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Anteronia University's scholars are the brightest minds of a new generation of wizards and artificers. In the dining hall, two students sit. A strawberry-blond human chews on the straw of her drink, idly staring at a pamphlet.

The student sighs and asks her companion, “You free today? I wanted to check out that carnival."

The second student, a gnome, picks up her head, which was buried in a book on arcane theories. “What? No. I've got finals coming up, and Professor McGlasling's been ridin' my ass all semester. And you need to pay attention to your studies if you're going to graduate. Hey, Ailen. You there?"

The human drops the straw and sighs, her head falling onto her crossed arms, and she grumbles. “I'm just so burned out, you know? I need to do something, or I'll explode."

“Well, nothing's stopping you from going on your own."

Ailen blinks, lifting her head again. “But that's so pathetic."

Why? You wanna blow off steam? Go out and have fun. You don't need people to do that. That's what a carnival's foods and cheap thrills are about. Me, I'll be studying."

Ailen huffs and pushes herself up. “Ugh, fine, but remember, if you get burned out, I'm gonna say, “I told ya so."

“Different strokes for different folks," Gimmegee says. “But if you go, bring me back some funnel cake."

“Fat chance," Ailen says, stepping away. “I'm gonna keep it all to myself."

“Already feeling better, are we?" Gimmegee smirks.

“Maybe it is a mindset thing," Ailen shrugs. I'll get over there where there's color and merriment and let it soak into me. You can thrive on the threat of a good pounding all you want, but I like healthy expressions of myself." She says this, strolling away, leaving the gnome to grumble to herself and make some notes in her notebook.

A clerk in an academic gown approaches the gnome not a moment later. “Excuse me, Miss Gimmegee. There's someone to see you."

—

The park at Anteronia has been transformed into the fairgrounds for the most boisterous festivals. Many people dress in motley and masks and parade and celebrate frivolities there. Here, the city's people forget their troubles as they spend the day exercising the wildest spectrum of emotion.

And it is there that Ailen hopes to rid the boredom that erodes her soul.

“Hm, Tunnel of Terror, a masquerade ball later in the day, a merry-go-round, a hypnotism show, there's a lot here, but what to go to first?"

“Talking to ourselves, are we?"

“Yipe!"

Ailen jumps, dropping her pamphlet. It's caught and handed back to her by a gloved hand, attached to a bowing figure in a harlequin outfit, his bells jingling as he stands back up to greet her with a charming smirk. “You dropped this, miss."

“You scared me," Ailen retorts, snatching back the pamphlet.

“Oh, that was more of a startle, not a scare!" The harlequin corrects, placing his arm around her shoulder and motioning through the path before her. “If you want to experience true terror, there are better places for that."

“I'm not interested in being scared," she admits, but as she swipes her hand to swat him away, he's already off her, wagging his finger.

You're here for something more exciting than startling. Something light-hearted. You want to be able to throw your most bottomless laugh from the deepest pit of your stomach and wash away all worries."

“The stress of work overwhelms you, miss. I can see it in your eyes. They should be sparkling like gold, but they are tarnished by the mundanities of life.

“What are you peddling?" Ailen asks, folding her arms over her chest. She steps back, but he zips behind her, leaning over her shoulder.

“Only the ability to do what you want, with no repercussions. How does that sound? All you have to do is follow me."

She whirls around, pulling her spellbook from her handbag and fluttering the pages. She produces a flat piece of wood between those leaves, pointing at his painted nose. “Careful. I'm a student of magic."

The harlequin holds his hands up. “I'm not here to trick you I'm just a worker at the carnival. We found you through the magic of divination, is all. It's how we do business, you see? We look into who most needs a personal touch and supply our services. See?" He flicks his wrist and produces a card, handing it to her.

Snatching it, she scans over the details. “A transformative experience, promising a temporary relief of the mundane. What's the catch?"

“A nominal fee," the harlequin says, pouting and shrugging. “Paid upfront or in labor."

“Labor?"

He stands up tall and motions to himself. “I am a recipient of the package. As you can discern with your no-doubt powerful skills, no mind manipulation is involved."

Ailen concentrates her magical affinity on the harlequin, the auras appearing around him discerning the transformative and illusion magic that covers him, but nothing else. “You're telling the truth."

“See, it is a perfectly harmless change some of us go through, and you can decide how you want to pay when you experience it. So, do we have a deal?"

Ailen scrutinizes the smiling face of the harlequin. The student of magic stuffs her wand and spells away in her purse.

The harlequin hops on one foot, then hops on another, and then he spins around, grabbing Ailen by the arm. With the momentum of his swing, he flings her across the campground and tumbles into one of the tents!

She's sent tumbling forward, falling into the void of darkness, utterly bereft of all sounds, even from the outside.

Scrambling to her feet, she gropes around for the doorway, but each step echoes on a wooden floor as if it were in the middle of some infinity of nothingness.

Just as she gasps at the strange nature of this place, a loud “THUNK" echoes throughout, and the warmth of light pours over her. She covers her face, stepping away from the spotlight, only to trip and fall back onto a chair. With clanks, shackles lock her to the seat. She tries to struggle, oh yes, but it is too much for her, what with the now deafening cacophony of calliope music and mesmeric colors and patterns that pass over her face.

“Welcome, Ailen, my dear, to transforming your dreams. Here, your mind and body will become a tapestry where you can exercise every desire without fear of repercussions."

It is the voice of the harlequin again, but this time, it runs through her mind, massaging her brain with its upbeat dulcet tones.

“We've been waiting for you, and your whole life has been leading up to this moment. Every decision, every mistake, every desire."

The curtain of Motley pulls back, and standing upon a stage behind it is a man in a white gown and a frilled collar, his face painted in a furrowed frown. Next to him is a woman in red, her eyes covered in a domino mask, her lips red and plump, her dress flowing as she dances.

The sad man collapses to his knees, dropping a series of books on the ground, his shoulders hunching, shaking his head.

“You drown in the weight of the world. The struggle is too much for one girl to handle."

The woman spins around, waving her arms, leaping through the air. “You wish to be free to pursue your desires, to let your emotions soar, to say to society, 'Fuck you! I shall not be oppressed!"

Ailen grips her seat tightly.

The harlequin whispers into her ears, his weight pressing against her shoulders without touching her. “I'm correct, but you must admit you are stuck. The girl you present to the world is the tired face of a sad, sad Pierrot."

Gloved hands lay before her, carrying masks portraying so many different emotions. Anger, fear, hate, lust, sadness, contempt, and many more she cannot name, but she can recognize. “Let your emotions out. Let the true expression of your soul escape! Are we not fellow Anteronians like you? Your friends, your neighbors, your family? We have embraced the carnival, and you can too. You need to put on the face that is yours!"

The crimson woman sways off the stage, rubbing paint between her fingers and pressing it to Ailen's cheeks.

“We'll make you who you truly can be," the harlequin says as the white-robed clown steps up, rolling out a long tape measure. He lays it upon her arms around her waist, keeping that morose expression the whole time. “Tell us everything you desire in yourself," the harlequin continues.

“I want…" Ailen says, gulping, closing her eyes. “I want to have no more responsibilities."

“Yes!"

“I want no more need to think!"

“Good!"

“I want to run amok with no consequences!"

“A delightful idea. Let's put a smile on that face, shall we?"

The harlequin's arms drape over Ailen, pulling up to reveal a strap that wraps around her mouth, a gag that fits inside, keeping her from saying anything. Attached to it is a rosy smile which keeps her grinning the whole time.

“There's freedom in silence. No accountability and no explaining yourself. It's just pure fun!"

She shudders and squirms as the sad clown produces a large pair of scissors from his robe. All around her, scraps of her clothing fall into a rainbow of confetti. Where she is exposed, the crimson woman follows, slathering on more of that white makeup, covering her natural tones with the stark reminder of anonymity.

“You will be like us, and you will see the silliness in the world like us, and when your day is through, ah, you'll return from whence you came, with no consequences for any of your actions."

The harlequin kicks her chair, which shatters, sending her falling forward.

Ailen reaches out, her hands falling into long gloves, her legs dangling as long striped fabric creates colorful thigh-highs to wear, enveloping her in a shield of scrutiny.

And the white-faced, smile-stuck thing rolls out as more garish colors slip onto her body, hugging tightly to her form, exposing her shapely body in its garish tightness just before ejecting her from this darkened chamber and into the carnival grounds again.

As she sits on her knees, her legs going in either direction, she opens her eyes, watching so many people watch her.

She giggles through the gag and hops up to her feet.

Oh yes. Now, it is time to clown!

“Welcome to Baker's Bakery. What can I get for you today?" The peppy and cheery young woman says with her brightest customer service smile.

The man pushes his glasses up on his nose and sighs. “Just a coffee. Two sugars. Two creams. And a cardamon roll."

“Coming right up!" The girl giggles, leaving the customer to turn to his newspaper in peace. He heads outside and sits down at one of the open benches, leafing through the front page news, snorting at the articles upon articles about the carnival. “Such a waste of time," he grumbles to himself.

“Don't like the carnival?" asks the server, approaching with his order.

“No, I do not," he replies, graciously taking his meal. “It's disrupting business in town, and it's an eye-and-earsore. How can you stand that constant droning music?"

She shrugs. “I dunno. I guess I just kinda get used to it after a while.

He snorts, pulling out a watch. “Damn it all. I'm late." He stuffs his newspaper under his arm, taking his treats. He steps toward the park but stops, frowning.

“You'll have to go through the carnival if you're planning on cutting through the park," the waitress says.

“How observant," says the businessman. “But if I must, I must, even if it is annoying."

He huffs and marches through the park, a place of incredible statuary and topiary art. He is busier with foot traffic than usual, as many tourists and introverts seek their time at the festivities.

As people joke, laugh, and snack on fattening foods, the businessman turns his attention down a less-traveled and wooded path. Perhaps there, he can find some peace.

Only the occasional runner makes their way through the tree-tunneled footpath. And though it may be a longer walk, it is undoubtedly a faster route than maneuvering around the park and the carnival grounds. Still, the droning calliope music continues, threatening him with a so-called good time, louder and louder the closer he makes it.

“Honk."

The stern man stops, blinks, and looks around. That sound, whatever it was, is certainly close by.

“Hello?"

Silence.

He snorts and continues his walk, sipping his coffee. It's never as good when the B-Team is working shifts. Baker must be at the carnival because they'd hire the only competent patissier in town.

“Honk, Honk."

It's much closer now. He spins around, only to see a garish figure standing before him. It's a woman, but whether she is mortal or some kind of horrific creature, he cannot know. Her skin is chalk white with bright red and blue highlights around the lips and eyes. Her chest is like two enormous balloons, rising up high with no seeming regard for gravity against a tight striped shirt that only covers the upper half of her torso, if that. Upon her head is a pointed hat, and her hair is like someone dumped cotton candy onto her and she neglected to clean up. Her skirt is ridiculously short, her socks go up to her thighs, showing off more of that milky skin between the skirt and the socks, and her shoes are apparently much too big for her. And to top it off, that bright red nose of hers nearly pokes his own nose as she leans close to him.

He jumps, but he soon composes himself, wiping the slight spillage from the edge of the lid of his coffee. “Oh, you must be from that ridiculous carnival. If you're here to advertise it to me, please bother someone else about it. I have work to get to. Now, please, stop squeezing your nose and let me be."

He resumes his journey toward that infernal carnival, only for the clown girl to step out from a nearby tree, hands behind her back, bouncing on her toes, her tits shaking much more than seems possible.

The businessman spins around. She's not there. He turns to look back to the front. Again, she's gone. And then he returns to look to the back, and she's standing where she once was only a few seconds ago.

“Gah!"

He drops his drink, spilling it all over the footpath.

“Now, see here!" he yells, reaching for her. “You'll pay for that, you hooligan, ah!"

While trying to apprehend the clown, he instead gets a full-on grip on her left tit, squeezing the soft thing with a too-strong grope!

“HONK."

“O… oh…"

She flutters her eyes, her smile unchanging.

“Now… that's, uh… different."

She giggles but shoves him, knocking him down and landing on his butt.

“Gah! I have half a mind to report you to the authorities! This is a crime. It's assasu… ass…"

She spins, bending over, her skirt riding up, revealing all-too-tight polka-dotted panties. She has her hands on her knees, looking over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

With another grope of her tit, she honks.

“Of course, you're kidding. You're a clown," he grumbles.

She pulls her skirt up, smacking her butt.

“You serious?"

She rolls her eyes.

He smirks. “Well, fuck me, then," he sighs, reaching down for his belt and undoing it. “My day is already ruined. Why not? I am in Anteronia, the city of sin?"

She closes her eyes, nodding quickly, rubbing her cheek and squeezing her tit, hoking over and over and over again.

“Alright, little miss clown," he says, “I'm game. Let's begin."

The businessman sits on the ground on the walking path in the park, his belt undone, pulling his pants down. The clown girl watches him as she stands over him, showing off her ass. He shifts and wriggles awkwardly, soon pulling down his pants and undergarments, revealing his half-erect member.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he asks.

She nods so quickly that her tits jiggle while she giggles.

With her gloved hand, she pinches her smiling lips, pulling them at them.

The businessman's eyes widen as her lips pull away from her face. They are fake! A smile that is untrue. And the white lips behind them are moist and puckered around the ball gag that was keeping her silent, spit bridging from the gag and her mouth as her tongue rolls out, her breath hot and loud as she looks at him with half-lidded and lewd eyes.

“Oh, fuck me," he breathes.

She falls to her knees and whirls around to face him, wrapping a gloved hand around the base of his member. It's already stiffened fully from the display, and the whole time, she doe snot close her mouth, showing her dripping, drooling tongue off for him.

Some spit even falls onto the head, making him twitch. He gulps, his hands supporting him as he leans back, watching with a transfixed gaze upon this clown girl and her lascivious mouth.

She presses her tongue against the length, licking up, lathering it with her saliva. She slips the muscle back into her mouth, her lips pressing against his tip, performing a sloppy, wet kiss that ends with a slick slurpy smack.

“Gah…!"

Suddenly, she slams her head down, his cock disappearing inside her mouth, which sloshes and bobs. With each push forward, more and more of his cock is gone, sliding down along her tongue and entering her throat. She tilts her head back, her white skin stretching and bulging to the shape as his cock gets whiter and whiter from the makeup and lipstick that stains her flesh.

He sits up, grabbing her hair, only for a loud Klaxon roar to rise from the hat, blasting him in the face with air. This knocks him back, hitting his head against the ground.

“Ow, dammit! Watch what you're do-mmph!"

Gone is her mouth from his dick, now quite cold from the breeze hitting the wet member, but he has more things to consider as her fat ass smacks against his face, burying him in her pillow of a butt.

As she grinds her butt against him, she opens her mouth wide, rolls out her tongue, and slips the gag back in, putting on that fake smile again.

“Gggnth..." He grips her ass, holding her tight, closing his eyes, his glasses smashed, and asks as his tongue licks over her panties. When his tongue presses against the fabric, he tastes its sugary goodness. It's edible!

She squeezes his head between her legs, patting his hair and pulling her panties aside. Quite a feat for those giant fingers on those giant gloves.

With her clown pussy exposed, she allows the businessman to delve deep into her, tasting that fruity, creamy inside. It's so different than what he ever imagined in his wildest dreams. He grips harder onto her, and she throws her head back, letting out the loudest and squeakiest of honks that could come out of the clown girl.

She shudders, squeezing his head, groaning out as she releases, squeaking and honking so loudly that the once unpopulated path soon becomes a place where curious pedestrians pass by, only to stop and gaze with lewd delight.

She lifts up from his lips, his face stained, a smile spreading across his mouth. When she stands, she scoots her panties back into place and opens her arms wide, shaking them while miming out, “Ta daaah!"

Whistles blow from down the road, and the law officers in Anteronia rush out, calling to her with their man catchers and billy clubs. The clown spins and bursts in a run, leaving the businessman to be by himself, stumbling to his feet, and encountering the judicators.

“Ah, officers! Thank you for coming. That clown assaulted me! You have to stop her before she gets away with it! Hey, what are you doing? Unhand me!"

“Sorry, sir, but you were publicly participating in lewd acts. By order of Justiciar, you are to be detained and put into a holding cell until you feel less amorous."

“But the clown! You saw her! She was right here! She had huge tits and a pussy like cream and... And…."

Dejected, he hangs his head low as he's cuffed and led away. “I knew this carnival was nothing but trouble," he says, his annoyance bubbling up. “It's bringing out the worst in us, you'll see!"

The lookie-loos all disperse, disappearing into the public once more as the man is taken away. As the two officers lead him out of the path and towards the precinct, another stranger steps out of the trees.

The harlequin claps his hands, giggling with glee. “Thank you so much for wrapping him up for me, officers. I'll take him from here!"

“Who are you to impede the law," one of the guards says, brandishing their mancatcher.

The harlequin's smile gets wider. I'm here to help you see your true selves. Now, the three of you stare into this orb of mine and tell me what you see.

The clown's shoes squeak through the forested path when she hears the peal of laughter and screams coming from behind her. She stops, turning toward the direction of the cacophony. She tries to frown but remembers the smile slapped onto her face. She shrugs, honks her tits, and returns to the park's main square. There will undoubtedly be more fun people to play with, and she's excited to see what more fun she can get herself into!

“Yo, Libi, you hear anything about Ailen?" Gimmegee asks this question, sitting at her favorite seat at her favorite cafe. “I was going to join her after I finished my studies, but she's not answering any of my contact spells."

Libi slides a freshly-baked pie into a box and loads it onto her trolley full of such packed confections. She seals it with a sticker bearing the likeness of the Bakery's owner, winking toward all the soon-to-be satisfied customers. “No, she hasn't been around here," the baker's assistant says.

Gimmegee humphs, kicking her feet and sitting with her palms on her cheeks. “How the hell am I supposed to relax from a rough study session if my gal pal is out having fun at the carnival around me?"

Libi pushes her trolley out onto the main floor. “You ever think about maybe just looking for her there?"

“Guh, as if I'd go to the carnival alone. How much of a loser do you think I am."

“Alone, are you?" Libi asks, quirking an eyebrow and looking at the order of three rather large cookies in front of the gnome.

“I've burned quite a few calories exercising my brain, thank-you-very-much."

Libi rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You may not want to go to the carnival alone, but I must make this delivery there, so I can't talk anymore."

“Fine by me. I'll make my own fun," Gimmegee says, humming to herself as she bites into one of her cookies.

Libi wheels the trolley out and toward the park. That should allow her to get there quicker than walking through the streets.

As she leaves, Gimmegee looks around and pulls a small scrying stone from out between her tits. “Alright, you two, she didn't come here. Now what?"

“We're investigating some rumors of potential disturbances in the park," comes the voice on the other side.

“The park…?" Gimmegee hops up. “Oh, fuck. Libi!"

—

Libi rolls the cart through the park path. At the same time, the sounds of jaunty music and laughter fill the air., though soon, her delivery crosses paths with a few officers of Justiciar, who tap the trolly with their man catchers and shake their heads.

Careful traveling through her, miss," says one of them.

“We've been getting strange reports for the past few hours. You'll need to take the long way around.

“Are you kidding me?" Libi grumbles. “I'm just heading towards the carnival.

“We've been dealing with a serial molester, ma'am. You don't want to mess with that. Trust us."

Libi's heart thumps in her chest. “Someone's been… messing with people on the road here? Between here and the carnival?"

“Yes, and we're advising people to take a different route until we apprehend them."

“But not ordering people?"

“Well, no, but."

“That's good for me!" Libi says, pushing her way past the officers.

The judicators look at each other and shake their heads.

“Such depraved people are those who live in Anteronia."

Libi keeps moving her trolley along the path, passing through tunnels of trees where runners often take their daily runs and where specific individuals might jump someone passing through.

“Honk."

Libi freezes, a chill running down her spine. She whips around, holding a hand up, catching the slapping attack of a clown wielding a rubber chicken.

The clown watches her with wide-eyed amazement. Libi stares into those eyes with a strange recollection before the clown hops away from her, dropping the makeshift weapon.

“They didn't say the molester was a clown girl."

The clown giggles, pressing her fingers into her dimples.

“So, you with the carnival or some freak riding off its popularity?"

The clown responds by leaping over Libi, grabbing the trolley from the opposite end. Libi whirls around, only to have a cream pie thrown straight at her face!

Libi stumbles back, wiping the remains of the dessert from her. With her eyes uncovered, she gasps at the sight of the clown grasping her cart and running off with it!

“Pleck! Get back here, ya crook!"

The clown girl does not heed her. In fact, she plays by her own rules, tossing cookies and cakes and muffins and pies at and toward different passers-by, each of them stunned or surprised, elated, or angered by the random nonsense happening, their emotions flaring from all of the silliness and stupidity that stumbles down the street.

Libi rushes up to follow the confectionary carnage, clutching at her chest. “Oh, you wanna do this, do you? Then, let's do this!"

Slipping out of the sight of the Anteronians, Libi closes her eyes and forms the sign of a heart around her chest. A pink trail of magic follows her movements until she claps her hands together, the heart traveling over her body. Her clothes disappear, and her body glows. Her eyes blink, the grays turning bright pink. Her irises change to tiny black hearts as well. Soon, a buttoned-up dress forms around her body, boots around her feet, and hair braids in long pink bows.

And Libi disappears. In her place is Purity, champion of the innocent!

The magical girl hops onto a magical disc, flying above the tree line and intercepting the clown girl. She kicks the disk at the trolley, crashing the cart and sending the clown tumbling over it, making her sprawl over the sweets and staining her colorful getup with the frosting and cakeyness.

When the clown finally lifts her head, she gets a full view of the heart-themed hero.

“Stop right there, you!" Purity proclaims, her boot upon the toppled trolley. “You've caused enough trouble with your shenanigans, clown. Now, you're going to get back to Baker's, and you're going to pay for every last coin for his carnival cake special."

Narrowing her eyes, she continues, “That is if you're not also that so-called molester that the judicators are looking for.

With the creamy filling sloughing off her face, the clown blinks a couple of times, her mouth opening, letting her fake smile fall off her lips. Her tongue rolls out, and she licks languidly at the cream, gulping it down and then giggling.

“Nothing to say for yourself, eh?" Purity asks, cracking her knuckles. “So, we're doing this the hard way then."

The magical girl, Purity, smirks confidently against the clown girl, cracking her knuckles and standing with arms akimbo. “Alright, clown. Get up to pay for your crimes. Literally.

BOING!

The clown pounces, grabbing Purity by the chest, leaning in, and pressing her cream-coated tongue against Purity's cheek. The magical girl's face burns a bright red.

“Gah, get off!" Purity swipes at the clown, only for the clown to tug at her top, ripping it in both directions, sending buttons flying and spilling out her big, bouncy breasts, her nipples hearty and perky.

Purity rushes to cover herself up, but the clown grabs her by the wrists, flutters her own eyes, and then dives between Purity's tits, rubbing her face against them, blowing the loudest raspberry she can!

Purity struggles and steps, her heel striking the trolley and knocking her over.

She and the clown fall, Purity's back crushing the undamaged desserts, squirting cream and crumbs all over her. The clown pulls her face away from the magical girl's cleavage and presses against her nipple.

“Oh… oh fuck…" she gasps, feeling those lips wrap around her nipple, that clownish tongue lapping up and down against the sensitive flesh. She lays there, stunned, only soft moans rising from her throat.

A moment passes, and Purity finally snaps out of it, grabbing the clown by the shoulders and rolling to the side, only for the clown to latch onto her, popping up from under her arms and locking her lips to Purity's own. That long tongue delves inside Purity, lapping up her saliva, wrestling her own muscle.

She's paralyzed with the delight, the feelings of desires that well up within her. It's often like this when dealing with amorous enemies, surrounded by onlookers, watching her be so exposed and handled.

Soon, the clown pulls free, slurping up saliva from the magical girl and giving her a broad grin as she pats Purity on the nose.

Purity lays there momentarily, panting, her chest heaving, stunned and bewildered by the zany assault. She shakes herself out of it and pushes herself up, only for the clown to shove her back. She then scoops some cream off her cheek and wipes over Purity's nipple and then the other. She follows this by lowering herself, rolling out her tongue, licking up that exposed and aroused mound, flicking her tongue over the peak, and wrapping her lips around it.

It's even more arousing this time. It's so decadent and diabolical. Her eyes are hearts, but the feeling wells within her as the clown suckles her, lashing at the perky nipple.

Purity wraps her legs around the distracted creature and rolls her over, pinning her down, sitting up as those lips suckle and tug at her.

“Ugh… l… let go!" she yelps, her breast stretching from the suctioning strength of the suck.

The clown wiggles her eyebrows momentarily, long enough for Purity to realize the error of her ways before she lets go.

The breast snaps back into place, sending Purity sprawling back onto the squishy food mess. As she falls, the clown reaches up her sleeves, pulling out long, colorful handkerchiefs.

While Purity stumbles and slips on the mess, the clown rushes up to her, spinning her around, the kerchief whipping around her arms and neck, yanking her arms back, and locking her wrists together.

The same happens for her legs, binding them close, tying them up to her arms, hogtying her in an artful bondage that wraps around and binds her breasts together, leaving her lying there with no way to escape.

And with a quick flick by the front of Purity's skirt, the clown reveals her heart-spotted panties for all the square to see.

“You stupid piece of shit, clown. I'll fuck you up good when I get out of this!"

The clown clasps her hands to her cheeks, fake gasping before falling to her knees. Her large gloves slink between Purity's thighs, squeezing those thick things before pushing them apart. That's when she dives her head down between the hero's legs, nipping at her panties.

Purity slams her legs together, squeezing the clown against her. “Oh, you gonna fucking go for me, huh? Let's see you enjoy it when I twist your ne-aah!?"

While she is talking, the clown's tongue snakes out, going further and further and further, hooking at her panties, pulling them away, and then slipping right up between her legs. How long exactly is the clown's tongue? The question is something that Purity is about to discover as the clown's wriggling muscle slinks. It slithers deep inside her, entering her from her womanhood and the back door.

The intrusion into such a new area makes Purity arch her back, her mouth frozen in a scream she fights so hard against making. How can she enjoy getting tongued in the ass by a fucking clown!"

And yet…

“Fuuuck!" she lets go, her legs resting on the clown's shoulders, all while the clown grabs them, lifting them up to support herself.

Purity thrashes around, blushing and rolling her heart-filled eyes back, her panting getting louder and louder, her enjoyment echoing out for the park around them to see.

And all while her lust and excitement grow, the harlequin stands behind a tree, licking his lips. “That's it, my friend, release her inhibitions. Make her feel everything she should be able to feel, and then, we'll have what we need from her."

The life of a magical girl in the city of required love is not the easiest. After all, whenever there's ever a randy monster out and about, ready to cause trouble, Purity is the one who almost always finds herself pussy deep in that trouble.

Regarding this newest clownish menace, things are no different, and she wouldn't have it any other way. The feeling of their bodies writhing about, the sights of onlookers watching and gasping, the chance that she would herself be labeled a harlot or a slut if she were to have her identity exposed, all of these well up the hidden desires buried deep in the magical girl's body, filling her with a drive to push forward and to fight against and indulge with her opponent, her enemy, her partner, her lover.

With the two tussling about in the remains of the baking trolley, covered in cake, she, the magical girl, collapses, her top undone, her tits breasting boobily as the clown's tongue deep inside her asshole.

Her eyes are so far rolled back that one can hardly tell that her irises are shaped like hearts. Her form jiggles with the forbidden desire as more and more of her insides are traversed intimately by a tongue of all things. All through the delving, her pussy practically drools, dripping onto the destroyed desserts and watering the footpath with delight.

She holds the clown tight, squeezing her, keeping her from moving. She wants to say something witty. Her mouth is the guttural groans of someone experiencing sensations deep inside her.

Her whole body warms up, her spine tingling, her brain turning to jelly. Can she survive this situation the same woman she was when she entered it, or will she become a butt slut, like so many others before her?

Who is she kidding? After all that she's gone through, she's already a slut!

The clown slips her tongue free from the magical girl and pulls the magical girl's thighs apart with prodigious strength, falling free from her and catching her breath, sitting on her knees. She whips a handkerchief from her tits and blots her head, which smudges and removes some of her face paint. She looks at the smudges on her cloth, blinks, and stares at it as if something forgotten comes bubbling up in her mind. Her gloved fingers press against her cheeks, and she rubs against them, smudging the paint even more.

“Hey, ass-face!" Purity says, squirming in her bondage. “You're just gonna stop and leave me like this? Or are you gonna finish what you started?"

The clown giggles and digs a finger into the wrist of her glove. She pulls out a flaccid rubber balloon, stretches it out, and presses it to her lips. The thing engorges With a hefty breath until it becomes prolonged, quivering, and pink. Then, sitting up a bit, her foot planted on the ground, the other knee supporting her, she flips her skirt up and slides the thing between her legs, grinding against the balloon, biting her lip.

That's what this day is all about. Nothing will stop her.

The clown pushes her hips forward, her womanhood accepting the balloon inside her. It slips inside, and she shudders, tilting her head back until soon, the balloon dildo is firmly in place. She then grabs the handkerchief wrapped around Purity's neck, pulling at it like a leash, throwing the magical girl onto her stomach, her tits rubbing against the ground.

Purity grits her teeth, scootching up so that she sits on her knees, her butt high up in the air. “That's right. Do your worst! You'll regret it when you're done after I've gotten out, believe me!"

The clown responds with a firm slap upon the magic girl's ass.

Purity gasps.

The clown digs her hands against her cheeks, spreading them apart, showing off that moistened star. And with little to no more preparation, she thrusts forward, the balloon dildo pushing its way inside Purity, invading her once more.

The magical girl coughs and throws her head back, spit rolling off her rolled-out tongue.

The clown looms over her, gloves grasping the girl's long braided hair like handlebars as she thrusts her hips forward. She buries more of that balloon dick into the two of them, letting out a clownish grunt as it slides inside their bodies.

Purity gasps, panting with each thrust, her chest mixing up with the cake, pie, cookies, and muffins. It's a rich and indecent experience, especially with more and more unknown people gathering around, watching, their faces obscured by her pure desire.

It doesn't matter who they are. What matters is that they're here. They could be complete strangers or Libi's best friends, for all she cares. When she escapes from here, she'll have to wonder, will the next person she talks to be someone who watched her taking an ass pounding? Will they bring up the experience? Will they tell her they jerked off at the thought of her being dominated by a demented clown girl?

The clown's fake cock buries deeper into both of them. She bites her lips, the white on them rubbing off, revealing the natural skin tone underneath. Her grunts are less joking and more natural. She cracked through with little to no notice from her. Or is it more that she doesn't care?

“Ah… c… come on… a… almost… th… there!" Purity gasps, her whole body lurching forward with each thrust. “I'm com… comm… coo-ah!?

A hook from the outside path grabs the clown girl by the throat, yanking her back, pulling the dildo free from her snatch as she's flung around cartoonishly into the foliage.

This leaves Purity lying on the ground, a balloon up her butt, stunned, tied, and surrounded.

“W… what the hells…?" She groans, rolling onto her back. She bridges, attempting to get up. “You tease! Get back here! I'm not done with you yet!"

The clown gasps and squirms and kicks and grabs while the hook drags her through the forest, the device carrying her along the dirt road. All her delights from the past few hours disappear as the fear of the unknown finally breaks through the facade and into Ailen's mind.

Was she tongue-deep inside the magical girl? Or was she the clown that took over her mind?

Was it a takeover? Is it not just her as she would be without her inhibitions? Isn't that what the harlequin said?

She has little time to think about it as she's dragged to a circle inscribed in the dirt. A magical glow fills the clearing as she scrambles, ripping the hook away from her face. Her butt burns from being dragged through the mud, but she spins around, searching for the source of the sudden attack.

The circle is masterfully crafted. A powerful mage must have manifested it, but to do so quickly and target her with it must mean they were here specifically for her.

“Ailen?"

The clown girl whirls around, her eyes widening when she sees her classmate Gimmegee step out of the foliage. “What did they do to you?"

An unfamiliar voice joins her. It is a short deer person, about the gnome's height, with flat blue hair and glasses. He dresses in the robes of a spell blade, his hooved hand waving over the air. “She's in the advanced stages of a transformation spell, with a bit of enchantment thrown into it."

Another figure, a second deer with orange hair spiked up in the middle of her head. She wears large mechanical gloves and carries over her shoulder a massive gun with a hook attached to the end of it. “Any signs of the extraction process?"

“Let me see," Gimmegee says, pulling out a wand and waving it toward the clown. “Ailen, you need to tell me if anything is missing from you. Either way, this might be unpleasant, but I must undo the spell that's got you this way."

Gimmeegee takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, raising her wand and-

A handkerchief wraps around her ankle, yanking her to the ground and dragging her back into the foliage.

“Holymoleywhat'shappeningsomeonehelpmeI'mbeingpulledaway!"

Seeing her opportunity, the clown places her hands in front of her as if she has an invisible wall. Then, she mimes another barrier above her. Putting her whole weight upon the thing, the unseen wall digs through the circle, pushing against its electrified edge.

The magic fizzles out with a pop, leaving the two dik-diks to whirl around. “Lovemore!" shouts the orange one.

“I have it, Lerato!" responds the blue one. He holds his hands up, forming a barrier around himself and his lover to block the axe kick from the clown.

“Tutt Tutt Tutt, my little interlopers. How dare you get in the way of my newest acquisition's fun-filled day?"

The voice's owner is the harlequin, stepping out from the opposite side of the trees, his hands behind his back and his once permanent smile twisted into a disapproving frown. “You've been naughty little creatures, haven't you? Oh, I've heard about the two tiny deer, putting their noses where they didn't belong in our fantastic carnival. What was it you did? Oh, yes, you tricked one of my associates into getting themselves pounded in the pussy by an enraged caracal."

A smile breaks from that disapproving face. “You know, that's actually kinda funny, but not the part where you escaped knowing too much but not being in the fold. Unfortunately, we cannot allow it."

“So, you're in charge of this carnival and its emotion-sapping scheme!" Lerato says, aiming her hook gun at him. “If you just left us well enough alone, you wouldn't have to deal with us foiling your plans."

“My wife is right," says Lovemore, stepping beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “You mess with us. You face our wrath!"

The harlequin gasps, hands upon his chest. “Who, me? No, no, no! I'm merely part of the entertainment, just like my friends!"

The dik-dik duo spins around, and this time, Lerato's hook strikes the sad white-face clown across the head, sending him sprawling onto the ground face down.

“You have some fight in you, I'll give you that," says the harlequin, “But you really can't stop what's coming. The Ringmaster is sure of that."

“So, we at least have a name to the one causing us our headaches," Lerato says. “And let me guess, you're going to mess up our gnomish friend, too? Mindbreak her like she's this poor girl."

“Oh, our clownish friend here?' The harlequin says, his smile widening as he rubs her shoulders. “She's wonderful the way she is. She loves her new lot in life, and I'm sure you all will too, once we excise the terror from you… unless, of course, you have another emotion you want to be removed permanently?"

“Hey, clown girl!" Lerato growls. “You wanna tell us if this guy's right? Do you want to be clownin' around all your life, left to be some puppet for an unseen ringmaster while you let your id run wild? Or do you want us to help ya out and stop others from being turned into what you've become?"

The clown parts her lips, a soft sigh escaping from them.

She takes a deep breath and speaks.

“No."

The harlequin grips hard against the clown's shoulders, leaning in, a growl forming on his lips. “What did you say, girlie? Remember, we're siblings in this comedy of life. Why would you want to throw it away?"

She yanks herself free of him, spinning around, reaching into her top, and pulling out a giant and sloshy water balloon. She slaps it against the harlequin's face, staining his motley in a deep blue ink.

“Gaah!? What the hell did you do that for, you stupid clown!"

Ailen smears her gloved hand over her face, smudging the getup and half-revealing her true face behind the disguise. “Silliness is fine for a short time, but sometimes, you gotta be serious about what you want. I'm serious when I say I want you to give me back my friend!"

“Oh, so you want the wizard, do you?" the harlequin says, chuckling. “Well, you'll have to do better than ruining my getup. After all, I've brought around a couple friends myself!"

With a snap of his fingers, two burly mimes rush out of the forest, wielding their man catchers and swinging them at Ailen.

A sword of pure energy and the hook device clash against the weapons, the two dik-diks struggling against the strength of the two newcomers.

“Judicators, love?" Lovemore says.

“Corrupted like our clown here, seems," Lerato says.

“It's a powerful enchantment," Lovemore adds, pushing back against the foe, waving his hooves in the air. The ground underneath the mime melts away into quicksand, swallowing the corrupted officer up to the hips.

Lerato fires her hook gun, the projectile opening up, metal striking the man's throat.

In an untimely manner, he grunts, but not before the hook closes around his neck, pulling him down right in time for a glove-powered punch to send him sprawling back, groaning.

Ailen pulls her other water balloon out, tossing it in her palm. “So, 'brother,' you think you're ready to cut the contract now?"

The harlequin chuckles a low, slow thing, grasping his face. It soon turns into peals of unhinged laughter as he throws his head back. Even as the three-step into place to confront him, he shakes his head, pointing toward Ailen. “Oh, you stupid, stupid bitch! If only you realized just how screwed you really are!"

Ailen narrows her eyes. “Explain yourself and stop with your cryptic nonsense."

“Oh, but it's so fun to be cryptic and nonsensical, my sister in clowning, but here's the deal: We didn't do anything to you at all. Nothing that you couldn't do to yourself."

Lovemore steps forward, “But the enchantments! The transfigurations!"

“She's a spell caster! Of course, she could do that to herself, and she did. Allow me to show you!"

He steps up to a tree knocking on the trunk. It clicks and opens like a door, and behind it is a reflective surface. Upon that surface is the scene of Ailen sitting in a chair, not in a dark display in a void, but in a dressing room. There, she strips down. There, she applies makeup. There, she fills the balloons and puts on a smile.

“What are you trying to prove with this?"

“Truth, my dear, is subjective," the harlequin says. “What's easier to believe that a wizard saw the perfect opportunity to go on a rampage of debauchery in the city of sin? Or that a bunch of clowns got together and manipulated their minds? After all," he says, stepping up to the knocked-out mime, motioning to him, “we have the law on our side."

Ailen drops her balloon. It flops onto the floor uselessly. “So, what are you saying?"

“You can keep all your paraphernalia, makeup, and magical additions, Miss Ailen. You can go on and lie to yourself about how it was some magical influence that made you eat a woman's ass and suck a random stranger's dick. But you'll be the biggest clown to assume it wasn't you who did all those things. We simply pushed you out the door. Mess with us, and we can worsen things for you."

She falls to her knees, landing on the balloon, plopping it, and staining her legs and her skirt with deep blue ink. It's a silly little game. Ha… haha…. Haaa…"

She buries her hands in her oversized gloves, so ridiculous to see a sobbing sight, even as the sad white clown stumbles to his feet, rubbing his head.

“As for you two," the harlequin says, motioning to the dik-diks. “I think you surrender yourselves to us before we make you disappear in ways you won't like."

Loreto looks to Lovemore.

Lovemore looks to Loreto.

Lovemore claps his hands together, and a puff of smoke rises up between the two.

Loreto mounts the hook gun, pulling her husband onto it, and fires, launching the two of them above the trees.

“They're getting away!" moans the Pierrot.

“Are they really?" the harlequin says. “Looks to me like they're just running from their problems again. Meanwhile, we've got ourselves two morsels just ripe for harvesting."

“Not if I have anything to say about it!" shouts a righteous voice from the forest.

“Oh, come on!" the harlequin shouts. “Randomly appearing is my schtick! Get your own!"

“Oh, I have my own," says Purity, her arms folded over her unbuttoned and destroyed top. “And you're going to get my personal brand of justice coming right up."

Ailen blinks, chuckling. “You know what? Fuck it." She picks herself up, ink dripping from her. “What's funnier than fucking you up, Harle?"

“I dunno, but I think we're gonna see the punchline very soon," he says, smirking through his blue mask.

Gimmegee groans, rubbing her butt. “Fuck, man, where am I?" the gnome grumbles, blinking and adjusting to the darkness around her. “This is not the park."

“How observant of you," says the calm and smooth voice behind her.

Gimmegee whirls around, snapping her fingers. In her hands appear a long, curled-tipped staff, charged with mana.

“That's not going to help you," the voice responds, coming from a brightly-colored tent stuck in the same dark dimension as the gnome.

“And how do you know that?" Gimmegee says.

“Because I've seen it, of course," the voice in the tent says. “Please, come join me. We both know you're curious to see what's behind the curtain."

Gimmegee licks her lips, taking a step forward and then another. “There's so much magic flowing around the carnival," she says. “All of it originating from a single source. Is this it? Are you the caster behind everything?"

“Perhaps I am, or perhaps the magic is working through me? Your unbridled curiosity calls you to step further. Do not be afraid."

“I'm not afraid," Gimmegee barks, and she runs through, throwing open the curtain to peer beyond the veil.

A table covered in gilded cloth sits in the center of this tent, and a glowing and cloudy crystal ball sits upon it. Surrounded around it are cards, laid out in precise order, and the speaker is seated on the other side, their body shrouded in a shawl of intricate weave.

“Oh, another mysterious manipulator behind the shadows?" Gimmegee says. “Isn't the world filled enough with those already?"

She hops onto the seat opposite the figure, placing her staff aside and folding her arms over her chest. “Do you know how difficult it is to cite sources for magical study when most higher-level wizards hide their identity?"

The hooded figure lifts its head, and behind the hood is a mask, emotionless and plain. “You, of all people, should know the necessity of keeping one's identity a secret in our world, where the gods spy on us, and scryers can watch your every move. I should know this as the master of divination magic."

Gimmegee slams the table, standing up on her chair. “The… the master of Divination? As in one of the sorcerers of major arcana? You're the one setting up this entire scam? But why?"

The master flips a card over in a gloved hand, tapping a covered finger on the image of an armored figure encircled in darkness. “The Void," is what the master says. “It comes for us all, but there is an unnatural convergence of events brought upon by us mortals and our hubris. It is up to the strongest of us to work together to bring what we can to prevent a terrible fate."

Gimmegee swipes the card from the table and examines it. “The Void. This is what many believe comes to us after the end. What are you trying to avoid?"

“Avoid it, welcome it. It doesn't matter. What matters is we prepare for it in our own way."

“What exactly is your way?" Gimmegee asks, placing the card down.

“Gaze upon the orb," the master says, hands waving over the misty image from within the ball. “Ponder its meaning with your curiosity."

Gimmegee stares deeply into the orb, its bright light reflecting against her shining black eyes. She leans deeper and deeper, watching, waiting for the revelation to hit her.

But the revelation never comes, and she sits back down, shrugging. “Eh, I don't care."

“Don't you?" asks the master. “You no longer want to plumb the universe for its secrets?"

“Nope."

“You don't want to ask me what I'm doing with all this emotion?"

“Nah."

“Do you even want your curiosity back?" the master says, holding their hand up. In it is a minty green orb, swirling with energy which bounces against its cage, desperately clawing to get back to Gimmegee.

“No, why would I? It's not necessary. I can just live life and enjoy myself, right?"

“Yes, sometimes some people must realize they can just sit in their own stagnation and enjoy life. Now, run along. I have much to do."

“Yes, master of Divination,"

Gimmegee stands up, walks out of the tent, and finds herself back in the forest. When she walks, she bumps into Ailen, who falls forward, collapsing onto her face into the dirt.

“Gimmegee, what the hell?" The half-clownified Ailen gasps.

“My, my," says the harlequin, pulling out a pocket watch. “Look at the time. I'll have to catch you, ladies later. Toodles!"

With that, he throws his watch down, which explodes into confetti and glitter, flying straight into the eyes of the three women on the other side of the attack.

Gimmegee waves her staff, blowing the decorations away. However, when the debris clears, neither the Pierrot nor the Harlequin is left behind.

“Dammit, all!" Purity says, rushing off into the forest to follow them, leaving both Gimmegee and Ailen alone.

Ailen pushes herself up, coughing. “Gah, this whole thing just sucks. Let's get back home, huh?"

“Yeah," says Gimmegee. “Home sounds nice."

“You… you okay, Gee?"

“Perfectly fine," says the gnome, smiling down at her. “Finally content after a long, long time."