Suburban Freak Show. Somewhere in Suburbia, Illinois.

People underestimate the dangers of a bored housewife.  I’m not talking about the usual concerns like hiding booze in the broom closet all while racking up bills with makeup subscription boxes and unused Class Passes. She, the housewife, tries her best to stay occupied and bursting with dopamine, for you.  You, dearest husband, should fear much, much more. Moreover, the next time you “work late to put the final touches on closing the Fisher account,” you may want to think twice about what your sweet dearest Amy may be up to. You handed her the ticket to freedom, without even realizing it.  Needless to say, even if you are careful, women are amazing in the art of sleuthing. So have fun getting your dick wet, but just know there could be a Suburban Freak Show happening in your own neighborhood and your wife might be the fucking Host.

The Internet is Your Worst Nightmare Come True.

Her mind wanders as she sits, waiting for you. She completed the chores, prepped dinner, and laid out your suit. Finally, her little silver Macbook makes its much-anticipated appearance. She starts her fresh Google search of the day and at last, endless ideas, suggestions, and opportunities pop up in mere milliseconds.   “Sex tips to save a marriage.” is the first search. However, the darker digging begins as her pussy remains abandoned and your credit card statements are discovered.  Suddenly, a DM pops up with “Suburban Freak Show.” She avoids the message at first, out of fear of being hacked. But, you, her dickhead spouse, continue your neglect, and after a few days of continuous disappointment, that changes.  Just a little click and a new realm of terrifying yet intriguing opportunities open like the car accident she didn’t realize she needed to watch.  And just like that, it begins.

“Welcome To The Suburban Freak Show.”

The floating font bounces like something from a Disney movie at the top of the screen. Another click later and the kaleidoscopic black hole appears, more mesmerizing than a flash sale at Ann Taylor’s The Loft. “Something bad is about to happen.” She whispers to herself, nonetheless, smiling like Ryan Gosling just asked to buy her a martini. She now has her own little secret, and possibly, her big revenge.  “Welcome Amy. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you. You’re the bombshell better half being mistreated, and underused.  We see you. Would you like to see us?” Amy replies with a simple “Yes.”

“We Are The Suburban Freak Show…”

 The messages continued, then, flashes of oversized cocks, tits, and asses. Chicks with dicks, and men fucking armpits. Sexy Siamese twins, neighbors laying on hairpins. A circus of orgasms waiting for her all while HE didn’t get an invite and that was the best part. “The show will commence at midnight, make your preparations. Above all, be discreet.” Excited, and scared, she panicked about how she would get away. “My husband’s flight gets in at 10, how can I possibly make it?’ As she spoke, the devil himself, HUBBY appeared on her screen. She answered, wiping away a light perspiration from her brow. “They canceled my flight, babe!  I won’t be in until noon tomorrow, doll.” She put on the voice of disappointment only to mask the sheer elation rushing through her body. She hung up and said to herself. “Who THE FUCK are these people?”

Interested in what happens next in the Suburban Freak Show?

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