Hello! I’m Riley, I’m new here to Arousing Adventures so this is my first ever story to share and so excited it’s during horny spooks! Hope you like it!
Night Of The Pleasure Clown
It was supposed to be just another Halloween.
Candy, costumes, maybe a cheap bottle of wine and some horror movies streamed on my laptop while I lounged in my dorm room, all alone. I’d dressed up as a classic coed — plaid skirt, knee-high socks, oversized sweater. Innocent. Playful. Mine. I’d even teased my hair and dabbed on some glossy lip balm, more for the mirror than anyone else. No parties. No dates. Just me, Riley, embracing the quiet thrill of being a little naughty without anyone watching.
Or so I thought. The first knock came just after 8 PM. Soft. Rhythmic. Tap-tap… tap-tap-tap…
Like someone testing a code. When I opened the door, I wasn’t ready. He wasn’t a trick-or-treater. He wasn’t even human. At least, not in any way that still lets you sleep at night. He was the Pleasure Clown. And he’d come for me.
He towered over me in platform shoes, painted in cracked porcelain white, with blood-red lips curled into a grin that promised agony wrapped in ecstasy. His eyes were black voids, lined with thick kohl, but I felt him staring — peeling back my clothes with just a look. A purple ruffled collar framed his neck, and his suit? A patchwork of velvet and latex, stitched together like a mad tailor’s fever dream.
Thick. Long. Veiny.
But it wasn’t his costume that froze me. It was his dick. Thick. Long. Veiny. Already half-hard, straining against the tight, see-through mesh panel of his clown shorts. It twitched when I gasped.
“Knock, knock, daddy’s girl,” he purred, voice like honey and broken glass. “You’ve been a very bad little coed. Skipping parties. Touching yourself alone. Whispering daddy into your pillow at night like you actually want to be punished.”
My knees weakened. No one knew about that. No one.
“How do you—” I stammered.
He stepped forward, and the door slammed shut behind him — not with a bang, but with a click. The kind that means there’s no going back.
“Because I own your fantasies, Riley,” he said, my name dripping from his tongue like a curse. “And tonight, I’m collecting.”
He didn’t ask. He didn’t warn. One second, I was clutching my phone, the next, I was bent over my tiny dorm desk, skirt hiked up, panties ripped clean off. The sound of fabric tearing sent a jolt through my spine — half terror, half relief. Like I’d been waiting for someone to take control.
His hand clamped over my mouth.
Couldn’t Stop Him…Didn’t Want Too
“Shhh, baby girl. No screaming. Not yet. That comes later. When your sweet little pussy is stuffed with my cock and your tears are streaking the makeup I haven’t even put on you yet.” His fingers traced my ass — soft at first, then hard, gripping, kneading.
“You like being taken, don’t you?” he whispered. “You crave it. That’s why you wear these short skirts. That’s why you grind your thighs together when you’re alone. Which is why you dress like a good girl… so someone bad will ruin you.”
“Yes,” I whimpered into his palm.
“Good girl,” he cooed. “Now spread those pretty legs. Let daddy see how wet his little clown slut gets.”
He made me crawl.
On all fours, across the cold linoleum, behind him as he strutted around my room like he owned it — because he did. He picked up my stuffed bunny, sniffed it, then stuffed it in my mouth like a gag.
“Be a good girl,” he said. “And maybe I’ll let you lick my boots later.” He found my toy drawer. Oh god, he found it. My pink dildo. My vibrating eggs. The anal beads I’d never used. He held them up like trophies.
“Such a filthy coed,” he laughed, a high-pitched, cackling giggle that made my clit throb. “You’ve been practicing for me, haven’t you? Prepping that tight little hole for my monster cock?” He tossed the beads onto the bed. Then he made me beg for them.
The First One…
“Nngh… please…” I moaned around the stuffy. “Please let me wear them…”
“Who do you belong to?” he demanded, stepping on my back with one soft, padded shoe.
“You!” I screamed. “Yours! I’m yours!”
“Say it properly.”
“Daddy’s girl! I’m daddy’s little clown slut! Please… let me fill myself for you…”
The first bead was torture. Cold. Heavy. Stretching me slowly as I pushed it in under his watchful eye. He made me do it with one hand — the other had to stay on my clit, rubbing in slow circles while tears streaked my cheeks.
“Look at you,” he mused, stroking his cock through the mesh. “So desperate. So open. You’d let me put anything in you, wouldn’t you? My cock, my toys, my cum. Even my poison, if I told you it tasted like candy.”
“Yes,” I sobbed. “Anything. Everything.”
He slapped my ass — hard. The sound echoed.
“Then earn it.”
He made me add the second bead. Then the third. By the fourth, I was shaking, whimpering, my pussy dripping onto the floor. The fullness was unbearable — delicious, agonizing. I felt ruined. Ready.
That’s when he pulled out the whip. Not leather. Rubber. Pink. With little bells on the end.
“Clowns love to play, baby girl,” he giggled. “And you’re about to learn all my tricks.”
It Hurt So Good
The first lash stung like fire. Across my ass. Then my thighs. Then my back. Each strike made me arch, made me moan, made me beg for more.
“Harder!” I screamed. “Please, daddy, harder! I need it! I need to feel you!”
He laughed — that same twisted, melodic cackle — and swung again. But then… he stopped. He walked to my desk, picked up my mirror, and placed it in front of me.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered.
I did. Makeup smeared. Hair wild. Pupils blown. Ass red from lashes. Beads disappearing into my ass like a twisted necklace. And between my legs? Soaked. Quivering. Mine.
Pleasure Clown Knew How To Make Me Drip
“No more,” he said. “You don’t get to come. Not yet.”
My breath caught.
“But—”
He slapped the mirror. It cracked.
“You’ll come when I paint you. Not before.”
He unzipped a tiny bag. Out came colors. Not paint. Vibrating paint. Gels that pulsed with tiny motors, designed to be painted on skin — or inside it. He dipped a finger into a jar of shimmering red.
“This,” he said, smearing it across my lips, “is scream red. It’ll make your mouth tingle every time you moan.”
Then he painted my nipples — purple, swirling, electric. I gasped as the vibrations shot straight to my core. Then… he painted inside me. Finger by finger, he coated my pussy with cool, buzzing gel — lime green, then gold. Each stroke made me buck, made me cry, made me pray for release. But he wasn’t done.
He grabbed the dildo — my dildo — and coated that in a thick layer of deep blue — “clown cum blue,” he called it. Then he positioned me on the bed. On my back. Beads still in. Legs spread.
“Open wide, baby girl,” he whispered, sliding the cold, buzzing dildo into my pussy. “Let’s see how many colors you can feel before you break.”
Before I Break
I lost count. The vibrations piled on — layers of pleasure, like waves crashing over a drowning girl. I screamed, sobbed and begged to cum. But he just grinned.
“Clowns don’t let you cum, sweetie,” he sang. “We make you need it. We make you beg for it, make you desperate for it.”
He pulled out the beads one by one — slow, torturous — each removal sending shockwaves through my overstimulated nerves. Then he replaced them. With him. His cock. Thick. Hot. Veiny. Sliding into my ass with one brutal thrust.
I screamed. It burned, stretched and filled me.
And he laughed.
“Fucking perfect,” he growled, pounding into me. “You were made for this, Riley. Made to be ruined by a clown who doesn’t care if you survive.”
He flipped me over. Fucked my pussy next. Then my mouth. Then my ass again. Three rounds. Three colors. Three orgasms — but he didn’t let me feel a single one. He pulled out at the edge, slapped my clit, froze me in the brink.
Until…
“Final act,” he whispered, pulling out a tiny bottle.
“Clown’s Kiss,” he said. “One drop on your tongue, and you’ll CUM so hard you forget your name.”
He leaned down. I opened my mouth. But instead of the bottle…He came. Hot. Thick. Everywhere. On my face. In my hair. On my lips.
“Swallow,” he commanded.
Broken
I did. And as his cum dripped down my chin, he finally — finally — painted my clit with the last of the blue. The orgasm hit like a freight train.
I shattered.
Screaming. Crying. Shaking. Breaking.
Colors. Lights. Sounds. All gone.
Just pleasure.
Just him.
When I woke up, he was gone. My room was clean. No cum, no paint, and no beads. Just my ripped panties on the floor. And a single, glittery calling card on my pillow:
“See you next Halloween — The Pleasure Clown”
Final Thoughts
Was it real?
Maybe not. But does it matter? Some fantasies aren’t meant to be real. They’re meant to ruin you. And that night? I was ruined. Perfectly. Completely. Forever.
So tell me, baby…
Have you ever dreamed of a monster who knows exactly what you need?
One who doesn’t ask… but takes?
Who makes you earn it?
Drop a comment.
Let’s talk about your Halloween fantasy. Maybe I’ll even wear my coed outfit. And wait for your knock.
Wanna Chat Or Call?
Find Me On Niteflirt!
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