Bonnie gets the purple ball

Bonnie wailed as she jogged through the bustling carnival, hands cupped between her legs, strands of her ginger bush peeping between her fingers. She had always felt a little self-conscious about how bright and red her ginger bush was. Now it was a beacon, flaming bright between her legs, drawing attention to her from miles around.

Everywhere she ran, people pointed and giggled. Even the teachers from Pinkwhistle High laughed as she ran by, and said things like "Where are your pants, Bonnie?" and "I see the carpet matches the drapes." She wore nothing but her gingham shirt, stark naked below the waist, and until she'd gotten all the rubber balls from the clowns, there was nothing she could do about it.

The fourth clown had a special challenge for her. He had a long knotted rope, running between two poles, which went all the way down the middle of a long street with carnival games on each sides. Bonnie had to straddle the rope, which was then drawn tight, so it rode right up between her legs and parted her pussy lips.

She gasped as it was done, and tried to push the rope back down with her hands. But it was no use. The rope was just too tight. It made her squirm, feeling the pressure between her labia, against her intimate regions, as a dozen curious spectators stood by with their phones in their hands, recording everything, saying things like "She's really in for it now."

And then Bonnie had to walk all the way from one end of the street to the other, while straddling the rope. Every knot made her gasp and squeal as it ground against her clit and slipped between her legs, well lubricated by her wetness. The rope walk seemed to go on for hours. The clown walked behind her, smacking her bottom with a ruler whenever she slowed down, and encouraging people to squirt her with water and take pictures.