Betty’s Birthday, by MessyBoy

Hidyo. It’s been a loooong while since I’ve had time to work on one of these stories, and I hope it will be enjoyed.

Standard disclaimers apply, comments always welcome.



by MessyBoy


“Happy birthday!” Betty rolled the words around in her mind once again. What image did those words bring to mind? Presents, friends, family, and birthday cake. Or so it was for most people. But Betty had been raised in a household which didn’t really emphasize birthdays all that much, and certainly her friends at school were too busy to keep track of who was born when. She could understand, of course. And she didn’t really need the presents, or the company. She had friends any day of the year, and money enough. But still…the teenaged beauty looked herself over in the mirror. But still, she would be celebrating.

Betty was wearing the outfit she had been saving, hidden away, for several months. When she had first started dabbling in food-play those many moons ago, she had gone about her adventures dressed in worn-out, forgettable clothes of yesteryear. But from the evening she raided the kitchen to explore her interests in full, she knew that she would someday be getting very messy in a fine outfit fit for the formallest of formal celebrations. And she would, indeed, be wearing it for a very special celebration of sorts. She examined herself carefully. This was her birthday, and she wanted everything to be perfect for her and Cindy. Cindy, her friend and of late lover, easily the most important person in Betty’s life—although she could never let anyone else know about that. For Cindy, she would look nice. And look nice she did. Of course Betty always drew above and beyond the standard level of attention, but tonight—a beautiful dress, purchased months ago specifically for this purpose and hidden away till it was forgotten, black and white, buttoned up tightly around her sleek, sexy form. It was complemented by a pair of high heels which, if not new, certainly still fit and still looked wonderful. Betty sighed and spun around lightly. This would be a very special evening. A very special birthday.

All seemed well enough as she drove up to the lakeside summer home of Cindy’s family. After the first weekend Cindy and Betty had spent there, they agreed to make it their official messy place for all their experiments and escapades. It had been a while since their last, and both of them were growing restless. Betty knew that Cindy had been putting aside most of her messy fund—a large portion of her sizeable allowance—in savings for tonight’s fun. She had managed, with some difficulty, to keep from either swerving off the road due to shaky hands or pulling over to touch herself. Anticipation was all that ran through her head as she walked up to the door and rang the bell. There was a short pause, and for a terrifying moment Betty wondered if something had gone wrong—but then the door opened, and Cindy, dressed in a very flattering and probably very expensive blue formal gown stood in the dimmed lights of the house.

Neither girl spoke a word—their faces did all the talking. Two pairs of twinkling, excited eyes, two loving smiles. Cindy led the way through the house and into the large, tiled kitchen where the electric lights were all turned off in favor of candles, which did a perfect job of illuminating the room but added that special touch of romance and mystique. Betty could only stand wide-eyed as Cindy stepped forward and pulled covers off tall lumps on the floor to reveal one of the tastiest sights she’d ever seen. Three simply enormous cakes, each larger than the largest wedding cake Betty had ever seen, and all heavy with chocolate frosting. The sweet, smooth smell of chocolate filled Betty’s nose as she watched the moist cakes glistening in the candlelight. As she stood there dumbly, considering the size of the cakes, the largest of which was as high as her shoulders, Cindy stood silently and watched her stare open-mouthed at the feast before her. When it looked as if Betty was just about to go mad and jump into the cakes, Cindy spoke at last. “They weren’t easy to get. I had to do the baker a few favors. But it’ll be worth it, I hope. Happy birthday, love.” Betty tore her eyes away from the cakes and gazed at another treat, Cindy. Betty wanted words to explain how happy and grateful she was, but she could only nod, and suddenly look sorry that she couldn’t show her thankfulness any more. Cindy, as usual, was able to guess what was in her head and made her smile even warmer. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand how you feel. Now, are you ready?”

Betty had never been more ready for anything in her life. She nodded again and waited for Cindy to make the first move, which she did. Stepping around the cakes, Cindy took her friend’s hand and they wordlessly stepped forward into the first cake. Betty felt her first two steps fall on hard, solid, clickety-clack floor. The third sunk leisurely into a soft, warm place. Betty stopped, Cindy along with her, and both looked down to see their first feet planted in the cake. The surface of the chocolate tower was for the most part undisturbed; one place was smooth and flat as ever, and the next had a leg sticking out of it. Slowly Betty pulled her foot out of the cake, losing the shoe, and saw her foot coated thickly with gooey chocolate frosting and moist, heavy chocolate cake. Without a word she knelt down, reached into the cake, and took her shoe. Careful not to spill any of its chocolatey contents, she pulled it back out, completely filled with chocolate frosting and cake, and eased her foot into it. Yes. That was it. As her foot slid into the shoe and the chocolate oozed out of the edges, she stared at the ruined shoe and knew that there was no going back. She was going to destroy good, expensive, beautiful clothing, and it was going to feel good. It already did. The wetness at her crotch, which was becoming more and more pronounced, told her that. She glanced up at Cindy for approval for what she was about to do, and got a smile and a nod. This was -her- day, for the first time ever.

Feeling like a naughty, naughty child, Betty stood up and repeated the whole process for her other foot, again savoring the feel of the cake enveloping her, of her foot entering the mess-filled shoe, of the sight of her ruined footwear. Now she had ruined two shoes…what was next? Impulse hit her and she reached for the top of the cake, grabbed off a full handful of pure frosting, and brought it straight to her crotch, rubbing up and down across the dark fabric, quickly stimulating her close to the point of orgasm. Licking her lips, she again knelt down in front of the cake and did something which in the back of her mind she had always wanted to do. She hugged the enormous cake.

Her arms sank easily into the frosting and then met resistance. Moving them up and down the sensation of moving her arms through a thick layer of frosting continued to turn her on. She leaned closer and brought the front of her dress to the cake. So much for the white parts of that outfit. Pressing herself tightly into the pastry embrace, she felt the frosting press against her ample chest and hard nipples. Again the pleasure built. Finally she brought her cheek up to the cake and gently nuzzled her new friend’s body. The sensation of the chocolate against her, as well as the constant idea that she was being, well, bad, were too much, and she broke through pleasure and sank full into the cake.

But Cindy pulled her out. Though she did want her friend to have the best possible time, Cindy wanted a little fun too. And she got it, simply by looking up and down at her. She was, to put it plainly, a mess. Chocolate frosting completely covered her arms and face, and the front of her dress especially was smeared and slathered with chocolate which filled every wrinkle in the fabric. Betty’s stony nipples stuck out through the whole mess as well and served well to complete the image of a wealthy and well-to-do woman getting down and dirty. Betty sighed in pleasure as she looked down and saw much the same thing herself. This was fun.

Careful not to trip, Cindy led her around to the second cake, slightly taller than the first and without any of the damage Betty had caused. Licking her lips excitedly, Cindy told Betty to straddle herself over the cake, which she did, one foot planted on either side. Betty’s eyes widened as she guessed correctly what she was about to do. Cindy told her to take a seat, which she did with great emotion.

Simple text descriptions cannot truly describe what it is to see a beautiful girl, well-dressed, smeared in chocolate, and heavily turned on, sit down in an enormous chocolatey cake. Words like gooey, oozy, and such come immediately to mind, but the truth is that Betty simply sank into the cake. She was surrounded by its soft mass up to her shoulders and she moved her arms, hips, and legs slowly about in the chocolate to receive all the pleasure she could. This was suddenly augmented by a trickle, then a pouring of a thick, heavy, goo onto her head. She didn’t even have to guess at this—it was warm chocolate sauce being poured on her by Betty. She looked and felt a total mess—in a good way. After she hit orgasm again she decided to pull herself out and have a good look at herself.

With a good deal of effort she did so, pulling herself out of the weighty cake and examining her clothing. It was now near impossible to tell exactly where the dress ended and her skin began, as both were very liberally layered with chocolate frosting and spongy cake. She felt suddenly a bit dizzy and might have fallen over had Cindy not caught her (getting herself rather messy in the process). “Thanks,” Betty whispered, but the response came in the form of an eager hand reaching from behind to happily smear the chocolate up and down Betty’s legs, crotch, and chest. A moan came from Betty’s lips, and suddenly Cindy was in front of her and brought her own lips into the scenario. A kiss—between a clean face and a chocolate one. Their lips opened into each other and Betty’s mouth was filled with the chocolate sauce Cindy had been carrying in hers. Two tongues slid around each other in the goo for a time until Cindy pulled hers out and began enthusiastically licking Betty’s face clean. Soon enough that task was done, and Cindy, outfit now ruined as well, led Betty over to the third and largest cake, which the girls could just barely see over. This had of course been the most expensive, but it would be worth it.

Silently Cindy peeled off Betty’s sticky, heavy clothing, letting fall to the floor in a sticky mess what had once been a dear, pricey little instrument of beauty. Cindy’s clothes, thoroughly ruined by her embraces with Betty, also went. The two girls stood naked, both trembling, and then collapsed, squirming, into the enormous cake. Surprise! Betty had noticed that the third cake looked a little oddly shaped, and she discovered why—it was, by some feat of the bakery business, made entirely of frosting! Blindly she crawled through the chocolate pile, completely and totally covered in every place by thick frosting. Her mind flashed on cartoons where characters had been trapped in food-based prisons and had considered eating their way out. At this point it wouldn’t have looked like such an unenticing prospect, had Betty wanted to leave. Then she felt Cindy’s arms, also within the chocolate pile, grope at her slowly. Their movements hindered by the thickness of the chocolate, they eventually found their way to Betty’s breasts and massaged them through the goo. After an all-too-short moment of this, the hands quickly found Betty’s hips. A few quick rubs were all that was needed to bring Betty into the ultimate orgasm. Here she was, naked, encased in a mountain of chocolate—god, Cindy had to have been saving forever—with the skillful hands of her lover caressing her love box. She burst from the chocolate pile with a scream of delight. Then it fell to a simple yet fantastically fun pleasure trip as Cindy pulled her down to the floor, which due to their efforts was now simply one enormous pile of frosting and cake, and brought her into a wrestling session the likes of which will never be seen from the WWF.

Clump after clump of gooey chocolate plastered into Betty’s face, ass, crotch, chest, arms, feet, whatever, and she gave as good as she got. Her arms slithered around Cindy’s slippery body and her fingers tickled at whatever spot they found. Finally she knew the grand finale was approaching. Cindy brought up her two hands, heaped to the brim with frosting, and rubbed the pile straight at Betty’s crotch. The cheerleader gasped, then again as she felt Cindy’s tongue through the chocolate, eating away at the pile, then licking around her sex carefully, then finally around her clit and love tunnel, with fingers oddly lending helping hands. As Betty sank backwards and felt a big pile of chocolate squeeze up into her ass, she orgasmed once again, and finally sank backwards, lying down in the chocolate in exhaustion. Eyes closed, or maybe open and covered with chocolate, she heard Cindy say, “Here, make a wish,” and could tell there was a candle in front of her face. Blowing it out, she made her wish.

“What did you wish for?” asked Cindy’s voice, now closer.

“For you to do this again next year,” Betty answered with a final sigh before she drifted off into the best sleep she’d ever had.




Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Betty’s Kitchen Raid, by MessyBoy

Betty’s Kitchen Raid by MessyBoy


Betty sighed. It had been quite some time—at least a couple weeks—since her first experience with foodplay, and she wanted some more. Not peanut butter, although she liked it. It was just that she wanted to try out a variety of things, and besides the peanut butter had been a pain to clean out of the bathtub. No, this time she was going to try a lot of different things. And this time she was locking the door. She didn’t want to exclue her friend Cindy from normal messy activities, but this was more of an experiment for herself, to determine what sort of thing she would do in the future.

To that end, she decided not to go full-body with anything. Still, she was aware that things might get out-of-control (either accidentally or deliberately), so she decided to dress appropriately. She stood naked in her bedroom, breathing heavily and becoming aroused just thinking about what she was about to do. Last time she had begun the peanut butter massage as part of what she thought was a beauty treatment, but now she was doing something messy purely for the pleasure it gave her. It made her feel naughty—this was not the way a normal teenage girl from a wealthy, upstanding family was supposed to act—and that, in turn, made her even more aroused. She studied the outfit she had worn for the peanut butter episode. She knew her way around a washing machine, and the t-shirt, jeans, and panties merely looked as if they had gotten some spaghetti spilled on them and then gone through several long washes. For the sake of the dollar, she decided to use this same outfit—perhaps for future, full-scale experiments she would wear something different. Maybe even something expensive. That put a rush through her. The thought of getting messy in a fancy new outfit from a top fashion store really made her feel naughty. Finally she got dressed, putting on the faded pink panties, the faded blue jeans, and the faded t-shirt. She studied herself in the mirror, smiled at her sexy teenage figure, and turned for the stairs to head for the kitchen. Once there, she pondered how she would start. Small, of course.

Her parents were again out to one of their long dinner parties, and since they had left a good half hour ago, Betty knew that they had not forgotten anything and would not be back for a couple of hours. That gave her plenty of time. She opened the fridge and scanned its contents. The first thing she pulled out was a bottle of Hershey’s syrup. She hesitated, then thought, “Now or never,” and pulled off the little plastic cap, held her hand over the sink, and squeezed the bottle. Nothing happened. Feeling like an idiot, she withdrew the bottle and her hand and pulled up the stopper so the syrup would flow. And flow it did. She had forgotten to stop squeezing the bottle, and instantly a small fountain of chocolate syrup flew out of the top of the bottle, splattering her face, some of the kitchen counter, and a lot of the top of the bottle with the syrup. She set the bottle down and began rubbing the syrup off her face. Of course, that wasn’t terribly bright either—or was it—as it only turned the right side of her face into a big, sticky chocolate smear. She happened to glance over at the microwave and saw her reflection in its door. She giggled. The right side of her face looked just as it felt–stick, with a very thin layer of chocolate just barely obscuring her skin. “Oh well,” she said, out loud. She then went back to the hand. Turning the bottle upside down and holding it several inches from her hand, she squeezed. A thin drizzle came out, forming a tiny pool of syrup on her hand. She squeezed harder and the drizzle increased slightly. Growing slightly frustrated, she squeezed the bottle with all her might and suddenly the entire cup of her left hand was filled with the syrup. She set the bottle down and pondered her hand. She didn’t feel anything, really. It was as if the syrup was simply resting on her hand, instead of coating it. “Aha!” she thought, “I need to rub it around!” And so she did, moving her left hand up to her right arm and rubbing it up and down. Her arm turned dark, much like her face, and as she rubbed its entire surface she began to feel twinges of pleasure. That was the way to go about it. She switched hands, almost causing the bottle to slip out of her hands, which somehow managed to be sticky and slippery at the same time, and filled her right hand the same way. Soon her left arm was covered as well, and she felt her crotch growing damp. Not thinking, she brought a hand down to soothe it, and suddenly found the crotch of her jeans lightly smeared with chocolate syrup. That was no good.

Suddenly she heard a car door slam and panicked. How could she have missed hearing a car pull up? She spun about the kitchen wildly, trying to think of what to do. The kitchen did not attach directly to the garage, but her parents were sure to come in there to check the answering machine. She did the only thing she could do—toss the syrup into the fridge, wash out the little bits that were in the sink, and hope for the best.

Hope for the best? That was crazy! She had only a few seconds until her parents would reach the kitchen, and when they did, she would be doomed. The embarassment of facing her parents with her face, hands, and jeans inexplicably chocolate-covered would be too much. Knowing she didn’t have time to get far enough away from the kitchen to reach the bathroom without seeming suspicious, she grabbed the only thing in sight—oven mitts—and slipped them on. With their help, she was able to wipe off most of the chocolate on her face—maybe missing a few bits around the chin. She hoped that in the dim lights they wouldn’t notice.

Suddenly she realized that something was wrong. Surely they would have been in the house by now. Walking to the window, she poked up the venetian blinds and saw the lights on outside the house across the street. So that was it. She sighed with relief. It hadn’t been her parents after all. Just to be sure, she peeked through the garage window, and saw an empty garage. She sighed again. It was all right. Still…she would have to be careful. As she walked back to the sink she became aware that she was even more aroused than she had been before. She noticed that the sensation of the slightly chocolated hands moving about within the mitts was quite interesting, and attributed it to that. It certainly couldn’t be the fear of being discovered—could it?

Time to look into that clothed sensation she was getting from the mitts. She pulled those off and decided to retire to a safer location. First, she would load up on the things she was planning to experiment with. She set the bottle of chocolate syrup aside after capping it (no need to have any spills on the way) and decided to see what else was around. She found a few cans of spray-style whipped cream, and took one. Then a six-pack of little pudding cups, way back in the fridge. She took three. Digging around even further, she took a stick of butter, which might turn out to be interesting, and then closed the fridge, turning to the pantry. The first thing she saw was several large jugs of maple syrup. Now that would be interesting. She took one. Also, some instant Chef Boyardee. She had thought of spaghetti earlier—why not? She didn’t want to burn herself and also there was no reason to waste time, so she took it cold. At last, with chocolate, maple syrup, butter, pasta, and whipped cream, she was ready to go.

She entered the bathroom and locked the door. She saw herself in the mirror and sighed. All that lovely chocolate was indeed gone from her face. Well, that would be remedied—soon enough. She stepped into the bathtub, and still standing up, she wondered what to try first. The first thing her eyes fell on was the stick of butter. “May as well start there,” she said, setting everything else on the floor outside the tub. She began to work on the wrapper on the butter, which was always a daunting task, but finally managed to peel it off. Examining the stick, she suddenly wondered what she would do with it. She rolled it around in her hands, pondering and noticing a slimy feeling, a lot like oil. It was a sticky feeling, but a different kind of sticky.

“I know!” she thought. Blushing to no one, she reached around her back, pulled the back of her jeans and panties away from her, and dropped the stick down against her ass. She released the panties and jeans and found herself standing with a stick of butter halfway stuck in the crack of her ass. “Now I just have to wait for it to melt,” she thought. After a minute of drumming her fingers, she gave up on that and decided to speed things up—by sitting down. She lowered herself to the floor and sat down. She then leaned back, putting all her weight on the butter, which began to smoosh around and melt a bit inside her. She slid back and forth on the floor of the tub, and with each slide the butter loosened up a bit more. Finally she decided she’d gotten things going and that it would be best to move on. Even as she stood up, though, she felt the big, slimy stick of butter in her ass and trembled in animal lust. Lust? For the mess? She thought about that, but the feeling of the oily butter oozing around her ass and dripping down into her panties made it hard to think, so she decided to go the next step. Examining her “stuff,” she picked up the chocolate syrup bottle and decided to finish it off. Just how she realized immediately.

She pulled off the plastic stopper and then, after a moment’s hesitation, unscrewed the cap, her heart pounding. She brought the bottle up close to her nose and saw the chocolate, so very close to her now. She even smelled it, a sweet, smooth, loving taste. Finally she could stand it no more. With her other hand she pulled out the front of her jeans and panties now—in the process bringing the butter even further into her asscrack—and turned the bottle upside down inside her panties. In a few seconds she felt her undergarments filled with the thick, oh-so-thick syrup. It swirled around her sex, tickling it, playing with it, and as the bottle emptied, her panties filled. She withdrew the bottle and let her clothes return to place. Now chocolate was spilling out of her panties and onto her legs, sliding slowly down within her jeans. She moved back and forth, rocking her hips, feeling the chocolate more or less trapped with as it played with her sex and mixed slightly with the butter. The rocking motion took over her, and she became a slave to the pleasure the chocolate was bringing her as it smoothly slid around her body—and, gradually, into it. She shook with delight. This was so wrong—and yet, so good.

Now she found herself in a state of near-desperation. Even as she approached orgasm, the pleasure the chocolate brought her decreased every second as the sensations became more familiar. She needed something else, and as she looked down to see the whipped cream, she knew what it was. She had always had a sort of wish to be hit with a pie, and while she didn’t have a pie tin, she could make do. She brought the can of whipped cream up in front of her face, gulped, and pushed down on the stopper. Suddenly her vision was gone in a creamy blur. All she had seen was a spray of goo coming at her, for an instant, and then nothing. She wiped some of the gunk out of her eyes, and thought, “This is not gonna do it for me.” She had a thought, and decided to let the whipped cream join the chocolate below. Again pulling the front of her clothes away from her, she emptied the bottle down into the chocolately mass, and after tossing the bottle onto the bathmat, she set both hands to work rubbing. The chocolate began to mix with the cream, producing new sensations, along with the new sensation of touching herself while messy. She felt herself rising towards the ultimate wave of pleasure, and as it came, she screamed—screamed, out loud—-in raw delight, sinking to the floor as it ended, her blue-jean knees resting in a small puddle of chocolate syrup drippings.

After a minute she sighed. That had been wonderful. She surveyed the remainder of her supplies. The maple syrup. After a moment, she thought, “To hell with my hair,” and upended the bottle over her beautiful golden locks, which flattened out as if hit by a ton of water as the slimy goo slowly spread over them. As it began to drip down onto her face, she realized that unlike the other things she had been using, and contrary to what she had expected, the syrup was indeed slimy, not stick, and she found that it was a sensation she enojoyed. She rubbed it into her skin—“To hell with my skin”—and then decided to ruin her shirt. She brought the bottle down, placed it just above her rapidly hardening nipples, and squeezed. Her shirt turned instantly transparent, revealing her impressive chest, and she began to again rock in pleasure as the slime travelled along. She continued to pour directly at her breasts, moving the bottle back and forth to get them both, and they took the drizzle of syrup like the hands of a lover—happily, greedily, and excitedly. Now her hand joined the syrup, rubbing them through her shirt. Finally, with half the syrup gone, she gave up with the shirt, pulling it off and applying the syrup directly to her skin, a whole new set of sensations.

Her logical brain was definitely losing control to the more convincing arguments of her sex. Her thoughts were blasts of orders. “Pants. Off. Panties. Off.” She obeyed, releasing most of the remaining syrup to the bathtub floor, leaving a good bit still coating her sex. The butter was practically melted but still a good chunk fell to the floor. She laid on her back, with her chocolately panties serving as a sort of pillow, and emptied what was left of the maple syrup directly onto her clit from more than a foot above, the greatest sensation yet. With a scream much like the last she orgasmed again, and sank back, drained.

But not for long. There was still the pasta, but as she looked out she realized that in her rush to get started, she hadn’t opened the can. No matter. She stood up, took it, and headed for the door. All manner of goo was covering her, head to well below knee. Much of it was slowly dripping off. Her hair was slicked back in slime. And she didn’t care. She opened the door, smearing it with goo like she had last time, and walked out into the hallway. She felt completley uncovered—the peanut butter last time had been almost thick enough to feel like clothing—and it felt good, like everything else tonight. As she walked downstairs she played with the idea of her parents walking in and seeing her like this, and knew that the idea was making her even more aroused, while the actual event itself would probably make her drop dead of embarassment. Proceeding like that, becoming more and more hot, she came to the kitchen, where she activated the can opener. After a few infinitely long seconds the can was freed. She dumped it out into a bowl—no need to play with sharp edges, and for a moment pondered what to do. She didn’t wonder long. Her body again took control of her, and it said, “Here. Now.” She fell to the floor, dumping the sauce, noodles, and meatballs onto her stomach, and writhed around in her filthy state, the pasta adding to the already significant mess, to the point where it took only a single finger coming close to her crotch to make her orgasm, for the third and final time that night.

She laid on the floor, feeling the mess dry and drip, for a long, long time. Finally, she glanced up at the clock, saw that she had only a short time until she expected her parents to return, and she set about cleaning the kitchen floor and disposing of the containers from the mess. With that done, she went through the halls, cleaning up where she had dripped and stepped, and then it was upstairs, to finish up with the bathtub and deal with the messy clothes.

The phone rang as she was getting dressed in cleaner things. It was Cindy. “Uh…hi…Cindy.” Cindy guessed that something was up, and Betty, honest as she was, admitted that she had been experimenting on her own. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” she asked.




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