Adventures of Kim Hardaway 1, by Reynolds

It seems that serial characters (“Peanut Butter Betty,” “Rachel Ross,” etc.) are popular with WAM writers, and I am no exception. Here’s the first of a series I’ve done.

Enjoy.

THE ADVENTURES OF KIM HARDAWAY, AMERICAN STOOGE

by Reynolds

As she stood in the tiny cubicle, holding what barely constituted enough material to be called a bra to her breasts, Kim Hardaway reminded herself again just how much she needed this job. She’d been on the verge of losing her apartment when Miyori had approached her with this offer. She should be grateful. She glanced over her shoulder at the curtain that separated her from the film crew, and she could hear them muttering in that strange language. *Yeah, grateful,* she thought.

“You American, Miss?” Miyori had asked her as she’d waited for her train on the subway. “We need tall American to play in our movie.” Kim should have guessed right away what kind of part she was going to be asked to play. How many tall Caucasian heroes — especially female ones — were there likely to be in Japanese films? She’d been supposed to play basketball — that was something they wanted tall Americans for — to make her fortune and return to Minnesota to enjoy it, but after two games her coach had decided that Americans had “attitude problems” and fired her. What kind of coach fires his best player in some kind of dispute about wind sprints and bed checks? But there had gone her salary and her translator — and her guaranteed roundtrip ticket home — so Kim had smiled as sweetly as she could, tried not to mimic Miyori’s horrible accent, and said “Yes, I’m an American.”

The curtain parted and Kim jumped, nearly losing the unhooked bra that she held so desperately to her body. Being this unclothed made her feel vulnerable. Miyori’s small round face with its Dorothy Hammill haircut poked through. “Director-*san* wants me to check again that you make sure you know what to do. You know what going to happen?” Kim nodded ruefully, and Miyori smiled and vanished. *You know what going to happen?* she replayed in her mind. *Sure, but I have no idea what’s going on.* She wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell kind of movie this was. She hoped for the millionth time that it would never be shown in Mankato.

Somebody barked a comman from beyond the curtain. “Action, Miss Kim,” she heard Miyori say. Swallowing hard, she turned her back to the curtain. She fumbled with the bra so that she could hold it in place with one hand and reached behind her, tugging the thong of her panties deeper into the cleft between her butt cheeks. She looked over her shoulder ruefully at her exposed behind, and remembered how embarrassed she’d been when Miyori had powdered her cheeks down so that they wouldn’t glow in the studio lights. How was she going to feel in about ten seconds?

Those ten seconds passed by quickly. The curtain whooshed open and the hot lights warmed her bare back and ass. Something warm and bumpy banged into her butt, and she could feel a small nose burrowing into the crack of her ass, hot breath penetrating some very private places. She shrieked — as she’d been directed to — and turned around quickly, trying to ignore the cameras pointed at her, looking down. A small Japanese man looked up at her, less than half her size, a look of feigned surprise on his face. She raised a fist to hit him, almost lost the bra, fought desperately with the other hand to keep herself covered, and smacked the little actor across the face. It was just a studio slap — they’d practiced it several times — but it was loud and made her hand sting and from the way the little actor flung himself backward Kim worried that she’d really hurt him. She stepped out into the hotly lit set to find him, but saw Miyori instead, standing behind the cameraman making some kind of hideous face.

*Oh, right,* Kim remembered, and scrunched up her own face into what she hoped was anger. She ran toward the camera, hands clasped firmly over her breasts. The camera zoomed in on her belly. The director said something. Everyone stopped moving and began rearranging their equipment. Miyori pointed down a long plywood corridor set that ended in a t-stop with a camera at the end. Kim nodded and grimaced. *Remember how much you need this job.* The director screamed something again, and the actor Kim had hit ran down the hallway. Another midget followed him, screaming something. The director cried out another direction, and they came running back. Finally, only one little actor ran down the hall for the camera. Kim slowly began to understand that this would look like a long chase down a long hall on film.

Miyori clapped her hands again. Kim took off running down the hall, painfully aware that there was another camera behind her trained on her jiggling ass. She got to the corner of the t-stop and a tiny hand reached out and slapped a cream pie into her crotch. She stopped immediately, staring at the camera that was catching every frame of her reaction. Even knowing it was coming hadn’t prepared her for the surprise as the cold sticky pie soaked into the thin crotch of her panties. She glanced down at herself, and the camera dropped back to look, too. The silver tin slid down her thighs, leaving long thick white streaks. A rough circle of golden crust covered her pussy and was starting to drop off in little cookie-sized bits. The sticky filling was starting to ooze into the most intimate of places. She wanted to squirm, but wasn’t sure at which sensation. The face of the midget actor who’d thrown the pie beamed up at her, mock astonishment on his face.

“Mad, Miss Kim!” Miyori hissed. “Mad!” Kim tried to frown down at the actor and swiveled her hips like a belly dancer. She thrust her crotch into his face and the cream there enveloped his features. Droplets of the cream and bits of the crust stuck into his hair and flew behind him onto the camera crew. The camera behind her moved up to get it all. Then what was already a too-familiar sensation of a face pressing into her butt. She screamed and turned around; there was the second little actor, having run into her, looking shocked. She raised an arm to strike him, but he pushed out his hand into her stomach and she felt herself falling backward over the midget she’d just pussy-pied (was that a word? and if it was, would if forever be associated with Kim Hardaway of Mankato, Minnesota? Oh God) in the face. She fell backward, legs raised high just like they’d practiced in rehearsal. But in rehearsal she’d been dressed, and had cheated, had slipped an arm behind her to break her fall. This time she kept both hands firmly on the unhooked bra that threatened to flutter away. She hit the padded carpet hard but struggled to hold her position while the midgets ran away and the camera zoomed in. And what a position, flat on her back, clutching her hands over her breasts, with her long legs raised high and spread like a whore.

The cameras pulled back but were still running, so she got up and ran again down the hall. then she ran back toward the t-stop again. One of the little actors flung himself out in front of her and she tumbled over him awkwardly. He scurried out from under her just before she fell, and she lay spread-eagled on the ground for a moment so that the director could get his shot. Her face reddened as she followed her next instructions, raising herself up to her hands and knees — well, hand and knees, because she still desperately clung to the unhooked bra with one hand. The hot lights told her that the camera behind her was zooming in on her raised and exposed ass. She saw two feet step in front of her and raised herself up onto her knees. It was the first actor, the one she’d originally smacked in the dressing room set, come around the corner with an extra thick cream pie in his hand. He was grinning wickedly up at her, for even on her knees she was taller than he.

But he could still reach her. He took aim and smashed the pie into her face. Kim had only time enough to take a deep breath and close her eyes before the world disappeared in a thick white envelope of cream. She felt a tug at her now-heavy face, and heard the tin clang onto the floor. Despite the cooling cream on her face, she felt hot. She took a deep breath and raised both her hands to clear her eyes. The bra she’d so carefully protected throughout this scene fluttered whispily to the floor, and the hot lights from the camera warmed her now bare breasts.

#

Kim sat at the back of the screening room to view the rushes the next day, not sure whether she wanted something to have gone wrong to they had to do it again or everything to have gone right and just get paid and be done with it. The little actors, the comedy team that was the star of the movie, were on screen now, getting into a fight in a department store. One chased the other into the women’s dressing room — the editing on this was remarkable, Kim had to admit — and into a changing stall.

She gasped aloud. In the stall was a blonde, voluptuous, long-legged Amazon who sort of looked like Kim Hardaway. She was almost naked, but her butt wasn’t flabby and her thighs weren’t all out of proportion. The midget ran into her and she turned around and slapped him. He fell out of the stall into the second midget, and the two began hitting one another Three Stooges-style, until one finally chased the other down the hall. The woman who looked like Kim Hardaway ran out of the stall after them, holding her bra tight to her bosom.

The midgets chased each other around some hallways for a while until one stumbled into a restaurant. He saw a plate with two pies on it and he grabbed one. He hefted it happily and waited behind the corner for the other little actor to come by, and when he heard footsteps he slapped it into where the other’s face should have been. In the screening room, Kim laughed aloud at her shocked expression as her film-self looked down at her cream-covered crotch and crusty, white-blotched thighs. She noted again that she didn’t look the way she thought she did, that the curve of her stomach was not as pronounced as she thought it was. The whole room exploded with laughter when she ground her cream-covered crotch into the actor’s face, surely the most innovative pie-in-the-face in film history. Kim covered her face with one hand, but was grinning even as she blushed. It *was* funny — *she* was funny — and she kind of liked the way her ass looked as she ran after the now messy-faced little actor. She remembered suiting up for her first basketball game and being so self-conscious of the length of her shorts. She’d always been a big girl with a big ass, but on film that didn’t look as bad as she thought it would.

And she was doing a good job in this thing, she had to admit. When the two actors teamed up to bring her down to their level, she made the pratfall look hilarious, nearly six feet of arms and legs and boobs and butt. And the camera played over her body lovingly after the fall. Spread-eagled on the ground, her arms stretched out at her sides, her breasts smashed beneath her and her butt all exposed by the thong, she looked silly and sexy at the same time.

Kim found herself holding her breath as she watched herself crawl up onto her knees. She knew what was going to happen, but the suspense of waiting for it had her heart racing in her chest. She covered her face with one hand but took the opportunity to glance at the others in the room. Everyone was watching the screen, holding their breaths, waiting for this gorgeous woman on the screen to get what they knew was coming to her.

Kim laughed out loud when the pie hit her in the face. She laughed even louder when she watched herself wipe the thick filling off and the bra fall to the ground. Everyone else laughed, too, and they began to applaud as the lights came on and the film finished. Kim couldn’t move immediately. The sight of herself, bare-breasted, face engulfed in goo, burned itself into her memory. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding, and she was feeling a very welcome, warm tingling between her legs. She clutched the check that would pay this month’s rent tighter in her hand and played the scene over and over again in her mind.

“Miss Kim, you alright?” Miyori asked, as the cast and crew worked their way out of the screening room. Kim crossed her legs tightly and moistened her lips with her tongue. “I’m fine,” she said, and meant it. “Listen, if, uh, if this kind of work comes up again, give me a call. Okay?”

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Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Adventures of Kim Hardaway 2, by Reynolds

THE ADVENTURES OF KIM HARDAWAY, AMERICAN STOOGE #2

by Reynolds

A stagehand stopped and gave her a long lustful glance. He had a grin on his face and clearly meant nothing insulting by it, so Kim Hardaway just laughed at him. He laughed back and flashed her a quick “OK” sign with the fingers of one hand, then moved on to set up more props. Kim was still grinning after he’d walked by. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have been caught dead in a clingy knit dress — to many images of lumpy Bulgarian peasant women came to mind — let alone a mini that barely reached halfway down her thighs. Six-foot athlete with big butts, heavy thighs, no waist and no boobs — and that had always been how she’d pictured herself — shouldn’t wear those kinds of things. Here in Japan, of all places, that self-image had begun to change.

Miyori walked by with the script on a clipboard in her hand. She looked down at Kim’s long exposed legs and whistled appreciatively. “Men going to come back to see this movie twice, Miss Kim,” said the film student who’d gotten her involved in this silly business. Kim’s grin broadened, if that was possible, and she remembered that first meeting with Miyori while they both had been waiting for the subway. “You American, Miss?” Miyori had asked her. “We need tall American to play in our movie.” *To be humiliated in your movie* had been what she really meant, as Kim had found out in her debut scene in some fifth-rate comedy, a scene in which she’d received cream pies in her face and in her crotch, and then been asked to lose her top and expose her chest to the cameras. But Kim had been in no position to refuse; the basketball contract that had brought her to Japan had been canceled, and she was desperately in need of money. And an odd thing had happened as she’d prepared for that short scene — it had given her a thrill. None of the boys back in Minnesota had been all that interested in her breasts — they weren’t small, but on a big athletic girl with a broad well-muscled back even large tits didn’t seem like — well, like Terri Sanderson’s had seemed, Kim thought, remembering the most popular girl in high school, the girl she’d desperately liked to have been. Here, her new friends in the movie business were so interester in her tits that they’d designed a whole scene around expoising them.

And another odd thing had happened as she’d filmed the scene, and especially as she’d watched it on screen the next day. Not only had the camera confirmed to her what the appreciative glances of the stagehands had told her, that she was indeed not the clumsy, horsey gal she’d always imagined herself to be, but it had also shown somebody with a real flair for being funny. *And* there had been something about the feel of the cool sticky whipped cream on her face and between her legs that touched all the right erogenous zones of her brain. One of her boyfriends in college had become obsessed with the idea of covering her with Kool Whip and licking her clean; she’d finally let him, more for the possibility of all the *wonderful* nooks and crannies that his tongue would have to explore than for the sensation of being covered in sugary cream, but now as she remembered it there had been something about that feeling …

Kim read over Miyori’s bad English translation of the script eagerly. It was as the Japanese girl had explained to her the night before; Kim was to be window dressing again, a pretty prop for another comedy film. Wardrobe had purchased this beautiful, black, longsleeved minidress for her, though, which clung to every curve of her body luxuriously even if it did barely cover her butt. The studio had even had gorgeous silk stockings specially made to fit her legs, which were probably longer than any woman’s in the country. The stocking tops didn’t quite meet the hemline of her dress, but this only added to Kim’s feeling of excitement. So did what was going to happen to her in the upcoming scene, which promised to be very messy and — if she did her job — very funny.

The claxton sounded for quiet on the set, which was supposed to be a discotheque or nightclub of some kind. “Places, Miss Kim?” Miyori whispered. “Think Sharon Stone!” And she scurried off. *Think Sharon Stone*, Kim thought to herself as she sauntered over to the bar set and stepped on her mark. *Not something I would have been told about myself back home*. She kept her feet, in their black pumps, firmly on the groun and bent her long frame over the top of the bar, restingherself gently on one elbow. She felt the pull in her hamstrings and calves that told her she had fully extended herself, and she felt the knit skirt of her minidress tighten across her butt. The actor playing the bartender handed her a long cigarette. *Not someone I would have been back home, either*, she thought.

Kim held her position while the camera came near and panned down her body. She held it still as the camera dollied back and the cameraman changed lenses. She felt the bartender tense and she knew that the prop man had assembled his various missiles behind her. She tried not to tense up herself in anticipation of what was going to happen.

Something heavy, wet and sticky slammed into her ass, almost knocking her off balance and into the bar. A sticky dampness began to seep through the thin material of her skirt and globs of cool cream found their way onto her thighs between her stocking tops and her high hemline. She counted the appropriate beat, straightened herself up to her full height, and whirled around. The prop man’s aim was perfect; his second pie caught her directly in the sternum and exlpoded in a creamy mess all over her chest. It made her catch her breath for a beat, but then, as instructed, she looked down at herself and raised her hands to wipe off the cream and filling that was staining her black dress. She ran her hands slowly oer the curve of her breasts, cupping them in her palms, feeling her nipples harden as the gooey fabric constricted around them. She warmed inwardly as she also felt a corresponding tingling between her legs.

The prop man took aim again, and as he let fire Kim dove out of the way. She head the delightful sound of someone else being hi with a pie for a change, and glanced up to see the bartender wiping filling from his face. The actor came around the bar and stood beside her, as did several other actos who were portraying bar patrons. The bartender said something in Japanese, pointed off the set, and the other actors began walking in that direction. Kim went with them, trying to look like she understood what the hell was going on around her.

Off the set there was more “hurry up and waiting.” Kim was beginning to get used to this; when you watch a movie all the action looks like it happens so fast, but when you make a movie you found that there was actually more standing around than anything else. That was the case now, as Kim and the others were told that “the props were not placed for the next scene yet.” It didn’t seem to make a difference to anyone that Kim was standing around in an expensive black dress with whipped cream slowly dissolving through the fabric onto her tits and her ass. Under the hot lights, the sticky white cream was liquifying, and that in turn was pulling the bodice of her dress tighter and tighter around her breasts. She could also feel the now lukewarm cream on her bare butt, dribbling over the curve of her ass and running with goosebump-raising interest down her legs. When it was finally time to resume filming, Kim discovered to her surprise that she was horny as hell.

Miyori didn’t help matters at all. When Kim took her place on the finally completed kitchen set, the Japanese girl walked toward her holding a thickly frosted cream pie in each hand. “Continuity,” Miyori explained. “Must make you rook rike you did when last shot taken.” Kim nodded absently and waited, but Miyori gestured impatiently for her to turn around. Kim finally realized what the problem was — the pie on her butt had so seeped into her clothes that it didn’t look the same as it had the last time the cameras were running. With the whole crew watching, Kim slowly turned around and bent at the waist, resting her hands on her knees and thrusting her round ass out. Miyori took her time — Kim had to hold the slightly awkward position longer than she had expected to — and she found to her surprise that the anticipation was driving her crazy! She wiggled her ass impatiently, and was rewarded by a gratifying “plop!” and the feel of heavy, sticky filling on her butt. She stood quickly and turned around, thrusting her chest out for MIyori to pie, not really thinking about what it must look like to onlookers. She was rewarded with a perfect shot to the tits, which she gratefully smeared all over her black dress with her hands, kneading and cupping her breasts as she did so.

The assistant director gathered Kim and the rest of the cast in their re-applied mess together to go over the blocking one last time. They walked through their paces and then got ready to do it for real. The set was a kitchen, with a long narrow table loaded with mult-colored pies and a many-tiered, thickly iced white cake at the far end of it. The crowd from the bar stood in the doorway as if they had just entered and waited their cue. The prop man, with an ample supply of pies on a tray by his side, took aim. At the call of “action” he threw one, and as choreographed both the actor playing the baretender and kim ducked, and a third extra behind her was splattered. Several other cast members were hit before the camera dollied in for her close-up. It was to be a difficult set of shots — after several experiences working hard to *be* hit by a thrown pie, Kim and the prop man had to get their timing down so that she would just *miss* being hit. There were only supposed to be three pies thrown, but it took eight to get the shots the director wanted, Kim leaning left, then leaning right, and finally diving forward to miss the goeey missiles. It was the dive forward that was to lead to her featured bit, and after she’d dived onto the floor twice the director yelled “cut” and gave everyone else a few minutes off.

Miyori came forward with the prop assistants and asked “You ready, Miss Kim?” Kim nodded, her heart beating like it was overtime in a championship game. She wanted to get this done in one take, partly out of what she was beginning to realize was professional pride, but partly out of another desire that she was only vaguely coming to understand — she wanted to get really gungy, really messed up! The prop men hooked the looped ends of two thin wires around her wrists and positioned themselves on either side of the camera behind the cake at the end of the table. Kim stood at the other end of the table, eying the thick creamy deserts on it with anticipation. At the call of “action” she tensed her legs and sprung fully extended into the air, landing with a satisfying splat! on top of a host of pies and cakes. She felt a tug on the wires and the loops dug painfully into her wrists, but she also felt herself being pulled forward on the table. Cream and filling and pie tins bounded off her face as the prop men pulled her quickly the length of the table. The big quite cake loomed in her vision and she tried to catch her breath, already feeling the bruises that would appear tomorrow. She lowered her head and was pulled careening into the huge cake, which collapsed beneath her weight but cushioned her fall. She rose to a sitting position, wiped crumbs and frosting from her eyes, and looked down at herself. Nothing — *nothing* — was untouched by gooey cream or birghtly colored frosting. She rubbed some of it into her face happily, but before she had time to enjoy the sensation Miyori was by her side, and she oculd make out the prop crew wiping up the mess she’d caused.

“Wonderfur, Miss Kim! Wonderfur!” Miyori said, helping Kim to her feet. The crew applauded briefly, but Kim had eyes only for the virginal white ae, a replica of the one she’d destroyed, being wheeled to the end of the table. The director said something guttural to Miyori, who in turn tapped Kim on the shoulder. Kim nodded and climbed back onto the table. Two prop men, whom she dwarfed, got on either side of her and grabbed hold of her ankles. On the count of what must have been Japanese for “three!” they lifted, and Kim slid forward. She took a deep breath and lowered her head, plunging it straight down into the cake. Cream and crumbs filled her nose and ears, and for a moment she lost awareness of where she was. She felt her legs being lifted straight up and gravity pulling her down through the real cake and into the hollow box at its base. She spit crumbs and gunk out of her mouth, tried to open her eyes and immediately thought the better of it. Finally, her hands found the floor and she braced herself against it. She felt the prop men, unseen, let go of her legs, and suddenly she was doing a handstand. She waved her legs in as many directions as she could think of and then felt herself falling. *Catch me, dammit!* And she felt reassuring hands on her thighs and calves, bracing her, and then other hands pulling her out.

Miyori looked worried. Kim clawed muck and cream from her sticky face and grinned at the Japanese girl. “God this is fun! Let’s finish it up!” The prop man brought a low chair (from Kim’s point of view, that was the only kind they made in this country) for her to brace herself on, and after a few tries she managed to work herself into a fairly stable handstand, her long legs straight up in the air and her waist barely grazing the edge of the table. The prop people quickly attached tiny hooked strings to the hem of her dress and got out of the shot. At the call for “action,” they gave a tug and the slinky black dress slid down (up?) to Kim’s waist. She felt the sharp rush of air and then the familiar warmth of the studio lights on her exposed butt, felt the goosebumps rise and tried to pretend that they were from the temperature changes and not in anticipation of what was going to happen next. Something cold and sticky and sloppy hit her in the thigh, and its force almost caused her to topple over. She swung her legs hard in the opposite direction and managed to right herself in time to receive another heavy gooey missile right on the exposed cheeks of her ass. She took three more hits, including a rather painful one that landed almost exactly between her legs, before the director yelled what she now understood as Japanese for “cut” and she was allowed to lower her legs.

#

For all the work that she’d put into the scenes, they lasted all of a minute and a half in the final version of the film. Kim sat with the rest of the cast and crew to watch it, this time down in front, one of the gang, and just like before she couldn’t help but marvel at how sexy she looked, and at how funny she could be. Music and editing helped, of course. As th camera played up her long exposed legs and form-fitting dress, the soundtrack was a deep, slow saxophone; when the first pie hit her in the butt it was accompanied by the sounds of what Americans would call a whoopee cushion, as was the pie she took in the tits. She studied herself carefully, noting where she could have widened her eyes more, opened her mouth more roundly to show surprise. She was also grateful to see that the camera did not pick up how turned on she’d gotten.

In the kitchen, when she dove away from a flying pie the editing made it look like she’d leapt straight onto the desert-laden table and slid the full length of it like a cowboy in a Western bar. Even better, the editing cut from her hitting the large cake to being buried waist-deep in it, scissoring her legs ridiculously. The dress slid down (up?) her legs to the accompaniment of a hilarious slide trombone, and Kim grinned at seeing lower half exposed again save for the tight black thongs she wore. The pie fight between the other cast members continued, but occasionally the camera would cut back to this poor, once-glamorous woman, half-buried in a white cake, being splattered with pie on the legs and bare butt. The crew was roaring with laughter, and Kim felt herself grow warm, almost blush. She remembered standing in the shower stall, allegedly washing off the goo from her body, how her hands had lingered as she pushed the cream down her legs, how she’d massaged it into her skin, and how she’d felt as her hands had brought the sticky mess to places it hadn’t gotten to on the set. The scene played itself out without further shots of Kim Hardaway, nothing to show how thoroughly mucked up she’d looked when she finally finished the shoot — and nothing, thank God, to show the orgasm she was on her way to as she left the set, whipped cream and frosting dripping off the globes of her ass.

Kim rubbed the edge of her paycheck over her thigh and settled back to watch the rest of the final cut of the movie. *I think I’ve found another career in this place.*

THE END

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Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Adventures of Kim Hardaway 3, by Reynolds

THE ADVENTURES OF KIM HARDAWAY, AMERICAN STOOGE #3

by Reynolds

Kim really hadn’t meant to tell her director off, but as she stood on the set of this, her third film in this country, she realized that to a Japanese man this was exactly what it must have seemed. Not only was she a blonde American woman correcting a Japanese man, but at nearly six feet tall she was almost a full foot taller than director-san, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at her while she explained through her interpreter Miyori that he was just flat-out wrong. Miyori was the film student who had found her, nearly penniless and facing eviction in a strange country after shed been cut by the professional basketball team she’d signed on with. It had been Miyori who had asked: “You American, Miss? We need tall American to play in our movie.”

The issue of contention was what clothes Kims character should wear. She understood that, once again, she was to play an overbearing American who in the end would be comically humbled — messed up, probably stripped naked — by the Japanese comics she had infuriated. But this time, if she understood Miyori correctly, she was to play the head-hunting executive assistant of a Japanese businessman, and there was just no way such a character would wear the off-the-shoulder cleavage-exposing dress that the wardrobe department had procured for her (besides, on someone of Kims broad shoulders and wide back, such a dress would have looked horrendous). After much translated debate, the director had finally flung an old Spiegel catalog at her and told her to order what she wanted. In no time she had found the proper outfit, what the catalog called a “mini-button suit.” The black polyester/rayon blend suit had a tailored jacket that reached to mid-thigh, padded shoulders, a V-neck, and brushed gold-tone buttons at the cuff and down the jacket front. The miniskirt that came with it was tight and tapered with a back vent and back zipper. The skirt was supposed to end just above the knee, but on someone with Kims legs and generous hips, it would reveal considerably more thigh.

It looked the part, though, and Kim thought that even director-san admitted that. But she couldn’t make out the fast, intense dialogue taking place between Miyori and the director. Finally, Miyori returned to Kim, a serious and worried look on her face. “He is rewriting script,” she told Kim. “You going to get rearry messed up this time.”

Kims heart leaped into her throat, and she swallowed hard, but not so much in the dread that Miyori might have expected as in anticipation. In each of the two movies that she had made in Japan, Kim had been on the receiving end of what must sound like unspeakable indignities — she had taken a cream pie in her nearly bare crotch, she had fallen face first nearly up to her waste in a big cake, she had had her bra ripped off, and she had had her dress pulled up so that her butt could be the target of yet more pies. Shed had to do it; the basketball contract that had brought her to Japan had been canceled, and she desperately needed the money. But she was no longer denying to herself that there was something more about these scenes than just money. Back in Minnesota shed been a jock, a big athletic girl whose body guys were interested in because she could run and jump. Here it was different, guys were different, at least the guys she worked with at the studio.

Kim felt herself blush pleasantly, remembering the delight at seeing how she looked on camera, even half buried in white-frosted cake. The Japanese didnt seem to think she was the clumsy, horsey gal shed always imagined herself to be — or if they did they thought it was kind of sexy — and she was enjoying the real flair shed discovered for being funny. She was also becoming increasingly turned on by the feel of whatever mess they chose to hurl at her, the feel of sticky sugary cream on her skin, between her legs, and she couldnt help but be thrilled at the prospect of director-san rewriting a fairly tame script so that her character would be “rearry messed up.”

#

For much of the weeks filming, Kim had very little to do, but she was in nearly every scene, set in a some kind of industrial assembly plant. That meant she was paid considerably more than she had been paid for what were essentially cameo roles in her previous two films. Miyori had only translated Kims scenes in the film, so Kim had to guess from context what the short comedy was really about. Her character was the secretary, the “dragon lady,” to a handsome young Japanese actor whom she supposed was the owner of the plant. She figured that this was supposed to be some kind of an inspection, for the entire cast spent much of the week standing at attention in their orange factory-worker garb while Kim and Toshiro, the actor playing her boss, toured the set. She had no dialogue, merely stood in the background and made notes on a clipboard while the cameras rolled.

But she felt herself developing a character, just like real actors. She kept her back ramrod straight, towering over the shorter actors, peering down at them through gold horn-rimmed glasses. To add to the stern look of her black-suited figure, she wore white gloves, and from time to time ran a white-encased finger over a table or a chair on the set. The other extras took notice of her efforts, and a strange language-obstructed camaraderie began to develop. The other extras began playing off her character, reacting with the shtick of seasoned comedians to the pompous stuffed shirt of a character she was creating. In a particular scene, one young actress ran busily ahead of her, wiping with a handkerchief the tiniest spots on the furniture of the set, and Kim obligingly, sternly, followed along behind with her white gloves. Other actors began playing off her long exposed legs. Several made excuses to fall at her feet actions, for which Toshiro, their boss, resoundedly slapped them. Another, on the excuse of falling, managed to slide between her legs and look up her skirt. She wanted to laugh but stayed in character, stepped onto the mans stomach, then onto the floor between his legs, just missing his crotch, and walked over him. She was pleased to see even director-san laughing at that.

On the day that she was scheduled to be messed up, Kim could hardly contain herself. She dressed carefully, pulling long sheer black stockings onto her legs, fitting them on garter belts around her thighs. She reviewed Miyoris translation of the script carefully before choosing her underwear, wanting to find panties both sexy and humiliating, the kind of thing her character would hate people to know she was wearing but that an audience would love to see stretched across her butt. She finally opted for a sheer black pair that covered her ass but did virtually nothing to hide it. She took the early train in to the studio, and she was pleased to notice that the businessmen who rode the subway with her were having difficulty not staring. It boded well for the days filming.

Shed had to arrive so early because the first half of the day would be spent blocking out the shoot, doing a “dry run” before filming it for real with all of the mess and goop. Everyone needed to know exactly where they were supposed to stand before the knockabout began and the pies started to fly. Except for one brief stunt Kim’s job was fairly simple, if kneeling on all fours with your ass exposed to flying pies could be considered simple, but the rehearsal only heightened her anticipation and her arousal at what was to come. They keep talking about it, she fumed inwardly, I need them to do it to me!

Finally the moment arrived. The prop people had assembled their various missiles, and had prepared a huge vat of sticky, thick, brown goo meant to be peanut butter. Miyori and Kim went over the script one more time, making sure that Kim could recognize her cues even though the dialogue would be spoken in a language she couldnt understand, and then the set was cleared. Kims heart was racing. She willed herself to stay in character, keep her back straight, look imperiously at the rest of the cast over her gold eyeglasses. Her scenes were first. The script called for the vat of peanut butter on the floor above where the inspection was taking place to bubble over and spill onto the set. The “heroes” of the film, two comics playing workers — sort of Martin and Lewis types — were to be the first to realize it and desperately try to keep Kim or her boss from knowing. This required Kim to stand in a number of places while a propman stood on a ladder over her, bucket of peanuty muck in his hands. At the call of “action,” he would pour, Kim would count “one-two” to herself and then step out of the way, and the sticky drops would land harmlessly into a bucket held by one of the comics. The comedians got more and more elaborate, diving at the last minute to catch the drips, sliding a bucket across the floor to catch them, and finally one standing on the others shoulders, tottering perilously over Kims head while she pretended not to notice, holding the bucket out to keep the dripping liquid off her.

But finally — finally! — they were going to fail. Kim got to position herself under the prop man on the ladder, standing tall, back ramrod straight, stern look on her face. One of the comics — Lewis? — stood waiting in front of a small trampoline, bucket in hand. They’d practiced this again and again earlier in the day, so many times that Kim had gotten bored, but now she was worrying that after all the physical practice Lewis had done, he wouldn’t be able to perform for the cameras. At the call of “action!” the prop man poured a dribble of warm peanut butter out of his bucket, letting just a drop fall onto her pristine white glove. The camera dollied in, got a good close-up, and Kim frowned, took off her glasses, and bent her head down to examine the spot on her glove. Lewis bounded onto the trampoline, bounced once, and soared over her head, catching the next dribbles in his bucket before tumbling onto the mats on the ground out of the shot. Kim waited a beat, frowned again, put on her glasses, and looked up. And the prop man let her have it.

It was glorious, warm and sticky and salty sweet. The prop man slowly tipped his bucket and a thick steady stream of peanut butter the consistency of cake batter poured onto Kim’s face. It covered her glasses instantly, blinding her, leaving her with nothing to do but revel in the sensation as it adhered to her face, tickled and caressed every goosebump, made her aware of every nerve ending on her skin. The first assault bound to her face like a mask, leaving the excess to roll slowly, sensuously down her cheeks, over her chin, tracing a deliberate, decidedly arousing path to her cleavage and below. Even after the director had yelled “cut!” Kim stood motionless, letting the thick liquid down the neck of her jacket, letting it coat the curve of her breasts and seep through the material of her flimsy bra.

Finally, she had to move. There was, after all, more filming to do, more mess to experience. She lowered her head, the peanut butter adhering to her face like a sticky brown mask. It still covered her glasses. She heard Miyori’s voice — “Brindry, Miss Kim” — and the director’s next call for action. She struggled momentarily to remember the blocking, where everyone was supposed to be. She reached up with one white gloved hand, extended her index finger, and as daintily as she could, cleared the peanut butter from her lips. Then, for good measure, she sucked her finger clean, and she thought she heard some giggles from the crew. Trying not to smile, she reached out blindly with her hands, a sexy, messed up Frankenstein’s monster, and found what she hoped was what she was supposed to find, the pants of Toshiro, the actor playing her boss. She groped for a moment, got a good handful of the fabric, and pulled. True to rehearsal, the tear-away slacks came off in her hand, and she wiped her messy face clean with the ripped material.

What she saw was almost as gratifying as the feeling of the sticky mess on her heaving chest. In rehearsal, Toshiro, a gymnast before he had become an actor, had worn conservative boxer shorts under his tear-away pants, but the script called for Kim’s character to strip his pants off and leave him naked from the waist down. For filming, of course, he would be shot only from the back, and so wore the most minuscule of g-strings, little more than a thin black sack of material to hold his cock and balls, held by a string that circled his waist and disappeared in the crack of his ass. Kim loved a well-muscled male body, and Toshiro’s thighs were those of a finely trained athlete, well-sculpted and definedly-muscled. The bulge in his little g-string suggested that Kim would have appreciated something else, were she able to see it.

But they were still filming. Kim shook herself out of a pleasantly erotic daydream and quickly scouted out the rest of the cast. The camera was off her for a moment, moving to the pie fight that had broken out among the rest of the cast, but she still had plenty to do. She and Toshiro, both grinning — was he getting as aroused at the thought of this as she? Kim couldn’t tell from the cut of his crotch –found the small cart on what looked to be a miniature railroad track that props had set up. Toshiro walked to the end of the track, which ended just in front of one of the walls of the set. Kim allowed herself some more ogling, enjoying the rhythm of his exposed ass below his shirt tails as he walked, and then positioned herself beside the cart. She knew she should be embarrassed at what was going to happen next, but instead she felt her heart beating, her breath coming in difficult pants. The rest of the crew was good and sticky — Kim felt momentarily jealousy at how covered in goo so many of them were, but she knew that her time was soon to come — when the director finally yelled “cut!” Then the crew moved to Toshiro.

Kim watched with interest, trying to keep her arousal on a low boil. Her previous bouts of erotic slapstick had all involved herself getting messed up. Before this, she hadn’t really considered the possibility of a good-looking guy getting covered in sticky, sweet-tasting goo. But here were the cameras, zooming in on Toshiro’s bare ass, moving in for a close-up of his face. And here were the pies, set up on a wheeled tray next to the marksman among the prop men. Kim flashed her fellow actor a thumbs-up sign, swallowed hard, and waited. The first pie exploded into Toshiro’s face, a perfect hit, leaving his features thoroughly masked in white cream. Kim couldn’t keep the thought out of her head that the right kiss, the right flick of the tongue, would wipe much of it away. The next hits sparked her imagination even more, as carefully and gently, the prop man took aim at the little triangle of cloth that covered Toshiro’s crotch. Kim winced first, remembering what a mis-thrown pie pan could feel like on a tender target, but the prop man was good, and he plastered Toshiro with pie after pie that perfectly exploded right between the actors legs. Just in case, a prop girl touched him up with a spray can of whipped cream, leaving a thick white mass of cream on his crotch and thighs.

At the call of “cut!” Toshiro relaxed, and it was — finally! — Kim’s turn. She had a number of short scenes to film before her final, most anticipated indignity, scenes which would then be edited together to look continuous. There was, after all, a pie fight of fairly monumental proportions going on all around her. The first shots were just close-ups of her looking horrified at what was happening, but then she was supposed to try to escape. As she walked across the wide shot, the prop man took aim, counted, and threw. Just as a pie was supposed to hit her, Kim ducked. She imagined that when this was edited that it would look a little like Tony Curtis wandering through the pie fight in The Great Race. And Tony Curtis, of course, got it in the face at the end.

So would Kim — in the face and in the end, and in the most creative way that her director could have possibly come up with. One of the comics — Lewis? — and she took their places at the end of the little railway and cart that the prop people had set up. Lewis crouched down on his hand and knees, covering his head, and at the call of “action!” Kim began backing her way toward him. They’d practiced this, too, getting it down to a four-step count. She took a step backward — one — she looked around her cautiously and took another step — two — she took a more assertive step — three — and then, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, turned and took a very bold step — four — tumbling over Lewis and falling in a heap on the floor. The director kept the film rolling, giving the editor as much footage to use as possible, while Kim stood up and prepared herself for the next stunt. Toshiro, grinning, his crotch still covered in this whipped cream, positioned himself at the end of the short rail. Two cameramen crouched hip-high to him, one aiming a camera past him at Kim, the other aiming a camera perpendicular to the first. Kim kneeled the cart on the track and waited for their signal. The first cameraman raised his hand. Then the second one did. Kim took a deep breath and nodded.

Two stagehands pushed the cart forward. Kim leaned her body forward as if she were flying, arms flailing, mouth and eyes wide open in a scream. The half-naked, creamed figure of Toshiro grew bigger and bigger. Gleefully, she concentrated on the fluffy white triangle between his legs, the size, she thought to herself, of a nice pie. She closed her eyes and mouth just before she hit the cream, and the momentum of her ride pushed her face against his crotch, the sweet stickiness of the cream flowing back almost to her ears. And there was no way to ignore the most pleasant fact that a Toshiro’s member was only millimeters from her face — and, she thought, reacting to the closeness quite nicely.

She pulled her face away from the actor’s crotch and sat down on the cart, wiping her face with her hands and laughing. The rest of the crew was laughing uproariously, which by now Kim had come to understand meant that the scene would be very funny indeed. She took a breath, stood, and let the prop men move the cart away while the rest of the crew prepared for the end of the scene. Despite the deep, cleansing breath, Kim couldn’t keep her heart from beating rapidly as she watched a stagehand reapply cream to Toshiro’s barely covered crotch.

Finally, it was time. Giggling, she knelt on all fours in front of the man. Everyone was tittering, and she couldn’t read Toshiro well enough to tell whether he was embarrassed by the attention or not. At the call of “places” Kim thrust her face between his legs, again relishing the sticky cream on her face. Just for fun, her mouth found the swelling beneath, and very delicately, she nibbled at it with her lips. His member stiffened more, and she thought she heard him chuckle, too. But enough silliness. She reached behind her and hiked up her skirt, revealing her muscular thighs and the generous cheeks of her ass, enhanced but certainly not covered by the sheer black and — for the moment — pristine panties she had chosen.

The next proved more difficult than she’d imagined. Braced on her hands and knees, her face buried in the cream-covered crotch of another actor, she was to be struck repeatedly in the butt with pies. This was not the first time that her ass had been so abused. The writers and directors she’d worked with not only liked exposing her well-rounded butt, but they also seemed to like splattering it with any variety of sticky goo. At first hesitant, Kim had discovered two very surprising things about herself — first, that she was not fat, that her butt was not too big, indeed that it was one of her more attractive features — and second, that it was one of her more sensitive erogenous zones. The sticky creams and syrups that had been poured over her butt cheeks had brought goosebumps where she hadn’t known they could be, had made her extremely sensitive to every hair follicle and nerve ending there was to touch there.

So it was with some anticipation that she awaited the first creamy assault on her exposed backside. And when it came it was glorious — thick and sugar-laden, disintegrating sloppily against her skin and seeping through the thin material of her panties with ease. But the pie had also been thrown with considerable force, and it nearly knocked her off balance, nearly made her spoil the scene. She braced herself for more, stiffening her forearms and shoulders. One, two, three — they hit her with blows hard enough to constitute a spanking — but she was able to keep her balance, keep herself from careening into Toshiro and knocking them both over. Finally the assault stopped, and Kim was able to rest her arms, drop her head out of Toshiro’s crotch, and enjoy the sensation of the cream- and crust-laden pies sliding down her bare flanks.

“Ready for one rast thing?” she head Miyori ask. Kim grunted affirmatively and replaced her face in the cream on Miyori’s. She didn’t even hear the director call for “action!” before she felt the heavy, sticky and warm weight on her back. A thin dribble at first, it turned into a hard torrent, a wave of the thick stuff smacked the top of her head, splattered onto her back, flowed over her ass and legs. As before, the force of the impact surprised Kim, but it was not for nothing that she had been an All-Conference player two years running. She braced her body, locked her elbows, and held her pose, only then allowing herself to relish the sheer, sticky, sensuality of the experience.

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Kim sat between Miyori and Toshiro when the final version of the film was shown to the cast and crew. The Japanese woman leaned over to whisper translations from time to time. Her fellow actor squeezed her thigh interestingly at certain scenes. Kim was overjoyed at how well the film looked, suprised at how nearly unrecognizable she was in her too-tight skirt and her gold glasses. She was pleased to see that it was not all make-up and costume that had made her in character — she’d added a prissy, knees together walk, and her over-the-glasses and down-the-nose look at the shorter Japanese actors gave the character a look completely unlike others Kim had played.

And they made even Kim all the happier when the bossy American woman finally got her just desserts. After an entire scene of just being missed, an entire scene in which the audience was treated to the slowly bubbling, boiling vat of peanut butter on the floor above the action, the tall bitchy American in the black dress looked up — and a thick brown goo fell onto her face and coated her from head to chest. Kim laughed and clapped her hands, pleased at how beautifully she’d played it, how perfect her reactions had been. Her face frozen in horror, then regaining its composure. Her sucking clean her gloves. Her groping for something to wipe her face off with.

The room exploded with laughter and wolf-whistles when she yanked Toshiro’s character’s pants off. Momentarily, the screen was filled with his glorious, almond-colored ass. Kim whistled loudly herself and elbowed Toshiro in the ribs. The scene cut to close-ups of two women extras, half-covered in pie, looking at Toshiro with wide, appreciative eyes, as if evaluating his naked crotch. Then the pies flew. First one, then the other, past Kim’s character, hitting Toshiro’s crotch with accompanied, emphatic sound effects. Then the long shot of the camera — Toshiro, nude from the waist down, the white cream preserving his dignity.

But only for so long. Kim’s character turned, saw another pie flying, and tried to run. She tripped over the actor at her feet, and then, beautifully edited, flew through the air. Her mouth was open, forming an “o” in surprise. Cut to Toshiro, his mouth open, screaming. Cut to Kim’s face plastering into the cream between his legs with the sound effect of a giant, embarassing “slurp” added. The long shot was stunning — funny and sexy at the same time. Kim on her hands and knees in front of Toshiro, her face buried in a very compromising location. The editor left the shot onscreen only for an instant, but enough to let the affect be felt, then shifted perspective to Kim’s rear, obscenely clad in the sheer black panties. The pies hit, splattered nicely, white cream on black fabric, but what worked so well was the editing — each time the film showed Kim’s ass being spanked, it then showed Toshiro’s face reacting as if *he* was feeling something, too.

Finally, the audience was treated to a shot of the vat of peanut butter completely exploding, and of the already compromised boss and secretary engulfed in a wave of light brown goo. All action on the screen stopped. One by one each of the principle characters, messy and sticky themselves, turned to look. Kim and Toshiro had held the pose well. All that moved in the shot of Kim on her knees in front of Toshiro were the rivulets of peanut butter flowing over their filfthy bodies. The stars of the show had the last line. The one comic turned to the other, wiping peanut butter and pie from his face, and spoke lines that Miyori translated as: “He’ll be stuck to the roof of her mouth.”

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Back to Shokolada’s Messy Stories archive

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Adventures of Kim Hardaway 4, by Reynolds

THE ADVENTURES OF KIM HARDAWAY, AMERICAN STOOGE #4

by Reynolds

Kim had been working in the Japanese film industry long enough to know that she should be insulted to be asked to audition. Hadn’t she made three films already? Hadn’t she done whatever messy and embarrassing thing her directors had asked of her? And Miyori, her film student-“agent,” had been very forthcoming in explaining that this was to be another bit part in a low-budget comedy — another American stooge role. She remembered her first meeting with Miyori while they both waited for the subway. “You American, Miss?” the young Japanese girl had asked. “We need tall American to play in our movie.” To be humiliated in your movie had been what she really meant, as Kim had found out in her debut scene in some fifth-rate comedy, a scene in which she’d been covered in pies, and then been asked to lose her top and expose her breasts to the cameras. But Kim had been in no position to refuse; the basketball contract that had brought her to Japan had been canceled, and she desperately needed the money. And an odd thing had happened as she’d prepared for the short scene — it had given her a thrill. None of the boys back in Minnesota had been all that interested in her tits — they weren’t small, but on a big athletic girl with a broad well-muscled back even large tits didn’t seem like much. Here, her new friends in the movie business were so interested in her tits that they’d designed a whole scene around exposing them. And in two subsequent roles she’d exposed less but been more than willing to engage in any outrageous physical humor she’d been asked to. Kim felt herself blush pleasantly, remembering the delight at seeing how she looked on camera, even half buried in white-frosted cake. She liked the way she looked — she wasn’t the clumsy, horsy gal she’d always imagined herself to be — and she thought she had a real flair for being funny. She was also becoming increasingly turned on by the feel of whatever mess they chose to hurl at her, the feel of sticky wet cream on her skin, between her legs. She was quite looking forward to this next film for all sorts of reasons, and she was finding herself more put out than she’d expected when the director had asked her to audition for the part. Irritated as she was, she couldn’t help but smile when she was ushered into the director’s small office. Miyori, her agent and her translator, was by her side. Seated on the couch opposite the director’s desk were the two midget comedians with whom she’d made her debut. They both stood when she entered, the tops of their heads maybe reaching her hip bone. If anyone in this business knew how much of a trooper she could be, it was these two. “Hi, guys,” she said, before turning and bowing to the director. He returned her gesture and spoke quickly to Miyori. The Japanese girl smiled, nodded, and turned to Kim. “He aporogizes for asking you to come here,” she explained quickly, “for he would very much rike to cast you in this movie, and the brothers very much want you, too. But he needs to know if you have the agirity required for the scene.” Kim raised an eyebrow at Miyori and then glanced at the director. She’d been an all-conference athlete in the States, and had proven her durability in take after grueling take of a very physical scene last time. What was going on here? The director spoke again, Miyori translated. “Director san wants to know whether you can put own head between own ankles and stirr walk around.”

#

Just when you thought it couldn’t get much sillier. It had taken a few tries, but she’d finally managed to jackknife forward at the waist, balance herself on her hands, and walk around like that, peering backwards and upside down at the other people in the room. And now she had the part, and for her reward she was once again standing nearly naked in a roomful of men. The crew had bought her a nice terry-cloth robe, but they also knew that all she had on underneath was a Darling Rio bikini that left very little to the imagination. On Kim, it left even less than normal, because even the largest clothing sizes in Japan tended to be a bit tight. The fabric of the bottoms all but disappeared between her butt cheeks, and her breasts practically overflowed from the cups of the top. Still, the most glamorous swimwear she’d ever even tried on in Minnesota had been made by Speedo, and as she inspected the set which would be the scene of her character’s hilarious humiliation, Kim couldn’t help but feel a little like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. She almost wanted to doff the robe and display herself while she waited around, but there would be ample time to show off soon enough. The set used a whole soundstage, broken up into pieces by camera equipment, chairs, and dolly tracks, but Kim knew from Miyori’s translation of the script and from her own experience that on film it would look like one continuous room. At one end was an elaborate swimming pool, surrounded by still photographic equipment like cameras mounted on tripods. On either side were two long tables of food, one covered with a table cloth and laden with assorted cakes and pastries, the other — and this idea was Kim’s own contribution — was an American style salad bar, bowl after bowl of vegetables and sauces ending in a large bowl of lettuce. Kim dipped her finger into one of the deep bowls of sticky pink sauce and licked it off, happily aware that she was going to be dipping more than her finger into it very soon. Miyori came running by gesturing that everyone should take their places, and Kim slipped out of the robe she’d been given. Many of the crew gave a quick cheer, which she rewarded by peeling down the back of her bikini and flashing them a quick view of her butt. I just mooned some guys, she thought happily, and they want to see more. She dove into the pool and rose quickly, slicking her blonde hair back behind her head. She looked instinctively to the director and waited for his signal. When she got it, she waited for the cameras to roll a little bit, and then slowly walked up the steps of the pool. An actor playing a photographer kept clicking imaginary pictures and shouting demands in Japanese, to which Kim, though having no idea what was said, vamped a series of poses. She froze when the director clapped his hands sharply, and looked with what she hoped resembled surprise at a non existent door by the set. The two midget actors ran onto the set and ran into a tall lighting prop. It tumbled over and bumped another lighting prop, hit the camera on the tripod, which hit the actor playing the photographer, who fell into Kim, who waved her hands frantically and fell spread-eagled backward into the pool. She came up this time so that her hair hung in a wet tangled mess over her face and eyes, and as she surfaced she reached up to the bra of her bikini and pulled one cup askew, letting her full white breast and its pink nipple poke out. Thus disheveled, she strode with all the dignity she could muster up the steps and toward the midgets. She shouted at them in English gibberish, reciting the names of old team-mates and NBA players, just to fill in dialogue that would be dubbed later. She stopped a few feet away from them, at least twice their size. In the middle of her tirade she stopped and looked puzzled. One of the midgets smiled and pointed up at her exposed tit, which she quickly replaced in its cup, but by then the midgets had fled, bumping the hapless photographer and his assistant into the pool again. Kim gave chase, easily catching up to them with her long strides. But just as she was about to catch them, she reached the table with the salad bar. The two midgets (with the aid of some prop wire), leaped up onto the table and Kim ran smack into it waist-high. She jackknifed forward at the waist and buried her face in a bowl of lumpy white cottage cheese. It was cool and not at all unpleasant, though curds of it slipped up her nose and over her ears. She missed the stickiness of the sugary substances that she knew were to come. Bent over the table with her face buried and her ass in the air, Kim waited. She heard the twin thumps of the midgets jumping off the table, and she felt little fingers touch the waistband of her bikini bottoms, then the sudden jerk and the now familiar whoosh of heat that told her her butt was once again exposed to the cameras. They’d pulled her pants down to just below her ass, and there they stayed — PG-13 but not R. She straightened up and saw the little actors running past the pool to the pastry table, and ass cheeks jiggling for the whole movie-going public to see, gave chase once again. Once again she caught up with them, but once again the special effects team lifted them easily onto the table, and once again Kim hit a table full of food and flopped onto it. Her face landed in a thickly frosted white cake, her tits in two chocolate-iced cakes. The sweet icing of the cake coated her face like a sugary caress, and she allowed herself a quick taste of it with a flick of her tongue. She waited again, bare ass raised and pointing to the camera. For only an instant she felt a twinge of embarrassment, a twinge of “What if people see this back home?” She spent more time concentrating on clenching her cheeks so that nothing showed — keep that PG — and hoping that she looked as ridiculous as she felt. Then something sticky and squishy and ultimately delightfully intrusive smashed into her ass. It smeared over her taught skin and brought wonderful goosebumps wherever it touched. Kim stopped clenching and let the frosting and cream invade whatever nether regions of her body it could reach. She heard the director yell “Cut!” and stood up. The remnants of the pie that the actor had smashed against her butt slid down the back of her legs to the floor, though a good deal of it remained clinging to her sagging bikini bottoms. Miyori came running up to her with a tray of prop pies. Kim nodded; she could already feel that her “facial” wasn’t thorough enough for the camera. “I’ll do it,” she told the Japanese girl, and almost without thinking picked up a white cream pie and rubbed it hard into her face, trying to get as much of it to cling there as possible. It was only as she rubbed the sticky mess onto her face, the tin and the gunk blocking her eyes, shielding her in a sense from the rest of the world, that she allowed herself to enjoy the sheer sensual-ness of the moment. The cream stuck to her eyelids, to the inside of her nose, to her lips and to that sensitive tiny bit of skin between her lips and her nose — these were all places that she didn’t even know could feel before, and now they were sending her brain, and other parts, the most wonderful messages. Again, she flicked her tongue out and tasted a dollop of the sugary cream — another quick, almost illicit sensation. At almost the same moment, Miyori began applying heavy globs of chocolate cream to her breasts. For a moment, Kim’s knees weakened, and she was sure that Miyori could feel her nail-like nipples poking against the girl’s palm. “That’s okay,” she gasped, pulling the pie tin off her face and clearing to “eyeholes” in the cream with her fingers. Miyori stepped back to give her room. “That’s okay, I think I’ve got enough.” That’s a lie, give me more, she thought to herself, knowing full well that that wish would come true. The midgets once again stood in front of the salad bar table. At the call of “action,” Kim ran for them, and again they “hopped” up onto the table and began running across its top, their feet sloshing through the bowls of condiments like a Marine on a tire drill. Kim scrambled up onto the table, too, but at twice their height had some trouble balancing. She tried to make it look like she was running hard, but had to slowly and carefully place her foot into an ankle deep bowl of thick salad dressing, and another into a slippery bowlful of sliced peaches. She took another step and fell forward in as sprawling a pratfall as she could manage, landing face first in the lettuce bowl. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!! Oh, was she going to be bruised in the morning. Instead of the soft cushions of pies and cakes, she’d landed on all sorts of ceramic bowls. Who’s idea was this anyway? she wondered, then remembered with a certain amount of pride that it had been hers. She heard the cameramen close in. Wait a minute, damn it! She clawed through the lettuce in the bowl and found two carrot sticks, which she quickly stuck up her nostrils. Then she found a cherry tomato and popped it into her mouth. Crossing her eyes, she then raised her head out of the bowl to look straight into the lens and bright lights of the camera. She saw them only for an instant, because before she could blink her world disappeared beneath curtain of heavy, red, vinegar-stenched sauce. The salad dressing rolled over her face and down her chin, to be followed almost instantly by a thick, lumpy, sweet-smelling sauce. She shook her head quickly, trying to get the carrots — and the smells — out of her nose. The mixtures were unpleasant and off-putting, almost nauseating, though the thick and heavy texture felt good on her scalp and hair. The midgets overturned another container, this of runny white sauce, over her head. It stung her eyes badly. Seeking some protection for them, she lowered her head into the bowl of lettuce and tried to concentrate on its cool sensations. From now on, she vowed to herself — I test everything before I get covered in it. Kim lay on the salad bar for what seemed like a half hour, being photographed — still as well as moving this time, she noted — stretched out and face down with her naked butt sticking high into the air. Finally Miyori tapped her on the shoulder and she gingerly rose to a sitting position. The Japanese girl handed her a towel, which she gratefully accepted and used to wipe her eyes. Across the set, the midgets were assaulting the actor playing the photographer and another playing a security officer. She ran a hand back through her slimy hair and shook her head. “Some business I’ve gotten myself into,” she said to Miyori. With a grin, she wiped her gooey hand across Miyori’s almond-colored face and slid off the table. She padded quietly over to the edge of the pool and slipped in, letting the cool water rinse away the unpleasant smells. She pulled up her bikini bottoms, squeezed what gunk she could from her matted hair, and settled neck-deep into the shallow end, awaiting her cue. It came fairly quickly. The midgets placed themselves on their marks with their backs to the pool, lording it over the larger but fallen actors. Kim swum quickly to a spot in the pool behind them and waited for the call to action. When she got it she stretched up to her full height, reached up with both hands, grabbed the boys by their collars and flung them back into the pool. They landed amidst much splashing but quickly surfaced and swam to the steps leading out. Kim waded across the pool after them and slowly, menacingly, climbed out of the pool and toward them. She carefully kept her back to the table laden with sweets. They staged it just as they had in rehearsal, like a cross between a Western shoot-out and a wrestling match, each stepping toward the other, legs bowed, slightly crouched. Then, as planned, both actors dropped to their knees and half-crawled, half-scrambled between Kim’s. She waited until they had both fit through and then bent forward at the waist as fully as she could, looking back between her legs. She did so so quickly that she threw herself off balance and nearly fell, having to stretch out an arm and steady herself on the floor. She straightened up quickly and looked to the assistant director, who had been watching the video monitor. He gave her a “thumbs up” sign and she clenched her fist in triumph. One take! Alright! Now the harder part. She leaned over again and reached her arms between her legs, bracing them on the back of her calves and pulling her head between her knees. She was now looking behind her and up at the table full of cakes. She could just see the tops of some of the gaudy-iced layer cakes peering over the end of the table. One of the propmen shone a light into her face, and she prepared for filming to resume. She was vaguely aware of Miyori’s feet nearby, and of the two midgets — everyone was upside down, and it was difficult to recognize them by their shoes. At the call for “action” she did her best to spread her legs, straighten her back, and thrust her chest out (up?). Someone — she thought it was Miyori — reached onto her back and tugged at the carefully placed knot in her bikini strap, and Kim felt her top give way and her naked breasts flopped somewhat bizarrely down into her face. She tried not to grin as she looked up at the world through her bobbing tits. This was going to look very silly. She spied the prop man and held her breath, preparing both for the force of the impact and that odd thrill that came with getting a pie in the face. The man overturned a custard pie, and Miyori watched it fall from its tin as if in slow motion. It seemed to float down, losing its shape slightly, filling stretching out form its crust just a bit, before it exploded into her face, the sweet goopy center embracing her, wrapping itself around her face, and then the heavier crust hitting, crumbling, falling away in big chunks until her eyes cleared. Kim saw another one coming, something vaguely pink, but this one was off target. She shifted her position slightly to get as much of it as possible onto her face, only to have it rather painfully splatter off her left breast. Before she could really register the pain, however, a third missile hit her point blank in the face, completely blocking her vision. She waited a beat, then reached with her hands to clear her eyes. Her hair hung heavily below her head, and she felt it graze the floor. One of her breasts ached a little, and she could feel where other bruises would form by tomorrow. Slowly the upside down figure of the main camera came into focus, and Kim concentrated on how she was going to make this work — walk backward she told her brain, and slowly, unsteadily, put one foot in front — or in back — of the other. The camera began to get closer. Splatt! It was inevitable that her butt was going to be a target, raised in the air like it was, but the first cake exploded onto her ass with such force that it almost knocked over. The sensations after the initial blow didn’t help her keep her balance any better. The icing clung to her tiny bikini pants and slid gloriously over her taught cheeks down her thighs. She braced for the next one, wishing just for a moment that she could drop her pants and leave herself and all her crevices completely vulnerable to the sticky, intrusive attack. The next was wetter, oozier, and it slid over her even more lovingly. The heat of the stagelights must have melted the prop cakes some. A thick lump of it slid off her ass and fell past her face onto the floor, exploding there like some kind of frosting bomb. Kim had a quick idea and readied herself for the next blow to her now sticky buns. She thought she saw the prop man begin his wind up out of the corner of her eye, and she tightened her leg muscles to absorb the blow. A purplish and white lump flew through the air and landed right in the center of her upturned ass. Kim waited an instant and then raised her head to look up between her legs at it, and she was rewarded with a gloppily satisfying, blinding hunk of cake and frosting in her face. “Are you arright, Miss Kim?” It was Miyori’s voice. Kim wiped some of the fruity frosting from her mouth. “I’m fine, keep going.” She did her best not to move — this would be fun but horribly expensive to reshoot — and waited until she heard the patter of little feet come next to her. She tensed, waiting, and when she felt the midgets grab her ankles she jumped out of her awkward bent-over position and, bracing herself in a momentary handstand, somersaulted over onto her back. She lay there for a moment, taking pride in the mere fact of having accomplished the difficult stunt, and then she allowed herself to think of the climactic indignity that she was going to suffer. She stretched her long legs out to their fullest extension and spread them slightly, then arched her shoulders just a little to thrust out her bare, gunk-encrusted breasts. Her nipples had become little nails, aching for attention, pushing their way through the stickiness that tried to confine them. Flat on her back, she peered over her them to watch the approach of a giant three-layer cake. While the prop crew was wheeling it toward her, bringing it to a stop just between her spread feet, a cameraman with a hand-held camera stepped into her vision for the reaction shot. Kim tried to control her panting and form her mouth into an “O.” She opened her eyes as wide as she could and began to scream. She kept screaming while the cameraman backed away and the two prop men tipped the cake off its dolly. Things seemed to move in slow motion; the cake — nearly four feet of it — tilted toward her and began to slide apart. The top layer slid off the main body of it, trailing tendrils of thick frosting, and flew into her face as some kind of crumbly, mushy oval. It obliterated her vision — she’d barely gotten her eyes and mouth closed in time — forcing her to respond only to the physical sensation of the rest of the cake hitting her body. It struck her from crotch to chest, an instant of wonderfully sticky icing and then the full weight of the crumb-laden interior. It disintegrated into a sweet oat-meal like mix of lumps and stickiness, which first pressed down on her stomach and breasts but then slid rudely down and across her exposed skin, pouring into every little crevice, molding itself to her shape. It felt wonderful! Kim caught herself breathing hard, could feel her weighted breasts slopping around in the crumbly muck as her chest heaved to and fro. Intimate parts of her begged to be touched, and she had a momentary vision of stuffing her fingers into her pants and bringing herself off in front of the whole crew. “Miss Kim,” Miyori’s voice said, from somewhere nearby — Kim hadn’t even bothered to clear her eyes yet — “director san wants to add some mess. More coming.” Oh, God, Kim thought, more of this and I won’t need my fingers! Another heavy wave something hit her, formless, lumpy sugary something that piled onto what was already clinging to her and flowed across her body. The weight wasn’t bad — it was a lot like being buried in sand, but the sticky cake was a lot more active than sand, nipping and clinging to every hair follicle, every goosebump it could find. Her pussy was so ready to be filled that it ached — there was no other way to describe it. Every sensation — the remnants of the salad dressing that weighed down her hair, the meringue and whipped cream that was plastered against her scalp and glued to her eyelashes, the slimy pie filling that nibbled at the underside of her breasts, the cake crumbs that filled her navel and scratched her nipples, all of it — was travelling the length of her body and making its presence felt in the hungry nerves between her legs. She vaguely heard the director yell that filming was finished, but she couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. The prop crew hosed her down gently with warm water as she lay there, but the bath did nothing to reduce the sensation. The sticky mess had awakened every nerve ending in her body, and the streams of warm water only toyed with them some more. Kim shamelessly rolled over on her stomach, not incidentally sloshing her naked breasts around in the muck some more, and raised her butt up so that she received as much of the force of the water as she could get between her legs.

#

Once again, a day’s work of being messed up resulted in only a few minutes of film time, but those minutes were so clearly the high point of the film that the midgets rewrote the script to make it about their war with the model that Kim was playing rather than the photographer. That meant a full week’s worth of work (all unfortunately demure and clean) as she add-libbed encounters with the boys in which she was clearly pissing them off. Miyori would dub the dialogue in later. That final scene then became some kind of absurd parody of The Terminator, with Kim as the huge, blonde, bare American who would not die. She watched with pride and pleasure, especially the bits she’d added. The salad bar had been unpleasant, but its colors and textures looked great on film (and on her!). The bit with her chasing the small actors across it drew laughs even from the crew that had seen it filmed, and Kim laughed herself at the sight of her face filling the screen, eyes crossed, carrot sticks up her nose, and a tomato in her mouth. She caught her breath at the full shot herself, face down on the table, messed up and bare-assed. This was a long, sexy woman she was looking at. And a funny one, too. She looked menacing and powerful when she came out of the pool and flung the actors away, but in another instant they’d run between her legs and there she was, bent over to the sounds of gears stripping, leaving no doubt that the character was stuck in that position. Padding around like that, her head between her legs, her tits hanging down in her face, her big round butt sticking up in the air — Kim joined in the laughter. She laughed even louder when one of the actors ran under the table and pulled the long white tablecloth with him. Shots of the cakes and pies sliding off the table as if they were on a conveyor belt were edited perfectly into the shots of Kim getting hit in the face and ass. The sound crew had added gloriously ludicrous effects, so that when the one cake hit her in the ass and then slid down to strike her face, each impact was accompanied by the rude sound of a whoopee cushion. The editing was perfect for the final indignity, too. Cuts between the huge cake falling off the table, Kim’s screaming face, her helplessly exposed body, and the huge glorious impact of the monstrous cake all fit seamlessly together. The final shot had Kim almost as breathless as she had been when she was filming it. All the audience could see was a veritable mountain of crumbs and frosting, with two long pink legs and two thin arms sticking out of it. The filming ended to thunderous applause from the cast and crew. Kim was flushed, but this time not with embarrassment. Seeing it happen to her on film had brought about nearly all of the sensations that filming it had done, and she was eager to get home and find out just how well the electronic plaything she’d bought with her earnings could take care of the desire that her sploshing had brought out.

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Heels and PVC, by SpinyNorman

Heels and PVC, by SpinyNorman (SpinyNorman_and_Frilly@compuserve.com)

Everything was ready. The room was warm, very warm. The paddling pool was set up on top of some plastic sheeting. Two tables were standing by the side of the pool within easy reach. They were laden with jugs and bowls of various messy substances. A plastic chair stood within the pool at one end. A video camera mounted on a tripod completed the scene. Nikki nodded to her self and smiled, satisfied with the preparations.

It had been a while since they had got really messy together. Straight sex was fine and she usually came to a very satisfying climax with Mike, but she was always looking forward to the next heavy pvc and messy session. They would plan meticulously for days even weeks before a really good session. Perhaps buying some new outfits and accessories, and stocking up on there favourite types of messy food. Spontaneity was o.k but they liked to tease and build up some intensity before getting messy, besides spontaneous sessions whilst being great fun, were very difficult to clean up after. Anyway there wasn’t usually enough messy stuff at hand unless there was some planning involved.

Nikki went back upstairs, got out her new black pvc catsuit and slipped her naked body into it. The suit shone with reflected light as she used the two way zip to fasten up the suit. First she pulled the top zip up over her naked belly and breasts to just below her chin, and then the lower zip which went right between her legs and half way up her bottom. She reached between her legs and pressed the suit into her crotch.

Nikki dipped into a bag and pulled out a handful of chocolate bars. Giving herself some room to manoeuvre inside the suit, she placed several around her breasts, also making sure that at least one chocolate bar was on or above each nipple. The bars had already melted somewhat and left dark trails on her pale skin as they slid against her. Then she worked bars into the lower portion of her suit via the zips at her crotch. Finally she worked the last chocolate bar inside her pussy and then fastened herself back up.

There was a tap at the door and Nikki opened it. Mike had returned from the bathroom and stood there dressed only in a pair of tight latex shorts. In his hand he held a pair of new shoes. He handed the shoes over, they were black patent court shoes with a three inch heel. Nikki stroked the bulge in the front of Mikes shorts and then put the shoes on. She posed provocatively for Mike in her new shoes and catsuit and massaged her crotch and breasts. His face broke into a huge grin.

They went downstairs to the room that Nikki had prepared earlier and entered hand in hand. Nikki led Mike to the chair in the pool and sat him down. Nikki went behind the camera mounted on its tripod. She looked through the viewfinder to make sure that the pool was centre stage. Mike was sitting there, he had pulled his shorts down a little and was slowly masturbating, she zoomed in on his cock and rubbed her pussy. She decided that she would have to make sure that she captured herself on film licking and sucking all sorts of lovely goo off his very inviting tool.

Nikki set the camera rolling and stepped onto the pool. She picked up a bottle of corn oil and lowering the zip down from her neck a little, she tipped some of the oil inside. The oil ran down through her cleavage down towards her stomach. Nikki poured some more in, and putting the container down, she began to massage her breasts through the fabric, spreading the oil over her chest, belly and shoulders as it travelled through the space between the catsuit and her body. Oil flowed out of the bottom of the suit and over her high heels.

Nikki walked over and pulled the front of Mike’s latex shorts out and emptied some chocolate bars down the front. These would stay there while things warmed up and she would feast on them later. The bars caused all sorts of interesting and inviting bulges in his shorts, and the most interesting bulge of all was getting visibly larger. Nikki gave it a squeeze and a rub and planted a passionate kiss on Mikes lips.

Nikki pulled away and went to one of the tables where she picked up a jug of custard. She drew the zip to her catsuit down slightly and smiled at the camera as she poured the contents of the jug inside. The custard flowed inside the suit, a river of the smooth thick liquid working its way between her breasts. It ran down over her belly, and then began to gather between her legs. She began to work her crotch with her hands, massaging the black shiny fabric. She increased the rhythm of her hands as she ground her pussy down hard into the custard. The liquid now began to flow down her legs and travel down towards her ankles. She pointed down to her ankles and Mike got off the chair and lay at her feet. Raising one leg she placed her foot on Mikes chest. She gazed down as the custard emerged from the bottom of her suit and began to flow over her black high heels, and on to Mikes body. She spread the custard over his chest with circular motion of the toe of her shoes. Mike took hold of her foot and kissed and licked the shiny patent leather and the heel of her shoe.

Mike got to his feet and they kissed. He went to the nearest table and picked up a bowl of cookies that hand been soaked in warm water until they formed a thick mush. Giving Nikki the bowl to hold he proceeded to scoop handfuls of the mixture down the inside of her suit. When the bowl was empty he stood back and watched as Nikki manipulated the outside of the suit in an attempt to work the mixture over her breasts and towards her crotch. Then once again they kissed.

Nikki then sat on the vacant chair, the pressure forcing the gunge inside her suit to explode outwards and upwards over her pvc enclosed body. The delightfully squidgy mess rushed up between the cheeks of her bottom and over her pussy. The chocolate bars now almost completely liquid joined the rest of the gunge caressing her. Mike crouched down before her as she raised her legs and rested them on Mikes shoulders. She rubbed her black clad legs against his ears as he reached for the zip fastening at her crotch. She lifted her bum slightly to allowing Mike to unzip the catsuit from Nikki’s bottom to her navel. A sweet slimy mixture gushed out of the opening as Nikki’s pussy was exposed. Mike lent forward and began to lick the mess from the inside of Nikki’s thighs. Nikki grabbed the back of Mikes head and pulled his face into her crotch, she ground her mound onto his mouth as she felt his tongue probe deep inside her pussy. Mike began to flick his tongue at her clit whilst he ran his hands over her legs and high heels.

Nikki stiffened slightly and then sighed. She stood up and sat Mike on the edge of the chair. She pulled down the latex shorts until they were nestled just below his balls. His cock and balls were forced upwards by the pressure of the waist band. The chocolate bars had melted and had left his cock looking like some erotic novelty toy. She planted a kiss on the end and then stroked his cock to a full erection. Then she turned about and grabbing him in one hand she slid his cock up and down the cleft that the tightness of the pvc suit formed around her butt. With her free hand she rubbed her crotch. Then she turned around, and pulling Mike up to his feet, thrust her crotch towards his groin and gyrated herself into him.

Nikki turned to face him again and replaced his tool in his tightly fitting shorts. She motioned for him to sit down. Mike sat on the chair expectantly, the chocolate in his shorts squirming around his cock and balls. Nikki took hold of a large cream pie and waved it threateningly in front of his face. With a sly wink at the camera, she thrust the pie into his face. Mikes face was completely immersed in the pie, with copious amounts falling into his lap. With his face still covered, Nikki scooped up the pie from his lap, and pulling the front of his shorts away from his waist, dumped the pie down the front. Keeping the waistband stretched out, she reached inside to grab his cock and massage the pie and chocolate into. Pulling his cock free of his shorts again, she knelt down in front of him and lowered her mouth over his now rampant tool.

Nikki’s head bobbed up and down on Mikes cock as he emptied bowls of vanilla, strawberry and banana sauce down the back of her suit. The mixture flowed in a torrent down her back and through the crack of her bum, pooling around her crotch. Rivers of the liquid parted over her cheeks and ran down each leg forming a puddle at her feet. She looked up into his eyes, a large ring of chocolate covering her lips, nose, chin and cheeks, then she turned to the camera his cock still in hand, and smiled as she took a long lick of his shaft. Then they both stood up.

Mike was behind Nikki now grinding his hard cock into Nikki’s pvc covered bottom, the chocolate bars becoming completely liquid within his shorts. Nikki grabbed a jug full of egg yolks and emptied them into her suit while Mike reached around and kneaded them into her breasts. Nikki pulled the zip down further freeing her breasts which were glistening in the lights. She stared into the camera lens provocatively as she tweaked and twirled her nipples, whilst Mikes hand roamed everywhere.

Mike slipped his hand down the front of Nikki’s suit and found her crotch was a gloriously sticky mess of eggs, oil and chocolate . He began to knead her mound in a circular motion as she continued to gyrate her hips, forcing herself back into his chocolate covered groin. Nikki drew all of the zip fasteners down, and kicking her feet free of her shoes, began to work her way out of the catsuit.

Soon Nikki was free of the suit, but was now enclosed in another skin, even more intimate and sensual than before. Her hands wandered all over her body savouring every curve, spreading the dark brown sheen all over. She sat down in the pool posing cross-legged for the camera. Scooping up a double handful of the sweet sticky mess, she washed her face in it, laughing as she did so. Then it was several more handfuls, this time over her hair, which was now slick and glistening.

Mike joined her in the mess at the bottom of the pool. They knelt in front of each other. After kissing passionately Nikki leant back, her hands behind her, back arched and nipples pointing towards the ceiling. Mike drew patterns around her breasts and navel, exposing her glistening skin from beneath its coating of gunge. He worked his way down to her pussy and worked two fingers into her. Nikki began to bounce up and down on his fingers looking now towards the camera and licking her lips.

Getting back to his feet Mike stood in front of Nikki. She reached up and removed his shorts. She turned the shorts inside out and then rubbed her face inside them. While she was doing this Mike placed a large pie onto the chair. He led Nikki to the chair which she straddled shaking with anticipation. Mike stood behind the chair so as not to block the camera and reached around Nikki’s body just to give her nipples a light massage. Nikki lowered herself slightly making sure she was poised directly over the pie and then sat down heavily onto it. Pie flew everywhere. Nikki ground herself into the pie and wriggled on the chair. Mike reached around and scooped the remainder of the pie over her pussy.

Nikki left the chair, her bum a glorious sticky array of cream and chocolate. Then she got on to all fours. She stared up at the camera licking her lips and waved her bum in Mikes direction. She knew what was coming next. Then she yelped with delight as Mike hit her square in the but with a large custard pie. Then she felt Mike behind her, he grabbed her hips and slipped into her pussy just as she was thrusting backwards. The camera saw her eyes widen and then close as they fell into a familiar rhythm.

Mikes chocolate groin splashed dark brown rivulets of chocolate over Nikki’s cream covered bum as they made love. Then Nikki pulled forward and wiggled her bottom at Mike, he knew what this meant, and getting a little closer he grabbed his cock and slowly worked it into her ass. Once fully inside they once again worked up to speed. The tightness Nikki’s butthole soon had Mike approaching his climax. Nikki could tell and pushed back even harder, then with a shudder and a few short staccato thrusts he had cum.

Mike rubbed Nikki’s gooey hips and waist appreciatively then pulled out. Nikki rolled onto her back and opened her legs wide. Mike got hold of some spray cream and gave her pussy a good blast. Then he wormed his fingers through the cream and inserted two deep into her. While he worked his fingers in and out Mike took hold of a large jug of chocolate sauce. He held it tantalisingly above Nikki’s face and tipped it until the contents were nearly ready to pour. She smiled up at the jug as she slowly worked her hips in time with his fingers, then she nodded. Mike tipped the jug and the chocolate slowly poured out and began to splatter her face, slowly piling up in fold after fold of thick dark goo. After letting it settle on her face for a while, Nikki gouged out some holes for her eyes, nose and mouth. Her eyes and her smile shining through the chocolate mask.

Nikki rolled over and looked towards the camera.. While Nikki lay there on her stomach smiling into the camera, Mike gathered up her black high heels and filling them with some of the gunge from the pool, placed them lovingly back on to her feet. Nikki bent her knees and raised her legs in the air, waving her high heeled clad feet around. She luxuriated in the feel of lying in the pool of gunge naked except for her high heels.

Scooping her arms around in a kind of swimming motion Nikki began to gather a large amount of the gunge in front of her. Mike seeing what she was doing moved from her feet and straddled her waist. He worked his foreskin back and forth as he reached out and grabbed some spray cream. When Nikki had finished gathering her pile of messy gunge, Mike leant over and topped it with a generous pile of cream. Nikki looked up to the camera, pointed at the cream, then at her face, and then back at Mike. Then she slowly pressed her face into the pile. He leaned forward putting his face close to her ear. “I love you” he whispered, then they made love again.

End.