Email: James Helix 99
The Fun House Challenge - Part 1
Johnny shifted the weight of his gym bag, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of his jeans.
The air outside The Fun House was unusually cold, mixing with the heat radiating from his own body it felt well strange.
Johnny shook his head, he was being dumb what was the worst that could happen. All the guys in the dorm had received the invite in the mail, challenge the fun house and make it out and you win $10,000!
At the time he’d ignored it, but then he’d crashed his car and needed the money quick. It definitely wasn’t a scam either, the Fun House even had posters advertising the challenge around town, but only those invited could take part.
He’d called the number and been told to come tonight, just enter and make it out and he’d get the money, simple right? Finally, he pulled himself together and moved, he’d be fine.
As a standout jock, Johnny was used to being watched, but the eyes of the rusted animatronics at the entrance felt different—heavier, hungrier. He adjusted his signature black beanie, pulling it low over his ears, and stepped into the neon lit opening of the attraction.
The deeper he ventured, the more the funhouse seemed to breathe. The floorboards shifted, and the smell of stale popcorn was slowly replaced by a heavy, cloying scent— make up and something chemically sweet.
He made his way through colourful walls, balloons, more non-functioning displays before finally hitting a door, he smirked this was easy and opened it.
It was a Hall of Mirrors, the silence was absolute. Johnny’s reflection moved in a dozen different directions. He saw himself as he always was: the thick-necked, broad-shouldered Asian athlete, his tight shirt straining against his chest. God he looked good, he could admire himself for hours if he wasn’t careful.
But then, a ripple moved through the glass. A splash of vibrant colour, a clown! Before the could react Johnny felt a hand grab him from behind, it pulled him back, he couldn’t keep balance.
The clown was surprisingly strong, his body hard and agile. He pressed his face against the back of Johnny’s neck, a painted, manic grin reflected in a hundred mirrors as Johnny strained to fight back.
A rag soaked in a sickly-sweet sedative was clamped over Johnny’s mouth. Johnny’s world spun, the last thing he felt being the Clown’s gloved fingers tracing the underside of his jaw as he fell into darkness.
Johnny groaned as consciousness returned. He was no longer in the Hall of Mirrors. He was in a colorful stage area, he looked out at the rows of empty seats and screamed for help.
His arms were pulled taut above his head, secured by heavy, clanking chains that forced him to stand on his tiptoes, his muscular frame fully extended.
The Clown was standing before him, the painted on smirk watching him with sinister intent.
"You have such a... palatable physique, Johnny," the Clown purred, circling the tethered athlete.
Johnny bucked but the chains held tightly and he watched in horror as the Clown
picked up a small bucket filled with a steaming, viscous yellow liquid.
It looked like custard, but it shimmered with an oily, iridescent sheen. Johnny’s mouth clicked dry all he could do was shake his head and scream, with a slow, theatrical tilt, the Clown began to pour.
The liquid hit Johnny’s shirt first. As the thick, warm goo soaked into the fabric, it didn't just wet it—it consumed it. Johnny watched, his eyes wide and breath shallow, as the cotton sizzled and vanished.
The liquid rolled down his chest, over his abs, and down onto his jeans, dissolving the heavy material until it fell away in smoking, sodden ribbons.
Johnny screamed helplessly, his boxers were still intact, he bucked wildly trying to free himself but before he could even register it his face was drenched in custard!
He spluttered, a pie, the clown had thrown a pie into his face! He felt his boxers tuck and pull away as the pie fell down his slick, toned, chest!
His dick was hard and swinging in the air! It’s the adrenaline he thought, he heard the Clown giggle as it’s hand pressed down heavily of his custard-soaked dick.
"Open up, champ," the Clown teased.
With a sudden, forceful shove, he smashed another pie into Johnny’s face. He didn't let go; he kept his hand pressed against the tin, grinding the cream into Johnny’s skin, filling his vision, his ears, and coating his lips. The Clown’s other hand slid down, gripping Johnny’s naked, custard-slicked hip to hold him still.
Johnny let out a muffled, groan behind the layers of cream. As the Clown began to use his fingers to wipe the excess sweetness from Johnny’s chin, he moved in and whispered quietly, “ You win”, any reply Johnny couldn’t have given was cut off as the clown deeply kissed him, and he sank back into darkness!
Johnny’s eyes snapped open. The biting chill of the night air on his skin, he was lying on the damp asphalt of the gravel parking lot, right beneath the flickering “ Exit" sign of The Fun House.
He gasped, rolling onto his side. He was naked. The custard had dried coating his body in messy, sickly sheen.
His hair was a matted, sticky mess of dried cream. He looked down at his own body—one he had admired many times and now felt almost sick. The way the liquid coated his firm abs made him want to hurl.
As he struggled to his knees, his bare skin stinging against the gravel, his hand brushed against something.
Sitting there, resting perfectly on his discarded, black beanie, was a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, tied together in a colourful ribbon.
Johnny looked back at the funhouse. The lights were off. The entrance was chained shut. There was no music, no laughter, and no sign of the man who had systematically stripped him of his pride.
He grabbed the money, his fingers shaking as the dried custard on his knuckles crumbled away. He stood up, the cold air hitting his naked, sensitized skin with a force that made him shiver violently. He was ten thousand dollars richer, just as promised.
But as he began the long, humiliating walk toward his car, he felt a strange, phantom sensation—the memory of the Clown’s gloved hand tracing his ribs and the heavy, crushing heat of that final, kiss. His dick suddenly felt hard, a part of him wanted to go back for seconds, he shook his head getting into his car and drove away.
