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sleepy-fiction · 3 months ago

Text

Please Madame!

Weeping Clown x Fem!Reader

syn: Pegging Weeping Clown like it's his last day on earth.

tags: pegging, dom!reader, sub!weepy, pure fucking + a lil sprinkle of romance, no plot, barely beta read

a/n: I've always loved this man since release. And his voice was so nice to hear... i finished the story and was like aw thats so sad- OK time to write him getting pegged. one day I'll have to tell my partner about this account uhh... uhhhh erre uhhmmm

"F-fuu- Agh! Madam," Weepy cries his prosthetic fingers gripping the sheets, his face beat red beneath half wipped face paint, a color matching his blushed ass. He was bent down on his knees on the bed, ass perked, perfectly in line with your strap as you pegged him.

His moans were high and raspy, loud and thrilled. He shivered with delight, as his aching, reddened cockhead leaked dribbles of slick. His cheeks were a bruised red as you squeezed and smacked them, each time earning a deliciously sweet whimper.

"Mmh, is it good, sir," you giggled, patronizing.

He squeaked out, "Ah! Ah-ang... Amazing!"

You raised your hand, crashing your palm down against his bruised ass cheek again, watching him jerk out. He cried, his voice shaking the walls of the manor room; you reached and grabbed chunks of his hair. "Guh! Aaa-aa," he trilled, arching viciously into your touch.

In this angle, you fucked him deeper, your fake cockhead rubbing against his spot and digging deep into his gut. "Oo-mm... Fuck. M-Madam," he moaned out long and drawed out, his eyes escaping to the back of his head as he squirted his second orgasm into the sheets.

You dropped his head seconds later, and it fell limply forward, through top of his head grazing the bed as he peered down. You took the opportunity to grab your black paddle, meeting the cold leather to his bruised ass. Weeping jumped in surpise, his head flinging up, while his cock twitched in anticipation. "Madam! A-Are you go-going to whip me... Again," he hushed out, pulling chunks of the bedsheets white-knuckle tight.

"Ooh, changed your mind," you teased, drawing circles into his skin with the leather.

"N-No! I would n-never," he gasped, his own shame and humiliation long fled his body. Before you could respond, he stuttered, "More please, I'll be g-good... I won't jerk away!"

Desire crawled down your body, burrowing itself deep to your already soaked cunny. A shudder leaves your lips as you sigh, "Good boy." A crack splits the air as you leave your first mark on him with the paddle, and Weeping calls out intensely, his back arching into you. His body shivered all over as you thrusted a medium pace and rose the paddle once more, cracking it down against his ass.

"Mad-aam," he cries, his voice breaking up into useless sounds, "oncemore-oncemorepleasepleaeeplea--" you crack a stronger hit against him again, and he sparks like fireworks. He shoots forward, launching his face into the sheets, jerking his perky ass off your dildo, leaving it puckering for purchase in the wind.

You grit in annoyance, "Weeping," scolding him with your displeased hush.

Still in a daze, he didn't notice between his drawn-out orgasm, not until you cracked him alert. "Aah!" He squealed.

"You pulled off me again. You naughty clown, I'll really punish you now," you spat.

"Madaam... I'm soorry I'll be good. I'll b-be good," he moaned. You couldn't see it, but on his sweaty sticky face was a dirty smile, a smile as he wiggled his ass in the air.

"There is no next time," You plugged his hole up quick, taking the paddle in your left hand and cracking it against his left cheek. You trusted intensely, paddling him to the beat of your thrusts. His voice spiked out, his back arching off the bed as he shot his head up, his hands shaking against the pressure.

Off his lips came senseless mumbo, as his hair stuck to his scarred face, a face that smeared paint into the sheets before, and left him but nothing but faintest to cover said scars. You'd be lying if you said you didn't orgasm just then, just as his voice hit its limit and turned into a raspy, airy mess.

"A-Amazuh-- Madame," he cried with all his heart as he shot out milky sperm. Sperm that was liquid and slick, barely carrying any semen from all his prior ejaculations.

You slowed down, dropping the paddle and grinding your base against his ass, forcing it deep into his body. He perked, whole body spasming as he buried his head against the sheets. His pants were buttery, the sweat dripping down his body lustfully. This was a much needed cool down for him and for you.

"Madam," he whispered, peaking over his shoulder to gaze into your eyes.

"Yes, clown," you murmured, half listening while you squeezed his ass, panting softly.

"M-May, may we switch... Uh... Positions? I want to l-lay on my back... I don't think I-I can't hold myself up f... For longer," he takes a gulp in-between his words, his gorgeous red hair wet with sweat.

"Alright," you pulled out of him, causing his toes to curl, "You need water?"

He flipped onto his back, his cute wide eyes staring up at you so sweetly, so innocently, "No-mm... 'M okay for now. T-Thank you, mistress," he smiled. You almost felt bad for punishing him.

You grabbed a pillow from above, ordering him to raise his head and sliding it beneath him when he does. He smiles so kindly at you, his hands curled up against his heart. You sigh wistfully and place one last pillow to prop up his ass.

He suddenly squeaked.

You perked, "What?"

"M-My semen is cold against my back-! T-The... The whole spot beneath me is wet," he cried in his comfort, his eyebrows weaving in stress. You giggled, pinning him down and lining up with his hole.

You coo between lidded eyes, "Aw, I almost feel bad for you." He whimpers pitifully. You gaze into his eyes right as you plunge in, soaking up his every feature. That's also when you notice most of his face paint had been wiped off. It was a euphoric treat for you.

Watching as his mouth fell slack, the way his eyebrows knitted, his eyes disappearing behind the clouds. But also, noticing his scarred cheeks, the way the corners of his lip suffered worse scars. How his cleft revealed his flashy, pearly whites. You'd be lying if you said you didn't orgasm again then too.

You gulped, not noticing how you still had been. Long enough for Weeping to wrap his arms around your shoulders, "Mistress," he hums raspy. The sound is quiet, gentle, and almost loving. It snaps you right out of the slow-motion replay.

You gulp, now aware of how your beating heart "Yes, Clown?"

He reaches and nuzzles his forehead and nose against your face, "'M ready now. I-I promise I can tuh... Take more," he whispers. Just as he says so, he leans back into the pillows, his red hair sprawling, a perfect match to his beat red cheeks, wistfully eyes, and caring smile. God. He was fucking beautiful.

You thrusted slow and deep, watching his face twist up in excitement. You gripped his hips tightly, swallowing back the feelings bubbling up. You knew you should have never let him turn around. God.

He cracks another moan, easing his head back, closing his eyes- completely succumbing to your will.

Fuck.

"Weeping," you pant, feeling passion heat in your veins, "your face paint rubbed off."

He gasps suddenly, "N-No! My--" but before he could cover himself with his hands, you slammed downwards, catching his wrist with both hands and leaning forward, your face inches apart. He squeaks and squirms, but you keep yourself there, stating deep into his eyes.

He has nowhere else to look but your intensity, no way to flee from your teasing yet perfect thrusts. His eyes flee behind his eyelids, succumbing once more, his jaw hanging open in his vulnerability. He felt so powerless it felt-- A warm shot of cum splattered against your belly, as you quickly looked down to see his weeping cock, spitting up on itself.

"Ooh, you like this, huh? You like how powerless you are? You like the Madam looking at your pretty face, huh," you teased.

"Yes- yes ma'am," he leans his head away, revealing his gorgeous, lean, pale neck.

He was so lean, tall, so slanky.

You swallowed thickly.

You pulled off his wrists, but he kept his arms there, and you sunk into his neck, nipping and biting down on the milky flesh. His moans rose, spiking, the vibrations striking through his body. You too felt the familar feeling of your pussy clenching, pleasure from purely watching and experiencing this with him, was drawing you near an orgasm.

You panted and grabbed his hips, burying your teeth in his neck for purchase as you thrusted faster and faster. Riding out his high, ans reaching your own euphoria, as he released his last moan, "Oh y-yes! Madame!!"

You came at the same time, dropping your tired body onto his larger, skinnier one, slowly pulling out of him. "G-God," you moaned, feeling how disgustingly ruined your panties had turned.

"Amazing-uh... Mmgh... Madame," he murmured, gently caressing your head.

This was bad.

You were falling for a one night stand.

You only needed to break steam off in this damn manor, not...

You peered up at him, watching him stare down at you so tenderly, "Madam," he hushed it as if he worshiped the name.

Ah.

You were in big trouble now.

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sleepy-fiction · 22 days ago

Text

Pain & Glory./ jokermike

Weeping Clown x Mike Morton SMUT [5.5k Words est.]

syn: mike finds out joker is the killer early in his manor plan. still dressed as Sergei, Mike corners Weeping alone on the count of justice. but anger, that old devil, bubbles up, and justice turns to vengeance; vengeance is brutual with a heavy, searing hand. They perform pain and glory for all to see, when vengeance mixes with justice. TDLR; jokermike hate sex on a stage

tgs: nsfw, cock n ball torture elements, painplay, bdsm, spanking, powerplay, homophobia, exhibitionism, implied voyeurism, minor watersports, rough sex no lube, brutual twisted dynamics, hate sex, consensual sex (always), dubious elements, mental illness b like, queers learn to love themselves core

an: this fic is literally balls off the walls crazy omfg.... NOT PROOFREAD.

part two

Mike had him. He caught the freak that ruined his life. The day the circus burned down, the months of preparations that went in just to catch the dirty culprit, only to find that his original suspect, Nataile -- who had everything to gain in the destruction of his whole life- was not the culprit.

Mike had already went through the whole manor game preparations, and after the unfortunate death of Violetta, his urge for justice, and his pure hatred for the evil culprit grew.

Natalie.

So disgusting she'd kill innocent violetta. So disgusting she'd lead on the Clown, whose face her husband burned. She could never have enough. Or that's at least what he thought, right up until the real game started at Hullabaloo, and everyone split into teams. Murro and him to the west side of the map, Joker and Natalie to the east.

There we find Mike, dotting off between rehearsing his plans and inacting it. Mike pretended to work on his own personal cipher, just until Murro left to do his, running over Natalie's crimes yet again. The wheels of clues where begining to click. Harshly.

And as much as he hated to admit it, something was off.

Natalie had everything to gain in burning down Hullabaloo. But. Maybe that was too easy?

Something urked at him from the dark, swelling over his cold heart.

He turned on his cipher machine with wiring, having his cipher light up fully completed without actually working on it. His sweet song filled the air as he sunk behind the large tent across the bridge, staring at the costume hidden behind a perfectly placed box. He's rehearsed this again again. He quietly pulled out the custom he is to wear.

Sergei's.

His teeth harden.

Mike sighed, continuing on with his previous thinking.

Who else could it be if he was wrong about Natalie?

He ran down the list again. Defintely not Violetta, helpless girl, may God rest her soul.

Mike slipped out of his clothes, the winter air nipped at his bare skin.

Violetta would do anything anyone told her to. But she wouldn't burn down the circus-- she was too harrowed by it. At least, the way she told it felt so. Violetta could never be a threat.

Mike buttons up the costume as he moves on to his next consideration.

Murro. Murro, his honest brother, was much the same. He'd do anything Mike tells him to do. He's too much of a hero, wanting to swoop in for the needs of the people. He could never burn the circus down.

And then. Mike pulled out the makeup kit he brought with him, lathering his face in the iconic white paint. He felt so much like Joker, despite dressed to the T as Sergei. It was weird, how his kind flocked to the Clown in his darkest moments.

Joker was pitiful, nothing more.

Mike felt some sort of guilt for his bomb chemicals being used to heinously burn his face but-- Nothing more. Mike could only watch his performances in self-serving glory, pride himself that he was the golden boy, the normal one- as he watched Weeping hobble around on stage. Ans Sergei, the amazing Sergei, always saved his performance by giving the Clown a nice push...

Mike admits.

He felt so much budding joy watching and hearing the crunchy clatter of metal tossed about on stage. How his red hair clung to his face paint, how his lip quivered, how he peered to the crowd with adoring yet pain-filled eyes.

Mike always felt so good watching Joker's performances. He always laughed at the clown.

Joker. He couldn't be the culprit.

Mike was unaware of how his fingers ran over his lips with the red face paint, over ans over again while he thought of The Weeping Clown. The stimulation of warmth and soft fingertips felt so good on his lips, and on his fingers, his own plump lips fed into his daydreams of the clown's teary, quivering face. He was needlessly replying red lipstick with his fingers, something he went out of his way to do subconsciously, all while he thought off about the clowns misfortune.

He pauses abruptly.

Anger flies up his body.

That Joker. He had a woman's body and he knew it.

Mike thought back to a scorned memory.

It was him visiting Joker in the medic ward after his injury. Half of his face was burnt and disfigured. The circus had no medicine to give him, no numbing. He remembers the red hair drenched with sweat that stuck to the white pillows and his marred face. How his eyes swelled up with tears and as he groaned out deep into the night, half asleep, yet half awake.

"My condolences, Joker. It's my fault for leaving my things unlocked," he whispered in the memory. Joker didn't respond. He groaned away, whimpering and hissing, stray tears ebbing down his cheeks. Mike felt his eyes narrow, mouth water, his loins fire at the sight. He softly grabbed the blanket that covered him, pulling it off his body. He whispered, "You must be so hot, Joker. You're drenched." But his eyes drifted down his body as he sensually pulled it off.

Drenched he was, as his sleeping clothes were stuck to his body in full. No muscle, bone, or cervice was spared, as he could see almost all of him like this. And the smell he remembers. The smell was intoxicating when he pulled the blanket back. It was earthy, frantically unbalanced from stress hormones, making it a true stench. His lips curled up in disgust, but oh-how his body reacted all over with a deep, glorious shiver. It forced him to sigh out. The sound was equivalent to a hawk, eyeing an injured rabbit.

He was a liar.

Weeping's body was manly.

Broad chest, tall skinny legs. Tiny, long waist. Long skinny fingers mostly covered with metal prosthetics, parts of his hands Mike's sure he lost from carpentry. How his chest rose and fell, his poor little heart pumped to overdrive from pain. How his long skinny neck was covered in little beauty marks, how the red seemed to wrap around the pale skin unforgiveably. His shirt rid up to exposs his happy trail. It was surprisingly a medium, rusty brown color.

The golden boy remembers how the clown shook with fear, fear from being exposed and vulnerable. Mike grabbed those hands with a self-righteous vigor, smiling his tight, face-splitting one, as he sighed out, "Don't worry Joker. We'll all take care of you here. The troop has your back," Mike let go with a recoil.

He turned to leave. The clown forced out a whimper from his sleep, "Pl-- please i need it- on-- please I'm scared-- the b-blanket is--"

Mike turned from the doorway, hushing out, "You'll catch a fever. You don't need it," and he left, reveling in the power the clown gave him.

Mike blinks as the after shocks of the memory ran him over like a freight train, an evil shudder swelling out his body. He always tries to stay away from that Clown. He was a stain that provoked him to evil, at times. But. He can't quite remember why he thought of it in the first place?

Ah.

Yes. His pitiful, disabled body.

No. No matter how manly it was.

It was like a woman's.

It made Mike.

It made Mike react as if he were with one.

What the hell was he even thinking? No, it didn't. That pitiful Clown was always to blame.

It made Mike so angry. Joker was always so helpless. It was almost like he wanted to be.

God, and why. Why did he bring up that memory now?

Even Mike had some semblance of shame, and stopped rubbing himself immediately. Painfully aware of how his lips bounced back, beginning to bruise from the friction.

He shakes his head again, roughly throwing on the wig, as his makeup is now finished.

Anyways. It was safe to assume that the killer has to be Natalie. Joker is too much the self-sacrifcal type to do all of this for himself even if his face was marred. He'll, maybe he'd do this for someone else, but that feels like a stretch. The clown'd put his whole life on the line for Natalie. God, he doesn't even know she doesn't like anything he does for her, truly. He has a habit of always making things worse; that unstable clown.

Mike freezes.

The gears begin to turn.

His eyebrows narrow, breath stolen beneath him.

Joker was jealous.

He had always been the envious type. He could feel it in his hatred stare, the stare he always bored into the back of Mike's head, assuming the blonde wasn't aware. Mike always brushed it off-- it made sense for many of the troop to be envious of the amazing acrobat. But maybe.

Maybe Joker was envious of Sergei! That's why he burnt it all down!

Joker burnt down the circus to kill Sergei, so he could keep Natalie to himself!

It was the truth that reigned ruler in Mike's twisted mind. He had already planned to scare Natalie, as he crept closer to the tear in the circus. Mike peeked in through the rips in the tent, watching as Joker and Natalie talked.

Natalie held her coat flush against her body as she stepped out through the front entrance, leaving the clown behind in the tent. His window of opportunity arrived.

No longer was he doing this for justice and vengeance.

Something so twisted sprung up in his body as he watched the clown fidget and shake, as he watched and heard the clicking of his metal leg against the ground.

Something heinous, something devilish with a grueling, god-scorned desire sprung up inside of Mike. Combined with hatred of the clown and combined with his desire to hurt him. Mike quietly slipped into the tent, still dressed as Sergei. Mike's body burned, all of his intent was to hurt the clown.

Stalking him, Mike made himself smaller.

Joker turns in thought, as he faces away from the stage and unzips his fly, unaware of the quiet stalking that happened behind him. His mind was lost in thoughts of Natalie. Mere seconds ago he helped her complete her cipher, and she ran off to find Murro and Mike. She said something about opening the exit gates, and how she wanted him to stay put. So. He did.

He loved her. He once really, deeply, truly did.

But the feeling were fading... Or maybe he was awakening. There was this unsettling feeling on his back that tore up through his body when he thought about their love.

The golden predator stood behind the clown. Unawares to how he drunk up the sound of his piss. Unaware of how his hands begun to raise. Unaware, of how the golden predator waited for his prey to catch him. Even the littlest bit.

Joker knew he was fool. A fool in their love. But his broken mind held together as mhch of thr little pieces of truth she sprinkled onto him- for his sanity's sake. Joker sighed contently as he emptied his bowls, he aimed his stream against the size of the faded blue and red stage. He looked up at it as he did so, sucking in a shaky, shivering breath.

"Natalie... Hurry and return," he hisses, ever so sweetly, "My mind wants to wander... Wander and doubt you..."

His stream is about to end. Mike hears it weaken. He releases a shaggy, breath.

Joker flinches as he hears a gruff sound behind him. His hands tighten protectively around his dick as he peers, ever-so-slowly, over his shoulder. His eyes bulge out. Sergei is standing behind him. His stream ends.

With an excited squeal, Sergei launched towards him, slamming his body against the stage. His weak knees clatter against the wood, shootinf a sharp pain uo his body. Sergei grabs fistfuls of his vest, fighting to get on top of him. Joker reacts before he could think, desperately kicking and pushing him, fighting to turn around. It's a success.

He's forced on his back, as the perpetrator, slots over his body, weakly begining to straddle him. Joker hisses, grunts, and whines all the while, very vocal, as he shoots a deadly fist against Sergei's face. Mike groans out, the voice, a dead giveaway as Joker reels, shoving him back off him with a huff.

"Mike! Mike! Mike," he screeches like a demented parrot. His eyes drown with hatred. Mike laughs, grabbing Joker's wrists as he reaches to scratch the paint of his face. They strain, Joker trying to pulling his arms away, Mike to secure them. "What are you- dooing! Mikee!" Joker yells with all his vemon, all his scratchy, hoarse power.

Joker frees a hand and slaps the wig off his head, but like all things, Mike grabs his wrist again, a force both of the clown's hands down against his black vest.

Joker can only viciously surge as he shakes his head, growling and spitting up like a dog.

"You're so vocal, Joker! I've never seen you so worked up," Mike cackles, calm, but breath heavy with pants.

Joker's the same struggling for breathes beneath his anger, and his beating heart that hammers in his body. "You're dressed up as-- Sergeeei," the clown hisses it out with all of his soul, "Why! Why are you doing this! And-- Natalie-- Oh god Natalie, she almost saw you-- Dont you know how bad that would have been," he barrels out, booming voice.

Mike's quick with rebuttal, "Why? So she's reminded of her husband and she- leaves you!" Mike yells out the last part, looming down, all in Joker's face.

"Haha! She would never! Sergei's dead," It's his turn to finally crack a smile, "Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead as a doorknob." His laugh following it is eerie and maniacal.

Mike's face drops horrifically stern, "How do you know that," he spits with a passion.

Joker's face warps as he laughs, no longer struggling in Mike's hold. He lays limply, eyes shut, head lulling back. He's exposed. His dick's still out, caught by Mike, in so many horrific ways, yet still, the clown finds some joy-- some relief in it all. In the constrains he held him in. Excitement. The excitement of finally getting caught.

Mike hates it. Mike roars with anger, "How do you know that. How do you know, Joker!"

Joker laughs. The sound rings in Mike's ear, like a hyena before a lion. The golden boy rears, freeing a hand from around those skinny wrists to slap over the clown's mouth. His index shoots into Joker's mouth, the rest cupped around it. Joker gags on the feeling, his hot tongue, hot mouth all around the dirty finger. It tastes like face paint.

He bites down on it, hearing mike grunt as blood trickles into his throat. His eyes burn, the blood makes him want to cough. But he controls himself, controls himself as he uses this moment to reach forward with his now freehand and wipe off the makeup on half of Mike's face with one swipe. He releases the finger, the finger that Mike so graciously let him bite, and swipes it too into his cheek with his tongue.

He lulls out, "You've never looked good in face paint- golden boy... No- you're much too good to wear face paint like the rest of us. You're better than us clowns! Riight? We cover our faces with smiles but you- you radiant them off you! Is that why- is that why everyone loves you?"

Mike keeps his hand against Joker's face, as he uses the other, that once kept Joker in place, to wipe the rest of the face paint off. Narrowing deadly eyes on him, "Is this what you want to see, Joker? You murderer!"

Joker laughs again. Mike slips off him completely, eyes flickering to the half awake cock still sticking out from his fly. His hands grab his metal prosthetics, pulling a move he's seen Sergei do thousands of times. He ripes it off, deadly, not caring to how the clown hisses. He turns, throwing it back against the wooden chairs some yards away. They all fall with a clatter.

Joker stops laughing, instead, he begins to crawl away, going back further on the stage. Mike doesn't let him, he storms up on it, barreling towards Joker. He slips on his knees, each between joker's legs, as he grabs the clown's neck from behind, pulling his body up against him. Joker's ass is in his lap, his back against Mike's body.

He hisses like a cat, but only laughs, dropping his head back to see Mike.

He's only met with an angry stare. Joker jerks, trying to get out, squirming and moving around, Mike slings a hand on his thigh, holding him inplace against his lap as the blonde sits on the floor, now totally having the weeping clown sit on him. His ass is tart against his clothed dick, one that's awakened from Weeping's friction.

They both go quiet.

Joker stops his squirming, drowning in the hand that held his neck like a vice, that held his hip and thigh. How he was guided into Mike's body. His neck forced to lean his head back against the blonde's shoulder, forcing the clown to an arch.

Both only seem to think about how their body's fit like puzzle pieces. How good it feels to sit on Mike. How good it feels, to let this vermin, sit on him.

Mike's twisted mind slowly works through the motion as he paints, sliding his hand on that boney hip up the clown's body, and popped his vest open. His tanned hands ran up the button up he wore, it too was growing sweaty. The Joker grunts or huffs for every sensation. So vocal, so deep in his ears.

His hand falls back down, but this time it encapsulates that revealed cock from before.

Mike grows even more quiet.

His hand meet a warm, skinny rod. His grip on Joker's neck loosens, and the clown arches back into Mike's chest, slumping over a bit to see what's happening in between his legs. Weeping cracks his legs open, panting and huffing like a dog, "Haa... Hff... Ha-ack... Gra," spitting annoying up grunts.

This is Mike's first time ever touching a man. Not like this.

His palm is warm, but it's incomparable to the hotness of Joker's flesh. Weepy's soft to the touch, as the blonde wraps his fingers around his base. His skin is smooth, his cock is fully erect, dribbling up in the attention he's getting. Mike gives him a slow tug to his tip, watching how his uncircumcised foreskin swallows up his dick, before sliding back down to reveal an angry, red-hot tip. It steams in the cold air.

Joker moans, "Haaa... Ah... Oouh," he's begining to sweat. His body is hot all over. Joker reaches up, unbuttoning his button-up. All while Mike stops stroking to watch. Simply holding cock, entranced by metal fingers going up and up, revealing salivating milky white skin. The final button is lose, they're both panting, and the shirt slips off to his shoulders. Mike uses his freehand and helps the fabric off his boney shoulders.

His chest is revealed, sweat dribbling down it, small moles ans beauty marks dribbled on it. Mike's whole body flares, bewilderment, drowning in his eyes. A man's body. He was hard and aching in his pants.

This is so fucking disgusting.

"Here," Weeping's voice is surprisingly soft, surprisingly sweet, as he slowly began to fuck into Mike's palm, "L-Like this..." It's a tone that sears Mike's mind. He's only use Joker use this voice on Natalie.

His hands began to trembl around his cock. Mike grits, clamping down on his dick with all his power. "Aaah-aackk! Aack, oughu-- aah ha," Weeping cries out, slamming all his body down into the stage floor, away from mike, his hands shooting down to pry his dick from the blonde's hands.

Mike recollection himself. Recoiling away ffkmt he flithy thing, and standing up, watching as Weeping's ass flies into the air, his hands cupping his dick. "Aackk- Phu... Ooh.. sshit," the clown moans, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, his toes curling up.

The pain was so good. Sososo good. His eyes escaped to the crevices of his mind, moaning out pants and babbles. His cock seared in waves, aching and pulsating, the sensitive nerves throbbing in unison with his heartbeat.

Mike's eyes narrowed. "You're so flithy, Joker," he hums. His body seems to soothe itself from the prior distress, the sight of the clown was a remedy. "How dare you show me love, you dog," he huffs. "Need I remind you, you ruined my life?"

Joker only laughs, but its a nervous one. Its plagued with fear, he even shakes.

Mike reers at the sound, raising his foot and kicking him square in the ass. "Shit-! Oow-uhg! Uhhh-haa," Joker whines out, falling forward, dropping his ass as his head slams into one of the three raises on the stage. He picks himself up, dropping his forearms against the star, gaining some sense to crawl away again.

Mike steps forward, grabbing the clown's pants line and pulling both his boxers and his pants in bunches on his knees. Weeping's senses quake again, his dick stuck to his stomach, quaking with need. He can feel Mike pause behind him, "Ooh... Joker," the blonde sighs. Golden boy stares at the big red mark on his ass. "I kicked you like a soccer ball," he laughs like it's funny.

Joker's guard melts as he groans, weakly dropping his head down.

Mike's hands cup the warm, bruised moons that flashed themselves to him, rubbing sweet circles into the skin. "Oough... Mike," Weeping cranes out, a mixture of a dry heave and a whimper.

Mike leans forward on Joker, dropping his face on the clown's shoulder. He whispers, "Did I hurt you?"

Joker picks his head up, nodding, forgetting he can't see, lost in the steady flow of tears that now stream down his face. He finds his voice, it's meek and tired, much like Mike's, "y-yes... yes..."

Mike's hands wrap around Joker's body, as his crotch meets his aching, bruised ass. "Say my name again, Joker..."

"Yes... It h-huurts Mike," he whimpers.

He lays his chest against the redhead's back, sliding a hand up the joker's chest, the other sliding back down to the side of the clown's ass. Mike picks up his head, dropping his chin on Joker's shoulder. "Want me to hurt you more," his voice drops all semblance of softness, its icey and rage full.

Weepy bucks back into his crotch, dropping his head again with a moan, "Oohh-- Ooh-haa... Yess... Yess Mike," he nods helplessly again, grabbing on to the edges of the raised circle. Weeping looks up at his surroundings for the first time. He's at the middle of the stage, staring down at the crowd. Broken scattered chairs littered about, most of which knocked over. His shiney leg laying weakly right next to it.

He's about to perform another painful show.

Joker's mind quakes.

Only this time.

Mike's raises his hand.

Joker loves the performance he's going to give.

Mike's palm crashes against the side of Joker's ass, he bellows out with a loud yell. His slaps are filled with power, no remorse. Mike slips out of his embrace, leaning back to get a full view. He feels off Joker's button up along with his vest in an instant, revealing a milky, white back, covered in stray beauty marks.

He crashes another palm against Joker's ass. "Aahh! Ah! Mike," Joker strains out. Mike rough houses his hips into his crotch, grinding and digging into it aggresively, as if Mike would die if his dick wasn't pleasured. He had leaked all through his pants, throbbing with precum, blonde locks drenched in sweat.

They were under the stage lights.

Two of them lost in their own little game. Bucking and thrusting, slapping milky skin, bumping back and forth. So loud, they both imagined a crowd before them, cheering, cheering for the pain cracked against Weeping. Weeping cried loud and full for them, whining and whimpering, making a good and pretty show for them. He wanted them to see how messy his makeup had become, how teary eyed he was, how his lips were wet and pink from how he licked off his lipstick.

More for them!

Weeping bucked and grinded back against Mike, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The night of their lives!

Mike grabbed fistfuls of Weeping's hair, pulling him back so the crowd could see his pretty chest.

SMACK!

Mike crashed a deadly palm against his ass again. The side of his ass was a vicious, alarmed red.

Please the crowd!

A hoarse, craned mewl fly high in the air, "Mu- m-moreee. Moou-- More-more-more-more, Mike!"

SMACK!

Mike drops his head back, fucking into his soft ass, shooting blanks into his wet trousers. "Gonna cum- gonna cum," he mewls.

Weeping shoves a hand inbetween his own legs, jerking himself off.

"Cum! M-mike--

SMACK!

"Aaaugh! Give the people. Give them your best p-performa-mance," he gasps, stars building in his eyes. "I'm C-cumming!"

Mike bucks into his ass for the last time, finally shooting a real, long, sticky load into his wet trousers. It sprays out the sickness, squirting and ebbing against Weeping's soft ass. "Mmnhh, Joker," he groans out blissfully.

Joker clenches his toes, frantically, sloppily, fucking his cock with his fists, throwing his head forward, holding his breath. Jerking ans thrusting, biting his lip, moaning and groaning-- he shoots out all over the stage, endless streams of cream exploding out his red cock. "A-aaaugh! Mmh'nu... Miiike," he whines, slummping forward onto the raised star.

Mike sloppily sits back, pulling away from Joker, staring at his crimson red bruises, all concentrated at the clown's hips and side, all on one half of his ass. The other, white like powder. Mike twitched all over. His eyes fell to the slick smeering of his cum on another man's ass.

He winces, staring at the crowd. Their distance cheers, they fade, slowly. The headlights that drowned them, somehow shut off.

It was soon. Quickly becoming.

Mike alone with the Weeping Clown.

He almost wanted to cry. Mike drops his head, feeling his his heart burns, how his chest heaves. His head slaps over his face, a distraught huff craving from his body.

Weeping, in a daze, only slowly turns back at Mike, his droopy cute eyes lidded. They soften at the sight. He turns a little, reaching back, laying a tender hand on Mike's shoulder. "Mike," he whispers again.

Mike knows it.

It's Natalie's clown now. No longer the Joker, but someone who cares.

Bitter tears dribble from his eyes. Mike whispers, "W-Why'd you do it, Joker... Why..."

Weeping forced his hands through Mike's protective arms, laying metal and plush fingertios against thr blonde's chin. He picks Mike's head up, guiding him into his eyes. The clown twitches, but still, sweetness lies in him. It's the sweetness, that Mike learns why Natalie kept him around. "We couldn't bare it anymore... All of us, except you."

Mike drops his head into Jokers hands, and the Clown pulls him into a warm hug, wrapping skinny arms around the acrobat's chest. Mike's hands stay limp, his tears cooling. Even he... He felt shame. "Oh god," he huffs.

Maybe deep down.

Mike.

Mike hated that place too.

It was almost too much to bare. Not the truth, it was easier now, he had worked his mind up to it for weeks, only holding on to what he knew for sanity's sake. But instead, what toiked him, was brought him distress in this moment, was the way his beating heart pitter-pattered with affection. Affection. For the clown.

Maybe that was all it ever was. Hiding behind...

Hiding behind.

Mike blinks it away. But he can't avoid it. He can't avoid how homely Weeping's body is, how befitting the clown's hands feel raking through his hair, how Joker's shoulder is almost the perfect rest for the blonde's face. How sweet his cooings are, how warm and kind is presence is. How he loves his doey face and cleft lip, accompanied by dewy droopy eyes.

Those pink cleft lips.

Mike shivers all over.

His heart over comes his body, overcomes his mind. Overcomes what he knows is right.

The acrobat, still dressed as Sergei, leans back, cupping the side of the clown's face and kissing his lips. "Mmf," weeping hums, shutting his eyes into it. The kiss is messy and uncoordinated at first, as all Mikes wants is to feel his lips against Jokers. But Joker guides him, as always, into a warm, paced rhythm. It's not enough. But its not enough.

Mike pinches the clown's nipple, forcing him to gasp and forcing the blonde's hot tongue into Joker's mouth. Joker swallows down on the warm intrusion, sucking and and swirling, letting Mike take the lead. Mike wraps hands around Joker's waist, each holding on to boney hips. Mike kisses him passionately, jealously-- hungrily. He eats him up, delighting in the kind whimpers Weeping gifts him with.

Mike's hard and ready again. It's terrifying. It's so terrifying how it overrides his body, how he pulls back officially with a hearty smack, frantically staring with terrified eyes. Weeping cups his face instead, jumping right back into a sweet kiss, tumbling Mike back against the stage.

Mike moans out, "Oh--mf," feeling up weeping's body.

Weeping pulls out leaning up, pulling his hair back from his shoulders, its not use as gorgeous red falls forward again. Mike's eyes fall to brown nipples. Weeping whispers, "Is this your first time with a man..."

Mike's eyes shrink, he cackles, "So you've been with plenty? Flithy... You're flithy..." Mike glorifies himself, telling himself self-righteous nothings to stomach down the fear. Weeping goes quiet, narrowing dangerous, challenging eyes on Mike. Mike continues, cautiously, "You're a murdering... Arsonist... The police are looking for you and Murro and I are gonna turn you in!"

He's a broken parrot.

Weeping rocks back and forth on Mike's crotch while he speaks, the gaps in his speech from his own moans. Waves of satisfaction curls through his body, his hands shoot back to their rightful place on boney hips. Weeping swats them away, Mike grunts in discomfort. Joker slides his hands slowly, sensually up his body, matching the rhythm of his grinding.

Mike's words die in his throat, swallowing harshly, entranced.

"Has a woman ever made you cum before," Joker hushes. "Even t-thinking about her while masturbating counts..."

Mike's face shoots red in anger.

"No? Have... H-Have you ever... came.. Thinking about a man," hes confident, stuttering from his own impediments.

Mike's eyes shut. It's all the answers Weeping needs. He rocks faster, dropping hands on Mike's chest, turning his head to reveal the beauty mark on his sweet, pale neck.

Weeping's eyes flicker, "H-Have you ever came... thinking about me?"

"No!" He shouts.

"You lie. You just did it now."

Mike drops his head back with a long moan, guiding his hips with his hands. He cries, "Yes aah... You're right." As if it'll get him a cookie.

"You've done it before Mike. You peeked on me in the medic tent. I could hear you... I could hear you, Mike," Joker's aggresive, squirming and thriving off the friction.

"I have! I have-- mmg Joker," he nods.

"Take control of m-me again, Mike... Sh-Show me... Show me who you are," Joker lulls out with a whimper.

It's all it takes for Mike to spring forward. Catching Weeping with lips and rolling them over, finding his rightful place on top. He licks and slurped up the redhead's tongue before licking up the clown's cleft, tasting glorious face paint on his palette. He leans back, still clad in Sergei's costume, fishing himself out of his soaked trousers, letting them fall in bunches around his knees. His dick flies out, it's stocky and tan, but shorter than Joker's skinny, tall, pale cock.

The acrobat will surely piston him open.

"Ss-shit! Aah," Joker trembles in delight.

Mike parts the clown's legs, lining himself up, using his sloppy spit and slick to lube himself. It's going to hurt. Joker's eyes lull back in anticipation, toes clenched tightly. He spits out, "T's gonna hurt mike- Gonna hurt-hurt-haaha," he's losing himself again, his cock twitching and leaking.

Power cursed through his veins. Mike gasps with a cackle in sadisitic pity. His tip kisses his hole, smearing slick against it before pushing in. Joker clamps down on his face head, trilling out as he slowly pistons him open, "Oouu-- Ah! Ow- shit- Mike!" Its nothing but hot pain and tender stimulation. The fullness of his warm walls spreading open, Mike cums early, spraying his walls with thick ropes.

It's not for nought, as it spills put, lubing Joker's sweet innards, helping him slip in and bottom out. "Mmmhh.. mgh," Mike groans, enjoying the way he swallows him whole.

His thumb leans to play with Joker's brown pubes, gliding up his happy trail to his belly button. It's a pretty outtie. He flicks it with his index. Joker grunts and gasps, hands up by his head, finger nails daggering moons into his palms.

Mike pumps in him, enjoying the way Joker's jaw hangs open, enjoying the hot squeeze. He stammers out, "The-the squeeze of a man," cackling along with it. "J-Joker's body-- Joker's squeeze," his cackle turns into a moan as he drops his head back.

Mike looses himself just as quick as the revelation hits the air, pumping in him deep and quick, flexible, nimble, breathlessly and trained. He raises a sloppy hand so crash his palm down against Weeping's thigh, the taller squeals out. He reaches, grabbing the clown's weeping skinny cock, erratically jerking it about, using his other hand to mindlessly hit and smack flesh.

His cock went in and out. In and out of hotness, spitting up pre-cum and making the hotness wetter. Every thrust, he lost his mind in every thrust, enjoying the erotic squlech of where their bodies met.

"Mmh," Mike hums and groans.

"Fu-Fu-cck... Shit! Miiike," Joker's voics is hoarse and strained from before, only adding to his natural, sensual soft rasp.

"So good... Sounding so good, f-for flith, joker," Mike praises. Butterflies blossom into Joker's stretched out gut.

Fatness is thrusting in and out of him, he's pumped full, at a fast and deep rate. Mike doesn't get tired, not the way weeping does, it's a cry from his athleticism. Mike moves his hands after one finally smack, dropping them onto his forearms by Joker's head, fucking him into the ground if he has to.

Joker's hands fly for purchase in Mike's golden locks, gripping chunks, running through them, trying to sooth him while being pistoned into oblivion, toes clenched, legs wrapping around hips.

Mike's eyes open as he hears Joker's moan's pitch. "I'm cumming- C-cummmin," Joker sings happily. Mike chuckles, but he can't hold it for long, as Joker clamps down viciously on him with all his might.

The tightness swells and pulsate against the blonde, chewing him up. He drops his mouth, his face becoming just as fucked out as Joker's. Mike's thrust turn doggish, chasing the way the clown's tightened ass whole swallowd and sucked him back in. The clown mewls, "Y-You're coming with m-me--aah! Agaaain."

Mike's mind quakes, he slams down into him with a newfound passion, his moans breaking loose.

Weeping can't even warm him as hot cum volcanoes out of his skinny dick prematurely, forcing his back to arch as waves of trembles wash down to his toes. Mike slams in one final time, allowing Joker's body to consume his hot streaks of cum.

He sprays his insides a warm white, all before jerking right out. Mike goes to lean up, but in his afterglow daze, Joker wraps legs ans arms around him, his nub burying into Mike's flesh the best it can to cling; all to pull mike down into his body.

Mike obeys, holding his amputated leg to support it, and leaning back into Joker's sweetness, his cock resting on the clown's.

"Miike," he whines, whines as he peppering kisses onto the blondes lips, all before melting into one sweet, passionate kiss.

Mike can already feel Joker's growing obsession, but he's a fool, as he feeds into it, feeding weepy his calm, affectionate lips. They kiss sweetly and slow on this stage of their design, ebbing their heads along with imaginary music, stopping for pants, just to stare into eachothers eyes.

"Joker," Mike mumbles.

The exit gate alarm blares in the distance.

They both already know.

"Mike Morton," Joker cooes.

"You're coming with me, okay," Mike cautions.

"Of cou--"

"What the fuck," a female voice sobs.

part two

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