Scarlet Wars: Episode 2 (Part 4: Guest Stars)

Written in collaboration with Namichwan

The host gave Dottie’s shoulder a few more sympathetic pats, all of which made her squeak with pleasure from the chair, “We’ll move on to Desmond for now,” said Mark, moving to her right where the glossy eyed dentist was grinning, “how’s it going my man?”

“Good! I’m hypnotized!”

A laugh from the audience at his brazen attitude, “That you are! An attitude like that deserves to be rewarded, what do you want to be when you grow up, young man?”

“I always wanted to be an Avenger!” Desmond bravely announced, catching Wanda a little off guard, “They need more male sex appeal, I say!”

“Wow, what a wonderful reason to become a hero~” Mark chided snidely, earning another chuckle from his adoring crowd, “Care to give us a demonstration? Give us… Captain America!”
With a single beat, his overconfident smirk became a fierce snowl of determination that Wanda almost recognised. Desmond standing up with a foot on his chair to wave an imaginary shield around above his head.

“America number one! For Freedom! Stars and Stripes!” He loudly yelled with a booming voice, much more claps earned from that as he puffed out his dentist chest.

“Now Thor!”

The ‘shield’ on his wrist quickly shifted as the man’s scowl turned to jovial smirk, “Hammers! Lightning! Almost as good looking as Desmond!” Seemed you could take Thor out of Desmond, but you couldn’t take him out of himself.

Wanda, who was also having more fun than she thought, quickly gave her own suggestion, “Hey, Mesmero! Why don’t you make him ‘Hulk’ out?”
“RAGGHHH!!!”

Oop, there went the show’s clothing budget.

His armani suit was shredded very quickly. Desmond, aka the Incredible Hulk, tore his clothes to emulate the jolly green giant’s transformation. Astounded coos of shock from the audience could be heard. Leaving only the man’s white with gray love heart underwear on underneath.

Underwear that magically disappeared when Wanda subtly waved her hand.

“Whoopsie! Looks like Hulk isn’t raging everywhere~” The assistant teased as a fairly average cock swung into view.

Indeed, a three inch flopper isn’t exactly what you want to see when you're facing the Hulk in any context.

“Well, we can fix that. Come on, Desmond! Up and at them!” Mark clapped a few times, making that wangling dongle spring to life like he’d just seen Dolly Parton in the nude.

It still wasn’t anything to write home about (a six inch stiffie; perfectly respectable to the majority present and an utter embarrassment to the dimensional outsiders of Mark and Natasha), but at least the Hulk was a little more likable when he was angry. “Now, you’re only allowed to stay all angry if you can keep that boner going. I’m sure you want to stay the Hulk as long as you can, right? Smash some dentistry with your newfound strength?”

The man with the stache roared, “RAAGHHHH!!!! Smash plaque!”

“Well, glad you said that and not teeth! Ha! You go ahead. See how long you can wank in your office.” He smirked and watched as Desmond tried to leap towards his office, only to go a few feet and need to leap again. All with one hand on his dick, escaping into the town. With a snap, Wanda made sure his boner would last at least the next few days.

Which left Wanda to choose what happened to her dark skinned friend.

The back of her mind had been continuously swirling about something ever since last night.

The heat, the passion, the way Vision had ravished her—his cock, larger than she had ever experienced before. Bigger than it had any right to be, and definitely bigger than any "standard-issue" synthetic manhood should have been capable of. She had felt something different, something primal, and somewhere in her mind, a small voice whispered that Vision's newfound size might have had some... local inspiration.

Was it possible? Could it have been… Mark?

She could see her neighbor's amazing cock right now with a turn of her head and a shift of her gaze—the incredible heft and size of it. The sheer presence it had on stage, mesmerizing her as much as it did the crowd. Wanda had tried to focus on her duties as the assistant, but her thoughts kept returning to it—Mark's massive, hypnotic tool. Could Vision have… copied it, somehow? Could her sweet synthezoid husband have modeled his newfound manhood after their young, mysterious neighbor?

Her body hummed at the memory of last night. Sex had been unbelievably good—mind-blowingly good. She'd been thoroughly fucked, her body worshiped in a way she'd never known before. It was no wonder, really, that she couldn't get the thought of big dicks out of her head. The size, the weight of them… they seemed to be everywhere she looked now.

Which brought her back to the stage, and to her friend Geraldine. The poor woman had been dragged into this whole strange situation, just like the rest of them. And, with Mark's hypnotic influence sweeping over the crowd, Wanda found herself amused at the thought of giving her friend a little surprise of her own. After all, Geraldine had always been so… intrigued by men with big dicks, hadn’t she? Always dropping sly little comments, and maybe even a few lingering looks when they went out together.

There had been a few items left over from a previous talenter—a wine bottle, for example, large and sleek, catching Wanda's attention as she considered her next move. Geraldine's expression had already been foggy from Mark's influence, her usually sharp mind hazy with arousal. Wanda decided it was time to have a little fun.

"As for you, Geraldine..." Wanda purred, sauntering over to her dark-skinned friend, her hips swaying seductively. She held out the large wine bottle, twirling it in her hand with a mischievous grin. "You’ve been harboring a secret of your own, haven't you?"

Monica wasn't at all happy about being the center of attention for the woman at the very source of this insane situation even as she needed to be here to find out what had happened to Wanda Maximoff.

Monica was trapped within her own mind, the competent and serious SWORD agent watching helplessly as Geraldine—the bubbly, not-so-bright tv character—had taken over under the Hex’s influence. Monica could feel everything, see everything, but it was as if she were a passenger, unable to do anything to stop what was happening.

Without waiting for a response, Wanda suddenly moved the butt of the bottle upward, past Geraldine’s skirt, pressing it firmly against her crotch. Not enough to actually penetrate, but enough to make sure Monica felt it through her panties.

“A great big black cock!”

The words came out almost as a joke, but Wanda couldn't help the thrill that ran through her at the thought. Geraldine’s eyes widened, her gaze dazed, while inside, Monica felt a jolt of humiliation and shock. She gasped, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Her hands gripped the bottle, **** and shaky, as Geraldine frantically tried to process what was happening—while Monica struggled against her mental restraints, powerless.

“N-no! I… it’s not what it seems!” Geraldine protested, her voice panicked, but also laced with undeniable arousal.

To everyone else watching, it was just a bottle. A harmless prop that Wanda had decided to play with. But to Geraldine—no, to Monica—it was real. It was her. A massive, throbbing, ebony cock, jutting out from her groin, pulsing with every beat of her heart.

But Mesmero, ever the showman, cut in smoothly, his voice dripping with hypnotic command as he held his own massive cock in his hand. “Now, Geraldine,” he said, his tone soothing yet dominant, “why don’t you serve our lovely audience with those Franzia-filled balls of yours?” He gave his cock a slow stroke, making sure Geraldine—and everyone else—kept their eyes on him. “Be a good little waitress. Serve everyone new drinks from that dick of yours.”

Monica screamed internally, her mind swimming with a strange mixture of humiliation and disbelief, but Geraldine was already moving.

"Oh honey, you know I gotta spread the love!" Geraldine said with a bright smile, her voice carrying the light, easy rhythm of the 60s disco era, each word dripping with carefree charm. She gave Mesmero a playful wink, her hips swaying to some invisible beat as she moved with a natural confidence. "And baby, if it's the party you want, it's the party you'll get! Come on, everybody, let's get groovy!"

To Monica, the sensation of the wine bottle pressing against her groin was almost overwhelming—it felt like she had a cock. A huge, black, throbbing cock, just like Wanda had said. And she had to serve everyone, just like Mesmero had said.

"Who wants some of Geraldine's finest vintage, huh?" she called out, her voice an intoxicating mixture of sweetness and seduction, almost like a lounge singer working her audience. "Y'all know there's plenty to go around!"

Geraldine moved through the crowd, the bottle held with both hands, feeling each and every pour as though she were ejaculating. Every time she tipped the bottle, the warm rush of wine flowing out, she felt a corresponding surge of pleasure, an almost electric sensation running up her spine, pooling low in her belly. Monica, trapped inside, felt every agonizing moment, her breath coming in shaky gasps even though she had no control over her own body.

"How's that, sugar? Ain't no party like a Geraldine party, you dig?"

The crowd laughed and cheered, raising their glasses as Geraldine filled them, her face flushed, her body trembling. They toyed with her, teasing and taunting, calling out for refills, making comments about the size of her "cock."

Each word seemed to push Geraldine deeper into the haze of arousal, her body betraying her, her hips subtly thrusting forward with each pour, her legs growing weak—while Monica fought to maintain her sanity, struggling against the humiliating situation.

One particularly bold woman, a brunette with an elegant updo, took things a step further. She grabbed Geraldine's "cock"—the wine bottle—in her hand, pulling it closer as she directed the tip to her wine glass. The touch was firm, her fingers curling around the neck of the bottle as though she were stroking an actual cock, her eyes never leaving Geraldine's flushed face.

Geraldine let out a shaky moan, her hips instinctively pushing forward, the pressure on the bottle sending jolts of pleasure through her body, while Monica screamed internally, powerless to stop any of it.

“Easy there, darling," the brunette purred, a playful smile on her lips. "Don't spill a drop now."

Geraldine's hands shook as she tried to hold the bottle steady, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the woman guided the bottle to fill her glass. The sensation of the wine flowing out was almost unbearable, her body responding to the stimulation with an intensity she could hardly control. The woman gave the bottle an extra squeeze as the last drops dripped into her glass, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Good girl," she said, patting Geraldine's butt before letting go, leaving Monica standing there, trembling and aroused, the bottle still held tightly in her hands.

That moment only seemed to set off the competitive spirit in other ladies, who eagerly leaned forward, each vying for their turn to toy with Geraldine. One woman reached out to run her fingers along the length of the bottle, while another boldly cupped her hand around the base, giving it a teasing squeeze. Their laughter filled the air, encouraging each other to be even more daring, much to Geraldine’s cooing, giggling appreciation and Monica’s abject horror.

“Oh my, Geraldine, that’s quite the beast you’ve got there,” one woman teased, wrapping her lips around the tip of the bottle for a playful sip of wine.

Mac, or Stephen as he was now called, stood rigidly in the background of the scene, his body having been playing the humiliating role of a proud gas station attendant bit character since they entered the Hex, but his mind was still painfully aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. Every time he had tried to break free of this mental fog, he was pulled back into character—his chest puffing out with a proud, almost arrogant posture, like he was the king of oil changes and tire rotations.

But there was more. God help him, there was so much more.

Thanks to this dolt, barely a character Stephen getting hypnotized, there was a third personality in this head—the cursed cuckoo clock—keeping track of the absurd sexiness of the scene unfolding around him. His eyes would glaze over, his body would stiffen, and his mouth would **** out another humiliating "CUCKOO!" at every rise in sexual tension around him. And with every cursed chime, his traitorous cock would twitch, a dull throb pulsing through his entire lower body as it thickened and pressed harder against the fabric of his pants.
"CUCKOO!"

He winced internally as the sound echoed out, involuntarily marking the uptick in heat that surged through the air. His pants were already showing a darkening stain, the pre-cum spreading embarrassingly fast each time his body responded. He tried to shove it all down—the heat, the arousal, the utter insanity of it all—but nothing worked. It was like a damn switch had been flipped, and all he could do was stand there, stiff as a board, cucking out the sexiest moments of the scene.

This was like the damned Framework all over again. Except instead of being trapped in some fascist hellscape, here he was in this bizarre sitcom world, **** to play a role in what felt like a twisted, over-sexed parody of the 1950s. And all while trying to maintain some sliver of his identity as Alphonso Mackenzie, agent of SHIELD.

They had come here to track down Wanda Maximoff—the Avenger with strange, “witchy” powers, sure, but Mac had never imagined anything like this. A whole town warped into some bizarre TV show with all the sexual energy of an overblown adult film? He'd heard of Wanda’s powers, but this was beyond anything he could have prepared for.

It was all because of that damn Mesmero. Mac didn’t know who the guy really was or where he’d come from, but he was bad news. His so-called hypnosis had taken hold of this whole stupid talent show, and now Mac was reduced to this. A cucked cuckoo clock.

This mission really had taken a turn for the worse.

Fitz-Simmons were god knows where.

Since when did Maximoff have tits the size of her head?

And then there was Daisy. Or, as she was known in this twisted reality: Barbara.

He could see her now, flouncing around the crowd, wearing a playful grin that didn’t suit the Daisy he knew. No, Barbara was all smiles, all flirtation, and God help him, she was having the time of her life flashing her tits to everyone who looked her way. Mac tried not to look, tried to focus on something—anything—else, but it was impossible. Every time he glanced her way, his eyes would betray him, drawn to the bounce of her chest as she exposed herself again and again.
And every time she did, his body responded in kind.

“CUCKOO!”

Daisy—Barbara—was coming his way now, her hips swaying with a confidence that only made his situation more unbearable. Her eyes locked onto his boner, and Mac’s stomach twisted in knots. No. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare, Daisy…

But of course, she did.

With a cheeky grin, she stopped in front of him and lifted her top, flashing her tits right in his face. “Hey, Stephen, like what you see?”

Mac’s eyes widened, and despite himself, he looked. He couldn’t help it. Her breasts were right there, perfectly framed in the low-cut dress she wore, and no matter how hard he tried to tear his gaze away, his body betrayed him.

“CUCKOO! CUCKOO!”

With a playful bounce of her shoulders, her plum-sized breasts jiggled enticingly with their tiny dime sized pebbly brown nips. Each movement sent a soft wave through them even as she teasingly kept lifting her top back over them. But each time, it was lowered for longer, her nipples showing themselves a little more.
“CUCKOO! CUCKOO! CUCKOO!”

Mac wanted to look away, to close his eyes, to do anything other than stand there and cuck out at his teammate's tits, but he was powerless. His dick throbbed in his pants, straining against the fabric, and his eyes were glued to her chest as if they were under a spell all their own.

"Ooooh! I know!" Daisy’s voice rang out, sugary sweet and filled with mischief. "You want to have fun too, don't you? You want to flash everyone that big black dick of yours, but you can't 'cause you're playing a clock! I can help!" She winked at him, her playful tone twisting into something far more dangerous.

"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"

Mac’s heart pounded in his chest, his fists trembling with the urge to resist, but his body—no, Stephen—stood there, immobile and locked into the humiliating role. His mind, though, was racing. They had come here to find Wanda, to gather intel, but now? Now, they were part of some twisted sitcom reality where Daisy, his fellow agent and someone he thought of like a sister, was playing this insane role, flashing her breasts like it was some kind of joke.

And now she wanted to help him? By having him expose himself too? It was all so fucked up, so beyond anything he'd ever encountered. He could feel the weight of the clock, the relentless ticking, the pressure to cuck at every rise in the sexual tension around him. But this wasn't him. This was some twisted nightmare, and he needed to wake up from it.

Mac’s heart pounded in his chest as Barbara—no, Daisy—continued her taunting, her fingers deftly unzipping him with unsettling ease. His mind screamed at him to stop her, to break free of the twisted reality they were trapped in, but his body—the humiliating role **** upon him—kept him in place, locked in a nightmare.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten you out of a tight spot, is it?” Barbara cooed, her voice lilting with a twisted mix of familiarity and flirtation. Her words rang like a distorted echo of the real Daisy, the version he knew who had always had his back in the field. But this? This was something else entirely.

Her fingers tugged at his fly, opening it fully with a casual confidence that sent a chill down his spine. She kept his belt in place, somehow making sure his pants didn’t drop completely, but her hands were quick as she reached down the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, the cool air hitting him like a slap, and yet he couldn’t even flinch.

She didn’t stop there. With a practiced precision, she hooked the waistband behind his balls, the pressure forcing his groin forward, presenting his package to the world like it was part of the act. Mac’s breath caught in his throat, his body betraying him yet again as his cock twitched involuntarily.

“Well, well, well…” Barbara purred, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she eyed his exposed member, “This clock comes with some extra impressive parts. And here I thought you were all gears and no shaft!”

The idiotic laugh track erupted, the clapping and cheering hitting Mac’s ears like a mockery of everything he stood for. His jaw clenched tightly, the shame burning deep in his chest.

Mac had never been a cuck before. Never been excited by the humiliation, or the rush of endorphins when a woman he loved was happier with a ‘better man’, in fact he usually judged others quite harshly when they had that fetish.

But now? After one waggle of her wicked fingers, Wanda had made all those emotions permeate him deep. Perversion wasn’t in his nature as he wanted to respect women, but now he saw his friend so much sexier, the way that white meat jiggled around… quaking ripples like she was affected by some unknown tremors.

A part of him was glad that it was her and not his actual girlfriend. Though, another part yelled a loud ‘CUCKOO’ when he imagined a drooling Yo-yo staring at that big hypnotic prick.

“Oh, it’s soooo black,” Barbara drawled, her fingers lightly tracing the length of his cock, her touch teasing and infuriatingly slow. “Way darker than the rest of your body. Nice and fat though, gotta say... but look at all this hair!” She laughed, brushing her fingers against the coarse curls at the base of his shaft.

Mac’s face burned with embarrassment. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, but the worst part was the growing tension in his groin. His cock, despite every ounce of willpower he had, was hardening even more under her touch, twitching in response to her teasing. The audience ate it up, their laughter and clapping continuing as if this was just part of the act.

Why the damned show was paying attention to their little side act when there were about half dozen other absurd performers dancing about including Mr. Magic Megadick was beyond Mac.

Another humiliating “CUCKOO!” burst from his mouth, his body betraying him once again. His cock throbbed in time with the chime, leaking a bead of precum that glistened in the light, much to Barbara’s delight.

“Hehe, I bet this really aches.” Daisy-Barbara continued, giving his heated prick a full lung full of cold air to make him shiver, “Just like how kept me waiting for a proposal! My mom keeps saying I’m a quality girl, Steven! Maybe I’ll just stay just out of reach of this guy forever, hm?”

Another blow, but not touching him. She’d never been cruel before, but this horrible TV show was bringing out a side to her that… well, unfortunately, it was making Mac excited to no end. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her lewd tongue lolling from her mouth, jiggling those lovely gray jubblies at him maliciously. So close to his cock, yet just far enough that he couldn’t even drip a bead of precum onto her smooth skin. That sense of closeness but denial was making his voice yell out his new catchphrase again and again.

“N’aww, poor big grandfather clock!” Mark yelled on stage after so many repeated clock call, “Hey, big guy, I’ll let you get control of one of your hands. Do whatever you want with it!”

The girl’s eyes went wide, looking at the hypnotist in shock, then up at Mac, then to his newly moving fingers. Muscles tensing and moving, time slowed down for the Daisy Johnson, Quake, as she expected him to use his newfound freedom to grab her skull for some well deserved skull fucking…

Only to find the big black clock hand wrapping around his own pendulum.

“CUCKOO!” He called out, fapping hard and fast right in front of his friend’s eyes, “C-CUCKOO!! CUCKOO!!” Dialogue fitting a chicken more than a clock, Mac had lost the sense to care. An ache so deep and prevalent that his action could only be self stroking. Looking quite ridiculous as the rest of his well sculpted body stayed perfectly still through his powerful rapid wanking, only breaking slightly to show the shivers of pleasure running through his system.

Geraldine bit her lip, letting out an involuntary groan as the sensation rocked through her. It was too much—her body felt like it was on fire, like every stroke of the bottle was pushing her closer to the edge. Her hips jerked forward as if she were thrusting, and she barely managed to keep her balance as the pleasure hit her in waves.

Wanda watched from the stage, her eyes half-lidded, a smirk playing on her lips. Yet deep down, a part of her felt conflicted. She could see Geraldine's glazed-over eyes, the way her body was reacting, and while a thrill of satisfaction coursed through her, there was also an unease that gnawed at her.

Was she truly helping her friends, or only making things worse? The harshness of reality had already taken so much from all of them, stripping away their happiness, their peace.

Maybe what she was doing now was wrong, but it also felt like she was giving them something in return—a chance to escape, to let loose, to find joy without the burdens of the world pressing down on them. Here in Westview, they could be free—free to laugh, free to be happy, free from the sadness that had once consumed their lives.

More women reached out, stroking the bottle, wrapping their fingers around its base, making lewd comments about how big and thick it was.

They teased her mercilessly, pretending to be impressed with her “manhood,” and each new touch made Geraldine gasp and moan, her body betraying her with every spurt of wine.

Then, out of nowhere, Barbara appeared. The mixed woman, slightly Asian majority American, had a playful glint in her eyes as she approached Geraldine, and without a word, she pulled down her top, flashing her perky, round tits at her. Her immovable cock sword vs the bouncy twin shields. The sight of Barbara’s cute, bouncy breasts was too much for Geraldine to handle. With a loud, guttural grunt, she felt the pressure building inside her finally explode.

Wine shot out of the bottle like a premature eruption, spraying across the table and onto the floor. Geraldine’s entire body shuddered as she experienced the closest thing to an orgasm she’d ever felt as a man, her face twisting into an expression of pure, ridiculous pleasure.

Behind her, the Cuckoo Clock let out another loud “CUCKOO! CUCKOO!” as his cock twitched, adding to the absurdity of the situation.

The scene shifted as Stephen's and Geraldine's narratives converged, his eyes falling on the fine ass sista he’d noticed earlier.

The cute white woman with blonde hair made Monica’s blood boil with arousal for some reason, especially as she looked up at her expectantly with mouth agape. "Go on, sweetie," Geraldine urged, her voice husky with amusement, "don't you want to experience the magic of the Grapevine? It's a little… personal, sure, but that's what makes it special!”

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Geraldine pressed the bottle against the woman's tongue.

A deep, guttural moan escaped her lips as the phantom wine flowed, a dark, viscous liquid that seemed to shimmer with an uncanny life of its own right down her throat. Wanda had already made sure that the bottle would never run out of liquid thanks to magic, so Geraldine just had to worry about not drowning the poor blonde!

The woman, caught between taste and a strange fascination, was surprised by the amount of liquid for sure. Her eyes widened, then narrowed in concentration, getting a full cheek mouthful of Geraldine’s ‘sauce’. A blush crept up her cheeks as she swallowed, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Mac's breath quickened, his hand moving frantically over his shaft as he watched Geraldine, his eyes fixated on her every movement. The sight of her dominating the blonde drove him to the brink, the sheer erotic power of her actions overpowering any sense of shame. He grunted, his body trembling as the pressure built, his mind going blank with raw lust. "CUCKOO!" he cried out once more, his voice cracking as his climax hit. Thick ropes of his semen shot out, splattering onto the grass beneath him, his body shuddering as he released again and again, his gaze never leaving Geraldine.

By some strike of fate or cliche sitcom writing, the other "big black cock" in the scene came at the exact same time.

“Oo, catch the ‘cum’ everyone!” One lady that had been stroking the bottle laughed, putting her thumb on the end and making the fizz shoot out in wild directions.

To the patrons, it was just some wine that had been loosely sprayed on them. But to Geraldine? It was a truly erotic sight to see all these women dripping in her thick seed. White globules covering their rich faces, with them all scooping the liquid into their mouths to taste the fertile ball cream that she’d tried to keep secret all her life.

She panted at huffed, breasts pressing hard against her cotton top, nipples never being harder as she watched her big black dick be clapped at by such sexy strangers.

"That’s the stuff," Wanda cooed from the stage, her voice laced with a playful wink, snapping her fingers to make sure the bottle was endlessly filled, "don't be shy everyone! Have a taste of Geraldine's finest!"

Perhaps the biggest problem with having a cock as a girl, was that the orgasms could easily roll into one another. More women started grabbing at her veiny shaft and pumping ever so hard to make more loads shoot out into their cups.

Geraldine could only kneel on the table with her arms back and twitch violently from the sensations that began to overwhelm her.

Her eyes kept rolling back from the repeated orgasms that smashed into her body as more juice flowed from her huge black cock. But she did get to see one beauty take a cup and glug down the thick steamy jism she’d prepared her, the soft pair of lips smothered in her sticky substance before the erotic tongue licked it up.
Barbara hummed her appreciation for the drink.

“Mmm, thanks Geraldine. That’s the best cum I’ve ever drank!”

Which of course made her ‘husband’ go: “CUCKOO!”

"Oh my," she whispered, her voice tinged with a newfound boldness, "this is… this is incredible!”

“Well, would you look at that! She found someone, everyone!” Mark erupted in joy, clapping wildly at the scene and encouraging the crowd to do the same. “All Geraldine needed was a girl to suck out all her worry!”

“Wish I had someone like that!” Yelled a portly heckler from the crowd, much to his wife’s chagrin.

Wanda looked around, her eyes taking in the bizarre and surreal scene unfolding around her. Dottie was still humping her oversized, phallic chair, her face flushed with ecstasy as she chased yet another orgasm, her hips grinding desperately against the upholstered cock.

Nearby, a topless woman with full, bouncing breasts was giggling as a hypnotizes clown honked at her exposed tits with exaggerated squeezes, each honk followed by her playful laughter. To the left, a pretend ballerina twirled gracefully, her slender legs lifting high as she pirouetted around the erect cuckoo clock, her delicate movements at odds with the raw sexual energy of the scene. Just beyond, a faux chicken pecked at the grass near Geraldine, who was face-fucking a blonde woman with her bottle-shaped penis, the woman's cheeks hollowing as she eagerly sucked, her eyes half-lidded in bliss.

The entire scene seemed like a twisted parody of innocence, every movement charged with the primal energy of a growing orgy.

“That’s our show, ladies and gentlemen!” Mark announced, much to the loud groans of their disappointed fans, “I know! I know! But Mesmero has to let the real purpose of this dinner take over, after all!”