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You’re still wincing in sympathy over Leo’s humiliating cursed fate from Ms. Gigi’s wish-infused tale as you stumble into what looks like a carnival. There are bright lights in orange, purple, and green strung from the rafters, cheerful Halloween lanterns, and a variety of pumpkins with rather lewd carvings on them. You can smell kettle corn, hard cider, hot caramel apples, and the faint sounds of a party & porno seem to be surrounding you…

The sounds of splashing, laughter, giggles, and moans

are becoming louder as you continue walking cautiously forward, only to freeze as a familiar fairy with tattered wings steps out from behind a concession booth. “I see you managed to escape my haunted woods, after all.” My wicked grin is all fangs, “Safe words are terribly convenient if things start getting a little too…intense, aren’t they? Don’t be scared…

“This latest attraction of mine is all treats, no tricks.”

A series of loud, passionate moans erupts from the shadows on your right, and you see an exasperated smile cross my face, “…Well–except for Jizzelle. She’s been turning tricks all night. Jizzelle, darling–leave some studs for the other bottoms to enjoy, you’ve been hitting the man candy buffet so often the pickings are getting slim.”

A muffled, murmured garble of sound that might have been “Yes, Mistress!” emerges from the gloom as I lead you away towards a brightly lit clearing.

There’s a gigantic vat that might have been originally used for crushing grapes, now filled with water.

Dozens of apples are bobbing on it’s rippling surface,

And a crowd is enthusiastically dunking themselves into it face first–while onlookers cheer each time the participants emerge with an apple clutched victoriously in their jaws.

“What is going on?” You ask, peering at the bizarre scene.

“Bottoms bobbing for apples, of course.”

I lazily wave my hand at a sign, and as you read it, you feel your eyes widen & your jaw drop.

Apple Chart:

  • Red: Pain Play

  • Green: Blow Jobs

  • Yellow: Anal Play

Each apple has a number that corresponds to a stud; once you catch your apple, proceed to the stage and claim your prize.

You stare at the giddily dunking submissives with new eyes, and watch as one sissy emerges soaking wet, but with a yellow apple clenched victoriously in her mouth. She turns it over in her hands as the crowd cheers, lets out a squeal of delight, and practically skips over to the stage, linking arms with a gigantic bear of a man wearing the number 87 before the pair walk off into the shadows.

“Yet another satisfied customer.” I beam, before absentmindedly tapping my finger to my lips, “Next year I really ought to set limits to how many times you can play. Jizzelle’s already on number nine, the adorable little glutton.” I glance back at you, “I do hope you enjoy the party. Feel free to enjoy the concessions, the show, heck–even bob for apples yourself if you feel like it. When you’re done, Ms. Willow has something rather fascinating in store for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me–there’s a gang bang going on that this voyeur absolutely refuses to miss. Jizzelle, my little double stuffed sissy slut, I’m on my way!”

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