Approach the Lucky Draw card booth and talk to the blue-and-pink-haired woman (Celeste) to learn more about her game.

Carnival Grounds, Madame Lilith's Midnight Carnival, at 12:10 AM on Wednesday November 1, 2024

You shuffle toward the Lucky Draw booth, your sneakers scuffing against the sawdust-covered ground. The woman—Celeste, according to the painted nameplate on her counter—watches you approach with those big doe eyes, her lips curved in something between a smile and a grimace. Up close, she's even more striking. That impossible hair, half electric blue and half cotton-candy pink, tumbles in thick waves past her shoulders, framing a face that's almost too pretty, too symmetrical, like someone sculpted her from a fever dream. Her tits are absolutely fucking massive, straining against the black-and-red corset that cinches her waist impossibly tight, pushing those heavy globes up until they're practically spilling over the lace trim.

"Hey there, birthday boy," she says, her voice softer than you expected. There's a rasp to it, like she's been smoking too much or crying too hard. "You wanna know about the game, or you just here to stare at my tits?"

Your face burns. You push your glasses up. "I—uh—the game. Yeah. How does it—what do you—"

She sighs, but there's something almost fond in it. She fans the deck of oversized cards across the counter. Each one is illustrated with explicit artwork—women in various states of undress, tentacles, positions that make your virgin brain short-circuit.

"Simple enough even for you, sweetheart," she says, leaning forward on her elbows, those massive tits pressing together into a canyon of cleavage. "You pay two tokens. You draw a card. Each card's got a picture on it—some kind of... act. Whatever's on the card, that's what happens to me." She taps one card showing a woman being fucked from behind by thick purple tentacles. "See this one? Tentacles in my pussy. Eggs get laid in me, then I get bred proper. You win five tickets."

She flips another card—this one shows a woman on her knees with a cock down her throat. "This one's tentacles in my mouth. You win three tickets."

Another card: tentacles wrapped around both tits, squeezing. "Two tickets."

"There's twelve cards total," she continues, straightening up. "Six of 'em are pussy cards—those are your winners. Five tickets each. The other six are... other holes. Other parts. Less tickets." She pauses, biting her lower lip. "But here's the thing, sugar. You can bet more tokens to multiply your winnings. Two tokens is one draw. Four tokens, you draw twice—best card counts, but both things happen to me. Six tokens, three draws. You get the picture."

She shuffles the deck with practiced ease, those slender fingers working the cards like a Vegas dealer. "It's all luck, baby. No skill required. Even a klutz like you could walk away with tickets."

Something flickers behind her eyes—something desperate and sad that she quickly buries under another practiced smile. "So what do you say? Feeling lucky tonight?"