Messy Torture, by MessyBoy

Subject: WAM — Story: Messy Torture

Steve peered through the brush ahead and adjusted his goggles silently. Silence was all around him. He could feel the presence of the enemy—somewhere. In his admittedly poor camouflage—jeans and a green t-shirt—he was an easy target. No need to make himself an easier one. He reviewed his orders mentally, went over what Roger had told them all before dispatching them on the day’s patrols.

“This is the largest capture-the-flag game we’ve ever played, and it has the broadest rules. Run your patrols, learn what you can, but don’t get captured—a two-man team in Sector Five:B was taken down last night while you were asleep. One man was taken, the other escaped to tell us that, on-the-spot, the enemy was just barely within the limits of the rules on torture, and promising to do more. That is all.”

Steve sighed inwardly and continued to observe from his designated station. An all-female army was out there, just trying to capture him and the rest of his team, scattered around Sector Four. Even if, in reality, he was a twenty-three year old magazine writer, with a nice little place to stay and a cool car and no real troubles, here in the field he was a man at war, in constant danger. He was ready, able, and—alert? He thought he saw something move in the clearing a few bushes away from him. He adjusted his scope, but made a little too much noise and felt the presence of three women around the bush. “Come on out, Green scum,” said one of them. Steve was trapped. “Don’t make us have to use force,” said another voice.

Reluctantly Steve realized that he had no choice, and slowly rose out of the bush. “Hands UP!” barked the attractive brunette who was now a foot away from him. Steve brought his hands up and felt hands from behind taking his water pistol and all his spy equipment. “Looks like we caught ourselves a Green SPY, girls,” said the brunette. “Step out of that bush, and don’t try anything funny.” Steve stepped out of the bush, and he never considered trying anything funny—being face-to-face with such a pretty woman tends to destroy a man’s thoughts of escape. “Let’s MOVE, girls, it’s daytime here,” ordered the brunette, and two strong hands forced Steve’s hands behind his back, where a pair of cheap handcuffs was applied, and a shove from the rear got Steve moving. After a second or two of getting a decent view of the brunette’s shapely rear, a blindfold was wrapped around Steve’s face, and he proceeded in darkness and silence.

Finally they reached a building of some sort; Steve heard a door open, then close behind him. The blindfold was removed and he saw that he was in an old shed, remodeled the month before during the preparation period for the war. The whole building was probably camouflaged in some way, Steve reasoned, like the men’s base. Windows were boarded over, and a chair was attached to the floor, which Steve was forced to sit in and be attached to with a chain attached to the handcuffs. Finally he got a good look around, and saw that whatever treatment he was going to receive, it would be at the hands of the brunette. He doubted there was much chance of escape at this point—the door was locked and he felt sure there might be other nearby stations with enemy operatives nearby. He was caught, and it was up to the Browns to make the first move.

The brunette spoke. “My name, Green, is Sylvia. You will answer only when spoken to and you will tell me what I want to know or there will be consequences for you. Understand?” A subdued Steve nodded. “Well then, Green,” said Sylvia in a slightly less authoritarian voice, “what is your name, so that I can address you more specifically?”

“Steve,” Steve said quickly. He had received training, after all, and he knew that the best way to go was to answer such questions quickly and to the point, and to hold one’s lips only on those things which were of key importance. It was always possible that he might not even be asked about such matters—although it was doubtful.

“All right, Steve. We may begin. First, what were you doing in that bush when we found you?”

Steve replied obediently, knowing it wasn’t important, “I was running patrol for my side, as per my orders.” Sylvia looked impatient. “And what were you patrolling for?”

“Signs of enemy activity.” He avoided the specific phrasing, which included “…to be reported back to base” as that would bring up the topic of home base. Sylvia did not seem satisfied, however. “Who gave you those orders?” “My commanding officer.” “Where were the orders given?” “At my regional base.” “And where is that?”

Steve simply replied, “I don’t know,” which was the appropriate response. “I don’t belive you,” was Sylvia’s icy reply. “Where is your regional base?”

“I don’t know.” Sylvia walked behind Steve and apparently rummaged around in a box. She walked around to face him, and he got a good look at her, dressed in an outfit much like his, only with a brown t-shirt instead of green. It was a tight fit and he couldn’t help getting hard, watching her watching him. Then he noticed what she was holding—a labelless brown bottle, which he recognized as a chocolate syrup bottle. Steve was a bit surprised, but kept his straight face as Sylvia said, “Do you know what this is?” He nodded. “Good.” Sylvia walked up to him and he got even harder looking at her body, so caught up in his view that he didn’t think to try and kick her. Then he saw her pull the cap off the bottle and bring it up over his head. He could only close his eyes reflexively as the stream of warm, thick syrup dropped onto the top of his head and began pooling outward. Soon the first drip ran over his face, and he felt the flow increase—no doubt Sylvia was squeezing harder. Harder was what Steve was getting as the goo slid down his neck in several places and began to stain his green shirt. “Soon you will be a brown too, little Green boy,” Sylvia said, and it was true. Abrubtly the flow cut off. “More direct method,” said Sylvia, and she brought the bottle down, right in front of his face, and squeezed so that it went directly on to his shirt. It travelled slowly from the feel of it, but it was gradually covering his front. “Once I’m done, Green boy, it won’t take much for you to be mistaken for one of your own in the night, and be shot down. Do you want that to happen, Green boy?”

Steve realized the fiendishness of their plan. If he wouldn’t talk, they’d simply make him up to be a Brown, and release him at night. He’d be shot down by his own men, and as the water pistols packed a neon-colored paint there would be no way to pretend it hadn’t happened. Still, Steve said nothing as the bottle was emptied, his shirt not yet completely covered. “Hm, looks like we need something more,” said Sylvia, again walking behind him. With the bottle out of his face Steve was able to see that his shirt was indeed quite brown and that he was indeed in trouble. But he was still hormone-charged, and he realized that it had to do with the glop Sylvia was pouring on him as well as her figure. Ooh, how he’d like to get her in chocolate syrup, he thought. Sylvia came back around, holding now a bucket of something brown. Looked like cake batter, maybe brownie batter. It was obviously a lot thicker than the syrup, although a bit lighter. Without further warning Sylvia tipped the bucket over onto Steve’s front, and it quickly spread all over his shirt and down over the crotch of his pants, bringing Sylvia’s attention to his hard-on. “Hm, what’s this?” she said teasingly. “Answer me!”

Steve mumbled something. “Speak up!” “Well, ah, Sylvia, it’s just you’re so beautiful, and this stuff feels good..”

Sylvia blinked. This was not what she had expected. This torture was supposed to disgust her captures, and if it failed, force them to be gunned down by their teammates. But turn them on? Still, she could use this to her advantage. “Speak freely, Green. Tell me about how beautiful I am.”

Steve’s reply got jumbled up with moans of pleasure, but Sylvia got an idea. “Steve, there are armed guards outside every exit to this room. You cannot escape. So, I propose a deal. If you tell me the secret of your base, I will allow you to treat me as you will with these foods.”

Steve’s already hard cock reacted as if tossed in liquid nitrogen—it hardened another notch. His sense of duty crumbled under the possibilities. “All right!” he cried. “By the fork in the stream where there is a tree stump low down on the river bank—there is an old building covered by vines and weeds and buried in mud so that it looks like a hill—the entrance is down on the river bank!”

Sylvia spoke a few words through a slot in the wall to the next room, then there was a long waiting time before a response came back. Sylvia looked over to her captive. “Good work. They’ve found something. I am an honourable woman, so here goes.” She walked over and uncuffed Steve. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do, but she may have singlehandedly won the war for her side, and the prospect of being covered in gunk herself was actually turning her on as well. Steve stood up, rubbed his wrist and wiped the chocolate out of his eye. “All right,” he said, and he set to work. After handcuffing Sylvia as he had been handcuffed, he looked in a box behind the chair to find all manner of goo. First a bottle of chocolate syrup. Walking around, he brought it over, rested it right on top of Sylvia’s right breast, and squeezed, hard, sending a beautiful thick pool of goo all over her sexy chest. It soaked the tight fabric and outlined Sylvia’s braless breasts perfectly. He could see that her nipples were hardening up—was she enjoying this too? He looked up to see a broad smile on her face as he brought the bottle to her other breast and repeated the process. The bottle was soon discarded, and Steve reached over and began to rub his hands—and Sylvia’s breasts—in the chocolate. It felt…good. Sylvia let out a moan, and Steve could only grin and rub his crotch a bit as he walked around to grab a bucket of the batter. Sylvia’s eyes widened and her breath quickened as Steve brought the bucket up and emptied it over Sylvia’s head, instantly obscuring her features beneath a veil of sexy chocolate. Steve set the bucket down as the batter flowed down Sylvia’s neck and onto her shirt, and placed his lips on hers for the tastiest kiss he’d ever received, which only got tastier as Sylvia’s tongue worked its way into his mouth. He withdrew, though, to fetch a big bucket of chocolate pudding. He licked his lips as he pulled Sylvia’s jeans away from her slightly and tipped the bucket into her jeans.

Sylvia moaned and wiggled her hips back and forth to feel the pudding squish around her. In went Steve’s hand, which happily smooshed the pudding around and got a feel of Sylvia’s panties. “Next!” said Steve aloud as he took from the box a bucket of dark, liquid fudge, which of course went straight into Sylvia’s panties, with appropriate “handiwork” from Steve. By now Sylvia was moaning full force and approaching orgasm, which Steve could see, so he quickly unzipped her pants, releasing the pudding, and stuck his face into her panties, licking frantically, tasting the sweet, rich taste of fudge, and Sylvia’s womanhood. She came in seconds, and as Steve was extremely close to doing so himself, he pulled off his pants and shorts, unhooked the handcuffs, and brought himself into a gooey embrace with Sylvia, who was apparently quite willing, and as they rocked back in forth, his cock inside her, she grabbed at the various buckets and bottles and emptied them onto both of their bodies, creating a wonderful sexy chocolate fuck which neither of them would ever forget.

Finally, though, the fun was over, and each of them had come three times. They sank to the slimy floor and looked at each other. “Well, Brown,” said Sylvia, all of her previous contempt gone, “that’s the most fun I’ve had torturing someone, ever!”

Steve looked at her and said, plainly, “That’s the most fun I’ve had being tortured, ever! Can we do it again?”

And they did—but that’s another story.



Messy Chris’ Adventures in Mud

A Messy Makeup, by shoksy

A Messy Makeup, by (m/f, messy play, pies, sex)

Part 1

Jake checked his cart one more time. Did he have everything he needed? He wanted to make sure that this night was something Sara would really love. He felt so bad about forgetting their anniversary, even though Sara had said it was okay. So he decided to makeup for it by setting up a night of messy play. He had planned it all out, was buying the suppyies now, and would go back to their place and set it up. It had been a couple months since he actually had surprised her with a good gunging, and she always loved it when he did.

Jake picked up one more can of whipped cream before he checked out, then went back to the apartment. He put the chocolate cream pies and whipped cream he had boughten in the fridge, to keep them cool till Sara got home, and placed the rest of the materials on the kitchen counter. Three cans of chocolate frosting, three cans of vanilla, 5 bags of brownie batter, 2 french vanilla cake mixes, plus the 4 pies in the fridge, and 2 cans of whipped cream. “Ya, this is enough to get Sara dripping in goo” Jake thought with a big smile on his face.

He went to work covering the kitchen and dinning room floors with the clear plastic painters tarps they kept around for these occasions, making sure to lead a trail off to the bathroom for afterwards. Looking down at his watch Jake realized time had slipped away from him, and Sara should be home any minute now. He quickly arranged the supplies on the counter so he would have easy access to them, then hurried into the bedroom to get himself ready.

Sara’s key jiggled in the lock, a second later she opened the door to the apartment and walked in. As she hung up her jacket she felt those oh so familiar arms wrap around her waist, and those soft lips she loved so much gently kiss the back of her neck. She felt something else too though, something slick touching the top of the back of her legs. Sara turned around to find Jake wearing nothing but a pair of black, tight, plastic briefs, and a big grin on his face.

“Got something planned hmmmmmm?” Sara asked with an inquisited look on her face.

“You bet I do!” Jake quickly responded. “I know our anniversay was yesterday, and you said it was okay that we didn’t do anything, but it’s really not. I wanna celebrate our love for one another… and have some fun doing it too.”

Sara looked at Jake with a smile spreading across her face, “wanna help me with my zipper? I know you already have my outfit waiting”

Jake let out a little chuckle, then *very slowly helped Sara take off her clothing, and even got in a few gropes as they headed back to the bedroom to put her outfit on. Jake dressed her in a white plastic tunic top and clear plastic panties. They stood in the bedroom for a bit, hugging and kissing. Letting their plastic outfits rustle against one another. Jake finally pulled away from the kiss and took Sara’s hand in his, then lead her out to the dinning room.

Sara lay on the plastic covered dinning room table, waiting for Jake to return from the kitchen. Jake finally appeared in the entry way to the room, holding a very large bowl. “So, is there a theme to this night?” Sara asked.

“Well, most couples share some kind of cake or dessert for their anniversary, so I figured we could just make each other into some instead” Jake grinned as he replyed back to her. “Oh goodie, does this mean I get to get you back good?” Sara asked with a gleam in her eye.

“Yup” Jake answered with a smile. “I got enough stuff for you to have your way with me.”

Sara giggled at that, but her giggling turned into a gasp when Jake poured the contents of his bowel, the french vanilla cake mix, down her tunic. Slowly he spread it around her chest and stomach with his hands on top of the plastic. Sara closed her eyes and just consitrated on the goo running over her erect nipples, and slidding down her back. She just laid there, eyes still closed, for a while, until she realized Jake was gone. She opened her eyes again to see him re-entering the room, carring 3 containers of frosting. He placed them on the table and opened each one. Then grinned down at Sara before he placed a hand in one jar and scooped out almost all of its contents. Slowly, mathotically, he spread it across the white plastic covering her chest, gentely playing with her nipples through the plastic. While scooping up another handful of frosting, Jake leaned in and softly kissed Sara then before their lips parted, he smeared the contents of his hand all over her plastic clad crotch. Sara broke the kiss, letting out a moan as she did so. Jake moved down her body more and carefully finished spreading the frosting on, till she had a nice layer covering all of the plastic. Then giving her a quick kiss, Jake said he would be right back.

When he returned both his hands were behind his back. He leaned down and placed something on the ground, but Sara coun’t see what. When he stood back up, she could very clearly see the whip cream can in his hand. He popped the top, and slowly spelled out “Happy Anniversary” on top of the frosting. When he was done he smiled big, leaned in and kisssed Sara very passionately. When their lips finally parted he whispered to her “Happy Anniversary Sara, I love you” and then grabbed his camera and stood up to take a picture.

“Oh I knew you couldn’t resist” Sara laughed.

“You know it.” Jake replied. But after taking only one picture he put the camera down. “Wait, somethings missing.”

“What?” Sara asked with a puzzled look on her face.

At that Jake leaned down and picked up the object he had placed on the floor earlier. Sara got just a glimps of the chocolate cream pie before Jake smeared it into her face, and very slowly removed the tin. Carefully, Sara cleaned off her eyes and mouth, then a big grin spread across her face and all she said was “Cheese!!” at that Jake clicked off a few more pictures, then helped Sara off the table… it was her turn now.

Part 2

Jake laid impatiently on the kitchen table, blindfolded. Sara had covered his eyes with a scarf to keep him in a bit more suspence since he already knew the supplies she had to work with. He heard her squishy footsteps approach from the kitchen. Next thing he knew he could feel the coolness of the brownie batter flowing into his briefs. Slowly inching its way down around his erect member. Sara smiled at the low moans that were coming from Jakes mouth as she finished pouring. She smiled big at her work, and trotted off to the kitchen for more supplies. When she came back into the room, Jake was still squirming on the table, brownie batter ozzing out of the plastic briefs. She popped open the three containers of chocolate frosting, and scooped out all the contents onto his chest. Then, with both hands, she *very slowly spread it all over. Carressing and massaging his chest as she did so. Tracing over his nipples with her chocolate covered fingers, sliding her palms down across his belly button. Turning his chest into a layer of milk chocolate frosting.

Jake heard the lid to the other bottle of whip cream being popped off, as Sara slowly started writing with it on his chest.

“It was our anniversary Jake.” She said to him. “So I want everyone to know your mine.” Right after Jake stopped hearing the can spraying, he heard the click of the polaroid camera they had… then felt Sara’s soft lips press to his and he eagerly contributed to a deep, passionate kiss. When she parted from his lips, she removed his blindfold and handed him the polaroid. He could see what she had written on his chest, and laughed as he read the word “Taken! Boy Toy! Sara’s Sex Slave!” And the writing on his crotch read “Sara’s binki” A huge smile spread across Jake’s mouth when he saw that, he looked up and saw Sara smiling too. He only got a to see her beautiful smile for a second though, before Sara planted one of the pies into Jake’s face and rubbed it in before removing the tin. He waited a few seconds before cleaning off his eyes and mouth. When he was done he opened his eyes just in time to see Sara disapear into the kitchen again.

Sara turned around from the fridge with one of the last 2 pies in her hand, and found Jake standing right behind her. “Got plans for that?” He asked as he placed a finger in it and sucked the contents off.

“Ya I do, I was gonna smear this one all over your head, unless you have a better idea.” Sara grinned at him.

“Actually, I do.” Jake replyed and took the pie in Sara’s hand, and the other one from the fridge, and placed them on the counter. Then he placed both of his hands on the neck of Sara’s tunic, and with one quick motion, riped it from her body. Before she even had a chance to say anything, Jake had her pressed to him, lips locked to one another. Just as Sara got really into it though, he pulled away.

“All the frosting was on the plastic.” He said. “Now that its gone, your chest needs something more.” At that he picked up both of the pies, and with a huge grin planted both onto her chest, rubbing them in. After throwing the tins to the side, he laid Sara onto the kitchen floor and stradled her as he slowly rubbed the pie contents around a bit. Sara moaned as he massaged her chest with his hands. The coolness of the pies caused her nipples to get errect quickly, and upon feeling them Jake leaned down and began to suck softly on her right breast. After cleaning that one off, he moved over to her left. Then slowly up her neck to her lips where they engaged in another passionate kiss. By now both were quite turned on, so when the kiss broke this time, both knew what the reason was for. Sara leaned down and ripped Jake’s briefs on. Quickly, she went to work on licking all the brownie batter off of his hard member. When she was done, slowly, she licked her way back up to his lips and softly kissed him. Now it was Jakes turn. He made fast work of her panties in the same maner the he had done her tunic. And in a minute his tongue had her crotch pretty well clear of the vanilla cake mix. He looked up at Sara, her wanting eyes were all the sign he needed. Jake slide back up her body, wrapped his arms around her, and slid himself inside. Both let out moans in unison, and made passionate love there on the kitchen floor, coming together. Slowly, Jake slid off of Sara’s body, and lay next to her cuddling.

Sara rolled over and softly kissed Jake, then looked deep into his eyes. “I love you”

“I love you too.” Jake replyed smiling at her. “Happy anniversay darling.”

Sara smiled back “This was a great makeup hon. But what are you gonna do if you miss another anniversary?”

“Well, guess I’ll just have to think of something better then this to make up for that then.” Jake said.

“Hmmmm… I’ll decide in the shower if you forgetting our anniversary is really a bad thing.” Sara giggled. Then she took Jake’s hand and they walked off to the bathroom, the gunge that had dripped its way down to their feet squishing on the plastic as they went.

The End

Leaving Day Present, by Oliver

Leaving Day Present ===================

Samantha had worked at the same office for well over three years and decided that it was time for a change. Thoughts of her leaving day and well deserved break before starting her new job filled her mind. She was a pretty girl, standing about 5′ 5″ tall with a neatly cut long, blonde bob and piercing blue eyes. Although her face was rounded she was none the less attractive and always made the boys heads turn when she wore her favourite short skirts. On her leaving day Samantha was smartly dressed in a ribbed, white bodysuit which did nothing to hide her ample chest and lacy white bra beneath, a way-above the knee, wrap-around lime green skirt and matching jacket. Her lovely long tanned legs were set off rather nicely by a sytlish pair of black suede high heels. Much to Samantha’s disgust she had heard rumours about what happened when people left the company. Apparentlty one girl had a bucket of custard tipped over her and another had been assulted with a rather large cheesecake! The thought of this made poor Samantha quivver all over…

Come late afternoon everyone in the office had gathered around Samantha’s desk in order to give her a really big send off. After all she was a very popular girl. However, her boss, a rather plump middle aged woman called Linda, asked if everyone would like to step outside the building to watch her recieve her leaving present. Poor Samantha feared the worst…

It was a warm summer’s day outside so she felt rather comfortable just standing their in the cool breeze. Her worse fears, however, were confirmed when Sarah, one of the typists, walked from the building carrying what looked like a huge white cake. As Sarah approached Samantha became aware of the fact that it was not a cake, but indeed layer uopn layer of thick oozey white icing. Samantha shivvered with anticipation of what might happen to her. The cardboard plate that the huge cake sat upon must have been about 10 inches in diameter and maybe topped with cream filling a foot deep. Suddenly Linda spoke…

“Well we’d all like to thank you for all of the effort you have put in over the last three years Samantha, as as a token of our gratitude we love to present you with this lovely whipped cream pie”

Much to her amazement she was mearly handed the pie by Sarah.

“Why don’t you have a carefully look at it”, quipped Linda.

With that Samantha peered right in close to the surface of the pie. In tiny letter the following words were etched in icing.

“Ha! Ha! Got you!”

Without any warning Sam felt a hand raise the pie’s dish and before she could even screw up her little button nose the pie made contact with her face. Due to the depth of the pie it felt like an eterntiy before the thick cream stopped squeezing all over her face and hair.


She gasped as the sweet, sticky filling mashed and oozed all over her pretty face and shuddered as a huge lump of soft cream broke away from the mass of goo covering her face and plopped silently over her chest and deep womanly cleavage. Just for good measure the person pieing poor Sam began to rub the pie dish, first all around her face and then over her shiney blonde locks. By the time the dish had lost it’s adhesion pretty Samantha’s head was nothing more than a creamy wasteland of fluffy, white pie filling. Very softly and femininely she raised her fingers to her face and gently wiped the cream from her eyes. All she could see was a lot of blurred collegues laughing at her. Poor Samantha turned bright red, but this was not really evident beneath her white creamy face pack. She felt humiliated, but the fun was far from over…

It just so happened that the company she was leaving made cosmetics and soap. One bright spark in the warehouse struck upon the idea of using one of the huge plastic container to gunge her with! But, with what? Evetually it was decided that the contained was to be filled with 5 gallons of very thick, green shampoo! After the vesel was filled it was placed next to the slightly weary looking Samantha. Linda piped up again.

“Sorry about that Samantha, what say we give you a nice hair wash to get all of that pie out?”

Samantha, screamed with shock as suddenly a huge bucket of freezing water was hurled mercilessly at her. It managed to drench her tight bodysuit and skirt, but did little to clean her cream face and blonde locks. Poor Samantha was beginning to wish she’d choosen a darker colour bra and top than white as her busty outline began to push through the sodden tight material.

“No, it’s not working!”, sighed Linda “We’ll have to use the shampoo!”

The whole of the office staff went deadly quite as two of the warehouse men picked up the heavy looking container full of stiff green goo and began to raise it just above her head.

“Ready for your hairwash?”, laughted Linda

Poor Samamtha let out a tiny little squeal as the cold, gooey liquid started to poor thickly all over her head. With her eyes and mouth tightly shut her whole head very rapidly began to become emerced in the flowing wave of green ooze. It wasn’t long before the shampoo had found a natural path down Samantha’s once beautiful blonde locks and then over her shoulders. If she had fears about the bucket of water exposing her breasts through her tight top and white bra, then she’d have been twice as shocked to see what her male collegues were feasting their eyes on. The slippery shampoo was now starting to engulf her bodysuit, thickly rolling down the outline of her ample chest. The clingy white bodice and bra was now nearly transparent.

Eventually the flow of cold gooey liquid above her ceased and Samantha slowly reached up with her hands to slick back her long blonde hair. Again she wiped the goo from her eyes with her fingers and peered out to see people laughing and pointing at her. What was even worse was the fact that although her gunging had finished the flow of shampoo running down her body was beginning to engulf her short skirt. Samantha wiggled her legs slightly in order to shake some off, but her lovely lime green skirt was stuck fast to her thighs and bottom. Resinging her self to the slippery mess she just remained still as the runny goo effortlessly made it path down her shapley legs, forming a large puddle of green liquid around her shoes.

“Are you OK?”, asked Linda quietly.

“I don’t know…”, sobbed poor Samantha looking up mornfully. “How am I ever going to get cleaned up?”

“Don’t worry!”, replied Linda. “It’ll all wash out and we have some spare clothes for you to change into afterwards.

Samantha now felt a little better about her leaving present, but was still fearful about what was next to come.

“So, what happens next?”, she equired

“We have to show you off to everyone. It would be a shame for everyone to miss the fun!”, smiled Linda.

Samantha felt a little confused at this, but all became clear as one of the warehouse men approached her pushing a large wheelbarrow. To her shock it was filled to the brim with even more green, mushy liquid soap.

“Climb in!”, ordered Linda

Very slowly Samantha lowered her lovely little bottom towards the soft, green mess and pushed it firmly down. Steadying herself she grabbed hold of the side of the barrow and got herself as comfy as possible. All of the time she could feel the wet liquid soap squeezing around her legs and skirt. Quite a lot of it oozed past her fingers as displacement forced a great wave of the stuff down the sides of the barrow. Eventually, after a bit of squirming about she was ready.

How everyone cheered as she was wheeled around the office complex squeling and kicking her legs with embarrassment. Many of the people there couldn’t believe what they were seeing. A smartly dressed office girl completely smeared in pie and soap having the ride of her life. By the time Samantha climbed out of the barrow the back and bottom of her outfit was just a wash with the soft, green liquid.

What a day it had been!

Lauri’s Further Adventures, by Lauri Pi

At the crack of dawn Sunday, Debra woke me up with a pitcher of ice cold tea which she poured all over me. The bed has a rubber sheet on the bottom so I was left lying in a puddle of cold water. I rolled over and got completely soaked getting up. As I stood in front of her she took a big blob of marshmellow and stuffed it in my bra and massaged my boobs until it spread.

After breakfast we went to the super market for groceries and some “other stuff.” We bought Karo Syrup, bannanas from the bargain rack, soft and gooey. Also pudding and yougert. On the way out she stopped and bought two huge cream pies (12″ by about 8″) and had them bagged seperatly. I asked her what they were for because we have a whole bunch at home.

“None of your business,” She answered. “You will find out soon enough.” I did.

As we went to our car Debra stopped me and said, “Drop em!” I was mortified, but did as I was told even though I was beet red and ashamed. However it was exciting even though I was terribly embarressed. She took one of the pies, aluminum plate and all and pushed it down my panties and I had to drive home. It felt so good and I now know why I love Debra so.

When we got home we cleaned and than went for a walk in the park and I still had the pie in my panties. Every once in a while a piece would fall down my leg and soon I had a convoy of dogs following us. After the walk we went home and had lunch, which consisted of pasta and sauce and baked beans and brown bread, which as you can guess is on me and in my bra, panties, stockings and shoes.

After lunch Debra announced that I was to have the beautiful cream pie for dessert.

“Oh wow,” I said, “when can I have it?”

“Right now,” was the answer. She ordered me to my knees and placed the pie on the floor in front of me but just out of reach. “There you are, sweetheart,” she said and added, “you must not move forward and place your hands behind your back”. I did so and she quickly put handcuffs on my wrists. As I stretched to get at the pie I lost my balance, she put it just out of reach, and went face first into the pie. I struggled to get up but she said I had to finish it before she would unshackle me. I struggled with the pie and even got my hair a mess as I rolled around trying to finish it.

After dessert I was allowed to clean up and change my clothes. Later on in the day some of Debby’s friends came over for a card game. I was told to dress nicely so that the friends wouldn’t be insulted. So I wore a dress suit with a V-necked blouse and stockings, garter belt and lovely black shoes. As I was to serve the ladies sat down and played and I rushed around taking there orders. Soon I spilled a little of a drink on one of the ladies and Debby took me over to the sideboard where the pies were and told me, “Don’t you spill another drop!!!” Then she took one of the pies and put it down my blouse and boobs. I went back to serving and soon some pie fell on another of the ladies and I received another pie. The messier I got the more I soiled the guests the more pies I got. Soon the pies were gone and we finished the Afternoon with choclate syrup and carmel topping. As the afternoon ended I was deleriously happy and had a wonderful Sunday.

LauRI’s Messy Day, by Lauri Pi

This morning my friend Debra came over to help with housecleaning. She is very industrious and set right to work. Soon she found five over-ripe bananas, all black and soft. She went to her car and brought back a diaper and made me put it on and said, “You must wear this until I come back tomorrow. Maybe in the AM but maybe not till night time.” Then she stuffed the bananas in the diaper and made me sit on the chair.

After we mopped the floor and dusted she decided to cook. Soon we had pasta, tomato sauce and were working on dessert. I asked what kind of dessert and she told me to mind my own business and to kneel. She put pasta and sauce down the front of my panties and then realising what she had done, quickly took most out, put it in the bowl and fed me lunch. As I ate my lunch she mixed up batter for a cake and poured it into the baking dish.

She had a lot left over and when I made fun of her about it she poured the rest over my head, ruining my hair do and dripping down inside my dress and around my boobs. “There, that will teach you,” she said. “Any more of that and I’ll really get you.”

Unfortunatly it is raining today and she had me take out the garbage and as I walked down the back path and fell headlong into the muddy path. From head to foot I was mud. Debra took me inside and gave me a new set of clothes including lingerie (bra, bloomers, and slip) that were too tight for me. She insisted I wear them; I struggled to put them on. The panties squished the bananas in my diaper and she put more sauce down the front.

Wow, I am a mess, but really excited. She has gone to get some cream pies and promisises a real tough time tomorrow whenever she gets here. Until then, LauriPi

Kerry Cross-Dressed, by By Kerry Samson

This story is about a session I made today in a girls’ school uniform. If this freaks you out, I apologise; read on and I’ll explain.

First of all, I am not a transvestite. I have never attempted to pass for, or feel like, a girl; I have never worn full underwear and make-up, and don’t wear a wig; I’m only interested in the feel of the clothes, and how they react to getting wet and messy; it makes women in WAM situations, like the ones I draw and write about, easier to visualise realistically if I’ve experienced the clothing first hand. Some cross-dressers create a female alter ego for when they dress up; while there is some of my personality in most of my characters (Sandra is the closest I have to a female alter ego) I have never attempted to become any of them. I am totally comfortable with my sexuality.

In various chat-rooms I discovered I was not the only male wammer to have tried such experiments; I’ve spoken to a lot of others who have done so, but who are shy in admitting it until they realise there are many others, and that it doesn’t mean they’re gay (I started experimenting as an adolescent because I was starting to harbour fantasies about some of the girls at school, and experiencing their clothing made the fantasies better..). I personally was extremely shy about it myself until I spoke to Tarisha Jay (see Links page) and a few others. Since then I’ve met many more who are in the closet about it, but who are glad of the chance to discuss it once they know they aren’t alone.

It’s from speaking to these people, and from the development of my WAM artwork and stories (there were some ideas I wanted to try before writing or drawing), that I decided to do another cross-dressed session. I hadn’t done so in some time, mainly due to the difficulty of obtaining the clothes. My last cross-dressed session was last summer, whilst visiting my parents, in clothes borrowed from the attic; the Cleaning Spree story on my website is based on that session.

I decided on a school uniform for two reasons; firstly, as you may have noticed from this site, I’ve a particular fondness for wet school uniforms; it was my favourite WAM costume as a teen, and a focus for my c/dressing experiments at the time (see WAM Secrecy). Secondly, it’s an easier outfit to go and buy, as it happens to be a popular fancy dress costume, especially in a student dominated area like where I live.

I spent an afternoon going round charity shops; in each, I sheepishly told the lady behind the counter that I needed a girl’s school uniform for a party. Of course, they thought the sight of this obviously embarrassed man shopping for female attire hilarious and were really keen to help, even going out to the back to see if anything suitable had just come in. At first, I was really embarrassed, but that was OK, it fitted the story. As I went round more shops, my confidence grew, and I started joking about it.

As valentine’s day was approaching, several students were out shopping for crazy clothes for various parties, so my shopping for a girls’ uniform wasn’t out of place. I ended up meeting the same groups of people around the shops, including a group of girls who I’d first met when I was trying some skirts; they were looking for loud, bad taste outfits for their party. The assistant asked why no-one ever dressed pretty for parties anymore. “Hey, I’m dressing pretty,” I said.

From various shops, I finally assembled the following; a calf length grey skirt; a pair of black tights; a navy and light blue striped school tie and a navy jumper, with a logo on the chest. I decided to wear one of my own shirts rather than get a blouse, and was unfortunately unable to find a suitable pair of shoes in my size, but by now I had what I’d come for.

I tried everything on at home; the loose calf length skirt felt great dry, and I was to find it felt even better wet. It was made of knitted acrylic, with a nylon lining that felt great against the legs, and made wearing tights with it totally unnecessary. I matched it with the navy jumper, blue tie and one of my own white shirts. The uniform looked and felt great, and I couldn’t wait to gunge it. I had to hand a few cans of shaving foam and a bottle of green foam bath, but decided it would be so much better to save the outfit for a much bigger, more special wamming.

The next morning I had some things to sort out in town; all the time I was looking forward to the gunging that awaited when I made it home. I stopped by at the supermarket and bought a carton of custard, three cans of cream of tomato soup, and a bottle of lemonade. I headed home to get started.

I changed into the school uniform, opened the cans and took everything into the bathroom. I filled the bottom of the bath with shaving foam and foam bath, leaving it ankle deep in green slime. I sat down in the bath; the gunge wrapped around my ankles and bottom, and I could feel it as a soft, slimy layer beneath my skirt. I took the carton of custard and poured it carefully over my head, letting it run down my face, around my shoulders and feeling it slop down my front into my lap. Some went in my mouth; it tasted sweet and creamy. Ready-made custard has now joined shaving foam on my list of essential WAM substances; this felt great.

I poured the tomato soup over my head and shoulders and stood up to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Some of the cold soup mixed with the custard and went into my mouth – surprisingly enough they didn’t taste too bad together. I loved the sight in the mirror; there was a cascade of yellow and red from my head and shoulders, running down my jumper, in lines down the skirt and dripping with loud splotts into the green slime in the bath. I spread the custard and soup more evenly around my jumper, took the two-litre bottle of lemonade and sat back down. Now there may be some messy purists wondering about my use of lemonade; you may think it would just wash me off, get me too clean. Read on…

As I opened the bottle, I was slightly disappointed that it didn’t fizz up out of the bottle; maybe I should have shaken it up some more. But when I poured it all over, I loved the fizzy feeling of it hitting my body and clothing, the way it finally soaked the uniform through to the skin, and in particular the way it mixed with the creamy custard, shaving foam and soup to make a reddish brown, frothy, creamy liquid gunge in the bath. This turned out to be the best gunge I’ve made; smooth, slimy, viscous, sweet smelling and looks fantastic on clothing. The skirt was soaking up the gunge brilliantly, with a lot trapped between the skirt and the lining, so a single wring would bring loads of slime frothing back down into the bath.

I played in the mixture for some time; I’ll have to remember that recipe… shaving foam, foam bath, ready made custard, cream of tomato soup and the final, secret ingredient that brought it all together; lemonade. By this time, the bath was very messy, and I was ready to move on. So I turned on the taps and topped up the bath with warm water, ending with a bath of gooey red liquid topped with a light green creamy, foamy residue.

I spent some time trying different things, checking the reaction of the different parts of the uniform to the water, observing the way the skirt billowed as I sat down or slid into the water, and how easily came back up out of the water when I got out. While I had worn skirts in the bath before as a teenager, it was great to remind myself of the way they behave in water, which I can work into future stories and artwork.

Finally I pulled the plug and let the water drain away around by body, feeling it pulling down on my skirt and jumper as it went. I got up, releasing the last of the liquid trapped under my back and shoulders, and pulled round the shower curtain. If you’ve ever tried clothed showers and baths before, you’ll know that they are two very different experiences, with different feelings and effects according to the outfit. In this case, the school uniform felt tremendous under the shower, as I washed the gunge out of my hair, rinsed out my jumper, shirt and tie, completely soaking it with warm water, took the shower from the holder and trained it on my skirt. Having thoroughly rinsed the skirt, I lifted the hem and rinsed around the lining.

When I finally switched the shower off, the warm, saturated uniform felt fantastic; I stood there for some time, savouring the feeling, not wanting to take off the wet clothes and end the experience. In the end I wrung out the excess water from the skirt and just kept the wet clothes on as I cleaned up the bathroom and threw out the empty cans, stepping back into the bath every now and then to wring off more excess water that was dripping to the floor.

The tidy up complete, I went into my room. Hell, I still didn’t want to take the wet clothes off yet; while the water had cooled, my body heat was warming the damp clothes, and with the heater on, I wasn’t feeling too cold, so I decided to keep the wet uniform on for a few hours; I’m still wearing it now as I write this account, plastic bags on the computer chair and on the floor to catch any dripping and a towel to hand to keep my hands dry for typing. And the feeling of the damp clothes, warmed by my body heat and drying whilst wearing them is a brilliant end to a memorable session.

Occupational Hazard

Occupational Hazard

Today was the big day. Vickie had taken this job just for the reason of being able to leave the position. While that is probably true of many people, Vickie had a different reasoning behind her desire.

Vickie worked second shift at the Big Town Market bakery department. She knew of the tradition that the bakery had of giving a person their “Just Desserts” on their last day on the job, even though she had never openly admitted it. She had overheard the stories as a young girl, and it was this knowledge that had secretly pushed Vickie to apply for the job. Throughout her life she had always felt a special “tingling” inside whenever she would see any classic slapstick on tv where some lovely lady, dressed up in a beautiful gown, would walk into a room and be met face first with some creamy pastry. She had tried to recreate this by using the suds from her bubble bath, but knew it didn’t have the same impact.

So Vickie got dressed for her final day, nearly shaking with anticipation. She had thought about this day many times, trying to imagine how she should react to make it seem like a surprise, how her co-workers would go about the task of humiliating her. Should she open her mouth in a big “O” of shock, or deliver a tight lipped whine of disgust. Would they cover her up in a rain poncho and shower cap and only mess up her face a little, or would they strip her down to her bra and panties and totally blanket her body.

Well only time would tell, so she put on her favorite black bra and panties to be covered by her uniform of a white top and dark blue pants. The pants were a size or two too small, but the tight look worked well for her. She carried her paper hat that would be used to keep her strawberry blonde hair from getting in the food in a duffle bag with her street clothes hat she would need to wear home. The uniform would have to be turned in at the end of the shift. She looked at herself in the mirror hoping the next time she saw herself in the mirror she would be admiring her 5’5″ 110lb body, that was kept well firmed by her skating training, covered in confections.

If the other two bakery workers were planning anything, they hid it very well. Vickie saw no signs of it on their faces or in their mannerisms. She even attempted to push them a little by saying things like “Gee Olivia, I sure will miss you guys when I’m back at college” and “Hey Wendy, what does the store give you as a going away gift after only 4 months of service?”, but still no hints. She half expected something during her dinner break, but was disappointed again. The bakery dept. closed at 10pm, even though the store didn’t close until 11, to give the staff time to clean up and get things ready for the morning shift. She had pretty well given up hope, and was thinking of ways of taking home a couple of leftovers, when her dreams came true.

Olivia handed her a couple of empty trays into the back to wash off, and after passing through the swinging doors and placing them on the counter she heard Wendy say “Wait, here’s another one”. Vickie turned, and was greeted with a sticky sweet darkness. She had been hit with a simple white cake, that was covered with at least four inches of pink cherry frosting. Wendy had pushed the cake in her face, and then tactfully twisted it and removed the cardboard to uncover Vickie’s face, fully covered with one big swirl of frosting.

It took Vickie two full attempts to pull enough frosting from her eyes with her fingertips to be able to see again. Just in time to see Olivia standing next to her holding a huge Meringue pie, and saying “Hair today, gone tomorrow” and with that Olivia removed Vickie’s paper hat and smashed the pie on top of her head. Wendy came back over with both hands full saying “You know, I just can’t decide what to give you as a going away gift, Lemon Chiffon or Banana Cream. Oh what the heck, have ’em both” and plopped both pies into the side of Vickie’s head like cymbals, engulfing her head with cream and pudding with the thick crusts clutching to her cheeks.

Vickie was no longer wondering what else was happening on the outside of her pastry prison, because inside she was feeling “Special” all over. She wondered at first if one of them had sprayed water on the front of her pants, but after wiping her hand past there, she realized that she was only moist on the inside of her panties. The onslaught continued; Olivia said “Here’s a pearl necklace for ya” and then the spritzing sound of a whipped cream can was heard while a thick bead of cream was placed around her neck. Wendy returned with the two largest eclairs they had ever made, pulled Vickie’s pants out enough to lodge them in front and then placed her right arm around Vickie’s back and her left arm against the eclairs and said “you look like you need a hug” and with that, squeezed the thick custard down her pants. One last treat for you” Olivia said as she walked over with a large plastic bowl of Chocolate Mousse Pudding. Wendy unbuttoned the top two buttons on Vickie’s shirt and Olivia, with one strong shake, freed the contents onto her breasts and then Wendy rebuttoned the shirt back up and patted the mousse down.

The party was over, much to Vickie’s displeasure. She could have stood there all night having pies and cakes tossed onto her. She took a look at her attackers, and noticed that they didn’t come out unscathed themselves. Olivia had a large white blob of cream hanging from her forehead down the side of her face, which was a sharp contrast from the flawless dark skin Olivia possessed. She figured that it must have been some shrapnel from the pie sandwich. Wendy had also unwittingly wiped a fair amount of the chocolate mousse into the sides of her blonde hair, and had spots of whipped cream dotted all around her face.

They laughed along with Vickie for a while and were amazed over how good natured she was in allowing them to do all this to her without her getting angry. They then sent her on her way to the staff bathroom to clean up and go home. Vickie closed herself in and found that the ladies had left a half dozen large towels out for her and had her duffle bag already inside. They really had planned ahead for all this. Vickie took her shirt off and dropped it into a plastic bag in the corner of the room. She noticed how the mousse had clung thickly to her front and totally filled her cleavage. Then she pulled her pants off and tossed them into the bag. Her panties and thighs were coated with the custard, and she could no longer tell if her panties were stickier on the inside or on the outside. She removed her panties and took off her bra to free herself of the messy clothes.

She stood back and admired herself in the mirror, her hair fully clotted with meringue, and her face layered with pudding and cream leading to the thick underlayer of pink frosting which she now wore like a mask, a thick ring of cream surrounding her neck, chocolate spread all over her firm breasts and stomach, and the spray of custard oozing down the front o her legs. It was better than should could ever have dreamed, and she wondered if there was any way that she could do this for a career.

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


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… (

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.



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?”


Back to Shokolada’s Messy Stories archive

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


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.*



Back to Shokolada’s Messy Stories archive

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


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.


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.”


Back to Shokolada’s Messy Stories archive

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


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 (

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.