— by Anonymous —
Julie has never visited a confectionery factory before. What a large building it was, she thinks. Such pretty tubs and vats of sweet goo. She lingers behind, losing the tour group and the guide. At last she is alone. She is happy. She is eager to play. She is waiting for nightfall.
She slips out of character for just a moment, for the last time this evening. Recalls where the car is parked, where the keys are hid. She likes to pretend she is this simple girl, child-like and eager to explore. It is a device that helps her shed the pressures of her tense job. She puts her mind in neutral. She puts her guilt on hold, her various analysis will have to wait. She starts to feel peaceful again. She smiles innocently and thinks, this will be fun! She is absorbed with her character again. She feels very girlish again. She is Julie again.
The plant closes and everyone is gone. Everyone but Julie. She walks around, window-shopping the different areas inside the plant. The air smells sugary-sweet. Julie is excited. She walks into a large white room with big vats. She walks curiously up to a big chrome nozzle, cleverly connected to a huge clear vat of custard. The nozzle is connected to the big custard vat by a kind of silver hose. She thinks maybe the custard is the kind of filling that it squirted warm into the doughnuts and pies.
She slowly strokes the cool nozzle, and gently lifts the handle, lightly touching the trigger. The handle is black and heavy. She runs her fingers along the smooth silver hose absently. The vat is many times bigger than she is. So much custard, she thinks! Gently she squeezes the trigger with her right hand. A blob of thick warm custard immediately appears in her left palm. It is about the size of a quarter.
She licks her palm. The taste is good. The warm custard is heavy in her hand and in her mouth.
She squeezes again, this time very hard. A heavy gush of the warm sticky custard greets her, splashing thickly over her palm and all over her arm. Some of it splashes onto her new black tank top. She feel the warmth of the heavy filling through the fabric. She stops squeezing and giggles quietly. But she is breathing quickly. It comes out so fast! She can hear the thick drops splat noisily onto the floor near her feet, and her ankles are nice and warm where the mess is splattering. The custard drips down her ankles and into her clean white sneakers. Her faded jeans look creamy in spots. Slowly, carefully, she licks her fingers.
The taste of the filling is good, very good. She is a little sad that her tank top, so clean and black just seconds before is all messy now. But the yellow custard looks so pretty on the soft black material. She is glad she is not wearing socks. She is glad she is not wearing a bra or panties. Just jeans, tank top and sneakers. She shakes her hair back from her tanned face. This is fun!
Just one last squirt from the custard hose before she moves on, she decides. Julie wonders where to aim the nozzle. Then she stands like the policewomen she has seen on TV, crouched and holding the custard-gun, with a serious look on her face. But she points the nozzle is at her, not away. Freeze! she thinks to some imaginary criminal. Julie is a little nervous, wondering what it will feel like. She squeezes the trigger hard, and holds it.
The massive blast of warm custard is stronger than she thought it would be. Julie feels the warm strong flow actually tear the left shoulder strap of her tank top right off her shoulder. For a moment her left breast is caught in the warm gushing custard flow and she moans quietly, closing her eyes. The nozzle slides out of her slippery hands, and crashes to the floor, hissing like a snake before it stops. The thick flow splashes gallons of creamy custard all over her hair, face, down her tank top and down her jeans. So much custard!. Warm custard is all over the floor, and all over her! It drips slowly down her face, down her neck and down into what‰s left of her tank top. She licks her sweetened lips happily and absently tickles her exposed nipple with one finger while she thinks. She slicks her creamy hair back with her free hand.
The custard is oozing down her legs inside her jeans and softly filling her sneakers. And Julie is pleased with what has happened. From her hair and face all the way down to her toes she is covered in soft warm custard. So slippery and good! She feels like a gooey, yummy dessert. She wraps her arms around herself happily and smiles, feeling her exposed left breast slide against her arm. The custard makes little gooey, messy noises. She wiggles her toes in her custard-filled sneakers. It makes her feel peaceful and care-free to be so messy. But at the same time it makes her excited. How delicious it is! How delicious she is!
There is lots of time to wander through the factory, she thinks. Should she go find the frosting, or cover herself in sprinkles? Should she explore something that’s creamy, or that’s thick and chocolatey? Thick, raw dough might be fun, and so might the sticky, sugary glaze for the doughnuts. Julie wonders. Thick is good, she thinks, but so is smooth and runny. So many tasty treats and textures to play in and tease herself with. Maybe she could even find something thick and rich to swim in!
Her clothes are so messy. She considers just stripping them off. The thought makes her breath come in little excited gasps. Playing naked in sticky gooey foods would be so much fun! Plus dawn is many, many hours away. She slips out of her sneakers, messy and happy, and pads off silently in search of something else that can melt her tension like butter, that’s sweet and sticky and fun.
