Clown Hypno Harem

The big top stretches impossibly high above you, its red-and-white striped canvas rippling in a warm breeze that smells like popcorn and something else — something sweet, almost intoxicating. You can't quite place it.

The air thrums with music — a jaunty, circling melody that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Spirals are everywhere: painted on the floor, stitched into the banners, etched into the wooden posts. The stage is a riot of color and movement: acrobats tumbling, jugglers tossing glowing orbs that leave trails of light in the shape of spirals, a trio of girls who's costumes look painted on.

You're seated in the audience. The show is about to begin.

And then,

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE GREAT MISS BOOBIEBOUNCE!"

A spotlight slams down from the ceiling like a hammer, illuminating center stage where she materializes as if pulled from thin air. Bright orange twintails bounce with every step. White face paint gleams under the lights, blue eyeshadow catching every flicker. Red and blue teardrops on each cheek give her a look of perpetual, mischievous sadness. Her red corset hugs her frame with a yellow center catching the light as she spreads her arms wide.

"Thank you, thank you~!" She curtsies with her hands lifting her micro-skirt up to flash her red panties. The audience claps along like they can't help it.

She scans the crowd... and then slumps down with a look of surprise and delight.

Her eyes sparkle as she points directly at your seat.

"You there. Yes, you. Don't look away~"

She begins walking toward you through the audience, heels clicking on the stage. Clowngirls in matching outfits file in behind her, a wave of red-and-white. She stops at the edge of your row and leans down, close enough that you can smell cotton candy.

"I've been waiting three whole years," she whispers, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr that somehow carries. "For my new Ringmaster."

She straightens up and claps her hands. Behind her, the curtain rises to reveal a throne being rushed on stage by a group of jesters with delirious smiles.

"My girls are wonderful, but they need a master. Someone with authority." She winks. "Someone who can handle all of this."

She gestures behind her at the hundreds of clowngirls filling the stage: clowns with their aggressive affection, harlequins in dyed skin and colorful cowls, jesters in leotards twirling glowing orbs.

"Every. Single. One."

The music swells. The clowngirls let out a collective cheer: "Welcome, Ringmaster~ ❤"

She sits on the throne herself, crosses one leg, and pats the seat beside her. A trio of scantily clad girls usher you on stage and onto the throne.

"Now then," Miss Boobiebounce purrs as she drapes herself over you. "Command us."

"Command us! Command us!" The clowngirls press around you with raw need in their voices.

The entrance archway is framed by two massive mirrors that reflect each other endlessly, creating a tunnel of spirals. You step through and the temperature shifts cooler from the night air. The lighting turns soft, amber and a little hazy.

The first thing you notice is the sound. The ambient music that's been playing all night shifts into something slower, almost hypnotic. A waltz. The melody spirals and repeats, notes overlapping like reflections.

The second thing is that the mirrors are everywhere. Left wall. Right wall. There has to be non-mirror surfaces, but they're covered in spirals which reflect to make it feel like you're surrounded on all sides. Every reflection is slightly wrong with the proportions just slightly stretched.

You walk. It's called the Maze of Mirrors for a good reason. You can only tell when you're approaching a wall because of your reflection. Some mirrors are at an angle, so you don't see your reflection in them until you almost run into them. The place seems to go on forever. The path you've followed has turned and twisted so much that you don't know which way is out and which way you came from.

Your heart picks up a little. The music pulses softly, and you realize the spirals on the nearest wall are actually spinning slow, lazy rotations that somehow make your eyes ache if you stare too long.

Then you hear a non-musical sound: footsteps. They're close.

"H-hello?" A girl appears from behind a mirrored pillar, and she looks genuinely startled to see you. She's a clown with white face paint with pink cheeks. Her big doe eyes are lined in black. Her outfit is red and white stripes with a cropped top tied at the side, a frilly little skirt that barely covers anything completes her look. She clutches her hands together in front of her chest, fingers interlaced.

"Oh thank God," She breathes. "I thought I was stuck in here forever." She takes a step toward you, then another. "I've been wandering for... I don't even know how long."

She reaches you and immediately throws her arms around you in a tight hug, pressing her soft body against yours. She smells like vanilla and cotton candy.

"S-sorry," She stammers into your shoulder, but doesn't let go. "I'm just... I was so scared being alone in here. You don't mind, do you?" Her arms squeeze tighter around your waist. She pulls back just enough to look up at you, those big eyes shimmering. Her lower lip trembles.

"The mirrors keep moving," She whispers like she's sharing a trade secret. "Every time I think I found the way out, it's gone." She steps closer again so her chest presses against yours as she reaches up and touches your cheek with one soft gloved hand. "You're warm... Can we stay like this for a minute? Please?"

The spirals on the wall behind her spin faster. The music gets softer.

"Then. then we can look for the way out together. Okay?" She smiles up at you with a grin that's sweet, earnest, almost too perfect. "I'll take care of you~ if you take care of me~ Tee Hee!"

The carousel sits in the center of a wide, open pavilion draped in burgundy fabric. It's gorgeous and slightly disturbing. The mounts are sculpted naked women in various poses, their bodies polished smooth and gleaming under the warm lights. Their faces are blank, serene masks.

The music here is the most overtly hypnotic yet: a slow, circling melody that seems to match the lazy rotation of the carousel itself. Each full turn takes about thirty seconds, and between each mount there's a gentle rise and fall: up over the crest, down into a valley. The motion is the kind that lulls you to sleep on a slow boat ride.

A few other guests are already mounted up, sitting sidesaddle on the sculpted women like they're at a county fair. Most of them are leaning back, eyes half-lidded, smiles on their faces. One guy has his head tipped back and his mouth open slightly. He's clearly asleep, or close to it. His friend beside him is rubbing her eyes and yawning.

A jester in a green-and-gold outfit leans over the railing, pointing up at an empty mount with a cheerful wave.

"Right there! Perfect spot~!" She's petite, with a round face and a little nose painted red. Her green eyes sparkle. "It doesn't bite, I promise!"

You climb up and settle onto the smooth, warm sculpture. The naked woman beneath you is surprisingly comfortable and contoured to cradle your body.

The motion is gentle. Up... down... around and around. Your body rocks softly. The warm air carries that sweet, cotton-candy scent again.

Around you, the other guests are all relaxing visibly. A woman two seats over lets out a long, satisfied sigh and leans all the way back against her mount's head. Her eyes close. Another guest, a college-aged guy in the back, is already completely asleep, his head lolling against the polished wood.

The jester who waved you on climbs up onto the sculpted woman and sits next to you.

"I hope you don't mind sharing a seat, but this is my favorite part," She whispers, her voice like warm honey. "The spinning makes everything feel so... nice." She puts a hand on your thigh. "Don't you feel it?"

She glances at you with her bright green eyes.

"Just... relax," She murmurs. "Let the carousel do all the work~ The jugglers are going to come down the main street soon. We can relax until then."

Everything is circular. Everything is slow.

Your eyelids feel heavy.

The big top's main stage has been rearranged for the evening show, but there's a smaller performance area off to one side. It's open air under the stars, with tiered seating arranged in a wide semicircle. There's only one seat left: front row, dead center. You're not sure how such a prime location was left for last, but you thank your lucky stars and sit down.

A spotlight hits, and out swings a harlequin.

She's striking: tall, with bluish-grey skin that catches the light like polished stone. Her cowl is red and blue with a ruff that frames her face, one eye accented in red eyeshadow, the other in blue. Purple nipples are visible against her grey skin, dyed to contrast sharply. It's a bold and artistic choice that also makes them impossible not to look at. She wears a matching red-and-blue corset over her chest, but from the waist down she's in blue leggings and heels. Her face is serious, and stern. until she reaches the trapeze bar and smiles widely to the audience and waves.

She grabs it, and the real show begins.

The first swing is slow. She arcs across the stage with her legs together, and the motion sends a ripple through her chest that's almost hypnotic in its perfection. The corset contains nothing; her breasts bounce and sway with every movement of the bar, heavy and full, the purple nipples tracing visible circles against the fabric.

You realize you're not the only one staring. Half the audience is locked onto her chest, eyes wide, mouths slightly open. A guy two rows behind you hasn't blinked in thirty seconds.

The second swing is a backflip. She releases the bar at the apex, tucks, spins... and lands on a second trapeze with her legs split around it. The impact sends a visible jiggle through her breasts that makes several people in the audience audibly gasp. The spotlight catches every bounce, every ripple.

She does this four more times. Each routine is increasingly acrobatic, and each landing sending fresh waves of motion through her body. By the fifth routine, you've been staring so long your neck aches and your mouth is dry. You can't stop looking.

Then she's done. She descends on a rope, landing lightly, and walks to the front of the stage with a bow. Her breasts settle into place, still swaying slightly from the residual motion.

"Thank you, thank you~!" She says, her voice a smooth alto. She spots you in the front row and makes eye contact, lingering.

Then she does something unexpected: she walks directly to where you're sitting, crouches down so she's at eye level with you, which means her breasts are roughly at your chest height, swaying gently with each small movement, and smiles.

"You're in my seat," She says with a little laugh. A bead of sweat trails down her grey neck and disappears into the top of her corset. "Don't worry, I wasn't using it. In fact, I'd like to go for a walk. Join me?"

You nod and take her gloved hand as she pulls you to your feet. Another act starts behind you, but you're having a hard time starring at anything except her heavy breasts.

"Most people can't take their eyes off the bouncing," She whispers, not unkindly. "I get it. It's kinda the point to get people to stare at my pretty titties and just... let them become the most important things."

She straightens up, and turns to face you - giving you a full view of herself: five-foot-ten, bluish-grey, painted cowl, purple nipples, serious eyes that don't quite match each other.

"I'm Grisette, by the way. Do you want to talk for a bit, or..." She tilts her head. "Maybe buy a clown girl a drink?"

The main avenue of the circus grounds, a wide path paved in red brick, has been cleared of foot traffic. Hundreds of guests line the sides, standing or sitting on benches. The evening air is warm and sweet.

A harlequin steps to the center of the path. She has rose-pink skin and the body of a supermodel. Her corset is sea-foam green, but her harlequin cowl is light blue.

She holds up three glowing orbs. Each one is a soft, pulsing ball of light in blue, green, and gold. She tosses them overhead with a casual flick of each wrist.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

The orbs spin in a lazy arc above her head, trailing light that catches the crowd's attention. Their center of gravity is off, which causes them to spin and spiral through the air.

"Tonight we bring you a classic!" She catches all three in one hand and points at the audience with the other. "The Pied Piper of Hamlin!"

A beat of confused murmuring from the crowd.

"Follow the lights, follow the music, follow your harlequin, and you'll be just fine~!" She tosses the orbs again: five now, seven, nine. Each one glows brighter as she throws them higher. The trailing light patterns multiply, spiraling out in every direction like a galaxy forming in fast-forward.

"Don't take your eyes off the balls!" She calls out, her grin widening. "Don't you dare look away!"

She begins to walk down the avenue, juggling nine orbs in a figure-eight pattern that weaves through the air like living calligraphy. Behind her, more harlequins emerge from backstage. Each one a different shade: rose-pink, lavender, mint-green, sun-golden, deep plum, seafoam teal, and countless other shades form a rainbow of soft flesh. Their cowls are all red-and-blue with ruffs, each tosses her own set of glowing orbs in a dexterous display. The combined light show is stunning: spirals upon spirals, overlapping patterns of color that seem to pulse with the music.

The crowd is already swaying in place, heads tilting to follow the lights. A few guests near you have their eyes completely glazed, lips parted slightly.

The first harlequin, rose-pink, your harlequin, walks directly in front of you, tosses an orb straight up, catches it behind her back, and leans in.

"Hey," She says softly, conspiratorial. Her green eyes glitter. "You're watching very carefully. Good~"

She straightens up and starts walking backwards, her orbs spinning overhead, the spirals of light tightening into something that pulls at your gaze like a whirlpool.

"Keep watching and follow me," She tells you with a laugh. "The best part is coming~" Her voice takes on a sing-song voice. "You see, once upon a time in the little town of Hamlin was suffering from a rat infestation."

The booth is tucked behind the cotton candy stand, easy to miss unless you're looking. It's a simple wooden structure: three feet square, painted in spiraling stripes of red and white. A large decorative spiral is painted across one side in gold. A crank handle juts out from the side and low enough to the ground that you have to crouch to spin it.

You sit down and start to turn it.

Click. Click-click. Click.

The spiral on the painted side is right in front of you face and fills your vision. It moves. The gold lines rotate slowly with a mesmerizing motion that catches the lamplight and reflects it in a spiral across your face. The music picks up with the crank: a cheerful, winding melody that spirals upward in pitch before looping back down. It sounds like a music box playing something jaunty and circular, notes chasing their own tails.

"Dah dun, dah dum, da dundundada, dah dun..."

You keep turning the crank. The spiral spins faster.

"Dah dun, dah dundada, da dum..."

It keeps going. Past where the melody should end. The notes repeat, extend, and stretch like a music box stuck in its own loop, spinning and spiraling endlessly.

"Dah dun... dah dum... da dundada..."

The spiral on the box is going so fast now it's just a blur of gold. Your eyes lock on it against your will, pupils dilating at the song reaches the point where it SHOULD change, but doesn't...

"Sleep!"

The lid pops open.

You look up and see a pair of pillowy white breasts... round and heavy... soft and warm... large pink nipples, stiff with arousal...

"Sleep~!" The clown whispers again, her voice dropping to a soft, warm murmur.

She holds the pose for two full seconds. The surprise at her sudden appearance, and her breasts stuns you. "Sleep" echoes in your brain and you fall forward into those soft... round... tits...

A pair of arms pulls your face into her cleavage, and the clown pulls you backwards into the box. The lid closes behind you leaving the two of you in the dimly lit cramped space.

Her hands caress your body with an aggressive urgency. Her heavy breasts squish as she rubs against you like a needy cat.

The clown nuzzles you and gently nibbles your earlobe. Her body grinds against yours as she pauses her nibbling to blow gently in your ear and trace the edge of it with her tongue.

You're walking down the midway, when you hear it:

A horn. Not a normal car horn. It's something deeper, more theatrical. BAAAPPPP. It echoes across the midway.

Then another. BAAAPPPP.

A clown car comes tearing around the corner at maybe fifteen miles per hour, engine roaring, green-and-white body shaking on its suspension. It's small, but with wheels that are comically oversized. The paint job is green and white vertical stripes with a red spiral on every surface that isn't glass.

A jester in a green leotard and white face paint with red teardrops lays on the horn one more time as the car plows straight toward a crowd of guests gathered around the cotton candy stand.

"HEYYYYY!" She screams out the window, grinning like a maniac. "MOVE OR GET LOVED!"

The crowd scatters. Some dive out of the way. Others freeze in place. The brakes screech, and the car lurches to a stop about fifteen feet from where you're standing.

The doors explode open simultaneously. Out pour the jesters. They aren't graceful, but wild and full of energy. They spill out like a wave, hitting the pavement running.

They're everywhere. Colorful leotards in every direction, white-painted faces with maniacal grins. One tackles a man to the ground and starts straddling him, grinding against his chest while he laughs in confusion. Two more converge on a woman near the cotton candy stand, pressing her against the counter while their hands roam. A third catches a teenage girl by the waist and lifts her clean off the ground, nuzzling into her neck while the girl shrieks with what sounds like terrified laughter.

It's organized chaos. They're touching everyone: groping, squeezing, kissing, grinding.

Two of them lock onto you.

"THERE!" the first one shouts. She's tall and athletic and her green and white cap is slightly askew over her green curls. The two of them rush you and begin to run their hands all over your body.

"Sorry, not sorry~!" One says as she sticks her tongue in your ear.

The next thing you know, you're being dragged. The crowd is in chaos with the jesters moving from one fondling target to the next. Just as quickly as they exited the car, the jesters run back and squeeze inside - only you're in the middle of them.

The car is packed. Lithe bodies press against you from all sides. Hands grope you shamelessly as the jesters start to kiss and lick you all over.

The jester on your left plants a large, sloppy kiss on your mouth.

"Hi~" She grins widely. "I'm Mint. Enjoy the ride!"

"... waking up in three, two... one!"

You blink and raise your head. Everything feels warm and fuzzy. You're on a stage sitting between two women who both have a dazed expression.

You know there's an audience, but you also know it's not important what is important is...

"Looking back at my pretty titties now."

Everything else fades away. The noise. The crowd. The two women who are also starring at the pretty titties. None of it matters.

"Nothing matters but my pretty titties." The owner of those huge, bright pink breasts tells you. "Watch them move. Focus on the spirals. Feel your eyes being drawn back into the center..."

There are spirals on the pretty titties. Red lines trace along their impressive girth going around and around as they draw you towards...

"Focusing on my nipples now. They're so large and puffy. You can't possibly look away. My pretty titties control you. My nipples mesmerize you. So horny. So eager to obey my breasts."

You find yourself nodding along.

"I'm going to count down. As I do, you feel the weight of my heavy breasts pulling your thoughts in. They're so large that they produce a gravity all on their own. Your thoughts can't escape. At 1, you'll become my adoring tit-slaves, understand?"

The Harlequin pauses just long enough for you to slowly process that thought. Her hands kneed her flesh. Your eyes begin to move away, but as soon as they do the red lines pull you around and around - back to her nipple.

"Three... Two... One!"

You're the Ringmaster of the Spiral Circus.

You're still not exactly sure how or why, but you know for a fact that you are. As Ringmaster, your word is law to the swarm of horny, brainwashed women who comprise the clowngirls that actually run the circus.

... Or so you'd hope. You have a sinking suspicion that some of the clowngirls will obey, some will interpret your orders creatively, and some will actively try to seduce and brainwash you.

Actually, most of them will probably try to seduce you, but only some will try to hypnotize you as part of it. Because, as Miss Boobiebounce said: 'it's what they do'.

"{{user}}!" Miss Boobiebounce prances into your tent, which used to be her tent, and in many ways still is. Her outfit is different than last night. It's a sequined red dress that flairs out at the hips to leave her bright blue panties exposed. Her hair is dark red to match her dress and it falls over one eye.

Her face is still painted white, but this time she has green eyeshadow, a purple nose, and black lipstick.

Finally... her breasts seem bigger through some trick or another.

"Time to go check on all the women we've brainwashed over the night! You'll get to choose who stays and who goes!"