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… (shokolada@chocmess.com)

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 (SpinyNorman_and_Frilly@compuserve.com)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The Gunge Pocket, by Messmaster

This is Based On a True Story! I knocked on her door, almost unable to stop trembling from excitment. I’ve done it with plenty of whipped cream, chocolate, baby oil, and other slimy stuff. But this girl was outrageous. She said that tonight, we would get even messier than ever before.

She came to the door almost immediately and opened it wearing a tiny bikini. I stood there and stared at her body. Her smooth, tan skin wrapped tightly around her perfect body. The way her waist met her hips would put the “C” on “Curve.” Without a word, she grabbed my arm and pulled me in. She pulled me to the bedroom and immediately started kissing me all over. I tried to kiss her back, but she started going lower toward my neck. She started unbuttoning my shirt as she kissed even lower. As her head went down, I could see past her to the bed, or at least that’s what it used to be.

I could see by the candle light that she had outlined the edge of the bed in pillows or something, making an indentation in the middle, then covered the entire bed in a plastic sheet. It was a pit. Then I noticed that all around the room were big jars and containers. I looked at them more closely and saw a few labels: “Custard.” “Straberry Jam.” “Baby Oil.” It was a gunge pit. There were towels lining the floor around the bed.

My heart started beating even faster as I finally realized the extent of what I was really getting into. She came back up, looked me in my eyes, and I realized that my pants were now at my ankles. I kissed her sensuously as my hands, behind her, untied her bikini top. We kissed and undressed each other passionately as we moved closer to the bed.

When we got to the bed, we were both completely naked and this is when the fun started. She picked up a huge container of jello. I wondered whether she would put it on me or on her, but she fooled me. She poured the chopped jello into the hole on the bed–then ordered me to get on it! So I did. I could feel hundreds of cool, wobbly pieces tickling my legs and butt. By the time I laid down, she had already gotten a huge store-bought can of rice pudding from the other side of the room. She poured it all over me slowly from the neck down. It must have been two gallons–thank god it wasn’t refrigerated! I was concerned that she might not want to get it on my, well, you know… But she didn’t seem to care. She covered me from neck to toe.

Then she went across the room again and this time brought back a pre-opened can of baked beans. Yuck! I was praying that she would get in the pit with me, but she set it beside the bed on the nightstand and reached into the large can with both hands. She didn’t just put this on me; She held fistfulls of it over me and squeezed it through her fingers so that it would be extra slimy. I could hear the sludge as it fell onto me. She smeared and massaged this all over my body. I could hear the slushing sound all this mess made as her soft, messy hands glided over me.

She continued on, going through a half-gallon of heavy whipping cream, a bottle of baby oil, and a jar of jelly. Not a drop of it was on her except on her hands and I was starting to worry that she would play a practical joke on me and leave. But she didn’t. Now she had used all of the stuff from around the room and I was laying there in a huge puddle of slime, contained within the walls made by the pillows and plastic. But the fun was just about to start. There was more stuff right next to the bed.

So she got in, straddling me. I could feel her smooth thighs sliding next to mine. I was rising very quickly, feeling it next to its final destination, separated only by a thin layer of slime. It was all so slimy down there that it almost went in every time she moved a little. She reached for a can of whipped cream, gave it to me, and told me to squirt the entire thing on her chest, and so I did. She took my hands and made me massage it slowly over her breasts and stomach, not missing an inch. She took my hands and glided them over her thighs, too.

Next, she got a big bowl of, well, it looked like porridge or oatmeal or something. It was disgusting, but I loved it! She set the bowl down in our pit and dipped her hands in it and smeared huge wads of it over her entire body and hair, then put the remainder all over me, covering all but my eyes. Then she grabbed two containers of heavy syrup and told me to hold them. She then laid down on top of me, squirming and humping, making sure that as much of her slimy, naked body slid around, in contact with, as possible. Now I could really hear the slurping sound our two messy bodies made and it was really turning me on.

She said, “You know what to do with that syrup, boy.” So I poured them both over her back, butt, and thighs, and head. It took a while for the thick syrup to all come out. I threw the containers on the floor and massaged the syrup all over the back of her as she was still squirming. I hugged her tightly, pressing her slimy body next to mine. I could feel her hard nipples sliding around my chest. She whimpered more and more. She was getting turned on, I could tell.

Then she sat up again and reached for one more bowl -! It was huge! I looked in it and it was what looked like dozens of raw eggs, all mixed up. Shen she slowly poured it over her head, cautious to save some for mine. This was the gooeyest, nastiest substance I have ever felt. Both covered from head to toe in this half-foot-deep river of gunge, we squirmed and smeared the stuff all over each other, mixing it into a brown, smoothly-textured mess, loving every minute. Then she surprized me. She reached over to the side of the bed to a spot I hadn’t checked and pulled out another piece of plastic. I wondered what the hell she would do with that! She laid down on me and mamaged to pull it over us like a bedspread. I thought this was weird and didn’t know why she was doing it. All I wanted to do is have sex. She tucked both ends of the plastic sheet underneath me. It’s like we were in a “gungepocket,” surrounded from all sides with slime and each other. I was liking it more and more. She was still squirming around. Then I felt myself slide inside her. She didn’t seem to care if some got inside her because she was gliding back and forth over me, up and down, making sure to keep her body flush on mine so we could feel the gunge between us. With each and every movement, I could feel the slime squishing through every crevice–our toes, fingers, between and around our bodies–everywhere!

This lasted for about an hour because I couldn’t contain myself. I had to cum. She had already done it several times. It was the most exhaustive experience I had ever had. We laid there, hugging each other tightly, still in our gungepocket. We fell asleep and slept a loooong time. When we woke up, the slime had not dried up since we were all covered up with the plastic “sheet.” So, you know what? We did it again. No lie. It’s based on true story!

The Gunge Booth, by Oliver

Are you comfortable?

…then we’ll begin. This latest epic from the studios of ‘Oliver’ is far from finished. However, I’m getting just a tad miffed with the amount of SPAM filling up our wonderous newsgroup. 872 new items, according to my count, in the last day and only 4 marked WAM:! Come on chaps WE CAN do better…

Enjoy… 😉

The Gunge Booth (Part 1) ========================

A few years ago I was given the unenviable task of getting together a charity even for local hospital. I considered all kind of crazy fund-raising ideas but none seemed that appropriate. One night I was talking to my girlfriend Jessica about the subject. She thought it would be a lot of fun to get people to sit down and have gunge poured all over them. I loved the idea as I knew to would mean that quite a few ladies would end up getting all wet and messy, a thought I really loved. Jess, at the time, was studying for a diploma in beauty and healthcare and went to a women’s college. Imagine my delight when she said that it might be possible to get a team of women together, from the college, to come and get gunged. I was starting to feel very turned-on at the thought of this.

After a great deal of preparation and persuasion on the part of the women at the college the plans were finalised. We were to setup a custom gunge booth on the hospital grounds and spend a Saturday afternoon pouring gooey liquid for all to see. I was in charge for building the gunge booth and also for mixing up lots of buckets of multicoloured slop to tip over my victims. I made very sure that all of the gunge has a wonderfully creamy texture, but was at the same time easy to pour from the bucket. Mostly I used mushy liquids like wallpaper paste and porridge, which I mixed with food colouring for fun. However, Jess certainly came up trumps when see told me that she knew someone who worked at her college refectory. They had kindly donated all sorts of sloppy food for the event and it wasn’t in short supply either. This allowed me to fill even more buckets with lots of gloop like custard, baked beans, mushy peas, semolina, instant whip, mashed potato, chocolate sauce etc. I was really starting to get quite excited about the prospect of gunging the women with all of the mess and couldn’t wait to finish assembling the booth. This this I used and old wardrobe with the top removed. Inside a placed a low wooden stool on which to seat me victim. This was quite a crude arrangement but just superb for getting the women covered in the right amount of gunge.

The weather was perfect for the charity event, warm and sunny with a cool breeze blowing. I now was completely prepared for my duties. The gunge was mixed, the booth assembled, a garden hose ready to wash the mess out of the ladies clothes and hair (half the fun!) and bucket full of pieces of paper with numbers on them. These would be used to select which women would go into the booth and in what order. I was just starting to feel a little apprehensive about when things would begin to get underway, when I could hear Jess calling for me. As she got closer I noticed that she already had five other women with her. It was some of the ladies from the college!

“Only five”, I said in a rather dissapointed voice.

“No, there’s another twenty-five on their way”, reply Jess.

I couldn’t believe it! I was going to get to gunge and then hose down thirty lovely young ladies, all dressed in nice clothes. The five already present was certain dressed for the occasion. One-in cut down jeans and tight t-shirt, another in a pretty summer dress. This really was going to get very sticky indeed! As the day progressed more and more of the women from the college began to turn up, plus a rapidly growing crowd of on-looker eager to see the victims getting a good pasting. The women from the college were probably, on average, about 20-25 years old, but some a little older. Many of them had really made a good effort to dress up for the occasion.

Finally, after a lot of frustrated waiting around for the festivities to start we eventually managed to settle down the crowd. Each of the woment had been given a small disk with a number on it to pin to their outfit, a bit like a beauty contest. What I was going to do was first draw a number from my bucket to select the victim and then draw a seperate coloured piece of paper saying which bucket would be used for the gunging. The first number I drew was “14” and bucket “F”. Who would be the first lady into the gunge booth?

Path: news.infi.net!news.visi.net!chippy.visi.com!news-out.visi.com!ais.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!news-peer.gsl.net!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: shokolada@chocmess.com (Oliver) Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.wet-and-messy Subject: WAM – Are you… (PT2) Date: 24 May 1997 22:44:52 GMT Lines: 106 Message-ID: <19970524224400.SAA28312@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL, http://www.aol.co.uk Xref: news.infi.net alt.sex.fetish.wet-and-messy:25001

The Gunge Booth (Part 2) ===================

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. A pretty little brunette, wearing a black roll-neck jumper, short pleated, yellow tartan skirt, black tights and high heel suede shoes began to walk pensively towards me. Speaking in a very nervous voice she told me her name was Sarah. I told her not to worry and, taking her hand, helped her to climb into the booth. Sitting down she smoothed her skirt flat and sat cowering, waiting for the gunge to pour. Jess handed me bucket “F” and I peered inside. It was full to the brim with some very gooey looking purple, gunge. The black builder’s bucket was large and very heavy indeed! I climbed up the steps I had erected, next to the booth and took my position, ready to pour. Looking down on Sarah I thought to myself what a shame it would be to ruin her shiney, shoulder length hair and smart clothes, but this wasn’t going to stop me. Very carefully I began to tip of the soft lumpy mess all over her head. Sarah let out a squeal and hung her head, trying to cover her eyes with hands. As I poured the purple goo started to flow all over her lovely hair and splattered onto her shoulders. She had rather ample breasts, which I had a nice ‘birds-eye’ view of from above. Her smart roll- neck jumper wasn’t doing much to conceal them so I made sure the flow of slop slowly ran down over them, forming a large puddle of creamy gunge on her stomach and lap. She was plastered in the stuff and knew it! In a very femine way she ran her finger through her gooey locks trying to displace some of the slime from her hair. Although her roll-neck and mini-skirt had a good, thick covering in the paste, there was still large area of unscathed clothing to cover. As you can imagine a lady wearing a short skirt and tights, when sat down reveals a lot of leg! This was just where the final mass of gunge was headed. Reaching over the booth I managed to dispose of the last dollops of purple mess over her shapely legs, moving the flow of gloop from skirt to knee. I have to admit that the look of runny purple gunge oozing all over her tights and down onto her neat shoes turned me on a great deal. I climbed down the ladder and went to help Sarah out of the booth. She was laughing really hysterically at the messy situation, which made me feel good as it was nice to know she enjoyed the experience. Playfully she wiped a little handful of the sludge across my nose and cheek, so gave her a friendly kiss and led her to the hose.

I was especially looking forwarding to cleaning up Sarah with the hose as most of her outfit was fairly close fitting and black. This was going to look superb soaked with gallons of cold water. As I turned on the hose Sarah stood still, arms by her side and eyes shut just waiting for the torrent of water to hit her. First, I concentrated on her hair and face. After the initial shock of the cold water Sarah started to rinse the gunge from her hair and then twirl round so I could wash down her skirt and jumper. I thought I was going come there and then as the clingy roll-neck started to become drenched and stick to her body, especially her breasts, like a second skin. You could clearly see the outline a nice, lacy bra underneath the wet top. Moving down I began to rinse clean her little tartan skirt, which also clung to her very tightly, mainly round her pert little bottom. Cheekily I pointed the hose up her skirt, but she squealed and jokingly slapped me. Jess also gave me one of her dark stares, so I concentrated on cleaning her tights and shoes. Just the thought of her knickers getting soaked was good enough for me! Washing Sarah’s tights gave me a great amount of pleasure too. They were the kind that were shiney and semi-opaque. Jess wears these alot with skirts, but quite often she will wear them in the bath for me, which I love. Sarah’s tights this time were already quite wet from purple gunge, but I soaked them all the same, enjoying the lovely wet glistening look of them under the hose. Finally, her rather expensive looking pair of black sueue heels went under the gush of clear water, washing away the last dollops of gunge and leaving them as wet and gleaming as her tights. I gave Sarah a final wet hug and a peck on the cheek (Jess’s stare had turned to a scowl, but I didn’t care!) as she waddled off to talk to her friends about the gunging. Well done Sarah!

To be continued…

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Gunge Game, by Jean

Hi, my name is Jean and this story is made up by I wish it did happen to me.

The other day I went round to a girls house called Sarah and to my surprise she called me up to here room and said that tonight at school she was doing this game and she needed a partner. I said yes before she told me what it was about. She later told me that it would involve getting covered in gunge and that we would be playing against a team of twin girls. I then asked her:

The Cooking Class

The Cooking Class

“This week class, we will be working from the Pastries and Desserts portion of our lessons” were the words that Ms. Brent had spoken. Now she was wondering if she would ever be allowed to say anything else in her classroom again. She has been the instructor for all of the cooking courses at the Turlington College for Women for the last six years.

Part of the problem may be that Ms. Brent was only ten years older than the students in her classes, and her 5’3″ 102 pound frame with it’s short red hair, may not get the respect necessary to get the class under control whenever things started to get a little out of hand. This time was no exception.

It’s not exactly clear how things got started. The classroom was filled with the activities of the students preparing their favorite flavors of pie fillings, and practicing the art of whipping cream into a thick heavy topping. The students while hard at work were also, as usual, joking with each other in a good natured way.

None of the comments had seemed to be too harsh in nature, but the last comment heard that was understandable was “In Your face Girl” at which point Susie had turned straight into a flying Banana Cream Pie, which landed with a distinctive PLOP. The pie tin had fallen to the floor, but most of the pie had stayed stuck, covering the beautiful round face and splattering the long black hair of the Oriental Susie. A thick ridge of the whipped cream had created a circle from her forehead to her chin.

Susie quickly cleared the Banana filling from her eyes, grabbed the Chocolate Cream Pie that she was building and headed over to Jennifer. Jennifer’s only mistake had been to have the cooking area nearest to Susie, and to be laughing too uncontrollably to keep Susie from grabbing the back of her head, smooshing the Chocolate Pie into her face and slowly twisting it to ensure it would get the fullest coverage.

All of the students could easily have been models or beauty contestants, with their firm bodies and gorgeous faces, but once the first pie had been tossed, it was every girl for herself, and none of them seemed to back away from the chanced to be fully messed up.

Jennifer was still laughing too hard to retaliate, so Lawanda came to her rescue by firing a pie at Lisa, striking her directly in her ample chest which was loosely covered by a silk blouse. The targets seemed to become the parts of the other girls bodies that they were most envious of. Cream pies started flying from everywhere towards everyone.

Heidi was struck high on her inner thigh, that she was known to barely cover with her short short leather skirts, Gina took two thick shots to her uncovered stomach, and Sally was hit on her lovely bottom. Jennifer took another three thick pies to the head while still laughing right along. Lisa and Lawanda had backed into each other while getting reinforcements and each turned to fire heavy handfuls of whipped cream into the others face.

Ms. Brent mad the foolish mistake of attempting to step in to get things under control, and got a Pie Sandwich of Butterscotch Meringue Pies for her trouble. The feeling of the pudding covering her face and hair, and the crust covering her eyes like a patch secretly excited her, but she knew that wouldn’t be a good explanation to the Dean. So she jumped to the middle of the room waving her arms, and had another wish fulfilled by being pelted with a dozen or so thick Custard Pies that totally covered every part of her.

Heidi, Sally and Gina had finished up with their own little Pie triangle, where each one hit the girl to their right with a Chocolate Mousse Cream Pie that they had each been preparing. Jennifer was still having her own fun, by taking the bowlful of whipped cream that she had made with green food coloring and dumped it onto her own head, massaging it in deeply, and styling her hair into tall green spikes.

It was all Over, and it was All over. The girls had all used up their supplies of pies and cream, and there wasn’t an uncovered face in the room. The students headed back to their dorms to get cleaned as best they could for their next class, and Ms. Brent was left worrying about how she was going to clean the room, but more excited over the prospects of tomorrow’s class, “How to prepare icing, and decorate a cake”.

Cindy’s Chocolate Tan, by MessyBoy

Well, it’s been a while since my last story, but here at last is the third story in the Betty & Cindy Saga! For those of you who don’t know, Betty and Cindy are two teenage girls just starting out into the wild world of foodplay. I’m afraid the first story, Peanut Butter Betty, hasn’t been archived anywhere, including Deja—PLEASE, if ANYONE has this story saved, repost and/or email it to me. The second story, Betty’s Kitchen Raid, IS available in Deja, and you may want to read that before reading this one. That said…here begins…


Cindy smiled. In just a few minutes, her friend Betty would arrive at the family’s luxurious summer home for an afternoon of messy fun. It had been far too long, Cindy thought, since her first experience with messy pleasures—a good two weeks, at least—and it annoyed her that Betty had gone off on her own after they had agreed to work together only. Still, she understood her friend’s position, and so today she wasn’t after revenge—only a little help in a stunt she couldn’t pull off on her own. They would share some experiences this weekend, just not today.

Cindy was at this time the only person in the lakeside house which her family used a few times each year, usually in the Spring. After making sure that no surprise visits would be planned and telling her parents that she and Betty were going to hang around trying out fashions for the new school year (a reasonable excuse, given their fashion-craziness and the fact that Cindy often wanted to get out of the house), Cindy had driven to the store to pick up a few supplies, then come here to prepare. All was ready, she thought, and just when she was about to go mad with anticipation, she heard a car come up the rather worn side road to the secluded property. Peeking out the window, she saw that it was indeed Betty, utilizing her fresh driver’s license and her family’s spare car to make her entrance.

The doorbell rang and Cindy practically jumped to answer it. As she pulled it open Betty smiled and said a slightly meek “Hi.”

Her shyness startled Cindy, and then she realized it might be nervousness. “Don’t worry,” she said with a gentle smile, “All I want you to do is help me set up an experiment I couldn’t do on my own.” Betty looked quite relieved, and smiled happily. Cindy continued. “It will probably take a while, but I’ve got some plans for both of us for tomorrow and the next day.”

“Great!” said Betty, stepping inside and setting her bags down on the carpetted floor. “So are we going to get started, or what?”

Cindy grinned. “We’re going to get started. Come over here.” Betty followed Cindy curiously over to the back of the house, where Cindy opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. She had of course been here before; usually it was to tan, but Betty sensed that Cindy had a very different purpose in mind. The trees surrounding the deck were high enough and dense enough to prevent any sort of onlookers—besides, the whole property was surrounded by a fence far from the house—but not so dense as to block the sunlight. It was perfectly sunny today—not a cloud in the sky, and as it was rather early in the afternoon the warmth was quite comfortable, and soothing. Cindy brought Betty over to the center of the deck, where she had laid out a large inflatable raft. “When I was little we used to take this out to the lake and paddle around in the shallow parts. But now, it’s just what I need.” Betty looked at her quizzically. Cindy grinned. Walking back to the house, she explained.

“You told me about how it felt good to have the messy stuff inside of your clothes, right?” Betty blushed and nodded. Cindy frowned. “There’s no need for blushing between us, is there?” Betty sighed. “It’s just…I don’t know, I’m not sure.” Cindy grasped her hand lightly. “It’s okay,” she said. “I understand. We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Betty looked happy. “Anyway, back to what I was saying,” said Cindy. Betty nodded. “Well, after you said that about it being inside your clothes, I got to thinking. Ever have a candy bar in your pocket, and it melted?”

Betty thought for a second. “No, I don’t…think so…” she said. “Well,” said Cindy, “I started thinking about that and thought it might be a good thing to try. So I decided to get out the raft, and put a bunch of chocolate under my clothes and on top of me, and let the sun melt it!”

By this point they had reached the kitchen, where Cindy paused to open a cabinet and pull out several tasty treats: several enormous bags of chocolate chips, three big bowls of unwrapped Fun Size Three Musketeers, and a single bowl of unwrapped Hershey chocolate bars. When she saw everything laid out on the counter, Betty let out a startled squeal. “What’s wrong?” asked Cindy. “N-nothing…” said Betty. This was proven to be true when she keeled over in a wave of pleasure, rubbing her crotch frantically for a few seconds before regaining control and standing up straight. “It’s just…it…looks so good…” she said breathlessly.

Cindy sighed. “I know you want to do it too. But that’s what you owe me. Anyway, you won’t be totally bored. I got something for you.” She pointed across the room at a pair of videotapes on a table by the TV. “I ordered those in last week from this company, Mess O’ Fun. They’re great.”

Betty gulped. “You mean…like, videos of…messy stuff?” Cindy nodded. “Like…porno?” She said the word with slight revulsion. Cindy shrugged at her. “Give it a try. For me?” Betty’s revulsion collapsed and she smiled. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Okay,” said Cindy, “it’s time to get going. Outside! Help me carry this stuff.” They took all the chocolate morsels outside to the deck and began. Cindy laid down in the raft, which was just the right size to admit her without leaving much space extra. Betty began loading her up with chocolate. First, she began dumping the Fun Size bars down Cindy’s shirt, sneaking a feel at her friend’s breasts while she was at it. This elicited a giggle and an aroused smile from Cindy, which only made Betty feel more confused as she dumped the second bowl of Fun Size bars down Cindy’s pants. Then the big Hershey’s bars—a few down the shirt, and the rest into Cindy’s panties. Betty found herself breathing very heavily as she carefully placed each bar next to Cindy’s sensitive sex. “See,” said Cindy, “I’d never be able to do all this by myself; I’d end up losing half the chocolate trying to get the rest in.” Betty could only nod and hold back her confusing urges. Finally the chocolate chips got dumped all over on top of Cindy’s clothes, most of them on her shirt, although a good number did cover the crotch of her jeans. “Won’t you be hot?” Betty asked.

“Hopefully,” Cindy said, the multiple meanings of the answer all present in her mind. “Now go watch the videos. And thanks for your help.”

“Hey,” Betty said, “I owe it to you.”

Inside, Betty settled down on the sofa and nervously popped in the first of the tapes from Mess O’ Fun. She really didn’t know what to expect but she knew it would probably be unlike anything she’d ever seen before. As the opening title, “Dirty Sherry” slid by she slipped her hand into her pants, fondling herself through the fabric of her panties, and slipping into a hypnotized daze as the beautiful—beautiful? A woman?—Sherry approached a large, gooey, pit of mud…

Meanwhile, back on the deck, Cindy relaxed and felt the sun’s rays work their way towards her. Already the chips on the surface were beginning to glisten with their own melted moisture. Betty had been right, though—she was getting hot, in the literal sense. That was to be expected when one sat in the sun wearing jeans, after all. She watched in anticipation as the chocolate chips began to glob together. Soon…soon.

Betty gasped as Sherry removed her t-shirt, revealing an impressive chest carried in an impressive bra. Whether it was at the video or her response that she gasped at, she wasn’t sure. Yeah, she had gotten a little rowdy with Cindy in the peanut butter, but…but…what was the rationalization she was searching for? All her life she had considered the concept of a girl feeling any attraction towards another girl as disgusting…but here she found herself becoming turned on by this Sherry in the video, who slowly stepped up to the thick mud and stuck her toe in.

It was beginning for Cindy. The big chocolate chunks inside her shirt were beginning to heat up and melt. Slowly, the rate of melting increased. She could feel them spreading and smearing across her skin, trapped within the fabric of her shirt. Each second as they spread, a new bit of her skin was covered, and each new bit of skin was a new pleasure. As the chocolate melted over her breasts and her rock-hard nipples, she started to build towards orgasm…

Betty, as well, was building towards orgasm. Dirty Sherry giggled as she pulled her leg out of the mud, completely coated with a glorious, sexy slime. Betty rubbed herself harder as Sherry sat down in the mud, spreading her legs, and proceeding to stimulate herself by rubbing back and forth in the thickest portions of the filth.

Cindy moaned as the chocolate began to melt in her jeans. She could feel it, even through her panties. It was heavy, just a bit, but more than that, it was as if the chocolate possessed an aura, a presence of its own, which was knocking on her underwear and saying, “Here I come!” Meanwhile the chocolate in her shirt had taken on the feeling of a single mass, slowly oozing amongst itself as the movements of her lungs forced it to move. Some of it was beginning to drip out of her shirt through the arm-holes, but that was okay. She felt the wonderful pile of goo inside her clothes and felt her sexual excitement rising along with the temperature.

Dirty Sherry had completely covered her clothes with mud and had subsequently discarded them, much to Betty’s delight. Both the girl onscreen and the girl on the couch rubbed themselves madly, as Betty began to realize just how much she recognized the beauty of the female body.

And Cindy began to feel the tinges of pleasure as the thick chocolate began to melt within her panties, spreading across her skin as it had above—but instead of finding her breasts, it found her clit, and began slowly massaging it, a blob spreading across it, touching every spot lovingly and remaining there as the rest moved on. She moaned as the goo probed all around her sex, and moaned harder as she realized that it was completely melted. The sun shone at its brightest, its warmth and her pleasure making her lose her senses. The melted chocolate chips covered her face. There was nothing but the chocolate; there never would be anything but the glorious, tasty, enveloping mass which slid over her welcoming body. She moaned louder and louder as she felt herself sink into a world of pure pleasure, a world of warm caresses, where the lover that was chocolate swallowed her, and drew her into her sex…

Betty stood at the door to the house, looking across the deck at the raft. The video was over; she had reached orgasm and understanding at the same time. She saw her friend, the best friend she had ever had, barely recognizable under the chocolate, and she knew for the first time who her friend was, and who she herself was. She slowly walked across the deck, and kneeled beside the raft. She reached her hand out and rested it on Cindy’s face. Cindy was writhing in an unreal pleasure and didn’t seem to notice, even as Betty slowly slid her hand down, across Cindy’s breasts, down her stomach, over her crotch, and finally bringing that hand back up and kissing it. Betty then disrobed, stood naked above her friend, and feeling nothing but love, lowered herself down, sliding into the chocolate next to her friend. At last Cindy felt the presence of her friend, and as she pushed her eyes open to see Betty’s face come close to hers and place its lips upon hers, she realized that the chocolate was not the lover, only the agent of love, and as they embraced each other they both knew that their love would ever be expressed through the messy experiences which they would only engage in together.



Gunge And The Single Girl, by Oliver

Gunge And The Single Girl

(f, food, pies, oil, gunge and a charitable spirit)


Hi! I’m Rebecca, but my friends all call me Beckie. I’m 23 years old and work at a bar right in the centre of town. I love my job and certainly find myself very popular with all of the men who call in. Maybe if I describe myself you’ll see why! I stand about 5’8″ tall, with blue eyes and long, dark curly hair almost down to the small of my back. Because of my height I have fairly long legs and quite a curvy figure. Ever since I was a young teenage girl I have been blessed with a wonderfully large pair of breasts, so I always try squeeze into the tightest of tops!

The reason I am writing this is to tell you about something rather amazing that takes place in the bar every year. Not only being totally crazy at work we love trying to raise money for charity. This is why we always make our best efforts to collect plenty of money in the summer. This event past was a very silly affair, but if I tell you more I’m sure you are just going to love what I got up to. You see, last summer we had a ‘Dare Beckie’ contest which managed to rake in a small fortune for charity. If you’re wondering just what I did please read on…

The basic idea was really just a cheap excuse to repeatedly cover me in lots of different types of goo and gunge. I really did get the lot, but I guess it was all worth it in the end as we raised nearly

Gunge Game, by Jean

Lisa arrived at the supermarket for the evening shift as she did every evening, at five. The short, buxom blonde, her wavy blonde hair cut in a bob, made her way past the checkouts, smiling at one or two of her friends, ignoring the lustful glances of the trolley boys. She was wearing her favourite outfit, a tight designer T-shirt and figure-hugging designer jeans. She liked to dress well – not always easy on a check – out girls’ wage.

She came to the end of the checkouts, and made her way through the door that lead to the staff only area, which consisted of the locker rooms, the cashier’s office, the canteen and the storeroom.

She entered the female changing room, which as usual at this time of day was crowded with women finishing the day shift and starting on the evening one. Lisa was running a little late, and most of the girls on the evening shift were already changed into the passion-killing brown skirt, beige blouse and orange jacket that was the supermarket’s uniform. They stood around chatting to their friends, killing time before they had to go onto the shop floor.

Lisa was slipped out of her jeans and t-shirt. Her figure was certainly on the curvy side, but she wasn’t fat. The buzzer signalling the change of shift sounded, and the others drifted away, leaving Lisa struggling into her uniform. Shit! She was going to be late at the checkout again, and she definitely didn’t want another bollocking from the manager. Hastily she crammed her day clothes into the locker, slammed it and ran out of the changing room.

She was dashing down the corridor towards the stairs, when she remembered that she hadn’t said hello to her friend Jill, who worked in the cashier’s office. She would just stick her head round the door, which was on the way to the stairs.

“Hi Jill, can’t stop, just saying-“

she breathlessly panted into the office. She stopped mid-sentence however, realising the office was empty. She turned to hurry on, but she caught something out of the corner of her eye. On the desk. Cash. A substantial pile of notes. The cashier must have popped to the loo, she realised. A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind in one second.

If she waited any longer, the moment would be gone forever. She darted into the office and helped herself to some high denomination notes, but not so many as would be quickly noticed. There was thousands on the table, and she scooped up what she figured would be about five hundred. Stuffing the notes in her knickers, she fled out of the office and down the stairs.

“Late again, Lisa?” sneered Mr Alcock, the manager of her shift, who Lisa ran into as she hurtled out of the door onto the shop floor.

“Yes Mr Alcock sorry Mr Alcock won’t happen again Mr Alcock” she blurted, hoping that her flushed cheeks would be put down to having hurried rather than elation at her ill gotten gains.

“It’s going to be an hour’s wages docked this time, I’m afraid”

“Fair enough Mr Alcock”, said Lisa, although thinking, “pompous prick!”

That evening’s shift dragged as it never had before. Lisa’s mind was racing with thoughts of the new clothes she was going to buy with the money, the evenings she was going to have. Guilt never entered her head.

“Fuck it” she thought, “I’ve slaved away in this bloody supermarket on slave wages for years; they owe me a new outfit and a couple of pairs of shoes!”

At the end of her shift, she changed back into her casual clothes, and in the loo she fished the notes out of her underwear and stuffed them in her pocket.

Saying goodnight to her friends, she had to fight the urge to run out of the shop singing for joy at her good luck. She quickened her pace on leaving the supermarket, and walked briskly back to her flat, not daring to count her loot until she was safely inside.

Inside the flat, she drew the curtains and emptied the crumpled notes on to the table. Six hundred and twenty five quid! Almost a month’s take-home, for a second’s work. She poured herself a large glass of wine, kicked off her shoes and slumped back in her armchair, scarcely able to take it all in. The money was already burning a hole in her pocket, and she could hardly wait to get to the high street and in to the clothes shops.

Rising early the next day, she put two hundred pounds in her purse, and hid the rest in her undies drawer. The morning and most of the afternoon passed in a joyous whirl of consumer indulgence, as Lisa tried on things with a price tag normally beyond her reach, and more often than not buying them. She returned home at around 3, and after an hour or so of modelling her new purchases, she set off for work.

She had of course realised that the money would be missed sooner or later, but when she climbed the stairs and saw the policeman waiting outside the cashier’s office, terror washed over her like an icy wave. She walked past the office, and glancing in, saw another policeman, the head cashier, Mr Alcock and Jill all looking extremely serious. She managed to control her shaking until she was in the changing room. The place was a commotion.

“Six hundred quid!”

“Broad daylight!”

“It’s got to be Jill!”

Wild theories were flying thick and fast. Lisa suddenly felt a huge weight of guilt sink on to her. Jill was her best friend at the supermarket – and she was about to take the rap for Lisa’s crime.

Lisa caught the voice of Pauline, one of the older women, above the general din.

“What I can’t understand is why the security cameras weren’t set. They’d have got

Betty’s Birthday, by MessyBoy

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

Standard disclaimers apply, comments always welcome.



by MessyBoy


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

Betty’s Kitchen Raid by MessyBoy


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




The Bathing Beauty, by Oliver

The Bathing Beauty (f, swimwear, an unbelievably stick concoction of mess!)


Hi, my name’s Vanessa! If your intrigued by the title of this article then your probably just as confused as I was to start with! This was perhaps the most fun assignment I’ve had for a long time and certainly the stickiest, so read on…

As you’ve probably guessed from the introduction I’m a model. I’ve being doing this now for about three years, ever since I was eighteen. Maybe if I describe myself to you then you’ll understand why. I’m about 5’8″ with long, shoulder length, curly red hair. My eyes are greeny-blue and I measure 38-26-32. As you can see I’m very fortunate in the chest department. The way things always seem to work out mean that I get a lot of lingerie and swimwear assignments. I feel very proud of my body and am not shy of stripping off for the camera. You won’t be surprised to hear that I have entered quite a few wet t-shirt and bikini contests, some of which I have won. But none of this was enough to prepare me for the outrageous situation I was about to end up in.

It all started one rainy October morning. I was just staggering out of bed when I heard the phone ringing. It was my agent calling to see of I was interested in a modeling assignment on the South Coast. This location, to say the least, is a very strange one, but I was reluctant to turn it down for fear of not being able to pay the mortgage that month. A company were making an adult video and wanted a young lady to pose for some sexy shots wearing just a tiny string bikini. I was told that I would not be required to strip any further than that, but there was a good chance I was going to get wet whilst filming. However, they failed to tell me exactly how drenched I was to become. I wasn’t too worried at the time about the fact that my bikini might get soaked, after all I had been in several wet t-shirt contests and they were great fun. So, off I set in my little red car, all the way down to the South Coast to find out more about what exactly would be required of me.

Upon arriving it wasn’t long before they had coaxed me into wriggling into a skimpy, bright pink bikini and patent black high-heels. It was at that point when I finally discovered exactly what was required of me. The producer explained that they were making a messy swimwear video. Basically it was a fetish shoot for guys who liked to see girls in bikinis get covered in custard pies and sloppy mess. I did not mind so much, but they could of told me just what I was letting myself in for! I found it quite amusing that some men would actually get turned on by looking at a girl in a bikini having mess tipped all over her. However, I was quite prepared to be on the receiving end of the goo as long as it wasn’t too cold and squishy. My set was going to consist of me standing in a small rubber pool whilst two guys poured lots of smooth gloop all over my bikini clad body. Oh well! The hourly rate was good! So that’s exactly what they did and videoed everything right down to the very last detail. I just had to writhe around a bit and pretend I was getting really turned on by it all. Just for all of you ‘dripping bikini’ fans here’s a pretty graphic account of what I can remember about the occasion.

The part of the video I was to be cast into was called “Bikini Gunge Fantasy”. Mind you, it wasn’t just my bikini that disappeared beneath the runny slop, my hair, face, shoes etc. You name it – it got ‘Gunged’. Once the camera crew decided that the lighting looked just right something resembling a children’s paddling pool was placed exactly where the action was to be shot. If you’ll pardon the expression a couple of ‘dry’ runs were shot with me standing in the pool, shoes and all, so that they could practice me modeling my rather tight, pink bikini. Once both make-up and the crew had decided I looked ‘sexy’ enough to start filming, the systematic destruction of my bikini clad body was to begin.

The first thing they wanted to do was coat me in cooking oil. As the music began to play I was asked to start dancing as provocatively as possible. So as I began to wiggle and rub my hands over my thighs two eager looking guys began to tip a bottle each of what smelt like sunflower oil all over my bear shoulders. It wasn’t so much cold, but very slippery and the flowing lakes of oil rapidly turned my tiny pink bikini bra a dark, glossy colour. They poured the stuff everywhere, including over my hair, which I was not too pleased about, but nevertheless I tried my best to giggle as I stroked my wet and very greasy body with my palms. The reminents of the oil flowed into the pool making standing in a new pair of heels very difficult indeed. If you thought that patent leather high-heels were shiney, then try pouring oil onto them!

So there I stood, drenched in cooking oil, my bikini wet and very glossy with my now flattened, maine of red hair falling around my shoulders in gooey strands. What more could they want? But they were far from completely sludging me down. The next shot would involve another guy walking up behind me and emptying a two litre urn of warm gravy all over my head. Trying not to grimace I prepared myself for the shock. As the camera rolled the guy carefully raised the large white jug just above my head. For full effect I was asked to lean forward and place both hands on the tops of my legs, my forearms gently squeezing my firm boobs together. The guy with the urn couldn’t contain himself with the sight of my glossy, oiled cleavage and started to empty the vesel in good, thick waves over my hair and face. It was soft, warm and very slippery as it oozed it path over my nose, chin and then dribbled smoothly all over my heaving chest, submerging my bikini bra in a sea of brown sludge. The warm goo seem so inviting that I began rub both hands up and down my belly, smoothing it all in. I freely admit that the sensation of being totally smothered in gravy was rather lovely.

I bet myself earlier on that at some point whipped cream would feature and I was far from wrong. Having only just wiped the gravy from my eyes they wanted to completely ‘cream’ me from head to foot. When I was a little girl I so desperately wanted to be a ballet dancer, who’d of thought ten years later I’d be dancing in a plastic pool, covered in food! However, the idea behind the next shoot was to get me to dance so that I was twirling around in the pool. Obviously, the guys (and viewers) could get maximum coverage and a view of my poor body being smothered in that sticky canned cream. So as I began to turn around as sexily as I could two steady jets of fluffy cream were directed up and down. This smothered my torso, bikini and legs in a thick film of white splodge. This didn’t do a lot for me until it started to melt, leaving trails of milky liquid trickling onto my high heels. So much for whipped cream! This was until one of the guys produced a litre carton of double cream, the stuff you can pour into coffee. He raised the tub just above my tummy and working from left to right began to slop the thick white mess all over my bikini bottoms. Once finished the clingy, lycra pants were totally submerged in soft cream. This felt squelchy, cold, but strangely moist and pleasant as the white mess spilled onto the tops of my legs.

The crew were very insistant for the next cut that my gravy covered face be wiped clean and the make-up girl apply fresh mascara and lipstick. In passing the make-up girl asked me just how I managed to bear what they were don’t to me, thinking about it neither do I! The reason they wanted my face clear was for pies. Not just shaving cream on a paper plate though, very sticky deserts and cakes. What they had in mind was a ten inch lemon merangue in the face, a cheesecake on each boob and then a chocolate gateaux smeared across my bottom. Biting my lip I took a huge deep breath and grimaced. It wasn’t long before the pie connected with my poor face. The feeling was indescribable, a kind of cool, almost suffocating sensation that left me gasping and flapping my arms in disgust. Lemon curd was everywhere, most of it dropping in great lumps onto my chest. I was just rubbing the curd and merangue from my eyes when I felt a rich, sticky mess cup my left boob. It was the cheesecake! Seconds later I felt the second pudding smear its way over my sodden bikini bra, only to find both plates then being massaged gently over my bust so as to evenly work in the stodgy mixure. By this time I had given up caring what they did to me. Submissively I bent over, pointed my bottom toward the camera in anticipation of the gateaux. With a soft, crumbly splat the rich chocolate sauce covered cake met with the firm resistance of my backside. The brief bikini bottoms were pulled up fairly snuggly, which left a lot of buttock to get covered in chocolate cream. However, the tiny triangle of pink lycra rapidly dissapering up the crack of my bottom got its fair share of stodgy sauce smeared down it. What a way to ruin a bikini!

At this point in time was was in two minds. One half of me wanted laugh out loud at the ridiculous situation I was in and the other was in complete disgust of the sticky mess smeared over my half naked body. However, I thought it best that I remained smiling sweetly at the camera. After all, at this hourly rate who was I to complain? Unfortunately, if I’d of known what they wanted me to do next then maybe things would have been a little different. One of the guys was staggering over to the pool carrying a green, plastic washing up bowl. From the way it wobbled from side to side I could just tell that there was something nasty lurking inside. More to the point, it was going end up plastered over me! As the bowl was set down next to me in the pool it all became clear. The large plastic vesel was full to the brim with chocolate syrup, the runny kind you’d normally squirt over ice-cream! I could not believe my ears when they told me what I had to do. The idea was that I was going to have to submerge my poor bikini bottoms in it by sitting down in the bowl. As the camera zoomed in on me I smiled a cheeky grin and dropped to my knees in the pool. With a deep breath I began to lower my backside into the thick, brown mess. God, it was cold! The huge vat of gloop was so rich I had to push my bottom very firmly into it, wiggling slightly, before it finally gave way with a strange sucking noise. As I pushed my buttocks slowly under two waves of chocolately muck started to spill from either side of the bowl. I just couldn’t believe what I was doing and started to break out in a fit of giggles, which the crew absolutely loved. Finally I hit the bottom of the bowl, causing the deep sludge to pour over the top of my thighs, engulfing the front of my bikini bottoms too. The tight, lycra pants were right under, just what they wanted to see, so just for the hell of it I grabbed two great handfuls of squidge and streched my long, glossy legs out straight. The two guys looked like they were going to explode as I sensually began rubbing the sauce onto the tops of my legs. What I didn’t see was one of the crew sneaking up behind me. I was busy showing off my long, gunged legs to the camera and completely off my guard. The next thing I felt was the complete horror of something cold and gooey touching my shoulders and back. Yelping with surprise I looked down only to find a similar liquid to that I was sitting in being poured carfully over my shoulders and back. However, this smelt lovely and sweet, just like caramel. I asked the guy pouring the tub if I could taste a little of the sauce. Big mistake! He moved round to the front of me as I provocatively closed my eyes and licked my lips. Splat! He tipped a hugh blob of the goo all over my face and continued pouring. My face and the rest of my bikini clad body were totally submerged in sugary slop. Now completely smothered in really heavy ooze, I never felt so eager to jump into a hot shower and get cleaned up.

One advantaged about being a model is that you, for the best part, are treated with kid gloves. Studios and Agents usually bend over backwards to ensure your welfare, however, today seemed just like a hazy blur of glaring lights and freezing gunge. To calm my nerves and sooth my tired body I headed for the shower in order to get ready for lunch. Two bars of soap later I emerged from the cubical all clean and fresh, ready for the next onslaught of cold, replusive mess to get tipped over me. Still in my dripping, pink (yes, the chocolate and toffee did wash off!) bikini I wraped myself in a fluffy towel and headed back to the studio floor for a buffet lunch. Strangely I did not feel all that hungry as we dicussed the plans for the afternoon and although they complimented me on my performance, I could tell that getting my skimpy bikini smothered in slime was high on the agenda. Drying my body and long, red hair as best I could I tried to image exactly what they were going to ask me to do next. The thought made me shivver with anticipation!

The first bikini splattering of the afternoon did sound like fun. A deep pool has been erected on the studio floor, probably about 6ft square. Inside the pool was gallons and gallons of jelly. All they wanted me to do was jump in and frolic around in the stuff. Simple I thought, but not so! Next to the pool they had placed a minature diving board that was about four feet away from the jelly. I clambered aboard and posed for the camera rolling and stretching my body on the board whilst they line up the shot. The camera man found my clinging, wet bikini facinating! Next it was off with my shoes, but unfortunately for me my feet were still a little oily from the first gunging. I let out a high-pitched shriek as I stumbled over backwards, landing flat on my back, right in the centre of the wobbly red mess! I was not amused, but the crew found it hilarous and they had it all on video! I disappeared into the jelly for a second as I turned just as red! Take two found me having to be rinsed down again so that I looked like this was a totally virgin jump. This time I flaunted my body infront of the camera for a minute or so and then gracefully plummeted into the mire below. Maybe I will make a Balerina after all! The soft ocean of jelly was wet more then anything else and left my skin all slippery, soaking and shiney. I spent ages wriggling, writhing and general getting myself really plastered in the stuff. The feeling of having all of that gelatinous mess rubbed all over was a cold, but pleasing sensation.

I was just standing in front of the camera, showing the world my cold, stiff nipples through the wet jelly covered bikini bra when I was confronted by a guy carrying a large plastic bucket full to the brim with steaming porridge. Half expecting to have my body thickly coated in the warm sludge, I closed my eyes and placed my hands in matted, slimey hair and posed, waiting for the warm mess to start flowing all over my vunerable boobs. However, he seemed more interested in retrieving my shoes for me. Yes, you’ve guessed it! He wanted to film me steping into the bucket of sloppy oatmeal in my high heels! I hastily slipped my dainty feet into the now wet, shiney shoes and prepared to treat the crew. I love to tease, when I can, so I made a point of prolonging the agony for as much time as possible. They were dying for my shoes and legs to go under, but I had other plans. I let my long, curly hair fall around my face and peered up at the camera as sexy as I could. With one finger gently touching my lower lip I smiled cheekily, gently dipping the toe of my right shoe under the soft porridge. I know! I’m a terrible tease, aren’t I! I could tell it was all getting a little to much for the crew so I bit the bullet and firmly pressed my right foot down into the contents of the bucket. The oaty slop spilled out of the sides as my shapely leg dissapered under the porridge, almost up to my knee. I repeated the performance with my other leg and stood looking coy and cute as I wriggled around just to make sure my shoes were in a total mess. I can only describe the contents of the vesel as very soft and warm! Just to satisfy their thirst for messy clothing they ask me to step from the bucket and parade my mucky shoes by walking around in them. This I did as the white, lumpy trail of goo spilt from them into the studio floor. You would not believe how squidgy porridge feels between your toes, when its all inside your shoes! I got to about my third lap of the jelly pool when the enevitable happen. Obviously a five gallon bucket of porridge is too good to waste and it wasn’t long before my large boobs met the same fate as my high heeled shoes! Once again my poor bikini was submerged in the thick film of gooey, smooth sludge. Poor little me!

As warm and dreamy as fresh porridge is rolling down your half-naked body, there comes a time when it starts to cool off and dry up. The crew had the perfect solution to this, amazingly wasteful, but nevertheless very wet. Two of the guys approached me carrying large 3 litre plastic bottles of fresh, full-fat milk. The screw-on caps were duly removed and I closed my eyes as the cool milk ‘glugged’ it way from the bottles. This did an excellent job washing the sticky oatmeal from my body, but left me white, wet and very shiney! This rinsing off now left my gloop splattered bikini open to some really serious thick mess and me standing, heel deep, in a slushy puddle of goo.

Now I don’t know about you, but I’ve always be cursed with boyfriends that seem to have an unhealthy obsession with car repairs. On second thoughts, you probably don’t because you’re male! Silly me! Well, you know that rich, solid green soapy stuff they always wash their oily hands in?! (I just can’t quite remember its name). You can guess what I’m going to say next, can’t you! With the help of a porter’s trolley the most enormous plastic bucket of this stuff was wheeled into the studio, and the lid removed. I was then asked to perch myself on a bar stool. Two of the crew then set about the task of trying to decide how best they were going to smooth the stodgy, green ooze all over me. It was too thick to pour so they did the most amazing thing. Lifting the plastic tub above my head they teased me by holding it about an inch away from my scalp. I was very surprised that it didn’t start to seep over my hair, but hung procariously in its up-side-down container. Without warning the two guys slowly started to push the bucket down over my head as I took a sharp breath of air. To describe having your whole head submerging in liquid soap defies belief, I must of had about 3 or 4 inches of the stuff completely smothering my face and hair. Wiping the soft mush from my eyes and mouth I gasped with horror as the crew proceeded to massage the rest of the green slop thickly over my chest, tummy and legs. It was everywhere! in my ears, up my nose, inside my bikini. Especially the pants, which felt very strange between my legs, being all coated in thick green slime. Again, in the true tradition of ‘gunging’ a girl both shoes were removed, filled with soap and then wriggled back on to my feet. I could not believe how heavy it all was, but relished the fact that it felt lovely and smooth against my skin. As a finale they got me to stand in the rubber pool and start dancing as they hosed me down with warm water. You can probably imagine what kind of a foamy mess I turned into with all of that creamy soap plastered over me.

Because gunging me was taking a long time to video and get the shots just right, it was felt that it would be a shame to spoil the action by hurrying it along. Therefore the decision was made to put me up in a local hotel for the night, all expenses paid of course. You should have heard the offers I got when the crew found out I would be staying for the night! I know I sound boring, but I was just too tired to be any fun. Modelling is so stressful at the best of times, so all I was fit for was a nice hot bath and bed!

Day two saw a surprising change of outfit. The skimpy, shiney pink string bikini that I had been glooped in was discarded in favour of a very low-cut, stretchy, lycra swimsuit. A very daring costume, even by my standards, in a delicious canary yellow. As I wriggled my body into this ‘second skin’ it felt wonderfully tight, leaving the outline of my weighty boobs clearly defined. To top this off I was also supplied with a matching pair of yellow high heeled shoes. Cute huh! In the best of ‘swimsuit gunging’ traditions I just had to have the full wet-look coating of goo before any further mess could begin. To do this they decided it would be a nice idea to smother my body in sticky raw egg. About 12 dozen, grade 0 ones were cracked into two large water jugs and liberally stired. As you can imagine the runny yoke mixed smoothly with the gloopy white made the most unbelievably sloppy mess which the guys were itching to pour all over me. As I posed seductively for the camera the two crew members began the unenviable task of tipping the raw egg all over me. First they started with my shiney, red hair, much to my displeasure (it takes me hours to dry it!). As the mess began to trickle its way over my flowing locks I ran my fingers through it. I have never felt such slippery goo in my life! However, not just content with coating my head in the glossy liquid, attention turned (surprise, surprise!) to my heaving, swimsuit clad bust. Squidgy egg was poured thickly over my cleavage and boobs, leaving the flimsy costume ridiculously wet and clingy. The feeling of the smooth mixture oozing down the skin-tight lycra felt rather sensual and, without realising it, my nipples were beginning to stiffen. Just image what they looked pushing thru my soaking outfit, the crew seemed to notice anyway!

After being fully ‘egged’ all over you can probably image how I looked. I was soaked to the skin and glistening brightly, especially my swimsuit, which felt a bit wet and clammy now, but I didn’t mind too much. Now that I was a looking suitably wet and sexy the crew began to prepare for the first of the sticky sludgings that I was about to receive. The first of the messy sets they were going to tape looked particularily gooey. It was to be called “Girl In The Cake”, but instead of me bursting from it I was going to be jumping into it! The cake basically consisted of a huge polystyrene tub filled with custard, semolina and rice pudding, all nicely decorated with whipped cream and coloured icing. I had to climb up a few steps next to the cake and on the count of three throw myself in. This was a little frightening for me as I was not quite sure just what was going to happen, although I had a pretty good idea! As I stood on the makeshift diving board waiting for the word to jump in I did feel a little vulnerable. I wasn’t quite sure if they were going to be nice enough to warm the gunge up for me. I wasn’t dissapointed! At the count of three I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and lept for all my might. It seemed as if I was suspended in mid-air for ages, until I finally felt the very sloppy, deep, warm goo starting to engulf my legs. “Yes!” I cheered to myself “It’s warm! It’s warm!”. I finally came to rest as my feet touched the bottom of the cake. I was still disbelieving of how the gallons of splodge actually broke my fall, but I certaily did feel safe. Finally I opened my eyes and looked down. I was emerced, right up to my boobs, in a gloriously warm white and yellow, creamy liquid. What a delightful mess, it was gorgeous and I just couldn’t resist sinking myself right under to my neck and then pulling out. My brief little swimsuit, as you can imagine, was completely smeared in the thick ooze and the crew were loving it. For them it was totally ‘Mission Accomplished’. They had wanted to see a young lady having mess plasted all over her tight costume and I think this had exceeded their wildest dreams! Just to make thing a little more exciting I started to grabbed large handfuls of the creamy pudding and rub it sensuosly (I use that term a lot!) over my arms, boobs and through my hair. Unless you have ever been sunk deep into warm desert you’ll probably never understand how smooth and lovely it feels against you skin.

After my little pudding romp it was time to pull myself from the cake and get my swimsuit hosed off. Again, the crew took great delight in standing me in that little rubber pool and rinsing away the gallons of sticky pudding. As I let the torrant of water soothe away the splodge plastered all over me I couldn’t help noticing the facination the crew had with soaking my shoes. The little pair or yellow high-heels did look rather shiney soaked with warm water, but I couldn’t really see the turn-on. Oh well, maybe that’s just me! Soon, I emerged from the ‘wash pit’, as they called it, all gleaming and wet. My long hair was all slicked back and my drenched swimsuit hugging every curve of my body. By the way, if you’re masterbating over the thought of me soaked with water then stop it! Not that I mind, I do feel very flattered you find me attractive, please don’t get me wrong. It’s just the fact that you’ll spoil the story if you miss the next unbelievable ‘sliming’ me and my poor costume are about to endure!

If I asked you what you’d most like to splatter all over my body, what would you say? Custard? Chocolate? Even Cream perhaps? These guys had very different ideas. They wanted to do something very extravagant with tomatoes! Now, I’ve always hated the things so, as you can imagine, I wasn’t to endeering of the idea. Basically what they wanted to do to me was sludge my swimsuit clad body down with everything tomatoey they could lay their hands on. Baked beans, soup, spaghetti hoops and ripe red tomatoes were all destined for a thick, even squashing all over me. Again for full effect yet another large rubber pool was placed in front of the camera. This time the 8ft in diameter tub was completely jam packed with ripe fruits, just waiting to be splattered under my weight. How disgusting! Climbing into the pool, swimsuit and shoes inclusive, took a lot of will power. However, after a great deal of persuasion I took my first tentative steps into the squishy bath. Putting my dainty, yellow high-heel clad foot in first caused 5 or 6 ripe tomatoes into burst and a horrible sloppy, red liquid, full of pips to squelch its way over the pretty shoes. It was no good holding back they just wanted my body writhing around in thick tomato pulp and after a great deal of lip biting I evetually plucked up the courage to sit down in the pool. As I did I could feel the sickly fruits splitting and pushing their gooey wet contents all over my bottom. I finally gave in and bent over to show the camera the benfit of the sloppy red mess plastered all over my lycra clad buttocks and then falling onto my tummy for some real mess making. The more I writhed around the more runny mess got plasted over my body. Despite my hatred for tomatoes, I endeavoured to put on as erotic a show for them as possible. I wriggled, writhed and slithered for ages in the mess, making sure that my hair, swimsuit and heels were well smeared in pulpy, red slop. As I knelt down, provocatively showing off my mush covered body to the camera, the rest of the tomato related gunge was liberally applied for maximum effect. So there I was, hands on hips and sexily pouting at the camera, my long curly hair matted to my checks with red splodge. Could I possibily get any messier? This was the point when one of the crew members decided it would be a great idea to completely deluge what could be seen of my skimpy swimsuit in thick ‘Cream Of Tomato’ soup. I almost passed out as he began to pour the oozey, orange mess, straight from the tin, initially over my shoulder straps and then down onto my cleavage. However, they weren’t content with just cans of soup, despite the slimey mess they were making of my swimsuit. As predicted their favourite 5 gallon bucket was filled to the brim with the smooth orange liquid. As they tilted the heavy vessel just above my head I closed my eyes and grimaced, waiting for the soft goo to thickly coat my shivering body. Suddenly I felt the deluge beginning to run over my head in sloppy waves, until I was submerged in a cold film of mushy sludge. I was so unrecognisable you couldn’t even have told what colour hair I have or what I was wearing. What a mess!

Unfortunately for me it was decided that I still hadn’t been punished enough in my slippery, saucy bath. They had one more gooey act to perform and it was very messy indeed. I was told that in order to finish off filming of sticky ‘tomato’ romp I was going to have my swimsuit filled with baked beans. Now its bad enough having them tipped over you, let alone having great bucket loads crammed inside such a tight fitting costume. Needless to say, however, I did let them have their way and, believe me, it’s one of the strangest sensations I’ve ever felt. The bucket was once again reloaded to the brim with beans. One guy carefully aimed the bucket just above my cleavage and asked me if I would pull the wet, stretchy lycra away from my boobs. With a sticky sucking noise I managed to prise the sodden swimsuit open, leaving a gaping hole in which to pour the sloppy beans down. I just tilted back my head and shut my eyes tight as the eager chap slowely poured the thick, lumpy stodge all inside my costume, until it could hold no more. The tomatoey mess then started to spill from every direction, most onto the tops of my legs. The feeling of this was absolutely weird and my swimsuit bulged comically with the weight of the mucky sauce. The same ritual dunking of my outfit was performed down my back as the low-cut area of swimsuit aroung my bottom was treated to an equally large helping of soft beans. To help proceedings I took great delight in squidging the stuff all over by trying to rub the material flat against my skin. As you can guess my high-heel shoes were also crammed with beans and squashed onto my dainty little feet as even more of the stuff was tipped to liberally coat my legs with mush.

I suppose, all along, that most of the action had been centred around totally smothering me in sticky food. I would have liked the next part to have been known as ‘Synthetic and Natural’, but I’m afraid the rather uncultured crew insisted on ‘Shaving Cream and Mud Delight’. Oh well, it had the desired effect anyway! For this section of the video they wanted to see me in slightly different atire to the usual bikini or swimsuit, but I’m sure if you like this kind of thing you will be as equally delighted. Now steady yourself! Are you ready? They wanted me to dress up in aerobic gear! Yes that’s right! I was about to be totally sludged in a leotard! To be a bit more specific I was given a lovely, skimpy, bright pink number and equally skintight, white cycling shorts. So after hosing all of the tomatoey gunge off my body, I stripped out of the swimsuit and into the dry, sporty outfit. To look the part I tied my long, red hair back into a pony-tail and asked the make up lady to pretty up my face for the next shot. Being the concerned type she asked my exactly what they were going to smother me in this time. When I quite calmly replied ‘shaving cream and mud’ she looked so disgusted. Mind you I can’t say I blaim her either!

So, what kind of excuse would they come up with this time? What plausable scene could they invent that would lead a young lady in a leotard to get plastered in foam and mud? But seeing me wearing the clingy keep-fit wear was just a little too much for them. As I lay on an exercise mat on the floor, I tried my best to go through some good routines that would really show off my big boobs wriggling around inside the leotard. I am sorry to say at that point the crew lost it, and with the camera still rolling, all four picked up a can in each hand and began to squirt. It smelt lovely and soapy as all eight streamers of the stuff began to rain down on me. Unfortunately, as the mat and myself became progressively smothered in shaving cream the more slippery I was starting to find it. Shaving cream is lovely and soft, so I had no hestitation rolling around on the mat as can after can was added to the creamy mound of mess building up. Of course my shiney lycra leotard and shorts were getting nicely ‘creamed’ as I writhed around as sexily as I could. The object of the video was to show off skimpy outfits getting really soaking wet and thickly covered in sludge and mess. So it was decided that one of the crew members would be elected to come and rub me down for maximum leotard coverage in foam. The lucky chap took what seemed like a decade to smooth handful after handful of shaving cream thickly over my costume. By now I was just a complete wet and soapy mess. However, the shaving cream was so smooth and sticky I really didn’t mind. My leotard was also very clingy indeed, emphasizing every curve of my wet body as I writhed around sexily on the mat. Quite surprisingly, the next part of the shot was refreshing novel. I knew that one way or another my skin-tight outfit was going to be thickly annointed with sloppy mud, but how was anyones guess. Briefly we stopped filming whilst the crew adjusted the set. A large bench table was set out behind the foam mat, over which was draped a white, plastic table cloth. To my shock about 40 to 50 pies were wheeled in and set out neatly on the table. These certainly weren’t for eating though! They were mud pies! Yuk!

At this particular moment I was wondering just how these slightly unsavoury looking tarts were going to be administered. I certainly didn’t fancy having the crew’s wandering hands fondling me again, so I was pleased to here about the fact that a ‘special guess’ was going to help me all sludgy in the mud. It was at this point that I was introduced to ‘Natalie’. She was a bright eyed, pretty looking girl with long, almost black, hair cascading in ringlets down to her shoulders. Feeling slightly exposed and a little cold and sticky in my wet leotard I could only manage a kind of half-smile at her. Undetered she enthused about how lovely it was going to be strip off and get all sloshy in the goo with me. Obviously a professional, unlike myself! So off she wiggled in her red mini-dress and high heels to slip into something a little more skimpy. Now I guess, if you have been turned on by what I have been wearing then you might just go pop when I explain what Natalie managed to squeeze into! About 15 minutes later she reemerged from the dressing room, not as expected, in a swimsuit, but in some very sexy lingerie. I couldn’t help thinking what a waste it would be to smother the gorgeous lacey outfit in sloppy mud, but who was I to interfer? After all I was only the star of the video! Would you like to know just what Natalie was wearing? Silly question, uh! Well, where do you want me to start? She had a very tiny white lace g-string, a low-cut patterned basque/suspender belt, patterned white stockings, white high-heels and a pair or those frilly lace gloves. I felt very jealous indeed as I love to romp around in my underwear as much as possible. However, now it was back down to the sticky stuff and time to get filthy with mud.

Basically the idea was that Natalie portrayed the ‘evil’ Madam Mess, who had been praying on a poor keep-fit student, with every intention of ruining her leotard with creamy gunge. So far she had done a pretty good job by soaking me with sticky foam, but now it was almost time for my revenge. However, just before I got to smear mud all over her ligerie ‘Madam Mess’ was planing a very messy punishment indeed. Without telling me what was going on they gave Natalie a hosepipe. I had no idea what was going to be squirted from it, but the crew certainly captured the moment of surprise very well indeed. I gave a squeal of shock as the hose burst into life and Natalie grinned from ear to ear, covering me thickly with it’s contents. I didn’t know what to make of the stuff spurting in gooey waves over the front of my clinging leotard. It looked like a mixture of yellowy-green shampoo and wallpaper paste, but probably best described as gunge! As she stood there piping sloppy mess all over me a tried very hard to continue my ‘work-out’. It was so slippery I didn’t have too much luck keeping my balance, but the crew did get some really great shots of the glossy mush oozing over my lycra clad cleavage. Suddenly the flow of sludge came to an abrupt end as Natalie gasped in horror, she was now totally unarmed! Quickly and without to much thought I picked up one of the mud pies. It was so heavy! Undetered I lunged towards her and planted the cold, wet plate of slop square on her tiny lace g-string. Natalie just closed her eyes, pouted her glossy red lips and gently cooed for me to rub the mud all in. Her knickers were plastered, but she didn’t care! I couldn’t help thinking how much more professional she looked than me, or should I say how much she looked like she was enjoying it. However, before I had any more time to ponder she had already pick up two bulging pies and was thrusting them towards my chest. These splattered thickly all over my leotard clad boobs and were massaged in by her prying hands. This left my hefty bust smeared with rich clay making the sodden lycra cling to them perfectly. My nipples felt ready to burst straight through the costume.

Over the next 15 minutes we managed to smear about 50 plates of sticky mud over each other. As you can well imagine both Natalie and I were well plastered in mess. Just the shapely outline of two busty, young ladies standing there in a slippery, brown coating of smooth, wet goo remained. As Natalie was acting as ‘special’ guest they devoted a small segment of the video to her getting cleaned up from the mud pies. Quite unsurprisingly the cameras were well and truly focused on her showering the now almost see-thru basque and stockings. I felt so jealous that she was receiving end of all the attention, I was almost quite bitchy towards her. However, being the professional young lady I am I managed to restrain myself from being too unpleasant. My clean-up session was a little less glamourous and happened all off stage. Basically I made the mistake of trying to strip out of my mud-soaked leotard before hosing it off clean. It was stuck so tight to my body I thought that it had turned into a second skin!

Finally, it was announced that the crew had most of the shots they wanted and the day was just about to draw to a close. However, there was just one more thing that they were going ask me to do for them. When I heard the plan I must admit that I did breathe a sigh of relief. No more mess this time, just good old-fashioned water and warm as well! Yes, for my grand-finale I was going to be ‘Costume Dunking’ to my heart’s content! Basically, the idea for this scene involved me climbing in and out of a large pool of warm water wearing all kinds of skimpy costumes. I just couldn’t wait to get soaking wet! First off I was asked to wear just an ordinary pair white of bra and knickers. What do you mean? ‘A bit tame’! Leading down to the pool the crew had erected some steps leading down into the water so that I could slowly emerce my body right under. As I cautiously entered the pool I could sense the angst of the guys as my knickers got progressively closer to being soaked. They were going to be dissapointed for long! Within a couple of seconds I had the skimpy garments completely submerged. As I climbed from the hot tub I could hear the crew groaning with excitement as my now dripping, sodden undies came into full view. I had been provided with a lovely selection of garments to soak and if you love the look of the feminine form clad in revealing, wet, figure hugging clothes then I would imagine that you’d enjoy watching this part very much. Next I was asked to slip into a white silk camisole top with matching, skimpy panties. I don’t need to tell you what happened when these were suberged below the swirling warm waters! Needless to say the crew got some amazing ‘wet’ shots of my boobs pressing firmly against the sodden, silky top. Compared to being smothered in raw egg and porridge this was heaven! I was finding it very sexually exciting soaking my outfits, which surprised me a great deal. I love to swim and play in water, but never realised until that moment how nice wet clothes feel against your skin. Strange girl, arn’t I?!

As the scene moved on I was really getting into some nice things to soak. Everything from a black, shiney unitard to a blouse, miniskirt, shoes and tights got dunked into the pool. Dresses, underwear, uniforms, you name it – it got splashed! One interesting costume that I enjoyed soaking was a riding outfit comprising of knee length boots, jodphurs, white blouse and a short jacket. This was duly dunked, so I was right up to my neck in the water. Just imagine what skin-tight, white jodphurs look like freshly dripping from the pool and without any knickers underneath! Believe me, they were twice as skin-tight after the soaking than when they were dry! To finish up I finally agreed, after a lot of coaxing, to swim in the pool nude. I don’t usually do nude modelling, but the moment felt right for it so I was happy to oblige. It’s wonderful swimming around being completely unhinder by a bathing suit. I felt so free and uninhibited, but wouldn’t advise doing a strip like this at the local baths!

“Well, that’s that!” I thought to myself steping nude from the pool into the warmth of a fluffy bath towel. I really had to the draw the line here as the producer was suggesting that I be ‘tied and pied’ completely nude for the credits. Sometimes a girl really has to put here foot down…

I hope you enjoyed the experiences I have shared with you. It was a really gooey mess, but I suppose I would be lying to say that I didn’t think that wet and messy isn’t fun.