Homecoming, by Vonce

I think it’s about time for a messy story…….

Homecoming (m/f mess)

Ms. Kenny was my high school art teacher and she was the reason that every guy in school took at least two art classes. At about 25 years old she was a nice contrast to many of the old timers with whom we all had trouble making a connection. Ms. Kenny was my dream woman. 5’5″ and slim with shoulder-length wavy black hair, and an evil sense of humor, she made learning much less the chore. Through my several semesters of classes with her, we developed a friendship that went beyond school-work to the point where we would often have long talks about anything that came to mind. It was during homecomming week of my senior year that our relationship took an amazing turn.

Like many schools we held a variety of activities for homecomming week, including a pie auction. Several teachers and students were to be paraded accross stage while bids were taken to see who would have the honor of pushing a large plate a whipped cream and pudding into the face of the victim. As one of the better members of the baseball team I was one of the designated targets. Much to my dismay, all the teachers involved were men and Ms. Kenny was no where to be seen. To top it all off, we were all dressed in ponchos and shower caps due to the worries of some of the cheerleaders about getting their hair messy. This scenario was hardly anything to get worked up about.

Through luck of the draw I was the last person to be auctioned off and for a while it looked like I was going to go cheap. The others had all commanded pretty good money from their girl and boyfriends and all the teachers were popular targets. By the time I came around, anyone that was still interested was pretty well tapped out. It was then that I notced Ms. Kenny appear in the back and offer her winning bid of $25.00. She was smiling broadly as she approached with the pie and I warned her that I would get her back someday. “In that case,” she said, “you won’t be needing this!” and she yanked off my shower cap.

I could barely close my eyes before I felt the impact of the pie on my face. She proceeded to ham it up with the onlookers by smearing it all over my face and back over my head. Once she had emptied the contents of the plate, she walked around behind me and ran her hands all through my hair until my head was one large goopy mess. She topped it off with a little peck on the cheek. Needless to say, I had to remain seated for a while and I was grateful for the poncho as it hid my obvious excitement.

That night was the traditional tee-peeing of the school which also involves eggs and shaving cream and other petty vandalism. I was still being congratulated by my friends about how lucky I had been that afternoon. Most of the guys would have killed for Ms. Kenny to take such an interest in them. We were still laughing it up when someone tapped me on the shoulder and said “remember this?” I turned around and received a handful of shaving cream in my face from none other than Ms. Kenny.

By the time I cleared my eyes she was already running away. I caught up to her behind the school and wrestled her down to the ground. She was still laughing when I straddled her chest had pinned her arms down with my knees. Her smile faded a little when I pulled the dozen eggs out of my duffle bag. “No, No, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it” she giggled. But she knew she was in trouble when she I pulled out my own can of shaving cream.

“I told you I was going to get you back….” I laughed.

She cringed as I cracked the first two eggs accross her beautiful, black bangs. The yolk then spread back through her hair with each additional egg, One after another the eggs came down and her pleading became less and less vocal as she resigned herself to her fate. I was sure to use one hand to spread the yolks all over her face as well as slick her hair back with the slime and pieces of shell. “You asshole” she laughed as the onslaught continued. One thing about eggs is that they dry quickly, and she was turning into a sticky, crusty mess. That is when I grabbed the shaving cream.

She just shook her head as I sprayed down her kicking legs and thrashing arms. I finished up the can on her t-shirt before I tossed it aside. After the ammo was all used up we just looked at each other and I started to feel kind of guilty. I had gotten caught up in the moment and I was afraid I had gone too far. I rolled off her and just waited for her to say something.

Ms. Kenny sat up, tentatively ran her hands up to her crusty hair and pulled out some pieces of egg shell. “I’m sorry” I offered, “I guess I got a little carried away.” She looked over at me, took two large hanfuls of cream from her shirt, and clamped her hands on both sides of my head with an evil grin. She leaned in and gave my a hard kiss, smearing her hands around my head as she had done earlier that day. “I’ll see you Monday.” she whispered before she stood up and headed toward the parking lot. Once again, I had to remain seated for a while.

The end?

How Dare You!, by Oliver

Oliver…Hello!

This is my very first contibution to ‘wet-and-messy’ and hopefully not my last, so please be gentle with me! To show my appreciation I have posted one of my ‘mini-masterpieces’ (yes, there are more!). I would very much welcome your comments (if any) on the quality of this work, before I post anymore up here (and waste my time if you think it’s crap!). Before you start to read this I must warn that I’m English (raaaarrrr) and there maybe a few non-international terms contained within…Tough! Mail me for an explaination! Usual disclaimers apply and all that…

P.S. I think there’s far too much ‘irrelevant raunch’ posted into this newsgroup. More custard and less ‘hot, willing girls’ please!

How Dare You! (f/f, food and splodge, I guess!) ===============================================

It was Gemma’s first day at work and she was feeling more than a little apprehensive. This was the first gainful employment she’d been in since leaving school, still being at the tender age of seventeen. Gemma had got the job in the confectionary shop more by chance than anything else. The ‘help wanted, apply within’ card in the window had caught her eye and before she knew it found her self dressed in a white coat and hat ready to deal with the day’s business. Gemma was a pretty little thing with shoulder length, straw- berry blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was also quite buxom for her age, measuring some 38D around her bust. That particular day, underneath her crisp, white uniform she wore a simple white t-shirt, tight black leggings and a pair of practical, low-heeled shoes.

When Gemma had first applied for the job she found her boss, a smartly dressed young lady in her late twenties, called Amanda, quite pleasant. However, this first morning her search for perfection in the shop was beggining to wear thin poor Gemma’s patients. Amanda was a slender lady with long, straight dark-brown hair extending well beyond her shoulders. Her face was pretty, but she wore a little too much make-up in Gemma’s opinion. She definitely liked to pride her self on her appearence and was certainly a victim of status. The kind of girl who just wouldn’t be seen dead without her expensive clothes, jewelery and her pride and joy; a rather flashy ‘P’ registration BMW car. That day in question Amanda was dressed in black roll-neck jumper, pleated yellow-tartan mini-skirt, shiney black semi-opaque tights and a pair of stylish black suede stiletto shoes.

The day started out well and the shop seemed bustling and busy for most of the morning. Gemma was an honest, hard-working girl and was no stranger to giving her all to satisfy her demanding boss. However, as time rolled by Amanda’s demands were becoming increasingly snooty and unresonable. At one point poor Gemma dropped a large chocolate cake onto the floor, purely by accident. At the time Amanda was standing with her back Gemma chatting. She soon turned round when she felt the some dollops of rich chocolate cream splatter up the back of her spotless tights.

“Stupid girl!, shrieked Amanda in a hissing voice. “Be careful or I’ll fire you!”

Gemma didn’t like her tone. In fact she was beginning to wish she’d never taken the stinking job in the first place. To add insult to injury Amanda was now sitting in the shop casually reading a women’s magazine whilst Gemma was rushed of her feet.

“She’s taking the piss!”, thought Gemma vindictively to herself. “I’ll show her!”

Amanda was sitting on a wooden barstool, which was kept in the shop just in case there was a quiet period and the assistant needed a rest. Not for bone idle bosses! The way she sat caused her brief skirt to ride fairly high up and show a lot of leg.

“Tart!”, Gemma whispered under her breath at the same time falsely grinning at Amanda.

An old lady was buying some fresh cream cakes at the time and happened to enquire as to what time it was. Gemma had a great idea to get her own back. She picked up a pint jug of single cream in the same hand as her watch and slid over next to her magazine engrosed boss. Moving her wrist so that her watch was in view caused the heavy cream to pour out of the jug and slowly trickle over Amanda’s exposed tights.

“Oliver…about 11:30…”, Gemma calmly enthused as her boss let out a high- pitch, discusted screech.

“Eeeeeee!, What the hell do you think your doing?!”, sobbed Amanda “My lovely new tights! They’re ruined!”.

Gemma began to giggle as the oozey cream began to run down Amanda’s shins and calves, soaking into the shiney black tights and gathering in puddles around her shoes.

“Right, get out! Get out now!”, yelled the now red-faced Amanda.

Gemma made for the rear of the shop, with her outraged boss following closely behind. In the privacy of the back room Amanda shrieked

“Piss off! I’ve want to see you in here ever again!”, she was almost in tears, but still seemed more concerned about her cream soaked tights and shoe than anything else. Unfortunately for Amanda her harrassed employee was just as mad as she was.

“Not until I’ve finished with you!”, retorted Gemma angrily.

As she said that she reached over and grabbed a telephone situated on a nearby desk. Before Amanda could work out just what was going on Gemma had ripped the lead out of the wall and was trying to tie her to a nearby radiator pipe. After a great deal of struggling between the two girls, poor Amanda was finally bound by her wrists to the hot pipe, sobbing her eyes out.

“Oh no! Please I’m sorry! What are you going to do to me? You can have your job back…please don’t hurt me…”, Amanda looked startled and very very frightened.

“I’m not going to hurt you, just teach you a bit of respect!”, sneared Gemma

“Oh my God, what are you going to do to me?”, sniffed Amanda sorrowfully.

“Destroy something dear to your heart and I don’t mean that stupid car!”

“Not my clothes, please no, or my hair…I paid a fortune…”

Amanda’s voice faded to a whine as Gemma frantically looked around for messy stuff to cover her tearful boss in. Fortinately, there was an abundance of sticky ingredience just waiting to get smeared all down her smart clothes.

First of all Gemma laid her hands on a large, circular gypsy tart filled about two inches deep with that rich, brown suggary mush. Poor Amanda screwed up her pretty face as the soft tart connected with it. Giggling loudly, Gemma then rubbed the tart round and round Amanda’s face until the gooey slop splattered onto the protuding outline of her chest showing through her tight jumper.

“Eurrmmpph!”, gasped Amanda through the gooey face pack.

All that was visable of her face beneath the brown, lumpy gunge was the out- line of her nose and eyelashs. However, not content with this Gemma took a second gypsy tart and mashed it again into Amanda’s face. This time she pulled the tart along her neck and smeared what was left over the roll-neck jumper, making a second mess of her chest. Two more gypsy tarts followed, this time being used to destroy her jumper by massaging the slop liberally over her ample boobs. As you can imagine the flimsy sweater was now well plastered in brown goo and clung tightly to Amanda’s chest, making her bra underneath clearly visable.

“Oh, Oh, Oh! My poor jumper, what have you done to it!”, moaned Amanda.

Without answering Gemma picked up a large five pint jug, filled to the brim with creamy custard. She raised it just above Amanda’s still shiney chestnut hair and began to pour. The soft yellow liquid quickly started to engulf her hair, face and poured down over the shoulders and front of the roll-neck, adding to the wet, clingy mess already there. Gemma then picked up two soft chocolate gateauxs that were smothered in very oozey dark-brown icing and whipped cream. Amanda let out a soft, muffled cry and her head was sandwiched and then massaged fully with the two cakes. Back, front, sides all totally plastered and thickly smeared until both cakes had desintegrated. Her head was now just a mass of cakey goo and completed unrecognisable.

“How are you enjoying you little lesson?”, quipped Gemma, wiping the icing from her fingers. Time we finished off that tarty jumper of yours!”.

Amanda was so covered in cake she couldn’t speak and just resigned herself to have clothes totally mashed with mess. Gemma made sure Amanda’s eyes were wiped for the next part, as she wanted her to be aware of the destruction of her jumper. Taking two cans of squirty whipped cream Gemma proceeded to spray a nice even coating of fluffy, white ooze all over the sweater, squirting up, down, left and right. Once the cans were empty Gemma took great delight in working the cream into the tight material with her hands, until the top was just a wash with wet, creamy mess and fitting like a second skin. However, Amanda’s tresured jumper was by no means ruined enough for Gemma liking. She picked up two huge, deep filled treacle tarts and began to massage these firmly over the roll-neck. This meant that not only was it wet and clingy, it was now buried deep in soft treacle.

“Eurrgh! This stuff’s so heavy and sticky, please let me go, I beg you!”.

Poor Amanda was beginning to sound desperate, but the more she complained the more determined Gemma was to ruin her outfit. She proved this point by then dousing Amanda’s jumper from shoulder to shoulder in cold barbeque beans. This left a rolling thick mass of orangey mush oozing down her body on top of the already trashed garment. Amanda just hung her head in sheer desperation.

Gemma had now decide that she should focus on gunging Amanda’s pretty little tartan skirt. Apparently she had paid quite a lot for the short, pleated item which made it all the more important to ruin. As Amanda watched, Gemma took a large plastic box, the kind you store paperwork in, and filled it to the brim with smooth toffee sauce. The container was about 2′ x 3′ and 1′ deep so there was plently of mess damage to be done. Partially untying Amanda from the pipe Gemma forced the poor girl to sit down in the deep toffee bath. As her tiny yellow skirt met the soft resistance of the gloopy caramel a small amount of soft, brown liquid began to ooze down the sides box.

“Oh my God!”, yelped Amanda as the slippery goo finally enveloped her skirt and she was sitting waist deep in soft caramel.

The little gap in between her legs formed by the skirt was now facing upwards, but as yet unscathed by the slime. Amanda’s legs were slightly appart and Gemma could see the full extent of her tights and brief black knickers below. This little ‘upskirt’ hollow was an ideal place to fill to the brim with more sloppy mess. Gemma took a large industrial tub of lemon curd and slow poured the soft, yielding mess up her skirt. Soon her whole crotch area was just a wash with gooey curd. Amanda tried to dislodge some of the mess by opening and closing her legs, but this just squeezed more over her tights and panties. Pulling Amanda to her feet with a wonderful sloppy sucking noise, Gemma re-tied her poor victim back to the pipe. Toffee and lemon curd was now oozing down her tights and dripping from the skirt onto a puddle on the floor.

“Pleasssse let me go now!”, pleaded Amanda who was now gently sobbing.

Gemma just had to shut her up so she could concentrate on totally splattering her tights and shoes with soft mess. Taking another container of lemon curd Gemma couldn’t quite help noticing that it would be a perfect fit over poor Amanda’s head. The upturned can took quite some pushing before the whole five litres of curd were totally mushed over her head. Pulling the container away left Amanda’s head smeared three inches thick totally in soft yellow oozey curd. Again Gemma wiped Amanda’s eyes so that she could witness the total destruction of the mini-skirt.

Although the little pleated garment was totally soaked in toffee sauce, it was still very apparent that it was a skirt and indeed yellow. To begin with Gemma thought that she’d ink the skirt to ruin it. Taking a large bottle of black fountain pen ink from the back room’s desk she deliberatly splashed the who lots down the skirt. It made quite an inky mess, but most of it got deflected by the soft layer of caramel already stuck to it. Gemma has a better idea. There was an unopened tin of black treacle in the corner of the room. It was going to make a dreadful mess, but Gemma just didn’t care. Prizing open the lid with a knife Gemma carefully held the tin just above Amanda’s waistband.

“I know how much you love this skirt, so I’m going to ruin it once and for all”, mocked Gemma. “This stuff’ll never come out!”.

Laughing to herself Gemma started to pour the thick syrup all down Amanda’s skirt, slopping it over in good mushy waves. Her skirt and tights became one seething mass of glistening goo as the treacle oozed down her legs and onto the floor.

“You bitch, I hate you!”, whined Amanda.

“Be thankfully didn’t treacle your hair!”, growled Gemma back.

To add the treacley mess Gemma thought it would be fun to also smear something white down the mucky skirt, just to contrast with the black, shiney mess. Gemma found a tub of double cream close to hand and slowly poured that down Amanda too. The rich swirls of gloopy cream looked stunning dribbling down the now wet syrupped outline of Amanda’s hips and bottom. Her tiny skirt was now totally unrecognisable.

It was at that point Gemma has the most wonderfully messy idea ever. Because the shop did so much baking they kept a huge vat of cooking fat close to hand. The cold greasy lard was stored in a large metal container, similar to a tin bath. Untying Amanda once more Gemma forced her to climbed right into the slippery pit, shoes and all, and sink her body and clothes deep under the soft lard. The greasy mess wasn’t very yielding to start with, but as Amanda’s body started to warm the oily mass, she soon slipped completely under it, right up to her neck. Now jumper, skirt, tights and shoes were totally covered and submerged in stiff, mushy goo. As she pulled out of the lard bath her clothes were deeply caked in thick, grey pulply fat and very heavy.

“Now, you’ve totally ruined everthing! Satisfied now!”, sniffed Amanda.

“Not totally!”, said Gemma smuggly, reaching across the desk for a pair of scissors…

err… (shokolada@chocmess.com)

Shokolada

Professional geek, kinky educator, fetish webmaster.

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