Rod's Pleasure Carnival

Jasmine Reviello is a 22-year-old college dropout living in Southern California, just outside of Los Angeles. This series follows her through the erotic, degrading misadventures of her life as an employee of a popular new sex carnival opened on Venice Beach.

If you enjoy these fictional pieces, I'm glad -- please give them a good rating and some feedback. And if not, there's no need to spoil the fun of those who do with insulting comments.

Thank you!

*****

"You cannot think like person, okay? You have to think like object -- or better, you have to don't think," Rod said with his furry knuckles entwined in the little brunette's hair. She was on her knees with her small pink bra twisted around her ribs, while Rod warmed his dick in her mouth by his desk. I'd forgotten her name already -- Suzie? Sammy? Didn't matter. She'd come looking for work and had to be put through the paces before Rod could decide if she was up to snuff.

It was Wednesday afternoon and I'd dropped by early to ask a favor, stumbling into the little "interview" session by accident. The old Serb didn't care, he'd waved me in with one hand while pinching Suzie's (Sammy's?) nipples with the other. So I sat on the swivel stool in the corner and waited, watching him work. He was honestly kind of a slut-whisperer -- it was weird how he could wind up with even the most self-respecting girls crouched between his chubby thighs, begging for his load.

"Are you cum-flincher?" He was leaning against the desk with his khaki slacks dropped around his ankles.

"Khmmffhhrr?" The girl turned her eyes up at him with her mouth full of fat, hairy cock.

"Cum-flincher. You flinch when man cums on you? Get grossed out?"

"Hrmm-mmrr," she shook her head slightly with her hair still in his fist.

"Ah-hah, well we see." He transferred her bundle of brown curls to his dominant left hand and started ragdolling her face along his shaft, intending to work up a quick nut. She made a surprised choking sound, then while she gagged and drooled over her small tits, he looked up at me. "So, what you need, Jaz-meen?"

"Oh uh, I was gonna see if Chani could take my spot tonight. Kassie said she's feeling better, and Chani did so great last night -- and I was kinda hoping to watch the Vogels..." There was the rub, and Rod got a slick look in his eye when he heard it.

"Youuu, ha-ha," he laughed, wagging a stubby finger at me. "Such little pervert, hm?" I laughed uncomfortably with him and shrugged, spinning a bit on the stool. I mean, maybe it was perverted to skip work so I could watch live German porn -- but the live German porn was happening AT WORK! I couldn't do both at the same time. And it wasn't like I was leaving him hanging. Sammy smacked Rod's thigh, after slobbering relentlessly for almost a full minute.

"Oh, yes," he pulled her head back, letting her suck in some wet, desperate breaths before jamming her back down. His arm worked fast and his gold bracelets jangled together while he talked. "I suppose, if Chani did well. Maybe we take her from cleaning early."

"She was awesome, hardly broke a sweat," I held up an OK sign with my fingers. Truthfully she was pretty pissed about the raccoon eyes she ended up with after all the spit and cum ruined her dark makeup -- but you learned to plan for that kind of thing after working there a while. Her throat was quality enough, and that's all that mattered for the moment.

"Very well, I text Chani and tell her. You going to pay for Vogel tickets?"

"Oh, I- I can-"

"HA, kidding. Employees watch for free. Even if they skipping work to do so," the sly badger sneered. "Mmh, a moment..." He wrenched Suzie's head off his dick and without touching the throbbing member, groaned and started splattering her mousy face with thick ropes of cum. She did flinch, but ultimately stuck her tongue out to catch the rest of the load. Not a bad recovery.

"You know, when Jaz-meen interview, I cum 4 times -- 4 times!" He held up as many fingers in front of the girl's sloppily-streaked face, while his dick dribbled cum onto her chest. I smiled nervously and dug my fingers into the pockets of my olive-green romper. My interview had been a pretty prolonged affair -- not because Rod had doubts, but because I didn't say no to anything. I think he just wanted to see how far he could go before I drew the line. And by the time I crawled out of there with a new job, his office reeked of sex and piss, and there were papers and rubber toys scattered all over the place.

"Okay well, I'm gonna head out. But thanks! I'll be back before the show later," I eased up from the stool and edged toward the door.

"Good good, dear. I see you tonight," Rod waved a hand. Then he returned his attention to the half-used cum rag kneeling on the floor. "Now you, up up. Bend over desk."

I slipped out into the warm, salty beach breeze and pulled some tortoise-shell shades from where they hung over my cleavage. The romper was a bit like some cute overalls, but with little cuffed shorts, and I had to wear a bralette underneath so my tits didn't flop out at the sides. I strolled toward the Staff Shack to grab some headphones from my locker, having forgotten my earbuds at home.

Reese wasn't kidding about the day shift girls being second-rate. I watched through tinted lenses while a doughy blonde with cheap tattoos crawled around the Heavy Petting Zoo. A couple of guys leaned against the railing, laughing and calling "here piggy-pig" while tossing handfuls of popcorn at her. Another girl in the pen looked like she might've weighed 80 pounds and had messy shocks of dyed-red hair jutting up from her head. She was wearing cat ears and a studded leash, which was being used to yank her frail ass back against a guest's crotch while he lounged in a white plastic chair.

I shook my head and turned past a bukkake booth, just as an Indian girl with a round face and unevenly large tits backed out of it. She had a plastic ice scoop in one hand, and cum all over her knees and forearms.

"Oh!" She cried as she backed into me, "I'm so sorry." Her accent was melodic and I smiled, assuring her it was no problem.

"You new here? What's with the scooper?" I gestured to the miniature shovel in her hand, dribbling cum onto the sand at our feet. She looked at it, then up at me.

"It's for collection -- Mr. Rod installed these new bowls, he wants us to save the cum, so..." I followed her gaze to a thick, clear bucket outside the booth, a quarter of the way full with creamy, yellowed spunk. In the past we'd always just used a squeegee to scrape the cum out into a bin and toss it down a storm drain near the front of the park. The girl must have been new, not thinking the change was odd.

"Collection for what?" I asked, peering into the booth. There was indeed a low, black bowl, large enough for a person to sit in, taking up most of the space inside. It was less visible from the front, where the guys stood to stroke.

"For the new attraction, I think he said 'Gokk-zilla' -- something like that," the Indian girl shrugged. "Some kind of Japan fetish, where the girls drink a lot of cum."

I looked at the burbling jizz bucket again and shivered at the thought. Where was he going to even keep all of that? Wouldn't it like... spoil? I didn't want to think about it, but worried I'd be assigned to the new stand at some point.

"Oh... 'Kay, hmm. Good luck with uh, collection," I started off again.

"Do you work here too?"

"Yeah, I'm Jaz -- you?"

"Harpreet," the girl shielded her eyes from the sun as I backed toward it.

"Cool, see you around then!"

The milking tables were the last station before the Shack, and it looked like there was only one girl working them despite the waiting line of 7 or 8 guys. She was a B-cup Barbie with injected lips and bottle-blonde hair, sitting cross-legged under one of the custom massage tables with some dick-holes cut out of them. Her cum-spattered face looked flustered as she impatiently jerked the stubby sausage rigidly pointing at her from above. We locked eyes for a second and she frowned.

I didn't really want to get involved -- I was off the clock, and I didn't even know her. But I did know the whole staff would get a lecture if Rod felt like customer satisfaction was dropping. So I rolled my eyes at my own sense of self-preserving empathy and strolled over to the occupied table.

"Hey lady you gotta get in line if you want a turn," a smug jackass old enough to be my dad joked from the middle of the queue. I flashed him a sarcastic smirk and dropped to my haunches beside the stroking Barbie.

"Aren't there usually at least two girls over here?" I asked. Up close I could see why she was on day shift -- her waist was tight but the rest of her, from her aging face to her silicone, bolt-on tits, was a hodgepodge of cosmetic work. Kind of the definition of "good from far but far from good."

"There's SUPPOSED to be, but fucking Hailey said she needed a pee break and never came back," the Barbie huffed.

"When was that?"

"Like a half hour ago!"

"Mngh, will you two shut up -- I'm close," the chubby black guy on the table muttered through the padded head cradle. I looked at him, then back to the woman unenthusiastically jerking him off.

"Is she in the Shack?" I asked. Barbie nodded. "Okay," I sighed, "I'll check on her." I used the edge of the table to lift myself up and started walking around the line of guys.

"Why don't you just climb on under a table and give us a hand, sweetness?" One of the guests groped my ass as I passed and I swung my hip away without looking at him. The Shack was just a few yards off, and I pushed through the door with the blazing sunshine at my back. Immediately I heard groaning and slapping coming from a far corner of the damp interior.

"Hailey?" I called, but didn't get a reply. I followed the sounds past the empty locker benches and around the corner into the bathroom stalls. And there at the opposite end, I saw a strong, male, snake-tatted body thrusting a girl half his size against the cold tile wall. He had her pressed face-first into it, and her wrists held in one hand above her ass cheeks while he squatted to pound her pucker with his wide cock.

"Don, what the fuck? She's on-duty," I projected over the echoing slaps and grunts, and the grizzled barker turned to look without pausing his hip thrusts.

"Oh, hey Brownie -- long time. We was just gettin' acquainted, Hailey here is new."

"Well if you keep her from getting back to the tables she won't be here long," I crossed my arms.

"Aw c'mon, those boys out there already got a toy," Don punctuated the statement by pounding his hips so hard that Hailey's belly smacked against the wall and she cried out pitifully.

"Well they're paying for two, so cut it the fuck out. Rod's gonna be pissed."

"He don't give a fuck how many sluts're out there long as everybody gets a nut off," Don grinned, cinching Hailey's arms higher up her back. He'd always been such a hardcase -- it's why he got moved to day shift in the first place. Picked too many fights with customers, caused too many complaints from girls. But it looked like he wasn't learning any lessons.

"How many fucks is he NOT gonna give when he hears customers waited 30 minutes for a stroke 'cause you were having a power trip with the new girl?"

Don paused his humping, finally, and sighed. "God, you are such a little fuckin' snitch. Fine," he slid his meaty dong out from Hailey's shitter and dropped her wrists, turning to me. "Better pieces of ass out there anyway." He took a few menacing strides toward me and looked down into my light hazel eyes with his haggard black ones. I was still wearing my shades, which I think somewhat bolstered my confidence.

"I'm not on the clock," I pursed my lips.

"Darlin', I wouldn't care if you was -- just another set o' meaty holes to me." His breath smelled like cheap beer, and I tried to keep my nose from flaring in reactive disgust. He brushed past me, stumbling me aside like a paper boat in the wake of a cruise liner, and I looked over to Hailey.

"You good?" I asked, as she turned and rubbed her sore ass cheeks. She was a little brown thing, with a large, dark mole on the side of her nose. Her tits were kind of small and pointy, but other than that I thought she was pretty cute.

"Yeah... thanks," she waddled slightly as she approached me.

"Take a sec to wash up if you wanna, I'll let the other girl know you're headed back," I listened to the Shack door creak open and shut as Don left. Then grabbed the headphones from my locker and headed for a towel on the beach.

*****

"Ladies and gentlemen prepare to be amazed! You've heard of Cirque Du Soleil, but tonight you'll be treated to Cirque Du Puss-ay!" Kent announced into the mic from his control booth at the rear of the Vogels tent. He was a pretty gifted MC, for a guy working a raunchy little sex carnival, and might have been the closest thing Rod had to a right-hand-man.

The rows of benches around me in the large, darkened big-top were filled with men of all ages, and a smattering of curious or perverted females. Some were girlfriends or wives, others came just for the 'circus' performance -- scurrying by the other attractions with their eyes set straight ahead. I had to admit I was excited, I hadn't gotten to see the show in-person yet, and I'd snagged a plastic sack of kettle corn to munch on between slurps of lemonade.

Automated spotlights roamed the inner walls of the huge tent, and modified traditional German music issued from speakers mounted to the metal bones of the structure. I half-expected a little fat boy wearing lederhosen to dance merrily across the large wooden stage at the front. Instead, the spotlights converged on the raised platform and a drumroll started.

"Everyone, please welcome to the stage: the Voracious Vogels!" Kent hyped the audience into a frenzy of whistles and applause, as Kurt and Ilse emerged from a thick, velvety curtain wearing sparkly silver bondage-wear. The massive man and his tiny wife dazzled us with their bright faces and polite waves, as they strode out onto the platform hand-in-hand.

Ilse couldn't have been taller then 5'2" with her head held high, bright blue eyes glittering above her stark white smile. Her face was broad, angular, knowing -- like she was much more cunning and ferocious then her stature let on. Her husband, Kurt, was enormous, wide, and bulky. He looked more like the hulking brutes who pulled trains in powerhouse competitions than the shredded washboards hogging the squat racks at your local gym. He had neatly-gelled hair and a thin whisper of a brown mustache, grinning with his mouth closed as the spotlights illuminated his immense size.

The music shifted beneath the applause, and a few lights swung around the stage in various colors, as the show finally began. I poured another handful of kettle corn into my mouth and watched with rapt attention as Kurt wrapped his baseball mitts around his wife's waist and lifted her high into the air, spinning her slowly and steadily. Their outfits didn't amount to much more than an ornate collection of straps, leaving their performative genitalia unrestricted and readily observed.

Ilse was the definition of petite -- small, pert breasts and subtle hips, rising from a perfectly neat, smooth-shaven snatch. Kurt's bounteous thighs flexed as a backdrop for his gargantuan, semi-hard bratwurst, swaying gently over his hefty ballsack, equally smooth and clean-looking. The pair twirled while Ilse gracefully elongated her arms and legs, in a suggestive ballet that allowed us to appreciate their sculpted bodies thoroughly. Then Kurt turned to face us, deftly tossing his wife into the air and catching her by her hips again, only upside-down this time, so that her nude front faced toward us.

An impressed applause preceded a tempo upshift in the music, as the huge man lowered the dangling blonde head toward his crotch. His cock bobbed up to meet her face and she caught it with her lips, undulating her elegant arms and raising her legs to create a gravity-defying figure-four in the air. What sounded like an accordion melody matched Kurt's pace as his bulging arms raised and lowered his human cock-warmer along his shaft, bringing the monster to life. It seemed to grow another inch each time he lifted Ilse off of it, like a sword being teased out of a warm, wet sheath, and the pace kept speeding up.

The audience began to clap along with the display, and I could see ribbons of drool swaying down from Ilse's face in the wash of artificial light, but I didn't hear any choking or gagging. Kurt's biceps flexed as he reached maximum speed before abruptly yanking Ilse into the air overhead -- she flashed her arms out to her sides and kicked her legs wide, as they revealed the result of their warm-up: a fleshy tree branch of German cockmeat as long as my forearm, bouncing and dripping in the colorful glow. The audience rippled with aroused cheers, and Kurt spun his wife over top of his powerful shoulders like a sentient scarf.

He paraded to one side of the stage, giving everyone a clear look at his prodigious cock in profile -- taking measured, intentional steps. Then, Ilse slid from his neck, wrapping her legs around his torso in a smooth motion I couldn't even process, and ended up hanging from his abdomen like a twig on a Redwood. They spun once, slowly, in this position, while he wrapped her midsection with his burly fingers, and extended her just far enough that he could press the glistening top of his meat to her tiny, pink slit. Some guys in the back shouted "break that little bitch!" And the music changed again to something exotic, underscored by organ pipes.

Kurt stepped his foot forward as he popped the thick helmet of his dick into his wife. He leaned back slightly so that his torso was angled upward, and Ilse drew her knees to her chest. Then, the manly performer spun his wife hard so that she did a quick 360 on his shaft, and caught her with another inch inserted into her pretty pussy.

"Oh my god," I said aloud, through a mouthful of chewed kernels. He was literally screwing her into his cock. He spun her again, stopping another couple inches lower. And again, and again. Until she was 'fastened' to his pelvis. Then she unfolded her small, slender legs and fanned them gracefully before Kurt's face in an impaled, aerial dance, before once more wrapping them around his waist. She let her arms sway out to the sides, and Kurt spread his as well, like giant, muscular wings. Then, they began to twirl.

The large man was shockingly light on his feet as he whirled around the stage to the music, with his tiny wife hanging from his cock which we could see bulging in her flat tummy. I winced at the thought of having something that big buried that far into me, and wondered how much money they both made on a nightly basis. More cheers and provocative shouts from the audience, which doubled in volume when Kurt grabbed his wife's arms and spun her again so she was facing the floor. He caught her by the wrists and she scorpioned her legs up beside his hips. They had landed at center-stage, and the spotlights once again converged on them.

There was a purposeful pause in the music, and Kurt spread his stance for balance. Then a single organ pipe puffed as he drew his hips back and tossed his wife forward before plowing into her again. He tossed, the organ puffed, and then again. And after the third one a few people scrabbled to their feet for a better view as Kurt hauled Ilse's arms back, practically bending her in half as he pulverized her guts with boomerang thrusts of her body to the time of the raucous German circus music. Sharp whistles nearby hurt my ears as I tried to lean around the rude, standing gawkers in front of me to see the performance. I could hear the loud slaps of Ilse's small ass and thighs against Kurt's huge crotch, and marveled that she didn't break apart being used like that.