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’S CHOCOLATE TAN! by MessyBoy

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.

END

—MessyBoy

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.

***

BETTY’S BIRTHDAY

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.

THE END

***

—MessyBoy

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.

“Well…maybe.”

CONTINUED IN CINDY’S CHOCOLATE TAN, COMING SOON!

—MessyBoy

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.

Addicted to WAM, by Loon

Path: news.infi.net!news.infi.net!solaris.cc.vt.edu!news-out.internetmci.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!169.132.11.200!news.idt.net!ix.netcom.com!news From: Loon Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.wet-and-messy Subject: WAM: New Story – Addicted to WAM, Part 1 (1 of 2) Date: Fri, 31 Oct 1997 15:40:50 -0500 Organization: Netcom Lines: 434 Message-ID: <345A4252.26FC@spam.please> NNTP-Posting-Host: syr-ny1-17.ix.netcom.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-NETCOM-Date: Fri Oct 31 2:42:34 PM CST 1997 X-Mailer: Mozilla 3.01Gold (Win95; I) Xref: news.infi.net alt.sex.fetish.wet-and-messy:110048

Addicted to WAM by Loon

M/F, wet, story

This is the first in an intended series of stories about a couple and their WAM adventures. This first section contains a good amount of setting material, so the WAM and sex action is pretty limited. This is a story of fiction.

Part I The Beginning

Though this is not really a story about me, I guess I had better begin by introducing myself. My name is Bill, and I work as a systems engineer for a software company – I won’t say which one, but you are probably using one of our operating systems to read this right now. Anyways, I live out near the coast, and the money I make lends itself to a pretty nice lifestyle. I’m not rich, but I have money in the bank, a budding stock collection, and enough left over to enjoy things. I mean, what the hell? I’m single, right? That’s what being young is for.

Anyways, this story is about my neighbor, Julie. She and I have the top floor apartments in a two story garden apartment. Julie is about two years younger than I (so, not quite thirty, nosy), and is just a babe; knockout hardbody on a 5’6\” frame, wavy brownish-blonde hair down to her shoulder blades, just a perfectly sculpted face, and these bubbling blue-grey eyes. As it turns out, Julie also works for my company, but in a different division, so we see each other at work only occasionally. A nice person, college educated, a career-minded young woman on her way up.

Well, so this isn’t a story about what a humanitarian she is. I got to know Julie soon after she moved in. Neither of us knew many people in the area, she was a long ways away from home, and her boyfriend was having problems adapting to a long-distance relationship. You know how it is. She and I actually met during a fire alarm; one of our downstairs neighbors burned his toast, and his kitchen drapes. I had noticed Julie when she moved in, but I hadn’t had a chance to actually talk to her, so I sidled up as we watched the fire department scurry around.

“Kind of exciting for your first week here, huh?” I asked.

“Really!” She looked at me kind of sideways. “Don’t you live there?” she asked, pointing to my living room window.

I nodded, sticking out my hand. “Bill.”

She took it, finally turning to face me. “Julie.” Here we were in the middle of the night, me in some old sweats and a pair of raggy shoes, her in cut-off shorts and a stupid “GUESS!” t-shirt, hair mussed, no makeup, looking none-the-less perfect. Her breasts stood high, and she clearly was not wearing a bra. I tore myself from the view to catch her watching me watch her, and blushed.

We stood there watching the fire crew for about fifteen minutes before they agreed, almost reluctantly, that the whole building was not about to burst into flames, and we could return to our apartments. We went upstairs, and neither of us was ready to go to sleep, so we sat in her dining room, drinking beer, as we watched the firefighters pack up their equipment, and a dumb-ass local TV crew show up to do a report. We learned that we worked at the same place, but that car-pooling couldn’t be a regular thing, as she was in sales, and traveled around alot. Well, that suited me fine. I have enough senority to kick out early when the work load is light, and waiting around work for an hour or so just because I was supposed to drive someone home, even Julie, was uninteresting to me.

Look, I know how these stories are supposed to go. We get a little drunk, we start making out, we hit the sack. Sorry. It was getting late, the beers made us both sleepy, and I went home. We agreed that neither of us had good plans for Friday night, so we might as well do nothing together, and that was it.

In fact, it was the start of a really good friendship. How many of us secretly wish that we had friends like on Sienfeld or Friends, where we leave the doors open, so they can come in and out as they please? I know I did (and so did she, because we talked about it once). Well, that’s what happened. I am not saying we are funny like those people (even if they were real), or that there is anything really significant about it, but it is very nice. Julie became my drinking buddy, a few months passed, and we were regulars at the corner bar. (Is there anything better in the world than a bar you can walk to? I haven’t found it.) We had seperation, we were not dating (the boyfriend even made it up, once), but we were close, and relaxed with each other. It was a hoot.

But, there was some tension. I mean, I couldn’t likely forget about her looks, which kept haunting me late at night. I felt all sick to my stomach the weekend Rick (ugh) was up to see her, and I didn’t know why for the longest time. I mean, I have lusted after friends before (haven’t we all), but I know the difference between sexy friends and sex with friends. Julie has a killer body, and it would make for a few fun filled days to go up one side and down the other, but it wouldn’t be worth the possibility of losing her as a friend to make a proposition that she would not like. And, it was my assumption that she wouldn’t like my proposition.

But worse than that was the direction our talk had taken us. After the first few times out, it became clear that there would be no holds barred in our conversations. We talked about relationships, about sex, and about seduction. We took turns scoping the bar for each other, pointing out choice morsels for the other’s attentions. I learned alot about her; her sexual past (pretty active), her preferences (tall, muscular men – not me), what she hates (moustaches, hair on the back, bad breath). But there was stuff she left out – I mean obviously left out. But I couldn’t figure out what.

At the same time, I was editing my own contributions. I have not been too sexually active; career, insecurity, whatever. I don’t think I am bad looking; 5’8″, not fat though no muscle man, blonde hair/blue eyes, outdoorsy. But, I am not the greatest catch either, at least in looks. At any rate, my fantasy life had always been more active than my real life, and I was not about to let on that I had a fetish. Yep: WAM, all my life. I was into it long before I read the name on the web, or saw the videos. And now, I am in to it deep (pun intended). I don’t think of it as dirty, necessarily, and I don’t think of it as taboo, just something I don’t want to shout out in a crowded room. I wasn’t sure how Julie (or anyone) would take it, and I wasn’t prepared to gamble on the outcome. So I just left it alone. But it was eating at me.

So, one night we are in the bar, and on the TV there is one of those rediculous made-for-TV movies, starring the bimbo of the week, and named something like “Another Time Around the Block: The True-Life Story of Sarah Jane Betty, Child Prostitute to the Stars,” where the first thing you see is a screen telling you that the events, while based on a true-life story, was fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Crap. So, we were not-really watching, on our fourth or fifth beer, and Julie, who had figured out there was a major part of my sexual makeup missing from my stories, was once again trying to brow-beat it out of me.

“What is it, bondage?” I shook my head, and ordered another beer. “Animals?” I cringed. “Incest?” I looked horrified.

“I don’t have any sisters, and if you even are beginning to imply my mom .. . . ech!” I pretended to throw up at her feet. She grinned. “So, maybe it’s your brothers.” She smiled sweetly.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” I sat up haughtily and looked at the screen. Sarah Jane whatever was talking with some frizzed out reject who was supposed to be her boyfriend, standing near to a pool. As any true WAMmer knows, directors do not shoot scenes by pools unless they have a reason to have a pool there, or they are directing Melrose Place. I covertly turned my full attention to the television, wishing I was home with my VCR. I even wondered if there was someway I could duck out for a minute, and go home to tape this, but if something were to happen, I would never get there in time.

Julie was not to be ignored, or put off. She grabbed my shoulder, and tugged me to face her direction. “So what?” She thought for a second, then cringed. “Someone showed me these sick pictures of some guy peeing on a girl. That’s not it, right?”

“Blech!” I said, twisting back towards the TV. “Never in a million years! Look, it doesn’t matter, ok?” I took a pull of beer, and looked back up. The two people on TV were now sort of pushing and slapping each other to suggest they were being playful and carefree. Another great sign. I was getting pretty excited, just at the thought of sitting in a bar, next to someone who I thought very highly of, possibly watching a wet scene on TV.

But Julie was still persistent. “So, I think I have guessed enough. Tell me now, or I am going to start telling everyone you like to get dressed as a baby.” She looked pretty pleased with herself. The man on TV was starting to back up the woman towards the pool, a devilish look in his eye.

There was no way I was going to miss this, so I glanced at Julie, and without thinking, I said, “Listen, leave me alone for a minute, this is getting good.” I gestured towards the TV, and she looked at it for the first time. As I looked back, the guy went to give Sarah Jane the final push that would send her in, but she danced aside, and the guy went in headfirst instead, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Arrgh!” I thought. Another WAM cop-out by the television networks! The female was in a tight light-green party dress, cut to show a certain swelling in the bosom, and an ample amout of leg. It was not an “appropriate” outfit for the water, by the network’s standards (women who are thrown into the water can only be in oversized sweatshirts and baggy jeans – men can go in anything), which was one of the things that had captured my attention.

“I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed. Julie looked over at me quizzically, but patted my arm.

“Keep watching.” she advised. The guy on TV swam to the edge of the pool, where the woman was standing and laughing. She bent down as the guy rose up, and gave him a kiss. But then he grabbed her by the head and yanked her in. The scene went on to show them splashing around for a few seconds, and there was even a shot of her coming out of the water to sit on the side. The green fabric glisened in the lights, and her breasts and nipples poked out of the front of the dress. Her beautifully styled hair plastered to her head. It was one of the best wetlook shots I have seen on network TV, and believe me, I try to make it my business to see them all (cliptape trading is a wonderful thing). By the time they went to commercial, I was rock hard, and almost visibly panting.

Then I came back to reality. It had happened! I was at the bar, with my sexy close friend, and we had watched a WAM scene. I was almost in shock. I carefully looked over at Julie, expecting her to be glaring over at me by now, or else looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Instead, her eyes were glued to the set! She was gripping the bar with one hand, holding very tight by the look of it, while the other hovered over the neckline of her dress, lightly touching the skin underneath her neck. And, she was breathing heavier than me.

This time, when she looked back, it was her turn to blush. She attempted to regain her composure by turning the tables on me.

“So,” she said, “you have something you’d like to share with me?”

I looked at her, stunned. “Huh?” was all I could manage.

“You said that if I left you alone for that,” she gestured towards the screen, “you would tell me what it was that you were in to.” She folded her hands, and waited expectantly. Damn her, she had regained her composure faster than me.

That wasn’t how I remembered the convesation going, but it was no use. I tried squirming out of it, but she wasn’t going to have any of that. She had locked her sights on, and was just waiting to fire. Finally, I had no choice, so I blurted it out.

“Fine, I like what was on TV there.” I pointed up. The movie was on, but of course, they had not returned to the pool.

“What exactly did you like?” she asked, still looking very innocent.

“The water stuff. You know, getting wet, like a wet t-shirt contest?” I just wanted this to be over, but Julie was really dragging it out.

“Hmm. Are you telling me that you are interested in, no, excited by seeing women get their clothes wet?” She looked at me curiously, like she was some kind of shrink discovering a new psychosis. I decided to just go for it, figuring that if she was really opposed to the whole thing, the damage was done.

“Yes,” I said, rapidly regaining my composure now that I had made a choice. “Although, sometimes it is fun to see people in whipped cream, or mud, or something else gooey and sticky.” I leaned on the bar like we were talking about who at work was getting a promotion. “And sometimes, I like it when women are wearing jeans, and sometimes when they are wearing business suits.” I fingered the sleeve of her dress, just to be obnoxious, and grinned.

“And do you ever do this yourself, or is it just a voyeurism thing?” Her right hand was still playing with her neckline, and I was starting to get fascinated by how it moved up and down. There is such a thing as too much beer, and I could tell this had spun completely out of control, and I should be worried about what Julie would think of me from now on, but all I was really paying attention to now was her hand, and her cleavage. Which was bad, because I was answering her questions like I had been hypnotised.

“Yeah, I’ve done it some times.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve taken showers with my clothes on, or swimming around in a pond, and rolling in the mud. I even took an oil bath one time.”

“And what do you think of when you are doing that?”

She really had me going now. “I think of someone being there with me, and enjoying it as much as I do.” Does the floor always move like this?

“Who do you think of doing that with you?” Her eyes bore in for the kill.

“Different people.” I suddenly got very reckless. “You.”

Julie let out this little sigh, and closed her eyes for a minute. I was sure I was dead. She opened her eyes, leaned in towards me, and murmured, “I think we had better go now, Bill.”

We paid up, and headed out of the bar without saying a word. We walked towards our apartments, up the walk, and up the stairs without saying a word. I would like to think that neither of us wanted to break the mood that we had set, but the truth was I was scared to death that she had already written me off.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to face me, her back against her door.

“Well,” she said, “you could just go on to bed . . .” Her expression said she obviously had another alternative.

“Or . . .” I prompted.

“Meet me over here in ten minutes, and wear something . . . old.” She turned around and entered into her own apartment.

Well, I am not a rocket scientist, but Mama didn’t raise any dummies, and I could see where this was heading, if not why. I scurried into my apartment, into the bedroom, and shucked off my work clothes, putting on a pair of jeans, an old long-sleeve shirt, and my mucking shoes, an old pair of sneakers, with socks. I grabbed my keys, but left my wallet, and everything else that would be damaged by water behind, and made it out the door in time to see Julie emerge from her own apartment.

Do you know any women who have different looks at different times, all of which are attractive in their own way? Julie is that type of woman. At work, she appears professional, competent, and lovely. At a company formal we went to, she was elegant and sophisticated, a completely different person than I was used to, achingly beautiful in a straight black gown with soft curls in her hair. We have gone for groceries in her around-the-house getup, a loose shirt and sweats that tug in all the right places, and played football, where she was the darling of my friends in a tight t-shirt and jeans. But, I had never seen her before like that night; tight sweater and pleated skirt, bobby socks and saddle shoes, hair in a pony tail. The complete cheerleader.

She must have seen my jaw hit the floor, and grinned triumphantly. “Not bad, huh?” she asked as she whirled around, letting me see a fair expanse of thigh. There was a button-down oxford under her sweater (which, by the way, wasn’t a real cheerleader sweater, but rather one of those pull-over knit things, in yellow), and she even had time to throw on a little makeup, not that she needs it. I leaned in close, and took a breath. Yep, she had freshened her perfume as well – Tommy Boy, and boy does it smell good on her.

“It . . . ah, looks good,” I stammered out, then halted. How do you describe a sunrise, a rainbow, or a star in the sky? Julie was all those things and more, and I had it so bad for her at that moment that I could hardly stand up straight.

“So . . .” I said.

“So.” she agreed. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs. “Come on.”

We walked out of the building, and she led me around back. Behind our apartments is a partking lot, and beyond that is a border of trees, with a little path down it. We had both gone down there before, and I knew it led to a golf course on the left, and a small inlet off of the river that runs near our community, to the right. I thought I knew where we were heading (towards the inlet), but I was wrong, as Julie set off across the golf course, still towing me behind her.

As we were walking, I decided to end some of the mystery. “So, what do you think?” I asked.

“About you?” I grunted. What else? “Well, it’s what I always thought.”

“Huh?” Now I was back to being shocked. “What do you mean?”

She giggled (very sexy). “Well, there was always certain things that you didn’t talk about, but were eager to have me talk about to you. After a while, it just became obvious.”

“Huh?” My vocabulary was not improving.

“Well, remember how I told you about babysitting, and what happened?”

Did I? Before she graduated high school, she had sitted a couple of kids for a wealthy doctor on a weekly basis. The family had a pool, and when she would show up, the kids would usually be swimming. So, one day, according to Julie, the boy told her that they couldn’t go swimming because their mother had put their swimsuits in the wash. Juile asked him why he didn’t go swimming in his shorts, and the boy replied that people couldn’t swim in their clothes. So, on a bet, Julie had dived in to the pool in her school clothes; jeans and an Izod shirt. She said the kids had been amazed. I was too; I made her go through a complete description of what she had on, and what had happened. Yes, she had left her tennis shoes on. No, she wasn’t worried about what the shirt would look like, because it was only a couple of kids. Yes, she was wearing a bra, but it wasn’t very heavy and her nipples had stuck out pretty clearly. Yes, she got out of the pool several times, and then dived back in when the kids asked for more. I must have grilled her for about twenty minutes before I was sure I had a complete mental image of the event stored away for later reference.

“Oh yeah.” I said, reluctant now to admit my interest.

“Well that was pretty obvious. And, there were other things too.”

Julie had been in a sorority at school, and the sorority had a charity car wash every year. Well, someone there had a camera, took some pictures of the event, and put together a sorority scrapbook. She had shown it to me. I had almost burst. There were Julie and eight or ten of her sorority friends, standing in a line wearing sopping t-shirts and shorts, whooping and holloring at the camera, while a group of guys looked on. Mostly, there were bathing suits and bikinis on under the wet clothes, but a couple people, Julie included, aparently had not planned on getting wet and were wearing skimpy bras, or nothing at all under the shirts (Julie had on a lace bra, and you could see all the details in the picture). There were a couple other shots from the carwash, all of which showed plenty of sorority skin, and wet outfits. I had told her that the scrapbook was wet-dream heaven, and that if she was worried about someone stealing it, I would gladly keep it under my protection, in my apartment.

So, I hadn’t been quite as discreet as I had thought. Big deal. In some ways that was better, because it meant that she had some time to get used to the idea. But, despite the fact that we were almost certainly on our way to some sort of wet or messy adventure, I still fealt a need to make her come right out an admit that she was not disturbed by my preferences. (Look, guys don’t always think rationally, ok?) Caught red-handed (or whatever), I could only grunt in acknowledgment. But she still hadn’t answered the basic question.

“OK, it makes sense. But still, what do you think?”

“You don’t know?” she asked, then made a noise as she recognized something on the golf course that she was looking for, and we headed off in a different direction.

“Well, let’s just say I want to be absolutely sure.” As we came closer (it’s dark out, remember?), I was now able to place a sight with a noise that I had begun hearing a minute ago. There, next to one of the greens, was a sprinkler set, throwing water over the grass. It was one of those automated things with two long arms holding three or four sprinkler heads each, moving along its hose slowly. The arms threw water to each side, covering an area about 20′ distant from the sprinkler. They were pretty common in the summer on this course, and we had just walked along the fairways until Julie heard the noise of this one. We stopped near the radius of the water, and she dropped my hand for the first time since taking it at the apartment building.

“I have been waiting for you to fess up about it for a while now,” she said, answering my question. She was standing near to me, and I could look in to her eyes. The half-moon gave our eyes plenty of light now that we were adjusted to it. “I don’t have any problem with it. In fact, just the opposite.” She was now running a finger along my chest, raising goosebumps whereever she touched.

“And that is what this is about?” I asked, nodding towards the sprinkler, then plucking at her clothing.

“Watch!” she whispered, and backed off from me.

She walked a few feet, and stood still, legs slightly apart, hands by her sides. The sprinkler cycled through, water hitting her calves and spraying her socks (not that I could see very well, but I knew exactly what was going on). She gave a little yip, and shivered. The sprinkler cycled again, and she gasped as the water hit her a second time.

Julie put out her hand, and beckoned me to join her. I timed it so that I could walk out when the sprinkler was somewhere else, and took her hand as I joined her. She gave me this playful look and asked, “Aren’t you going to get your jeans wet?” grinning all the while.

I grinned back at her. “Not if you keep blocking the spray.” I grabbed both of her arms so she would stay where she was. “I’ll bet I can make it all the way to the sprinkler without getting really wet.”

“Really?” she asked. “And what about me?”

“I’m afraid one of us will have to suffer.” I pushed her lightly, and she stepped a couple steps back, just as the sprinkler came through again. Despite my predictions, some of the spray was hitting me, and I could feel it now well above my knee, to the point that on her, it should just about be hitting the bottom of her skirt.

“This is a very nice outfit you have on,” I shifted topics. “Where did it come from?”

“Well, I was a cheerleader in high school,” she answered, “and we wore outfits that were similar to this. But really, I got it to tease the guys at the sorority picnics, the skirt and the saddle shoes, anyways. It got me alot of attention . . . uhgh!” she exclaimed. “The water is hitting me on my butt!”

Julie was definitely starting to breathe faster now, and I was reaching the limit of my endurance. It was one thing to think about getting her in exactly this situation, it was something totally different to actually be here. I could hear my heart pounding, I could feel the blood rushing through my ears, and I could feel every detail of the clothing I was wearing, where I was touching her, and the cool air around us, all at the same instant. Hyper-sensitive, but still wanting much much more.

Almost panting, I brought her closer to me. “Is your skirt getting wet?” I breathed, ignoring that she had just told me so.

“Yes.” she gasped, clearly as excited as I was.

“Turn around and let me see it.” I practically forced her around myself. I steadied us both, then dropped to one knee. Her exquisite ass was right in front of my face. I had actually massaged it a few times for her, and knew exactly how firm and well-defined it was. But, for the first time, I was seeing it exactly as I had in all my fantasies. The skirt on her was visibly wet, and one side clinged to her right thigh, curving to the shape of her ass cheek. The other side was still dripping water, and the point where the spray stopped was clearly visible on the dark blue fabric. I couldn’t resist running my hand down the skirt, feeling it getting wetter and wetter, until I reached her bare leg, then slid up underneath the fabric. The water had soaked through to her panties, and they clung to her skin.

I was now gasping for breath, as I dealt with the visual and tactile images before me. The sprinkler cycled again, and Julie gasped as the water hit the front of her skirt. Her hands came down and grabbed the skirt hem, lifting it up to her waist. We stayed frozen in that position until the spray came back through again, this time hitting her panties and skin directly. Julie shuddered with excitment, and my hands were shaking.

I stood up, and whirled Julie back to facing me. “So, I am not the only one with a secret, huh?” I asked her, looking into her eyes.

Her breath was coming in great gasps, moving her breasts in a most intoxicating manner. But, I was more interested in her answer.

“Yes!” she panted. “I love this. I can’t get enough.” She bucked as the water passed by again, spraying her back side. “Push me in further, please.”

I took a step towards her, but instead of pushing her on, pulled her to me and kissed her hard. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around me, pulling my head down to hers, and making little squeaking noises in the back of her throat. The water cycled through three or four times as we stood there, battling with our tongues. Finally, I broke the kiss, and shoved her backwards.

“Do you think you should get your sweater wet?” I asked her. I was feeling dizzy, almost beyond myself, like I was actually standing about five feet behind me, watching us both. “Well?” I demanded.

“No,” she replied in a very small voice.

“Will people like it if you get yourself all wet?” I asked, now really getting in to this sort of disapproving personality that I had always heard in my own mind when I was doing this on my own. Apparently, she was too.

“No they won’t. It is wrong.” She was almost completely gone now, her eyes only a quarter of the way open, her lips open and her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“So I had better not do this, then.” I whirled her around, and pushed her even farther forward, so that the oncoming spray hit her square in the chest.

That did it. She convulsed, doubling up, as a shriek issued from her mouth. She lurched forward, closer and closer to the sprinkler, until she was close enough to be constantly in the water. She stuck her head down, letting the spray hit her in the forhead, as she clutched her hands to her crotch. She shuddered again and again, crying out loud as a strong orgasm overtook her. The water matted her hair, soaked the back of her sweater, and came dripping down her front. Her butt was up in the air, the skirt half up, showing the wet panties she was wearing, and the motion of her hands down the front of them.

I had followed her in, keeping body contact with her, but not intruding on her moment. Julie was completely overcome by the situation, by my presence, but mostly by the act. While I participated, and we had kissed, I wasn’t sure how much of a shared sexual thing this was. For the moment, I was willing to wait and see what would happen next.

Finally, she gasped one last time, and stood up to face me. The sweater still his most of the details of her breasts, though as I passed my hand over them, I could feel the nipple pointing through. She was running her hands down her body, making smoothing motions over her skirt, and still trying to catch her breath.

“That was very good,” she panted, flashing a deep smile at me, as she pulled me down and kissed me again, this time, more tenderly.

“Umm,” I breathed into her mouth, as I enjoyed the kiss. This was the fantasy realization of a lifetime for me, and I savored the moment. Just to have my arms around her, kissing her seemed this afternoon an impossibility. To be standing with her on a golf course, fully dressed, immediately after she orgasmed from getting wet in her clothes was a possibility unexistant to the realms of reality.

Finally, a lifetime later, the kiss ended. She looked up at me, still leaning on my chest, and said simply, “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed,” I agreed. “Does this show have an encore?” She smacked me lightly with one hand.

“Can I rest first, please?” She grinned, and pushed away, heading out of the spray. Nearby was a sandtrap, and she went over and sat on the edge, her feet dangling down. “Something like that can really take it out of a girl, you know.”

I sat down next to her. “You don’t say.” I assessed myself. The water had hit me somewhat, though not directly. Still, I was damp, and the air was cool, so I could only imagine how she was feeling. I put my arm around her and pulled her close, to share our warmth.

“Hmm,” she sighed, setting her head on my shoulder. “That’s nice, Bill. Thank you for doing that with me.”

“I don’t remember doing very much.” I wasn’t planning on hinting on how I hadn’t yet got off, but these things have a way of popping out. But, Julie took it without criticism.

“Well, I liked having you here. It isn’t the same if there isn’t someone to watch.”

“Is that what you like?” I asked, intrigued.

“Uh-huh, or at least in part.” She pulled back, and looked at me, impishly. “Is that interesting to you?”

Duh. Still, was that all there was to it? “So, how did this come about?”

“Well, I have known about what I like for a long time, ok?” It most certainly was. “I think when I was twelve or so, I found that water fights were more than a little interesting to me, particularly when it was out where everyone could see.” She looked at me like she thought I might think she was a little crazy now. “I’m not sure why things turned out that way, but they did.”

“So, you like WAM, and you’re an exhibitionist?” She nodded, a bit reluctantly it seemed. “And you want to know if I am ok with that?” She nodded again, looking directly at me.

“Honey, that is so ok with me, I don’t know how to say it.”

Julie laughed. “Well, I thought so, but you can never be sure. . .” True enough. We were both definitely getting cold by now, but neither of us wanted to moment to end. We snuggled some more, though now kissing again seemed a little forward.

In fact, I wasn’t sure what would happen next. I stood up, and gave her my hand. She rose up. Apart from her hair, you really couldn’t tell that she just had a soaking. My pullover was damp, but it wasn’t really clinging to me any more. Our teeth chattering, we started to walk back towards our apartments, arm in arm.

“So . . .” I began.

“So?”

“What . . . ah, what is this?” I sort of gestured around.

“A golf course.”

“Thanks. No, I mean what we did. What happens next?”

“What do you mean?” She was being purposely obtuse. I hate it when women are obtuse. They know what we mean, usually better than we do. They just want US to tell THEM what we mean, so they can see if we have got it right. It’s like some kind of a test, for God’s sake.

“This was a once in a lifetime experience for me, and I loved every second of it,” I began, after a few moments to plan strategy. “Thank you too, for sharing this with me.” What was I after, actually? I wasn’t sure.

“Well, you’re welcome.”

“To find out that you have a similar . . . uh, interest, is very exciting for me, and I cherish the gift you have given.” OK, sometimes I lay it on pretty thick. But, since most guys are hesitant to lay it on at all, it usually works in my favor. Still, what did I want out of this? I was still unsure.

“Hmm.” She leaned in to me a little more. I took the opportunity to stop, bring her around to face me, and took her hands.

“Julie, I don’t know if this is the right thing to say, or if you will think I am moving too fast, but I want to do this again with you. Please? It doesn’t have to be a sex thing, and if you prefer, I won’t lay a hand on you, but I don’t think I could stay your friend if we didn’t do this any more, and I have to stay your friend, because you are really important to my life, so please don’t make me choose because it would kill me to think of loosing you, or loosing this, but I . . .” I sort of ran out of steam as Julie pressed her finger to my lips, hushing my stream of babble.

“We will have plenty of time to talk this over,” she said, in a very definite tone. I’ve heard that tone before. It means that she is laying down the law, and there will be no nonsense about it. “This is a part of my life, and I am not going to stop it. And you are a part of my life, and I want that to stay the same too.” I let out a sigh.

“So, can we do this again?” I asked expectantly.

“Who says we are finished now?” she shot back. That raised my eyebrows. I had assumed we were heading home. It was pretty cold, and she had already had her jollies. But, I should have known Julie better.

“Wow!” I said, as she pulled me towards the inlet.

“Babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

End Part 1

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Always Room For Jell-O

Always Room For Jello, by Messy Muddy Mike (Michael.R.Howes@CDC.NET)

This story is completely fiction. Any of the persons, places, time, portrayed in this story relating to any such in real life is 100% unintentional (See epilogue). The story contains some instances of sexual arousal. If this offends you, please do not read any further. This story is completely public domain. Feel free to distribute to all your friends.

Hey there, it’s Tanya again. I have got to tell you what happened to me the other day. I was walking through the mall, to pick up some new tights for an aerobics class I had later that day. When I got to the main concourse of the mall, there it was; a huge vat of red jell-o, with a huge pool slide set-up next to it. I had gotten messy many times since my cousin’s graduation party years ago, but it had always been in the mud. Never in anything else. Julie has suggested a few times trying something different, but we never did. Seeing all that jell-o just got the juices flowing.

I asked a woman what was going on. She indicated that a charity event was about to happen. For a donation, people got slide into the vat of 500 gallons of raspberry jell-o. Oh, I had to try this. But wait, what about my clothes? How was I going to get home? Then it came to me. My gym bag with my workout stuff was in the car. Perfect. I could just change into them when I was done.

I ran over to the registration table ( I really ran. In fact I nearly knocked an elderly woman on her but.), and paid $25 dollars, the minimum donation. The woman at the desk took my name, address, and all that stuff, asked my to sign a liability waiver, and gave me my number. #45. She said that they will call the numbers in lots of 10, so I should listen for 41 through 50. She also indicated that the local fire department would provide showers in the parking lot after I was done. I nodded, and ran back to get a good spot to watch the first person slide in.

That day I had worn a blouse, skirt, pantyhose and high heels, all in white. Things started to get under way. The first few people to slide in were kids. The jell-o was still clumpy, so the kids hardly sank into jell-O. Next were a couple to high school girls, wearing shorts and t-shirts. They sank easily into the jell-o, however little to none of the Jell-O stuck to them or their clothes. Their clothes didn’t even become stained. This was not looking good. I just kept hoping that the jell-o would melt some, so that it would be gooey, and slippery.

I watched person after person slide in . Things were going slow, mainly because to p.a. system they were using wasn’t working right, and they would have adjust it every very five minutes. This extra time gave the jell-o a chance to melt some. I was getting excited. I couldn’t wait to plunge my body into the stuff.

Finally, they called my group. They had us line up in numerical order. The woman in front of me caught my eye. She was about my age, and was not dressed like the rest of the people. All the others were jumping in wearing old jeans or shorts and t-shirts. Nothing on there feet, no socks, shoes, tights, etc. Not the woman in front of me. She was wearing a light blue leotard and powder blue tights. I stuck up a brief conversion with her. She said that this was her first time doing this, and that it had been a fantasy to doing something like this. I confided that it was the same for me.

She was next. She went up onto this small stage, gave her name, the amount of her donation, and proceeded up the steps to the top of the slide. When she got there, she just sat there for a minute, and pushed off. She slid down quite quickly, and splash! Pieces of jell-o flew in different directions. When the jell-o settled, there she was sitting chest deep in to red Jell-O. She got up on all fours, and crawled to the edge of the vat, where she was helped out. When she stepped out, her tights and leotard had turned a reddish purple color. As she walked away, little pieces of the red stuff would fall off of her. This was just to much to take.

I was next. I walked up on stage, and gave my name and donation amount, then walked towards the slide. I stopped when I got there, and started to kick off my shoes. But I changed my mind at the last minute. I carefully climbed up, and stopped, sitting at the top. Everyone in the crowd started to shout for me to go in head first, as they had done with other others. None of the others did. But I was going to be different. I pointed my head forward, and slide down. Just before I hit the jell-o I closed my eyes. I hit jell-o, and all I could hear was the squishing sound of the jell-o passing around my head. When I stopped, and I was completely submerged below the surface. I swam around the jell-o briefly.

I sat up, and shook some of the jell-o off my head, wiping my eyes. I looked down, and I saw that my blouse and bra were completely red, and fairly transparent. My nipples were as hard as rocks, and most of the people around the vat could see them poking though my blouse. I stood up, only to find out that I had lost both of my high heels. I got down on all fours, and started to look for them. Suddenly, the girl who had jumped before me, jumped back in, and helped me find them. We both looked at each other, smiled, and dove under the surface. We each swam around, looking for my shoes. We each found one. She handed me the one she found, and we stepped out of the vat. Each my shoes was filled with jell-o. I set each on the floor, careful no to spill any of the jell-o, and stepped into each one. Jell-o oozed out around my feet, making a weird squishing sound. As we walked away, I left a trail of jell-o from my shoes.

As we walked along the path towards the exit of the mall , we passed a store with a full length mirror. What a sight, two grown women covered in red jell-o, clothes sticking tightly to our slim torsos. We both just burst out laughing. As we cleaned up outside, we talked a little more. I found out her name was Janet, and that she had been dying to do this for years, but could never get up the nerve. After we hosed off, we changed, and went back to her place. I told her about the fun I had playing in the mud, and she expressed a real interest. Another convert. We promised that we would have to enjoy future experiences together.

Epilogue: This story is fiction. The idea for it came from an event that really did happen. Every year, they have a jell-o jump for the Children’s Leukemia Foundation of Michigan. The event takes place at the Universal Mall in Warren, Michigan, and usually happens in July or August. If you live in the area, check it out.

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Back to Shokolada’s Messy Stories archive

Mon, 14 Mar 2005 18:00:00 +0000 Messy Bake Shop, by SirMarhalt

Bake Shop (pies, m/f, leather)

This is the first story I ever wrote. I’m reposting it because I’m sort of out of ideas. Those of you who remember the old “Love American Style” pie fight episode may see where I got my inspiration.

None of this would have happened if my girlfriend could control her sugar tooth. Stephanie is one of those people who can pretty much eat whatever they wants and still look perfect. And I do mean perfect. Steph is a willowy brunette who moves with the grace of a dancer – even though she doesn’t dance or partake in any kind of physical activity that resembles exercise. She has big brown eyes with long lashes and a great smile. I never get tired of looking at her, even when she’s dressed casually, as she was that day in a dark brown leather jacket and tight blue jeans over cowboy boots. She was wearing her long brown hair swept up in back and had her sunglasses perched on top like women do when they’re more interested in making a fashion statement than seeing clearly.

It was a cool fall afternoon and we had been driving around town running errands when Steph decided we would have coconut cream pie for dessert that evening.

“Oh, great,” I grumbled. “Remind me to run 5 miles instead of 3 tomorrow morning.”

“If you stop whining maybe we can engage in some other form of calorie-burning activity this evening so you won’t have to run at all,” Steph said with a smile.

“Hmmm, coconut cream pie is starting sound pretty good all of the sudden.”

“Well, hurry up then, the bakery closes early on Saturdays,” Steph commanded.

We got to our (Steph’s) favorite bakery 15 minutes before it was supposed to close and we were the only customers in the store. The girl behind the counter was completely absorbed in a phone conversation and totally ignored us for a long time. I’ve become quite used to the poor service that is pretty common everywhere these days but it just drives Steph nuts. She paced back and forth while the girl prattled on about her latest visit to the hairdresser.

“Wait ’till you see my hair, Carol, I look great! It cost me a hundred dollars but it was worth every penny…”

Despite my impatience I couldn’t agree more. She was your basic college age beauty with big blue eyes and long blond hair that was tousled and coifed to perfection. She was standing behind the counter in profile to me so that I could fully appreciate how her well tanned body barely fit unto her white bakery uniform. I put my elbows on the counter, sighed theatrically, and stared at her. I knew this would get Steph’s attention and sure enough I immediately felt a rough tap on my shoulder.

I turned and saw Steph holding one of the cream pies that was sitting on the counter. “Do you really want to piss me off in a room full of pies?” she said with mock anger.

“Yikes,” I responded quickly. “EXCUSE ME miss, would you mind waiting on us now?” I said in a loud voice.

“Gotta go Carol. See you at the club tonight. What can I do for you sir?” she said in a slightly too friendly tone.

“We’d like a …” Steph began.

“I’ll get to you in a minute,” the girl interrupted as I winced and stepped back.

“If you hadn’t been on the phone when we came in you would have noticed we’re together,” snapped Steph.

At that moment the door opened and beautiful, richly dressed woman came striding in quickly. She wore an unfastened black leather jacket over a white silk blouse, a tight black leather skirt that went to her knees, and expensive-looking black leather gloves. Her shoulder length thick black hair, high cheekbones, and lovely olive/tan complexion suggested Italian or Spanish heritage. She looked like she just stepped out of the pages of Vogue magazine.

“Hello, my name is Jennifer Bonnaro and I’m here to pick up my sister’s birthday cake.”

“It’s right here, Ms. Bonnaro,” the girl responded as she bent down under the counter. She put a large cake with thick white frosting on the counter.

“Excuse me, but you were waiting on us,” snarled Steph.

Jennifer looked at us like she had just noticed us and said, “I hope you don’t mind but I’m in a terrible hurry.”

“We do mind, and we’re in a hurry too!” snapped Steph.

Jennifer rolled her eyes and motioned for the girl to wait on us.

“We’ll have a deep dish coconut cream pie,” said Steph. “Make sure you put lots of coconut sprinkles on top.”

“If we have any coconut cream pies left they’re in the back,” the girl said indifferently. “Why don’t you just take one of the banana cream pies here on the counter?”

“Why don’t you kiss my …” Steph began.

“Would you mind looking back there for one?” I interrupted in as friendly a tone as I could manage.

The girl shrugged, gave Steph a dirty look and went into the back room.

“Remind me to call and complain about this on Monday…” Steph said as I suddenly noticed the aroma of cigar smoke. I turned and looked at Jennifer. She took a puff from a long thin cigar and regarded us both with amusement.

“Don’t you see that NO SMOKING sign?” I asked.

She walked up and stood right in front of me. Just as I was beginning to enjoy the smell of her perfume she took a deep drag and slowly blew a large cloud of smoke into my face. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t see it with all the smoke in here.”

“That looks like a nice cigar. How much did you pay for it?” I asked.

“I don’t know, ten dollars, maybe,” she said indifferently.

I pulled a ten dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to her. Then I snatched the cigar out of her hand and extinguished it in one of the pies sitting on the counter.

“I guess we’ll have to buy one of these banana cream pies now,” I said to an open mouthed Steph.

Jennifer pulled another cigar out of her purse, lit it, and looked at me reflectively. Then she walked over to the counter and picked up a pie. Using the gloved hand with the cigar she held it up in the air like a waitress and walked back over to me. As she slowly pushed the pie into my face and twisted it back and forth she said, “I guess I’ll have to buy one too.”

I stood with my head tilted back slightly so the pie and crust stayed on my face and I listened to my girlfriend laughing hysterically. She seemed to be enjoying my humiliation so much that I held that pose while I considered how to respond. I decided to have a sense of humor about the whole thing and let these women have a good laugh at my expense. I can never stay mad at Steph very long and Jennifer was so drop dead gorgeous that I found myself wanting to please her too. The pie consisted of a layer of very thick whipped cream and a deep layer of banana pudding with the consistency of a mousse. I just let it stick to my face and stood there with my hands behind my back looking like a fool while Steph laughed on. Jennifer didn’t make a sound but I could sense she was still standing in front of me. Finally, I wiped just enough pie out of my eyes so that I could see and then let the crust slide slowly down my face and on to my shirt and jacket. I opened my eyes to see Jennifer’s sensuous red lips just inches from mine. She slowly blew a stream of cigar smoke into my face and said, “So what do you like better, pie in the face or smoke in the face?”

Steph walked over and picked up a pie and said, “Nobody does that to my boyfriend,” she said as she glared at Jennifer, “except me.” Then she pushed the pie into my face.

Once again, I stood there with my head tilted back, letting the pie stick to my face while I listened to them laughing at me. Then I heard Steph say something that made me start to lose my sense of humor.

“Hey, could I bum a cigar off of you? I’ve never tried one before.”

Steph will sneak the occasional cigarette but only when she thinks I don’t notice. She knows it pisses me off. I wiped the pie off my face just in time to see Jennifer give Steph a light.

The girl emerged from the back room saying, “Well, you’re in luck – I found a coconut cream pie back there. Here’s a box of sprinkles – put as many on as you… ” she stopped when she saw me. “Hey what’s going on?” she said with a giggle.

I ignored her and picked up a pie. “This is for lighting that cigar!” I huffed.

“Not so fast, sweetie. You hit me with that pie and you can forget about having sex for a long, long time!” said Steph.

Her tone was convincing enough to stop me just before I let her have it. I held the pie in front of me and looked at the two of them. Steph took a defiant puff on her cigar and stared straight ahead. Jennifer looked at me with amusement as she stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding her cigar up by her face like a fashion model. I knew what I had to do.

“I never answered your question Ms. Bonnaro. I actually prefer pie in the face much more than smoke.”

With that I pushed the pie into my face and slowly twisted it back and forth. I held it there while I listened to all three women laughing at me. I let the pie slide down my face and looked at them.

Jennifer said, “Wherever did you find such a cute, well-trained male? What’s his name?”

“Wade. He was easy to train,” laughed Steph as she slowly drew her finger across my face and tasted it.

Jennifer said, “You know, Wade, you have no one to blame but yourself for this gooey mess you’ve become. I bet you’d like cigars much more than pie if you gave them a fair chance. Here, try one.” With that she stuck her cigar between my lips.

Big mistake.

“You know Jennifer, I bet you’d like pastry much more than cigars if you gave it a fair chance.” As I spoke I walked around behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. I gently turned her around and pushed her face deeply into the cake sitting on the counter. I slowly rocked her head back and forth, carefully making sure she got plenty of icing in her thick black hair.

I have to give her credit. I expected her to quickly emerge from the cake and scratch my eyes out. Instead, she showed that she had a sense of humor too. She kept her face stuck down in the cake with frosting up to her ears while she listened to all of us laugh at her. Finally, she carefully placed her hands on the counter and slowly extracted her face out of the cake. Her face looked like it had been plastered with a thick layer of white paste. None of her features were visible. She stood there for a moment with her head held high while the frosting dripped all over her leather jacket and silk blouse. She carefully wiped the frosting out of each eye, taking care to use only one finger so as to keep her gloves as clean as possible. She looked at Steph.

“Would you mind getting a cigar out of my purse?”

Steph laughingly complied. She placed the cigar between Jennifer

Tina’s Birthday Sur-Pies

— by Anonymous —

Tina awoke the morning of her 18th birthday, and she thought of the cheerleader practice scheduled for later in the day. Her friends on the squad were nice, she thought, but some of them seemed jealous of Tina. She was the prettiest of the cheerleaders, with a perfectly proportioned body, not skinny and not fat, an angelic face with adorable pouty lips and clear, cool blue eyes, and a head of soft honey blonde hair that extended nearly to her waist, which she usually wore in a ponytail. Tina’s real trouble was, she knew just how pretty she was. She was a prima donna, and in her heart, she knew it. She was beginning to realize that it was her own attitude that kept her from finding the kind of boyfriend she wanted. She had her pick of the football heroes, but they bored her.

Tina did her makeup and her nails, and wondered what awaited her at the end of the school day. She had heard vague rumours about a secret tradition among the senior cheerleader squad, but as she was the first in her squad to turn 18, she had never actually experienced it. Still, how bad could it be? This was a fairly straitlaced little high school, nothing really crazy ever happened there.

Resolving to take the day as it came, she donned her red cheerleader sweater and white pleated skirt over her white panties and bra and white stockings. Bright red boots completed the ensemble. She glanced at the mirror, but it told the same old story. Perfect, as usual. All the money Daddy spent at the orthodontist showed as Tina smiled at herself in the mirror. “It’s just hard to be humble when you’re this gorgeous”, she said laughingly.

School came and went, and the mischevious twinkle in some of her pretty friend’s eyes as they wished her “happy birthday” made her a bit wary, but she resolved to stop worrying. “I’m a good sport, and anyway, if they do something to me, I’ll get ’em back when it’s their birthday.”

Cheerleader practice began, and Tina went through the routines with her friends, all the while wondering what they had in store. They were trying to be nonchalant, but Tina was still suspicious. Then, practice was over.

“Gather ’round, ladies!” said Veronica, the head cheerleader. “It’s Tina’s 18th birthday, and we have something special for her!” Veronica beckoned toward the girls’ locker room door, and the girls all headed for it, with Tina behind. As Tina passed through the door, her world went white for an instant, and then black. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, and she was confused and panicky until she tasted the lemon cream pie filling. A pie in the face! The shock and embarrassment paralyzed Tina. The girls began singing Happy Birthday, and with each verse they took turns smashing cream and mousse pies of every variety in her stunned face. Then, as the song ended, Veronica spoke up again.

“Girls”, I think Tina’s still a bit too clean!” “Uh huh!” came the reply, and Tina’s best friend Sue grabbed a large cream pie from the seemingly endless supply on several card tables. “You’ll just love this, Tina” she said, and Tina was too shocked to protest, or even move.

Sue lifted Tina’s pleated white skirt, pulled the elastic waistband of Tina’s panties forward, and slid the coconut cream pie into the top of Tina’s white panties. She then smushed the pie between Tina’s thighs. Tina sighed as the sweet creamy goo mushed all over her private parts. Tina felt so humiliated, but oh, so good at the same time. Before she could regain her composure, pretty red-haired Jenny lifted the back of her skirt, and slid another coconut cream pie down the back of her panties, and pressed firmly. More cream squeezed into Tina’s tender folds, as she felt the first stirrings of impending orgasm.

“Oh, look girls! Tina’s getting hot!” short, sweet Sarah squealed, and it was true. Tina’s face reddened under its coating of creamy goo. Sarah yanked Tina’s sweater out from her skirt, and with her other hand she thrust a chocolate mousse pie under the sweater and smushed it into Tina’s frilly white bra. Sarah grabbed another pie, and as one hand pulled Tina’s messy bra away from her breasts, squished the pie into Tina’s cleavage with the other. Tina couldn’t believe how exquisite the cream felt on her nipples. While Sarah was massaging the pie filling into Tina’s breasts, blonde green eyed Donna grabbed two lemon cream pies and stood behind Tina. Donna then smeared one pie over Tina’s long, straight, silky blonde hair, and followed with the other pie. She bent the pies into a C shape as she slid them down Tina’s pretty ponytail, so as to coat it completely with mess. By this time, Sarah had applied two more pies under Tina’s sweater, and Jenny readied another pie for the back of Tina’s panties. The pie squashed into Tina’s butt, but she had no chance to react, as Sue was ready with a chocolate cream pie for the front of Tina’s panties. Tall, slender Alyssa stood ready with a chocolate cream and a coconut cream pie, and she plastered both in quick succession into Tina’s reddening face.

“Don’t you think Tina’s a bit overdressed?” said Veronica, her green eyes flashing as she laughed. The squad quickly agreed. At once, soft feminine hands with prettily painted nails were slipping Tina’s thoroughly messed up cheerleader uniform off of her quivering body. Tina stood in her bra, panties, and white stay-up stockings, totally humiliated and degraded, and yet enjoying every second. Next, Veronica stood facing Tina, and she gazed into Tina’s blue eyes teasingly, yet almost lovingly, and she unhooked Tina’s bra, and slowly peeled it off of Tina’s sticky breasts. The rest of the squad paused in their laughter when they saw how lovely Tina’s breasts were. “Now, your panties come off” said Veronica. Tina gasped softly and tried to protest, bu the words caught in her throat. She felt her panties slide down her legs, and she enjoyed the liberating feeling of nakedness, along with her helpless embarrassment.

Each of the squad took a cream pie in each hand, and with a colossal SPLUSH the pies were thrust into every square inch of Tina’s body. She stood, the prettiest dessert creation ever, with cream and goo of every color of the rainbow stuck to her body. The orgasm finally came, wracking her body. Her giggling tormenters were struck silent at the intensity of Tina’s reaction. Few of them could remember ever having had such intense pleasure. Each could hardly wait for her own birthday celebration.

Veronica took the lagest and thickest pie, which she had saved, and placed it on a chair. “Here, Tina, sit down. You look beat!” Tina, having no dignity left to lose, and actually looking forward to the sensation, sat down hard on the pie, and squirmed around, feeling the cream press into every nook and cranny. She had never ever been so humiliated, but at the same time, she had never felt so alive.

Her birthday sur-pies was complete, or so she thought.

Tina’s Birthday Sur-Pies Part II – Love among the pastry

Tony walked down the corridor in the school’s athletic complex, holding a piece of paper, and scratching his head. The note simply said “Be at the cheerleader’s practice area at 4:10 PM sharp. You won’t be sorry!”

“Cheerleaders?” he wondered. What could they possibly want with him? Tony was afraid it would be some “geek party” or something similar, but his curiosity outweighed his fears. That pretty girl Tina was a cheerleader, he knew, but he knew that stuck-up prissy prima donna couldn’t possibly be interested in him. She was always being asked out by those football players, and Tony was sure she was going out with one or another of him.

Tina. Yes, she was stuck-up, (or as the British would say, “Toffee-nosed”. Tony chuckled, thinking of the Pythonesque image that phrase suggested) but she sure was pretty. “I’ll bet she’s really a nice girl, deep down,” he mused, “But she’s one of those girls who’s absolutely gorgeous, and knows it.”

Despite all this, Tony was attracted to Tina, and he often spent hours fantasizing about her. “Oh well,” he thought, “Whatever this is, it’ll break up a boring day.”

He turned the corner and arrived at the door to the cheerleader’s practice room. He began to knock at the door, but it swung open. Veronica spotted him from the locker room entrance and, holding a finger to her lips, she beckoned Tony toward the locker room. Now Tony was really confused. What could possibly be in store for him in the cheerleader’s locker room? And what was that white stuff on Veronica’s hands that also seemed to be splattered on her legs?

The sight that greeted Tony when he arrived at the entrance to the locker room literally sent him reeling. He staggered back and leaned against a wall for support. It took him several seconds to regain his breath, but his pulse rate maintained its breakneck pace.

It was Tina. The girl he secretly admired was sitting on a chair in the center of the room, absolutely saturated and inundated with whipped cream and cream pie filling of every description. She was so messed up, it was a wonder he recognized her at all, but he did. Perhaps it was a sixth sense, but he instantly recognized her without a doubt.

“Here’s your birthday present, Tina!” said Veronica, with a smirk. Veronica had seen Tony’s eyes follow Tina’s body many times throughout the school year, but she thought of Tony as a hopeless nerd.

Tina blinked the cream away from her eyes, and stared at Tony. If she thought she couldn’t be more humiliated, she knew differently now. There she was, naked save for a pair of red cheerleader boots and white stay-up stockings, and covered with pies, and still feeling the orgasm that only moments before had wracked her body. “T-t-tony?” she finally gasped. “Tina! you, you’re naked!” “Oh my God!”

Veronica’s cruelty was too much for the rest of the cheerleading squad, and they filed out of the room, eyes downcast. Veronca savored the humiliating scene she had orchestrated for a moment, and then left, saying “I’ll just let you two get acquainted, ok?”

Tina and Tony stared at each other for a long while, both speechless. Finally, Tony regained his senses enough to grab a towel and offer it to Tina. “No, I… I don’t need it. Come here” Tina said, surprising herself. Before her absolute humiliation, she wouldn’t have given a nerdy guy like Tony the time of day, but her personality was changing by the moment. She had always admired Tony’s intelligence, in an odd way, and she now realized that she was attracted to him, even though he was rather fat and didn’t have a fancy new car.

“Tina, I… I don’t know what to say. You look so beautiful with all that cream all over you!” He caught himself, wondering what had made him blurt that out. It was true, though. He had never stopped to think, before, about why he got vaguely turned on watching a pie fight in a funny movie, while everybody else just laughed. He did own a copy of The Great Race, but it was because of the cool cars in that movie, or so he thought.

“I do? Well, I don’t know why I’m saying this to you, but it feels great all over me. Would you… would you think I was weird if I asked for a hug?” Tina said, and Tony opened his arms, finally realizing that rational thought was becoming useless in this utterly fantastic situation. He held Tina’s gooey body in his arms, oblivious to the mess she was making of his white shirt and pocket protector. She looked up at him, and her eyes closed and her lips parted. He bowed his head and kissed her. They stood for quite a while, lips smacking against lips, and then Tony felt a moist probing. This almost caused Tony’s knees to give way once more. She was slipping him her tongue! The most beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed ponytailed cheerleader in the whole school was slipping him the tongue! “Oh, no! What should I do?” thought Tony, frantically. “Enjoy it, dummy!” came an unknown voice in his head.

They kissed for quite a while longer, and finally stopped to catch their breath. Tina, all inhibitions gone by this point, said “Your clothes are getting all messed up. Here, let me undo your shirt.” Tony was beyond resisting at this point, and obediently allowed Tina to remove his shirt. She immediately began undoing his pants, and he didn’t protest. Soon they were both naked. One of the folding tables stood nearby, and it still held several cream pies left over from the barrage. Tina walked over and grabbed one. “You’re going to find out what this feels like!” said Tina, as playfulness overtook her embarrassment. “But…” Tony tried to say, but the first pie was thrust firmly in his face with a twist.

Before he could react, a cool, creamy smooth mousse pie was thrust directly into his manhood. Tina squished the pie around, and felt his rock-hardness in her hand. This was fun! She grabbed another pie, and treated him to a second helping. She then stuffed a lemon cream pie into his butt, as he stood, stunned. This was almost more arousing than seeing Tina covered with pie, he thought. He found himself asking Tina for some more pie. She obliged, with two more to his face, one over the top of his head, one in his crotch, and one more in his butt. “Now me!” she said. Tony grabbed two large pies, and mushed them simultaneously in Tina’s face, sandwiching it between them. Grabbing two more, he thrust them into Tina’s ample breasts, slowly twisting and squishing them, enjoying the firmness of her bosom. Taking two more pies, he squashed them into her crotch and butt, forming a cream bikini bottom. She grabbed another pie, and placed it on the chair. “You first”, she said, and Tony sat down on it. He could barely believe how good it felt. Tina then placed another pie face-up on his lap. She sat on his lap, and he felt the pie filling squish out from under her and all over his erection. She put her arms around Tony’s head, and pushed his face into her creamy breasts.

“This must be what heaven is like!” thought Tony. His adventure wasn’t over, though, by a long stretch.