An Erotic Juggalo Odyssey Ep. 03

DISCLAIMER

: This story is in no way endorsed by or affiliated with the Insane Clown Posse or Psychopathic Records. It is NOT implied that ICP or any real persons mentioned in this story are depicted accurately or condone the behaviors portrayed. It also does not attempt to define or exemplify the Juggalo lifestyle. There are Juggalos of all races, all classes, all genders, and all sexual orientations, and this story is only meant to reflect a small, fictional group within that larger whole.

Recap

:

Liz and Matt are Juggalos from Las Vegas that are trying to go to the epic Gathering of the Juggalos in Ohio this summer. In the last episode, they had just left a local music festival where they arranged a cross-country rideshare for their group and were heading back to their trailer park to share the good news with their roommate. However, things got hot and heavy on the ride home as Liz and Matt reflected on the impromptu bukkake they witnessed at the festival. They decided to pull over for a little hanky panky in the car, but before they really got carried away, they were interrupted by someone breaking the windows and dragging them out of their seats...

EPISODE 3: EATING CROW

Chapter 1: Golden Moments

DESERT COVE PARK

SLOAN, NEVADA

Liz and Matt found themselves kneeling in the gravel of an empty park about half a mile from the interstate. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs, and they were surrounded by a group of strangers. Three, to be exact: two men and a woman, and the strangers didn't look happy...

Just minutes before, things had been heating up between the two of them while driving home from the Southern Nevada Crazy F#$*ing HorrorCore Fest. Liz had been teasing Matt about how horny the day's events had made her -- at the show, they witnessed an impromptu circle jerk where a bunch of Juggalos whipped out their cocks and jacked off onto a more-than-willing Juggalette who was 'hungry for cum.'

Liz confessed to Matt she was wet just thinking about it, and he agreed that he was turned on as well. But when he claimed to have a hard-on at that very moment, Liz pretended not to believe him and asked to check. Pretty quickly checking turned into touching which turned into playing which led to Liz wanting to take his manhood into her mouth.

Matt, finding it almost impossible to concentrate on the road while Liz thoroughly explored his nether regions, suggested they pull over. And they did.

And then things

really

started to get hot...

Until the car's back window suddenly shattered, showering them in a spray of glass. Before they could even react, they were roughly dragged from the vehicle, restrained, and thrown onto their knees behind the trunk. It was dark, but the moon was almost full and the car's parking lights were on, casting a warm red glow over them and their would-be captors. It was just enough light to see relatively clearly, but still low key enough so as not to attract too much attention if anyone happened to drive by the dead-end road.

The two men stood behind them. They were built like nightclub bouncers: thick arms, thick necks, and they seemed to communicate only in thick, guttural grunts. Both wore tattered sweatpants and thin tank tops that emphasized and exposed the hulking muscles underneath. They had rough hands, and they smelled musky, like they had just finished working out but then skipped the showers afterward. Each man had a tight grip on the shoulders of Matt and Liz, keeping them firmly planted on the ground.

The woman stood in stark contrast to the two bodybuilders as she was definitely no gym rat. She had an average build, maybe even slightly overweight, and was dressed impeccably professional -- maroon blouse, starched gray business skirt, and black patent leather heels. The woman was obviously the leader of the trio, giving the two meat-heads directions via head nods and sneers while menacingly holding a tire iron in one hand like it was a drill instructor's baton.

"Do you know Bruce Carroll, the entrepreneur?" she asked in a heavy foreign accent that neither Liz nor Matt could place.

"Who?" Matt asked.

"Bruce Carroll," the woman repeated as she began to pace in front of them. She patted the tire iron against the palm of her leather glove in time with each step. "I'm telled he sold you tickets for a concert festival."

"The Gathering of the Juggalos," Liz blurted.

"So you know him of whom I speaken?"

"Yeah. I mean, I only met him the once..."

The woman stopped and turned. She looked at Liz and squinted her eyes. "You are the Sweaty Bettie?"

"Yes. That's actually my stripper name..."

"You met him twice," the woman said as she began pacing again, lightly tapping the tire iron against her thigh this time.

"Twice?"

"The first time was at place of employment? The work?" The woman's voice sounded almost mechanical, lacking any human emotion. Liz felt like she was at a job interview.

"Right. Gary's Villa."

"And this are where you initiated interest in VIP tickets for event. Is correct?"

"Yes, I wasn't thinking," Liz said. "A little over a week ago I had a private dance with him at the club."

"Then you met him second time to pick up tickets. This was from his place of living...residence, you call it. Is correct?"

"It was a couple days after the club," Liz nodded.

The woman looked at Liz and stopped pacing. She tilted her head to the side as her eyes moved over Liz's body.

"You have no pants on. You have clown tattooed to your cunt parts." The woman shifted her gaze to the men behind Liz and Matt. "Why are she naked?"

The events had caught her so off guard that Liz hadn't even realized her bottoms were missing. During all the commotion of glass shattering around her and being dragged from the car and hands being zip-tied, her pants had been the last thing on her mind. But now she was painfully aware of her complete nudity from the waist down. She was even more aware of the discomfort caused by her bare knees against the gravel on which she knelt. As she shifted her weight in reaction, almost as a reflex, she felt a sharp throb shoot through her legs as fresh rocks dug into her delicate skin.

"The pants were already off," the man behind her grunted. "Bunched up around her ankles 'cause they were fucking around when we got here. I didn't touch 'em."

The woman shook her head. "Go get them," she barked.

The man reluctantly let go of Liz's shoulder and shuffled away, gravel crunching under his heavy feet painfully reminding Liz of her knees' predicament.

"His dick's out, too," the other thug giggled as he pointed at Matt's exposed penis. All their eyes refocused on Matt's semi-erect member. The thug was right, his dick was still sticking out of the fly of his pants with his earlier erection quickly subsiding.

"I guess we caught you at the sexy time, eh?" The woman flashed her teeth in a smile that resembled a snarl more than anything else.

"Look." The thug holding Matt flicked the exposed cock with his finger and it bounced up and down and around in all directions as it grew softer by the second.

The woman's snarl grew larger and showed off her crooked, sharp yellow teeth.

"Found some jeans, but no panties." The other man had returned, and he held Liz's pants out in front of him. "From the look of them, she ain't been wearing panties all day. The crotch is crusty as hell," he said with a grin as he displayed the inner seam of the jeans for all to see. Even in the bad lighting it was obvious that the blue denim interior was stained and brittle with Liz's earlier lust.

"Ugh," the woman hissed as she knocked the jeans out of the man's hands, and they went flying into the brush.

"You are disgusting little pig, isn't you," she said to Liz with a growl. "Fuck your modesty. You are stripper. You are fine without pants, eh? Easier for you can finish you're fucking with each other when we're done. Sound good, eh?"

"Done with what?" Liz asked with hesitation.

The woman stared into Liz's eyes for pregnant moment before eventually letting her gaze fall to Liz's exposed pussy and Matt's exposed cock.

"We need to talk little business," she sneered, "and then you can go back to having his cock fuck clown cunt if you want." The woman began pacing again, swinging the tire iron like a baton now.

"So Sa-weaty Bettie..." she began, having obvious difficulty pronouncing the sw part of the word 'sweaty' with her accent. "Does it have to be 'Sa-weaty Bettie' or can I simply call you Bettie?"

"Liz," Liz replied.

"Leez?" The woman stopped pacing and looked to her companions. "That wasn't a option, was it?"

"That's my real name."

"What fuck do I care what you are real name? Why could I give two shits what you're real name? You know what? Fuck name. I'm going call you Cunt. That's your new name for from me. Got it? Like it?"

Liz did not respond. She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath.

"Say it," the woman prompted. "What's your name for from me?"

When Liz didn't respond, the man standing behind her grabbed a handful of her hair and gave it a sharp pull. Liz's head jerked back and she let out a whimper.

"Cunt," Liz mumbled.

"What?"

"Cunt," Liz repeated.

"Good! That's it. You are Cunt." The woman clasped her hands together to show her approval, awkwardly stuffing the tire iron under her armpit first. As she mocked a smile, the woman's gaze again fell to Liz's pussy area. The smile grew deeper and appeared genuine when she added, "Clown Cunt, yes?"

One of the men behind them sniggered in delight.

"Okay Clown Cunt, do you know I why am here?" the woman asked, re-gripping the tire iron in her right hand and tapping it against her palm again. "Any ideas?"

Liz swallowed and meekly offered, "Well...you were asking about Bruce Carroll, so something to do with him I'm guessing."

"She is smart one," the woman nodded. "Bruce say she have brains. So, so clever. You are right. It is do with Bruce Carroll. Let's see if you can get all guess. What about Bruce? Why he?"

Liz shook her head. She shrugged with defeat and said, "I don't know."

"You guess," the woman nodded with a smirk.

"There's something wrong with the tickets he gave me?" Liz offered. "He needs them back?"

"No. The tickets is fine. The tickets is yours. He does

not

want. Think harder."

"He said I could keep the money."

"Yes, he told me. He said you perform for tickets. He showed me cute little video of you playing with litter box. I liked it. In my country we like piss." The woman paused and stopped toying with the tire iron. "Do you?"

"What does he want from me?" Liz asked.

"I ask you again: do you like piss? Do bathroom stuff for sexy time?"

"No," Liz mumbled. "Not particularly."

The woman's voice grew stern when she asked, "What did you do at end of the night?"

"Bruce got me a taxi home. I left. I showered. I went to sleep..."

"Before that," the woman urged. "Before taxi. Before you leave."

"I got the tickets and my money."

"So close," the woman said shaking her head and frowning in disappointment. "After. After you perform but before you leave."

Liz shrugged. "I don't know. I used the bathroom. I washed my face and hands...and some other parts."

The woman smiled again. "You didn't piss in the toilet, did you? Bruce said you pissed all out into litter box, so you probably empty, yes?"

"I don't remember."

"I think you do."

"What is this all about?" Matt asked in an exasperated sigh.

The thug behind him roughly slapped him upside the head, and Matt fell forward, smashing his face into the ground with an audible grunt.

"What the hell?" Liz screamed. "Leave him alone!"

Immediately the man behind her jerked her head backward by pulling on her hair.

"Pick him up," the woman said, and the man grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him back up onto his knees. Matt's facepaint was now marred with clumps of sand and gravel and a trickle of blood was leaking from one of his nostrils.

The woman leaned forward and pressed the tire iron hard against one of his dirty cheeks. She snarled, "I was no talking to you. You'll know when I do."

After pausing to make sure her point hit home, the woman pulled the iron away and Liz noticed some white paint had transferred from Matt's face onto the curve of the bar.

"So," the woman said, effortlessly returning to her eerily calm voice, "back to it. What did you do in toilet? Did you piss?"

Liz tore her eyes away from Matt, helpless to ease his pain, and shook her head. "I don't think so."

"What about shit? Did you shit in bowl before you left?" the woman asked.

Liz opened her mouth, but no words came out. She looked back to Matt as if he could help, but the woman grabbed her face before she could even make eye contact, squeezing her cheeks and digging her fingers into Liz's flesh.

"You did not," the woman growled viciously. "You didn't shit in bowl, but you did shit, is correct?" The woman let go of Liz's face and took a step back. There were now traces of paint on the woman's gloves from Liz's face, but she didn't seem to care or even notice.

The woman pointed the curved end of the tire iron at Liz. "You shit, but you shit somewhere else. Where did you shit?"

"I don't remem--" Liz started to say, but she quickly stopped when the woman raised the tire iron above her head.

"I really hope you don't you start lying. It will gets ugly."

Liz tensed and took a deep breath. She noticed she was shaking a little, but she wasn't cold. As she exhaled, she curled her bottom lip under her teeth and before she knew it, her voice cracked as she quietly confessed, "I...I left an upper decker."

Liz immediately felt Matt's eyes on her, staring widely. The woman, however, looked confused.

"Say again," she said sternly. "Louder."

Liz swallowed hard and spoke slowly, more clearly. "I left an upper decker in his toilet." Her voice did not crack this time.

"I am not first to English," the woman said evenly, "so you have to explain. I do not know 'upper decker'."

Liz swallowed again before inhaling deeply. "An upper decker is when you take the lid off the back part of a toilet -- the part where the clean water is stored before you flush it -- and instead of shitting in the toilet, you shit in that tank."

"Why you would do that?"

"It's a joke, a prank. It's so when someone flushes the toilet later, instead of the bowl filling with clean, clear water, the water's dirty and...well...not clear. It's gross water."

"Shit water?" the woman asked. "It is shit water?"

As messed up as the situation was with the strange woman, her bulky thugs, the zip-ties, and the ominous tire iron, Liz struggled not to let out a giggle. Liz heard Matt suddenly hold his breath as well. She wondered if he was on the verge of laughing, too. Then again, maybe it was fear on his part. The insanity and unlikelihood of the events taking place was something she hoped they'd both joke about later, but obviously not right then. Biting the inside of her cheek, Liz could only muster a nod as an answer.

"And this is joke? This is funny?"

Liz bowed her head and obediently shook it in the negative. She avoided eye contact out of necessity.

"You are right, Clown Cunt. This is no funny," the woman said as her tone grew angry. Liz's own fear quickly returned, and she no longer worried about laughing. "Bruce Carroll do not think it was funny either. He do not think it was funny when he had important guest use bathroom and find the shit water. He thinks it is very not funny how he had to get plumber and buy new toilet. He is very unhappy and he wants the compensation."

Liz looked up at the woman. Any desire to laugh, or even smile, had completely disappeared by then.

"Do you know what the compensation means?" the woman asked.

Liz nodded.

The woman continued, "It means you must pay..."

The men behind Liz and Matt each pulled the duo's shoulders back and painfully planted knees against their spines to straighten their posture and drive the point home even further. Liz found these to be completely unnecessary theatrics as the woman already had their undivided attention.

"Two thousand dollars you pay. This will buy new toilet, pay for plumber, and pay for some of Bruce humiliation."

"Two thousand..." Liz gasped.

"You have until Friday. That gives almost whole week. Sound fair?"

"We don't have two thousand..." Liz started to say.

The woman slapped the tire iron against her palm. "Not mine problem."

Liz exchanged glances with Matt. His face betrayed no emotion -- he was a deer caught in headlights.

"What is mine problem," the woman continued, "is that the money only pays for some of Bruce humiliation. He say he want more."

"How much more?" Liz asked.

"No money. Other type payment."

"What do we have to do?" Matt finally spoke. His teeth were clenched, and the blood from his nose had reached his mouth, bisecting his blue makeup frown with a dark red stain.

"You have to make choice," the woman smiled. This time she seemed genuinely happy...excited even. The sneer from her earlier smile was gone and replaced with marked anticipation.

"Like Bruce, you should have inconvenience and humiliation," she said as she began pacing again. "Unlike Bruce, you have only one of those and choice is yours.

"Do you want inconvenience?" she asked. "If yes that, we will break rest of windows on car. We will also slash tires. You will have to find tow truck or friend or whatever to get car moving and fixed. It is nighttime, but is your problem. That is inconvenient for you...but you get home eventually."

"What about humiliation?" Liz asked.

"We don't touch car no more. Those broke windows is too late, but you have no problem getting home. Humiliation, we piss on you. All over you. It is the filth that you are, filth you deserve. You soil Bruce's house? We soil you. And you are lucky is not shit."

Liz looked at Matt, her eyes pleading for help or direction. His face betrayed that he was as stunned as she was at the choice being presented to them. His eyebrows raised questioningly and he tried to shrug but the heavy hands on his shoulder tightened their grip. Through his blood stained lips he mouthed the word

piss

, but his uncertainty was obvious.

Liz nodded and mouthed the same back at him. It was easily the right choice as far as she was concerned. A quick shower would clean them up after the pissing thing was over and that would be the end of it, but having the car destroyed would have long term effects. First, how would they get home? Second, how much would they have to spend to fix it and how long would it take? A lot more time and money would be involved with the car -- time and money they didn't have. However, she had wanted to make sure Matt was on board because it was obvious that even though this mess was hers, the assailants were going to make them both pay for it.

"Humiliation," Liz said confidently.

The woman stopped her pacing and nodded. "That is your choice."

She motioned to the men behind Liz and Matt, and they released their grips on the duo. Liz heard one of the men snigger.

"If you move or run, we won't chase you," the woman said now that escape was a possibility. "We will assume you changed mind and want car damaged instead. You always have choice. Same goes if you change mind at anytime after start. You say, 'Stop,' we stop and go to car smash. Good?"

Neither Liz nor Matt said anything, but both gave tepid nods.

"Then let we begin."

* * *

The woman took a step back as the two muscular men moved out in front of the kneeling pair. The thugs both turned their heads in unison to look at the woman who then gestured for them to commence.