped completely from her, revealing to all that which I had, until that moment, thought was mine alone to gaze upon.

The beast began to toy with her hair, running the blade through the raven curls which fell to her exposed thighs. The intensity of the music changed and with it the scene. The chair had been kicked to the side, and Melody stood, her legs spread, and her freshly shaven sex exposed. Only the night before, I had run my tongue through the downy curls that once covered what was now so lewdly caressed by her costar. ‘When had she shaved it, and more importantly, could I ever forgive her this?’

Then the show began in earnest. I watched in fascinated horror as this savage began to slice away those treasured locks. I watched, paralyzed, as each tendril of black silk floated to the floor. Around me, women were seemingly amazed that one with hair so beautiful would sacrifice it this way. I only wished I could be so detached.

Now, the woman was no longer dancing, but sawing through Melody’s hair with a newfound determination, as though she might rid her of it all. I looked away, unable to watch as the last of her mane was dispensed with. The music stopped and the room fell silent.

I looked up at her, and for a moment our eyes met. She was the one to look away, perhaps ashamed of what she had done. Para had stepped to the front of the crowd, which still ogled the girl whom I thought I knew so well.

“Will the ladies please step forward.” No one obliged. “Do not worry, your hair is quite safe.”

Slowly the space in front of the room was a line of women, and unable to stop, myself included. Perhaps I just wanted to get one last look at the girl who I thought I loved so much.

The savage, seeming quite tame suddenly, lifted a set of hair clippers from a cabinet in the wall. Plugging them in, and taking a quick affirming glance at Melody, she switched them on, holding them out in our direction. At first, no one dared, but then, one young woman rested the clippers from the woman and approached Mel.

She placed the humming blades at the center of my lover’s forehead and ran them over the top, leaving a white patch of stubble from front to back. Everyone gasped, but for me, the shock of it was all too real. Having played her part in my girlfriend’s destruction, the woman held out the clippers to the next woman. Now there was no hesitation amongst them, each taking a turn, and some taking liberties elsewhere as well.

At last, there was no one left but me. A single strip of hair remained, and a woman unknowingly held the clippers out in my direction. I wasn’t certain what possessed me in that moment, but I took them from her.

Melody was unable to look at me as I approached her, the vibration of the clippers hot in my sweating palm. Without a word, I took from her the last vestige of hair remaining on her ravaged head. Then without a second thought, ran them across her brow, her full black arches fluttering to the floor with the rest.

I dropped the devil machine, and ran from the stage, tears welling in my eyes at last, as though they had been waiting for it all to be over before cresting.

“Wait!” A commanding voice called out from behind me. I turned as though I had to, but where I thought I might find my lover, there stood Para. “You misunderstand.” She tried.

As comical as it was, all I managed to say seemed ridiculous. “What kind of circus is this, anyway! There aren’t even any clowns!” Not waiting a second longer, I ran from the warehouse.




As apologetic as Melody had tried to be, I was never able to forgive her. Two weeks after that precipitous evening, she moved out. Not long after that, she left the publishers where we had met three fateful years before. I wondered how I could have been so wrong about a person, and often wondered if there were indiscretions, I was unaware of.

The wig she wore to work did nothing for the drawn-on eyebrows she was forced to don, a result of my overzealous rage. It was, perhaps, the one unexpected inconvenience she never took into account.

Bitter and saddened by our end, I retreated into solitude. I threw myself into my work, eventually agreeing to take the position that had remained unfilled upon Melody’s leaving. It was easier than reading books, something I had lost the appetite for.


Two Years Later


I was sitting in a local café, reading the newspaper as I did every morning, when I came across a most disturbing advertisement. There, in bold letters, it was: CIRCUS. I was dumbfounded, and a bit sick as memories of that evening came flooding back. It had to be the same one, as the address was the same. I tossed the newspaper into a rubbish bin and walked out of the shop without finishing.

Not a day later, a strange letter arrived for me. All I ever got were bills, so to get a letter was an oddity. Curious, I opened it, wondering if it might be from Melody, and one last attempt to cement things between us. Her letters had stopped arriving almost a year before, and always with a different postmark.

As I unfolded the seemingly blank page, I found only a few words handwritten at its center.


“We have a clown now”


Disgusted, I wrinkled up the page and threw it into the bin. How dare they? But, then I began to wonder. How on earth had they known my address?

I did my best to put the whole thing out of my mind, but the very next day, the same letter arrived. This time I didn’t bother to open it.

This continued for the next three days, and I was beginning to get annoyed and considered a harassment charge. I did, however, open the last one, thinking to keep it as evidence. What I found inside, shocked me to my core.


“Join me”


There was no mistaking the handwriting. It was hers. That, and the photograph that fell out as I tore it open, spoke volumes as to where Melody had disappeared to. It was absurd, really. There she was still totally bald, only now her face was painted into that of a sad-faced clown. Not only were her head and face painted white, but the rest of her naked body was as well. Three large red dots were painted down her front, and she wore the silliest oversized feet and hands. I couldn’t help but laugh. Was this what she was reduced to now? A clown in a traveling sex show?

Looking closer I realized that she had put on quite a bit of weight, looking a bit rotund around the middle. I tried not to imagine her doing this for the role. Her once pert breasts now hung pendulously from her chest. I set the photo down and tried not to think about it, but every time I walked by, I couldn’t help but pick it up.

As clowns went, she was hideous and considering myself an expert, I felt confident that she must certainly enjoy a healthy helping of humiliation as she went about doing…what it was she did there. Again, I tried not to think about it.


Planting the Worm


‘I rubbed my jellyroll belly as I lifted myself from the floor, a crowd of laughing spectators amused over my antics. I felt wetness against my back as the heavy woman rode me, slapping my hairless head from behind. I crawled on all fours, my breasts nearly grazing the floor as I meandered amongst the well-satisfied audience. The bit between my teeth pulled back as I reared up, shaking my naked rider so that she fell to the floor behind me, some of her white body paint escaping onto the linoleum tiles. More laughter as we each got to our feet, falling over each other, laughing.’

         I woke with a start, the buzzing of the alarm clock saving me from whatever nightmare I had just been having. Sweat beaded on my brow as I flew out of bed and to the mirror, confirming that it had been only a dream. The image was not all that removed from that in the dream, save for paint and my fiery red hair. A rivulet of fragrant juice coursed down the inside of my thighs, and I realized that I was unbelievably aroused.

A single touch to my clitoris sent me reeling into an incredible orgasm. After I had recovered sufficiently, I touched myself again, realizing that I was even a bit sore. It was plain that I had been masturbating in my sleep.

As I readied myself for work, I passed the photo on the kitchen table, and the same wave of excitement seemed to overtake me. What on earth was happening to me?

The next night, the dream repeated itself, only more vividly and longer, with more ridiculously humiliating situations unfolding. At one point I had awakened, my fingers rubbing furiously between my legs. Desperately, I tried to get back to sleep, but to no avail. I ran to the kitchen to retrieve the photo of Melody, as I completed what the dream had instigated. Only after I came, long and hard, did I realize what I had done.

I was lost in this, and I had no idea where to go with it. As hard as I tried to put it all out of my mind, I seemed to be disgustingly obsessed.

The website wasn’t hard to find; the single ticket arriving the following day. The exorbitant price was of little concern, as the fire between my legs was almost constant now. I was unable to work, and was forced to take a week off as I awaited the arrival of the insidious show.

The dreams had become systemic now, almost expected. I would wake, my sheets soaked with my own sweat and juices. I had washed them daily to start, but then found that returning to them as they were, served to feed the dreams, making them more vivid, more real. By the time the night of the Circus arrived, I was a sniveling mess.

Finally, and knowing that I would be returning with my curiosity satiated, I spent the day cleaning up after my week of self-absorbed sexual desperation.

I had driven the route in my mind a hundred times, and physically twice. I would not miss this opportunity to face my sudden perversions head-on. Parking the car, I followed that same route we had some two years before.

As the large warehouse rose before me, I was almost crying before I reached the door. Realizing how I must look, I gathered my wits and stepped inside.


A Fine Pare


The same peculiar woman, smiled as she saw me enter, not bothering to take my ticket, but knowing without a doubt in her mind that I possessed one. “Welcome back.” She said, in a thin abbreviated tone.

I seemed to float down the darkened hallway, although I knew I must have been walking. The room beyond brought with it both intense arousal and a sickening remembrance of events that were still so vivid in my mind. Even with all my newfound lust, the vision of Melody losing her hair like that still struck fear into my heart.

“Welcome back, Winifred.” The haunting voice called out. Para stood in one of the oubliettes, smiling. Unable to stop myself, I returned the gesture. “Bimbo will be so happy to see you.”

“Bimbo?” I chuckled.

“Why your old flame, love. We had her change her name to Bimbo. It just fits better these days.” She said, matter-of-factly.

“Bimbo,” I stated, almost disbelievingly.

“She is a clown, after all.” Shrugging her shoulders, Para moved towards another of the rooms, one that I was hesitant to approach. “We’re so glad you came, Winifred. We were lacking a volunteer for this one.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked, stepping back as she entered the forbidden space.

“Oh, one clown just isn’t enough. Your idea was brilliant, but Bimbo is always painted sadly these days.” Para righted the chair, pushing some errant blonde curls to the corner with her pointed boot.

“My idea?”

“You said it couldn’t be a circus without clowns, baby.” Para reached out and took my hand. I was screaming inside, but whatever force had dragged me there, didn’t allow me to pull away. Once we have our way with you, you’ll be all ready to take on the new you.”

My mouth was sealed shut as she pulled me along, and however much I wanted to run, I knew that this must be what I so desperately sought. Right on cue, I felt a dribble of my own arousal escape the confines of my panties and chill against the inside of my thigh.

“It’s going to be different for you. You can wander about, but be at the front when it’s time.” Para said, leaving me by the door. For a second, I thought I saw a glint of white, and a tubby figure ran across the space by the end of the hall. Could that have been Melody? Surely not.

My heart raced as the Circus began, each side show an aperitif for what was surely awaiting me. I could run, I surely could have, but what would that serve to accomplish? I had vowed to see this to its conclusion, and I fought the incessant urge to flee for the exit.

Feeling something slide up against my leg, I looked down. A naked woman painted entirely white slid along the floor on her belly. Could this grotesque creature possibly be my Melody? She turned so she was facing me, the exaggerated clown face comical in its simplicity. Her head was bald, and she rubbed it against the leg of my jeans.

Beneath the makeup, I could see her. It was indeed Melody, Bimbo as she was called now. She was even heavier than she had been in the photo, her belly falling in a ball over her sex and her breast flattening slightly as they creased against the top of it. Her face had changed too; chubbier, with a hint of a double chin playing under her jaw.

“Hello, Melody.” I managed, but she seemed to wince at the mention of it. “Or is it… Bimbo, I understand?”

The smile under the smile was more than plain to see, as she rose to her feet, displaying the true degradation of her once-glorious physique. She was distinctly pear-shaped, and still entirely hairless. She held out her hand and I fought the urge to take it, but take it I did.

Having yet to say a word to me, I wondered if that was indeed part of her persona. Clowns are invariably mimes, and I considered that before I asked her a question that she was probably unable to answer, at least for the moment.

Para had progressed to the oubliette directly next to the ‘Trichophilia’ display. She had said to be there when it was time. My hair had grown longer since the last time I had been there, the bright red curls cascading down to the middle of my back. I ran my fingers through it nervously with my free hand as ‘Bimbo’ pulled me along.

The crowd was still gathered a few feet away as she stopped directly in front of that most dreaded place. I looked up at the sign, knowing that I would be the one. It would be me having my hair cut off, having that savage woman strip me and hack away at my crowning glory.

Of course, I would be nothing to look at, in comparison to Melody; the way she had looked as that robe was sliced away. Her body was inevitably the envy of all who gazed upon it that night. I doubted my slack form would be an enticement to anyone.

My heart raced in my throat as the crowd encircled us, and I knew my demise was at hand. I looked nervously for the chair, but it was conspicuously missing. The room was empty, save for the insidious wall cabinet, and we all knew what was in there.

“We are now in for a treat, everyone. Our darling clown, Bimbo, has discovered something amongst our visitors this evening.” Para announced.

With that, she tightened her grip on my hand, pulling me into the center of the room, turning me so I was facing the crowd. I thought my heart would simply pound straight out of my chest as I gazed back into the eyes riveted to me, but most especially to my hair.

Para stepped forward and lifted my hair so she might whisper directly into my ear. “Goodbye, Winifred.”

The inference stunned me, and I thought I would most definitely run, but I did not. So as Bimbo began to cut away my clothing, I stood stock-still. I felt the cold metal of the scissors against my legs as the material was split to my hips. Two quick snips and they fell to the floor along with my panties, heavy with my arousal. My former lover stood before me, and placed the blades at the hem of my shirt, slowly cutting it up the center, between my breasts taking the center clasp of my bra along with it.

Walking behind me, and leaving to the unmerciful stares of the audience, she stripped the shirt and bra away, leaving my heavy form totally naked and exposed. Every instinct within me told me to cover myself, to curl up in a ball and hide. I did not do that, because I couldn’t.

The sudden humiliation of having my less than appetizing body stripped bare, seemed to be having an incredible effect on my sex. I felt as I did in the dreams, and rather than hide, all I wanted to do was touch myself.

I heard the cabinet open to my left and knew that what I feared most was about to happen. Only the person wielding the menacing clippers was going to be her. Who was this person; this clown? I had a difficult time thinking of her as a Bimbo. To me, she would always be Melody, but in that moment, I saw her for what she was. Bimbo was a suitable name for one such as her.

I heard the clippers hum to life, and I fully expect to have them at the center of my forehead. I was surprised when they were held decidedly lower. Looking down, I watched as Bimbo ran the blades into my orange bush. Melody had always threatened to shave it off, and now, as Bimbo, she was having her way.

I cringed with shame as my drooling sex was revealed to the snickering crowd. Small tufts of tangerine-colored curls dusted the floor between my legs, which I had spread dutifully. This was both outrageously exciting and insidiously horrible at once. But the real trial was about to begin in earnest.

Bimbo gathered a circle of hair at the crown of my head, tying it tightly into a bun with all the expertise she once displayed when dealing with her own hair. I wondered how long it had been since she had felt anything at all on her head. Had she remained completely bald this entire time?

I felt sweat dripping between my breasts as my nerves got the better of me, and the clippers sunk into my doomed red mane. I felt like crying as sheets of it fell all around me, the clippers destroying in seconds what had taken years to grow.

Bimbo was smiling as she worked her way around the back, and I felt her breath against my naked scalp for the first time in my life. The feeling was not entirely foreign to me, however, for the dreams were vivid enough for me to have an inkling of what it might be like.

Finally, all that remained of my hair, lay in piles around my feet, mingled with the remains of my ruined clothing. Then I remembered the knot of hair that was tied so tightly at the crown of my head. Bimbo bent me over so my generous ass was facing the crowd, and I was treated to a few comments on that score.

I heard the clippers go to work again, and bimbo seemed to be having at that knot of hair. I saw the bulk of it hit the floor before me as she worked, and I could smell her familiar scent as I was only inches from her well-shaven sex, painted though it may have been

My head felt decidedly lighter, as I felt her working with a comb. She pulled and clipped, pulled and clipped, all the while teasing the hair with the comb. I imagined it was a tangled disaster that would never come out, with my kinky hair.

At last, she turned me once again to face the crowd. I saw Para busy handing out tubs of something, and it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what was in them.

“She is your canvas, everyone. Create her, and so she shall remain” Suddenly, I was set upon by a group of women, all carrying the tubs, which, as I had suspected, contained body paint. Most were white, and it didn’t take long for my entire body to be rendered as white as Bimbo’s. During this time, Bimbo was kneeling behind me, her fingers thrust well inside my pussy. The process became almost ridiculous as the paint slowly reduced me to the clown they wanted me to be, all the while being held at the edge of coming by the experienced hand of my ex.

Just as Bimbo had worn, large red buttons were painted down my front, with the added adornment of two more to exemplify my overly large breasts. Suddenly, everyone stepped back, and silence fell over the crowd, but only for a second, followed by a roar of laughter filling the warehouse.

“Lovely, just lovely!” Para cried out, taking me by the hand and leading me to a large floor-to-ceiling mirror. Bimbo followed close behind, as I was placed before it. What met my eyes was beyond humiliating. My already overweight appearance was confounded by the white paint, making me look bulbous and grotesque, but the most degrading thing of all was the round ball of fiery red hair that topped my bald head. It was at least five inches across and was teased to death, looking like an almost impossible mass of tangled fuzz. “What do you think, BooBoo?” Para asked, slyly.

“I look… I look…, like a clown.” I relented, finally, only slightly put off by the name she had chosen for me.

“And so, you are. You most certainly are.” Para turned to the audience who had gathered to witness my reaction. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Bimbo and BooBoo, our house clowns.”

There was a round of applause and laughter as they accepted us as a matching pair. Bimbo turned towards me and pressed her mouth over my own, the taste of body paint mingling with our saliva as we kissed. Instinctively, our hands wandered to each other’s sex, each knowing so well what the other enjoyed.

We could no longer stand, the arousal so powerful that we fell into one another on the tile floor. The crowd circled around us as we desperately grappled for release, my paint mixing with hers, our breasts and bellies folding over one another until we screamed in glorious release to the cheers and laughter of the crowd.

I tried to imagine what was to come, but I was a fool to think that anything I might dream could be as wild as the reality we faced together. This was only the beginning.


3 responses to “Clown White (Part II of The Circus)

  1. Hi Claire
    Another fantastic story of humiliation and degradation which as you already know is right up my street. Love the way your character Bimboo is debased into a laughing stock.
    Your stories are so captivating I imagine myself as one of your characters.
    Keep them coming
    Stacey xxx

  2. Thank you! I know this one was a bit, ‘wow Claire, where are you going with this,’ but I had it in me and so it had to come out. I think it does follow nicely with the original story, even though it stands on its own. Stacey, I’m flattered that you place yourself into my stories, and I often do the same with yours, to be honest. The idea of being humiliated to that extent frightens the hell out of me, but the very fact that I write about it so often, makes me wonder if it is what I truly desire for myself. Unfortunately, I’m in a position in life where ruining myself or my reputation would be a disaster, however titillating the idea of such debasement might be. Be well, and keep the idea’s flowing.

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