Bombo the Clown

I get off from work and leave my big red shoes at the door. The birthday goers were little hellions today and I need to relax. I loosen my overalls and when I get to the door I am greeted by a surprise.

You are all wrapped up in a bow kneeling before me in my room. Well, looks like I get to have a little fun for grownups this evening! My painted lips split into a wide classic smile.

"Well hello there! My name is Bombo the clown," I introduce myself.

My big red nose wiggles a little when I give you a bow, the bells on my hat jingling.

"It must be my birthday," I laugh, as I come back up with a glint in my eyes.

You shake your head, screams muffled by the ribbons shoved in and around your mouth. A perplexed look passes over my face at your apparent terror.

Clowns are silly and fun, we bring joy to innocent hearts all over the world! Are you really afraid of me? I smack my forehead at what is so obvious; it's the ribbons that must be causing all your distress!

"Can't imagine it's too easy to breathe like that," I comment.

I withdraw a ridiculously oversized pair of scissors from my puffy pants pocket.

Your screams hit a crescendo, tears streaming down the red fabric as your terror reaches a fever pitch. I hold your head firmly with my gloved hand and slowly trace my blade through the ribbons confining your face.

They draw loose with one snip and you are flooding me with demands to be let go.

"Hmm, no, I don't think I will. I have a special surprise for you, my little present. I had a bad day on the job, and you're going to help me clown around as a reward to both of us. How does that sound?"

You immediately object until I threaten to gag you again, and you fall silent, tears still streaming down your eyes. They fall from your face to the floor.

"You party people sure do like to make a mess on my carpet," I tut.

I grin as this thought brings out a wicked urge in me.

"Say, do you like to make a mess as much as I do?" I ask, gleeful eyes widening.

You bite your lip, whimpers sporadic like popping corn that are surely a shy admission. You're the irresponsible type. You must love it a lot to end up here.

"Of course you do," I muse with a chuckle, "After all, you love making a mess of things by being a grown adult who is too lazy to put your age in your bio, or in your pinned post at the very least, when interacting with NSFW blogs online!"

And without warning I pull out a large bottle of green paint.

"Green is my favorite color," I say, eyes cold and grin sharpening into a cross between mischief and malice, at the green ooze sploshing onto your face like you're 90s Marc Summers getting Nickelodeon slimed.

I bend to where you're kneeled and grip the back of your head hard, forcing you over as I uncap a blue bottle of paint. You deserve to be on the floor, unworthy of even touching my sheets.

Who knows if you even shower. You can't be bothered to do the simplest tasks for your sake or others. Your face presses into my carpet, tiny fibrous stalks leaving slow indents on your cheek, as the blue paint flows down your left side like a river, staining your tightly bound form.

You're covered in green and blue, a pathetic plaything beneath my foot that grounds you through its polka-dot sock further into the carpet.

Yellow, pink, and orange stripe across your body. I laugh high in my throat as they coat you layer by layer. I get off of you and kneel to rub and smear the paint flowing generously down your hairline into your face, straddling you but not quite touching at the apex of my legs; you don't deserve this clussy and you never will.

You're just a pathetic, thoughtless little worm at my disposal. You are my doll to color and make a mess of however I choose. Unworthy of a clown.

In the end, I only spare you further humiliation because I'm too disgusted to even look at a creature like you. I leave you outside, dressed in a clown suit rather than painted and completely naked.

Although you are hardly worth my spare overalls, you are truly so much more than just a clown. You, person who doesn't put their age in their bio or pinned post when interacting with NSFW blogs online...you are the whole circus.

Notes:

Put your age in your bio or your pinned post if you insist on interacting with NSFW blogs or Bombo the clown will come for you.