To save any disappointment I’ll let you know now that the water cannon thing doesn’t go in our favour, but Lindsay still gets quite wet regardless.

So I was listening to an Ellie Goulding song earlier (I’m such a sell-out) and it got me wondering something. There are singers who appear a lot in messy fiction. Pixie Lott, The Saturdays, Taylor Swift and Hayley Williams all come to mind immediately. Whether or not I necessarily agree with those choices varies between each one, but it did get me wondering why Ellie Goulding doesn’t seem to have anywhere near the level of ubiquity of those eight other ladies. Sure, she’s not my type but I’ll admit she’s attractive. I’d also say she’s a well-known mainstream artist. The only things I’ve seen Ellie in on here are a NGYOB story, where she avoided the gunk at the expense of Pixie Lott, and the GGP which she obviously hasn’t won. I should point out that I’m not complaining about those outcomes, by the way. I’m just saying, I thought she’d have been in more stories than just the one where she doesn’t even get the main mess.

Another one is Paloma Faith, whom I actually considered as my Ms. P in the A-Z Series.  I’ve seen her on Buzzcocks a few times and she just strikes me as someone who’d be an absolute blast to put in a messy scenario. She’s kind of cute too and pretty well-known yet to my knowledge, there’s nothing out there.

It probably also goes without saying that a lot of the people I write about (Alissa White-Gluz, Charlotte Wessels, Lahannya, and my upcoming Ms. Q, for examples from the A-Z) I do because nobody else does. However, I do get why in those cases.

Does anyone else have any celebrities that they’ve not seen in many WAM stories (if any), even if they think they ought to be?

Thanks to the Messy Scenes Blog. I skipped over the entire episode and I can tell you that this is one of the less weird parts.

You may remember this local news reporter getting pied for pi day last year. The good news is they’ve decided to turn it into a yearly running joke.

Hi, all.

I intended to write this little foreword with my earlier post and forgot.  Thanks to TellyGunge for letting me post this story on the site.  For those with the interest level and long attention spans, there are 18 total chapters of this series.  There is a plot behind the story, references to art and music, along with lots of lesbian sex, messy situations, nylon and pantyhose, and touches of humor here and there.  I hope you enjoy reading these chapters, and please leave a comment or two as the series progresses.  Thanks.

Mike

———-

This story is purely a work of fiction. The story does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

Chapter 3

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

Ginger opened her eyes, and her new surroundings slowly came into focus.  She lay in a large four-poster bed with satin sheets.  Large windows looked outdoors onto a garden, and the sound of birds chirping and the sight of a sunny, blue sky put her mind at ease.  The soft tick-tock of a golden clock on the mantelpiece told her the time, 10:30 in the morning.  With a start, she realized that she was, thankfully, clean, but also completely naked.  She sat upright, clutching the satin sheets around her breasts.

She looked over, and saw Red sitting on a chair watching her intently.  She was still wearing the same outfit that Ginger had last seen.

“Good morning, I think,” said Ginger, remembering what had happened to her in the white room earlier.  Was it yesterday, two days ago, or only last night?  She had lost complete track of time, and the reassuring, steady tick-tock of the clock reminded her that she was still part of the normal world.

“Morning.  I hope you slept well,” replied Red.

Ginger nodded.  “Where am I?” she asked.

“You’re in the guest bedroom.  The Duchess asked us to keep you here last night, so you could join us for the party this afternoon.”

The bizarre events up to this point, the memory of a cock spurting strawberry frosting up her pussy, being covered in assorted goo, then left to orgasm multiple times while covered in marshmallow fluff and mini M&Ms, sped through Ginger’s head.

Before she could reply, a knock was heard at the door, followed a moment later by a young woman, carrying a tray of morning breakfast foods, orange juice, and milk.  Red thanked her, and the woman gave a small curtsey to Ginger after setting down the tray across her lap, then left the room.

Ginger began to nibble on a sweet roll, not knowing what to say to this enigmatic, yet beautiful woman sitting next to her.  Despite what Red and White, the names Ginger had assigned to the two women in her mind, had done with her in the white room, she did not feel threatened by her.  Her kinky and bizarre punishment had been extremely pleasurable.  Ginger remembered the undercurrent of sexual attraction she had felt for Red, and she sensed that the dark-haired woman had felt the same way.

Red continued to politely watch Ginger eat her breakfast.  Eventually, after a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Why did you try to steal it?”

Ginger took a sip of orange juice, sighed, and looked into Red’s eyes. “Because the necklace belongs to my family.  Not hers.  Mine.”  The last word came out sharply, and Ginger instantly regretted it.  She looked out the window, avoiding eye contact with Red for a few moments.

“I saw the security footage.  I’m amazed you got all the way to the vault.  Too bad about what happened afterward.”  Red calmly replied, and chuckled a bit.

In spite of herself, Ginger laughed as well.  She turned back to look at Red.  “You could say that.”

Red stood and walked over to the window.  Ginger tracked her easy, relaxed steps with her eyes.  The satin sheet that she had clutched so tightly to her chest earlier dropped to her lap as she continued to eat.  The sunlight cast golden beams onto her ripe boobs, and as Red glanced over her shoulder briefly, she felt a quick twinge run through her pussy at the glorious sight.

While she ate breakfast, Ginger calmly told Red the story behind the necklace.  The necklace had been made in the 17th century, and through the generations, Ginger’s family had treasured it.  It was during the chaos and destruction of World War II that the necklace had been stolen, taken from them during the frenzy of looting and chaos that occurred during those dark years.  Her great-grandfather had sworn that the necklace would be found and returned to them.  For many years, it was feared lost, possibly that the jewels had been broken apart and sold separately, for profit or sheer desperation, in the ensuing years.  Her own father was able to completely trace its travels through Europe, and had finally located it at the Duchess’ estate.  The estate had been contacted and requested that it be returned.  Instead, the long legal process of delay, requests for proof of ownership, and various other legal tactics had dragged on for years.  In frustration, Ginger had decided to steal the necklace back.

She blushed, shamefaced as she finished her story.  “I’m not proud that I tried to steal it.  Her family acquired it after the war, long before any of us were even born, so it’s not her fault.”

Red exhaled slowly.  “Well, the Duchess isn’t known for being the most generous person.  I’m not surprised about what you’ve told me.”

“I expected that when security got me, she’d have me arrested.”

Red chuckled.  “You could say that she has some definitely kinky fetishes.  I think she’s keeping you around just for that reason.”

Ginger stirred, remembering her enjoyment as well at what happened earlier, then replied.  “Well, what’s this about a party?  Will she be there?  Maybe I could talk to her.”

“Ah, yes.  I’m supposed to escort you there.  It’s a costume party.  She has this once a year, for her friends, outside in the garden area.”

“Maybe I can convince her to give me the necklace back.”

Red merely replied, “We’ll see.”

Ginger finished her breakfast, and Red said she would be back in the afternoon to bring her down to the party.  When Ginger asked about clothes, Red’s cheeks flushed briefly in embarrassment.  She pointed to a pink-and-white outfit, hanging in one corner of the room.  Ginger looked at it in confusion, then slowly realized what it was.  “A bunny girl?!  A freaking Playboy bunny girl?” hollered Ginger, in disbelief.  She buried her head in her hands.  “That woman is crazy,” she muttered to herself.

“Actually, I think you’re gonna look really cute in it.  And wait till you see what I’ve got to wear.”  Red leaned in, gave Ginger a tender kiss on her lips, then turned and left the room.

——————–

In the early afternoon, Ginger spread the entire outfit on the bed.  It was a classic Playboy bunny costume, in a soft pastel pink complete with the white puffy bunny tail, pink headband ears, a white collared choker with black bow tie, and white cuffs with the bunny-logo emblazoned on the cuff links.  The final piece was the hip ribbon, and Ginger shook her head in amazement when she saw her own name neatly printed on it.  A pair of glossy, black leather pumps and two packages of pantyhose rounded out the ensemble.  She read the package names, and whistled slowly.  “Falke Seidenglatt and Wolford Neon 40.  This woman has good taste.”

A knock on the door, and as Ginger turned around, Red stepped into the room, a touch self-consciously.

Ginger’s eyes widened and she smiled from ear to ear.  “Oh my God, you look beautiful!”  Ginger jumped up and down a few times excitedly, her breasts bouncing up and down as well.  She scurried over to her new friend, and hugged her.

“Stop, stop.  I feel ridiculous,” replied Red, who secretly got a rush at how happy Ginger was.

“No, no, you look great,” said Ginger.  “The hottest Snow White I’ve ever seen.”  Red was wearing a multicolored ensemble, with a figure hugging blue, red, and white top, a yellow short skirt, and red petticoat underneath.  Her dark black hair was styled beautifully, and even a red bow was in her hair.  Her feet were capped with cute red shoes complete with a red bow, and her legs were hugged by soft, glossy nude-colored pantyhose, while her hands were covered with white fingerless gloves.  “Turn around, turn around,” said Ginger, and Red obliged her with a brief twirl around.  Her petticoat flared upward, and Ginger could have sworn that Red wasn’t wearing any panties.  The thought of her pussy pressing up against the fabric of her nylon gusset, with no panty in between, sent a twinge of ecstasy through Ginger.

“You aren’t even dressed,” scolded Red.  “Come on, let’s get you ready.”

It dawned on Ginger that she didn’t remember seeing any panties in the bunny costume pile, either.  She fumbled for the Falke package first, anticipating the feeling of the cool, soft and silky nylon pressing up against her skin.  She tore the package open, and sat on the edge of the bed.  She slightly spread her legs, giving Red a peek at her pink pussy.  Slowly, one leg at a time, she rolled the pantyhose up her long, slim legs.  Standing on her tiptoes, she pulled up on the waist band, smothering her ass and her own pussy with the first layer of nylon.  Meanwhile, Red had opened the Wolford package, and carefully extracted the glossy black nylon.  Red pressed the pantyhose close to her nose, inhaling the glorious scent of fresh nylon.

She widened her eyes in a teasing manner, and laughed as Ginger took the luscious hosiery from her and repeated the slow process of pulling the nylon up her legs.  When she stood up to tighten them upward, Red got up to her and whispered in her ear, “Let me help you.”  Red pulled and stretched, smoothed and tightened the black hosiery on Ginger’s body.  She ran her hands up and down her legs, pulling and smoothing out any wrinkles.  Ginger stood on her tiptoes, looking down as Red continued her work, running her hands up and down her thighs.  Red’s hands drifted close to Ginger’s pussy, and a single finger pressed up onto the nylon against her own bald slit.  Both women remembered how Red had sucked the strawberry frosting from Ginger’s cunt before, but now, she was almost shy as her finger roamed around Ginger’s moistening pussy.  Red pushed in the fabric, and Ginger groaned as she felt the rasp of the nylon enter her slit.  Red gave her finger a few more pushes then slowly eased it out.  Her hands traced the outlines of Ginger’s butt cheeks then straightened the waist band out.  Ginger felt a drop of moisture ooze from her pussy, dampening the crotch of her nylons.

SMACK!! Red playfully slapped Ginger’s pert ass, eliciting a squeal of surprise, followed by a giggle.

Red helped Ginger wiggle her way into the bunny costume.  It was quite tight, but after much muttering and complaining, and after she had been all cinched up, she had to admit that she felt absolutely exquisite wearing it.  She admired herself in a large mirror, spinning on her pantyhosed toes as she admired how she looked.

“Come on, come on,” chided Red.  Ginger skipped back to the bed, and sat down carefully, so as not to squish her bunny tail, and put her bunny ears on, along with her cuffs.  The ribbon with her name was carefully pinned to her hip.  All that remained was her shoes.  She reached for one, but Red said, “No, I’ll put these on for you, dear.”  Ginger leaned back and extended one leg out, arching her foot.  Red knelt on the floor in front of her, and softly held her foot, stroking the arch, then bent her lips down, and placed a delicate kiss on her toes.  Ginger could not take her eyes away from that sexy sight, and despite her best attempt at control, she felt a new trickle of juice ooze from her pussy, soaking onto her pantyhose.  She whimpered as Red slipped the first pump on carefully, before setting her heeled foot onto the floor.  The erotic process was repeated for her other foot.  Ginger sat on the edge of the bed, looking from tip to toe a sexy, classic Playboy bunny, while Red held her hands down on the edge of her pumps, and placed a kiss on the top of her knees.  “There, all set,” she said huskily, and both women’s cunts were now freely leaking pussy juice, soaking into the fabric of their hosiery.

They stood up then dove hungrily for each other’s mouth.  Their ripe breasts pushed up against each other and they ground their pussies firmly together.  The rustle of their costumes’ fabric accompanied each other’s moans and gasps, while both reached behind the other to squeeze and fondle a handful of pantyhosed ass.  Their tongues intertwined, darting in and out of each other’s mouth, accompanied by the smacking of lips during the kisses.

“Oh, God,” gasped Red.  “I have to fuck you. Tonight, tonight, baby.”  She squeezed Ginger’s ass one more time, then broke the embrace.  Ginger’s head was spinning, and after hearing Red say those words, she wanted to grab her right now, guide her to bed, and let Red fuck her brains out.

But Red dared not defy the Duchess, so she took Ginger’s hand, and reluctantly led her to the party.

——————–

Ginger and Red approached the scene of the party.  A large group of people were milling around, chatting, laughing and having a good time.  The men were all dressed in tuxedos, while the women wore a variety of costumes.  Ginger realized the costume party rule only applied to the women, and despite the issues she was having with the Duchess, she found herself agreeing with that.  A riot of colors filled her eyes from the female costumes.  French maids, genie girls, Little Red Riding Hood, Wonderland Alice, and Strawberry Shortcake were just some of the costumes she saw.  A variety of short skirts and long trim legs, often emerging from a sea of soft petticoats, which were covered in a plethora of red, black, blue, pink, white or tan nylon, caused Ginger’s body to tingle.  A mixture of long hair in a variety of styles and colors accompanied a multitude of heaving breasts and daring cleavage.  Glittering jewelry was draped around necks, with some jewels dangling provocatively over enticing chasms of cleavage, while earrings or bracelets hung from ears or encircled wrists, whirled and twinkled around her in a dizzying array.  She noticed that there were no other women dressed like her and Ginger, and she caught the stares of many men and quite a few women as the two of them walked, hand in hand, through the party.

It was not only visual feast, but a gently soothing aural one as well.  Ginger heard a string quartet playing, and saw four men, also dressed in tuxedos, playing in a shady part of the garden.  She listened for a moment then murmured to herself, “Haydn’s Opus 20, String Quartet Number Six, second movement.” Red looked at her, and tilted her head quizzically.  “I learned to play the violin when I was younger,” Ginger said.

At that moment, White appeared from the crowd.  She was dressed in her sexy conservative dress, but not a costume.  “Ah, I see you have our friend with you,” she said to Red.  “Is she treating you well?” she asked Ginger.  Ginger couldn’t stop herself, and blushed slightly.  “I take that as a yes.  Good, I’m glad you two are getting along.  You two make a cute couple.” White said this with not a hint of malice.

“No costume?” said Red.

“Nope,” said White.  “I’m on duty this year.  You’re the lucky one this time.”  She laughed, and Ginger remembered Red’s embarrassed look when she first came in as Snow White.  White looked at Ginger, and said, “Lots of T&A, honey, lots of T&A.  That’s the main reason behind this party, at least most years.  I’ll see you two later.  Take care.”  White disappeared into the crowd.

“How long have you known each other?” asked Ginger, as the two of them continued to mill around in the crowd.

“Seven years.  She was here before me, and she knows the Duchess better.  But she’s not a kiss-ass.  She’ll give her hell if necessary.  I’ve seen her do it.  She’s about the only person who can handle her.”

Ginger nodded, enjoying her time with Red.

A handsome man in a tuxedo came up to Ginger, and took her hand delicately.  “Ma chérie,” he said, and kissed her hand.  “I am the Baron of Normandy.  I have never seen you before at this lovely party.  What is your name?”

“Ginger d’Argento,” she replied, blushing.

“That is a beautiful name, Mademoiselle Lapin.  If you ever have need of my services, I am always at your disposal.”  He bowed slightly, and kissed her hand again.  He bowed to Red as well and walked away.

“What just happened?” whispered Ginger from the side of her mouth.

Red laughed.  “Actually, you should feel honored.  He’s one of the most powerful and richest of all the people here.  You obviously caught his eye.  Remember that name.  You may need his help someday.”

The two women continued to walk through the party, until they approached a large table underneath an oak tree at the crest of a hill.  The table was completely covered with a mixture of cakes, pies in cream and fruit flavors, and glass bowls containing cherry sauce and melted chocolate.  At the center was a multi-level cake, covered in delicious, thick white frosting, decorated with a mix of pastel pink and blue trim along the edges.  A single chair was placed by the table, facing outward.

Then Ginger saw her, the Duchess, for the very first time.  She was a gorgeous woman, with beautifully curled blond hair, voluptuous breasts, and beautifully shaped legs.  She wore a bright pink dress, with light pink and white lace on top of it, studded with glittery sequins and diamonds throughout it, accompanied by elbow length pink satin gloves.  A delicate diamond tiara was nestled within her blond hair.  Her dress showed off her shiny tan pantyhose-covered legs, and her feet were caressed with light pink strappy heels.  A variety of men and women milled around the Duchess as she held court in her garden.

The Duchess caught sight of Red and Ginger, and she gestured imperceptibly for the two of them to come to her.  The crowd parted, and soon Ginger stood in front of her, taken aback by her beauty and splendor.

“Thank you for bringing her to me, Alexandra.” said the Duchess.

Ginger realized for the first time that she now knew Red’s name.  Red nodded her head politely, squeezed Ginger’s hand, then let go and stepped a few feet back.

Ginger felt a twinge of unease run through her, now that the reassuring touch of Red was gone.  She looked over her shoulder back at her new friend, who did not make eye contact with her.  She was staring straight ahead, not daring to return Ginger’s gaze.  Ginger looked back at the Duchess.  She had determined that the Duchess would not hurt her, but she also knew that the security footage that Red had mentioned clearly showed her attempting to steal the necklace, was still hanging over her head.  The statement Red had made, about being kept around for her ‘kinky fetishes’ went through Ginger’s mind.

“My dear,” purred the Duchess.  “You look so lovely in your costume.  Are you enjoying the party?”

“Thank you, my lady, and yes, I am.  I was hoping…”

The Duchess interrupted her as if she had not heard a word.  “Good, I’m glad to hear that.  I’ve seen the looks that my friends have been giving you.  You are quite the talk of my party.” The Duchess approached her, and softly stroked the side of Ginger’s cheek with her hand.  She leaned close and whispered softly in Ginger’s ear “I think a lot of men here want to fuck you right now.  Who wouldn’t want to fuck a cute little bunny like yourself, hmmm?”

Ginger heard a hint of malice in the Duchess’ words, and realized that she had unwittingly upstaged her as the center of attention at the party.

The Duchess continued whispering in her ear.  “Well, I can understand them wanting to fuck a cute, clean bunny just like you are right now.  But a dirty, messy, sloppy bunny, no one would want to fuck you then.  Isn’t that right, dear?”

Ginger didn’t even know how to respond.  She felt a wave of fear run through her body, followed briefly by a sense of tingling anticipation, as she remembered her response to her messy bondage session, and begging to come in the white room with Red and White.  “My lady, I just…”

The Duchess stepped back, and again ignored Ginger.  “Alexandra, don’t you think that she looks beautiful right now?”  The Duchess walked around her prey, and gave Ginger’s bunny tail a little wiggle with her hand, then ran her pink gloved hand along the curve of her ass.  The brief hiss of satin on nylon hung in the air.

“Yes, my lady, she does look beautiful,” answered Red dutifully.

Ginger looked back at Red, but still she would not meet her gaze.

“And if this cute bunny girl was covered in food, from that table, do you think she’d still look beautiful?”

A gasp from the people surrounding the trio broke the silence.  “Oh, the humiliation,” they all thought.  “How horrible that would be!”

Red hesitated a moment, and Ginger could see her hands flexing in frustration for a moment.

“Well, do you?!” the Duchess snapped, impatiently.

“She’d still be beautiful, my lady,” replied Red, who finally looked at Ginger, smiled, and winked.

Ginger’s heart leapt for joy.

“What?!” spluttered the Duchess, who whirled around and looked at Red in disbelief.  “Alexandra, I’m surprised at you.  Who’d want to be covered in food?  She looks so lovely right now.”

Red shrugged, and said, “You asked me if she’d still be beautiful, and that was my answer.”

A titter of nervous laughter ran through the crowd.

The Duchess stared at Red for another moment then grabbed Ginger’s hand.  “You! Follow me!” she snapped at Red, as she hauled Ginger over to the chair sitting by the pastry table.  She roughly sat Ginger down in the chair.  She made a performance of straightening out her bunny ears, followed by adjusting her costume, tugging it here and there to smooth and tighten it a bit.  Ginger felt every eye of the crowd on her, the men in their tuxedos and the women in their various costumes, as she sat in the chair, her hands folded in her lap.  She was a beautiful bunny girl, who was about to have a messy vengeance wreaked upon her.

The Duchess spread her arms dramatically.  “My friends, you all heard Alexandra say that her new friend here would still be beautiful, even if she was covered in food.”  Another round of nervous laughter greeted this statement.  “Well, let’s see if she’s right.”  She handed a pink cream pie, with a central pool of red goo, over to Red.  “You know what to do,” she said icily to Red.

Red took the pie reluctantly, and looked at Ginger.  She looked adorable, sitting in the chair looking very cute, innocent and sexy all at the same time, with the huge table of pastries behind her.  Red’s eyes traced the line of her black pantyhose-covered legs, up to her firm breasts and beautiful face, as Ginger’s lip quivered slightly.  Their eyes met, and time seemed to stop.  Ginger breathed out nervously, her hands shaking a bit.  Red mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” and Ginger nodded slightly in acknowledgement and forgiveness, her little bunny ears waving in the air.

SPLUTT!!  The pink pie was splattered into Ginger’s face, throwing back spatters of pink cream and crust behind her.  Her squeak of shock, heard only by Red, was muffled behind the goo.  The silver pie tin was released, and it slowly oozed down her face, before clattering in her lap.  Large pink gobs dripped from Ginger’s face, and while some landed deep within her cleavage, others plopped and oozed down the front of her costume.  The crowd was silent, unsure if this was the end, or if there was more to come.

The Duchess answered their question by handing Red a light pastel blue cream pie.  “Don’t stop until I tell you to,” she said, and fixed Red with a glare.  With that, she walked a few feet away to stand at the end of the table, ensuring that not a single speck of cream would land on her immaculate costume.

Red plastered the second pie onto the top of Ginger’s tits, and a huge light blue blob now spread outward from the top of her chest, with the bulk of the cream beginning to collect in her cleavage.  The broken crust was centered on the top of her chest, and it slid slowly down the curve of her bosom, before it plopped messily in a broken heap onto her lap.

Ginger felt her pussy begin to moisten, and a part of her mind wondered what would happen if she started to rub herself in front of all the people that were watching her.  The bizarre nature of the thought almost made her laugh, and she watched as Red took a large creamy white cake from the table, then took a quick glance at the Duchess standing at a distance, her arms crossed imperiously across her chest.  “Here I am,” thought Ginger, “getting plastered with pies by my friend, because of that crazy woman, and I’m actually worried about playing with myself in public.”

She shook her head briefly in wonder at her situation, before Red smothered her face with the cake.  The dessert smacked into her face with a dull THUD, and Ginger’s hands briefly flew up at the force of the impact, before dropping back down into her messy lap.  Large chunks of yellow cake and white frosting and cream plopped off her face.  Her eyes were tightly shut, and she shook her face in an attempt to loosen some of the goop.  But, most of it adhered tenaciously to her sweet features, now smothered in multiple layers of cream and cake.

More pies were splattered and thrust onto Ginger’s face and chest, and she rapidly became a multicolored mess.  As Red reached for a cream pie, the Duchess ordered Red to push the pie onto “that pert little bunny pussy.”  Ginger uttered a low moan, and meekly spread her legs apart.  With a gooey SPLUTT the delicious pastry was plastered onto the pink crotch of her costume.  Ginger sucked in her breath at the chilly feeling that now began to seep into her warm pussy. Red rubbed the cream around firmly, leaving globs not only on her costume, but along her black-pantyhose covered thighs.

Ginger moaned again, and Red looked down at her friend.  Her bunny ears were flecked with cream, and her cuffs were stained with goo as well.  A large pile of goop and cream was welling up between her sexy nylon-covered thighs.  Ginger began to subtly grind her hips onto the chair, not feeling daring enough yet to use her fingers.  She gasped slightly, blind from the assorted cream now covering her face, and she bit her lower lip, as the goop around her thighs and around her pussy could be felt soaking into the nylon.

She felt her bunny ears being plucked off her head, and the voice of Red whispered, “Look up.” Ginger tilted her head back as she opened her eyes cautiously, and was greeted by the sight of her dark-haired friend holding a bowl filled with melted chocolate syrup.  The bowl was overturned, and the syrup was dribbled directly onto her face.  It ran in rich dark streams down her forehead, cheeks and past her lips, forming a shiny brown coating.  Ginger tilted her head down to catch her breath then raised her face back up.  She licked her lips as the stream ended, tasting the delicious chocolate on her tongue, and giggled in spite of herself.  For the second time in two days, she was becoming a messy little blob of goop, and despite the humiliation of having it occur in front of a crowd of complete strangers, the impish side of her personality was trying to make the best of it.

The crowd of people watched in fascination at the gradual messy destruction of the bunny girl.  In contrast to the Duchess’ anger at Red’s response, most men found growing erections at the sight of her slowly being covered in goo.  They imagined fucking the bunny girl, covered in a mass of gooey slop, and in a variety of sexual positions.  Some men looked at their dates, and either imagined their girlfriend in Ginger’s place, while others fantasized what their girlfriend would be doing with Ginger, while they continued to fuck the bunny girl themselves!

Suddenly, the crowd’s silence was broken by a blond woman dressed as an Oktoberfest fraulein beer maiden, holding a half-empty dimpled beer mug.  “Oooohh, Kurt.  Remember when we did that last month?  That was sooo much fun!  Yoo-hoo, Snow White!  Over here!” she said excitedly, waving her mug in the air.  “Come on, throw some pies at me, too. Pleeease!” She hung onto the arm of her date who not only sported a visible erection tenting his pants, but was trying to shush her to be quiet.

Red took Ginger’s hands, and helped her stand up from the chair.  Ginger wobbled for a moment, and watched the mass of goop that was in her lap, slide down the front of her legs, forming a messy pile around her pumps.  She watched as her shoes were slowly swallowed up, until she was standing up to her ankles in the assorted goop.  She looked over her shoulder at Red, and the sight of her bending over to reach for the next dessert, the red petticoat riding up the back of her ass, caused her to impulsively turn around.  With her back to the crowd, she waved her still clean bunny tail in their direction, unwittingly taunting the men as they watched it seductively wave back and forth.

“The impertinence!” huffed the Duchess, and her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Red had placed a large black forest cake on the seat of the chair, coated in thick layers of chocolate and white frosting, while rich red cherries ringed the top. Ginger felt Red’s hands on her shoulders.  The bunny girl was spun around, and pushed back onto the chair.  Red tried to be gentle, but Ginger still sat down hard directly on the cake.  SPLATT!  Her ass was smashed onto the rich, delicious dessert, and her pure white bunny tail now joined the rest of her costume with a messy coating, as the chocolate frosting and red cherries were pressed onto her butt.  Ginger felt her body sink down incrementally for a moment, as the cake was so large it took a moment for her body to completely sink into it.  A large chunk of the chocolate dessert welled up between her thighs, and as Ginger resumed subtly grinding her hips around, she felt her ass and thighs slither around in the mess.  Red reached between Ginger’s thighs, and hefted the blob of cake in her white gloved hand.  She smeared it down the front of Ginger’s face, from her forehead down to her chin.  Poor Ginger scrunched up her face again, emitting a small squeak of surprise as the cake was dragged down her face.

Red stood up, and looked at the Duchess.  Surely this was enough gooey punishment for the day.  The Duchess shook her head slightly.  No, it was not enough.  Red sighed, and turned back to the table.

As Ginger continued to softly grind her hips onto the cake, Red reached for a large glass bowl of melted dark chocolate.  She turned the bowl over, and a stream of chocolate was poured onto the top of Ginger’s thighs and the front of her calves.  Little runny streams ran down the side of her legs, the edges clinging to her expensive black pantyhose in random curved waves.  Upon reaching the edge of her leg, small chocolate drips fell and landed onto the grass, while the wave of luscious dark liquid running down the front of her calves began to ooze in between the crack between her feet and her heels.  Ginger squirmed her feet around, feeling all of the chocolate soaking into her nylons, making a sticky mess of her legs and feet.

Red squatted down, her own heels now marred with some of the chocolate and goop that had splattered onto the ground, and began to remove Ginger’s pumps.  Her white fingerless gloves were soon dripping with chocolate sauce as she placed the shoes side-by-side in front of Ginger.  Her friend wiggled her toes, burying her feet into the creamy slop before her.  Red began to scoop the assorted cream and cake that was on the ground, occasionally reaching between the bunny girl’s thighs to scrape the chocolate cake that was between her legs, and stuffed the handfuls of slop into the black pumps.  Red gently held Ginger’s calves, and helped her place her shoes back onto her feet.  “Ewwww!” Ginger squealed, as glops of goo welled up over the sides, spilling back out onto the ground.  She wriggled her toes, as the cold creamy goop slathered her tootsies thoroughly.

The Duchess had returned to stand closer to Ginger.  “Give that to her,” she said, and pointed at a pink cream pie on the table.  Red handed Ginger the pie, who sat looking at it as she held it in both hands.  “Pie yourself,” commanded the Duchess.  Ginger looked up at her.  Impishly, she defiantly stuck her tongue out at the blond bitch, then turned back to face the crowd.  She eagerly slammed the pink cream pie into her face, then dragged it downward the length of her upper chest and boobs.  She flung the tin to the side, threw her arms open wide dramatically, then slapped them back down onto her creamy thighs with a SPLATT!  She felt Red placing the bunny ears back on her head.

The Duchess took a heavy bowl of cherries with cherry goo, and began to pour it directly onto Ginger’s breasts and down between her cleavage.  A river of red cherries and cherry goo ran down above and beneath her costume, and pooled up around her pussy.  Little dribbles seeped out around the edges of her formerly pink costume, as the royal woman reached for two more pink cream pies.  She waved them in front of Ginger’s face, as the girl’s eyes tracked them carefully.  She swiftly buried one of them into Ginger’s face, while the other was flipped over and planted directly onto Ginger’s crotch.  Two quick SPLATS resulted, and the pie tins were delicately removed, exposing the pink goop on her face and pussy.

What had been a vision of beauty, sex, and glamour was now a completely trashed bunny.  The pie and cream dripped from her eyes and body.  Her toes wriggled in the slop in her shoes, while the chocolate covered her legs, and her ass was buried in the chocolate cake.  All the while her pussy screamed for release, and now that a pile of fresh pink cream had plopped into her lap, Ginger began to brazenly finger her pussy gently, pushing the two layers of pantyhose into her pink, moist slit.   She moaned gently and opened her eyes to look up at Red.  Red’s mind flashed back to the earlier scene in the white room, with Ginger’s beautiful eyes as the only two spots of color.

The Duchess leaned over, and whispered into Ginger’s ear, “You’re quite a messy little slut, aren’t you?”  Ginger nodded meekly, and the Duchess laughed slightly.  “That’s right, dear.  Don’t ever try to take anything away from me again, and don’t ever think you’re better than me.  I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Miss d’Argento.”

The Duchess stood back up, and said in a loud, haughty tone that dripped with disdain, “I can’t see why you’d ever think she’s pretty looking like this, Alex.  You silly girl.”

Something in Red’s body stirred and snapped.  She hadn’t minded giving Ginger her messy punishment for trying to steal the necklace.  But having just done it again, when Ginger had not done anything wrong at the party, felt wrong.  The attraction that she had unexpectedly felt for the girl upon meeting her, which had grown quickly, was a feeling she had not experienced for many years.  A sense of irritation with the Duchess, which had been slowly growing over the past months, crystallized into a new found feeling of defiance.  “She won’t make me do this again,” Red thought, and looked down at her new friend, a blob of goo on the chair, softly whimpering in sexual frustration.  Courage and resolve filled Red’s body, as she looked away from Ginger and toward the Duchess.

White, who had been standing on the fringes of the crowd, noticed the change in Red’s demeanor.  “Kate, you went too far now,” she muttered to herself.

Red looked at the Duchess, and asked sweetly, “Would you please hand me that pie over there, my lady?”  It was a white cream pie, heavy with chocolate pudding underneath the fluffy white layer on top.

The Duchess handed her the pie, and stood with her hands on her hips, while Ginger continued to squirm on the chair next to her.  Ginger looked up at Red, anticipating that the pie was going to be splattered somewhere on her body.  Red looked down at her, and pretended to brush a strand of her own curly black hair out of her eyes.  But her hand hid her face from the Duchess briefly.  Red winked at Ginger quickly, before she turned her attention back to Kate.

The dark-haired Snow White smiled innocently, and said “Thank you…bitch!” With that, she slammed the pie full force into the Duchess’ beautiful face!

SPLATT!!!  A mixture of cream and chocolate pudding obliterated Kate’s face, and her mouth opened in shock, a dark “O” against the cream surrounding it.  The crowd gasped in horror, and the men looked at each other, silently thinking, “Another one?  This is too good to be true!”

Kate stood still in utter shock, not believing what had just happened.  Red took advantage of her confusion, and plucked a blueberry pie from the table, delicately decorated with blobs of whipped cream on top.  She buried the gooey blue dessert into Kate’s face, and rubbed it around vigorously.  She removed her hand, and the tin clattered down to the grass, as gobs and hunks of blueberries plopped off Kate’s face.  Her beautiful pink dress was now decorated with lines of white cream and blue goop, slowly running down the expensive fabric.  The Duchess spat out a blob of blueberries from her open mouth.  “How dare you!” she screamed, and reached up with her delicate pink gloved hands to scoop the creamy goo from her eyes.  She scooped fingersful of goop free, and flung the gunk onto the ground in disgust.

SPLATT-SPLATT!!  Her head was buried in a pie sandwich from the front and back simultaneously.  Her formerly vanquished foe had gotten up from the chair, and along with Red, had eagerly buried Kate’s head in a sea of cream and pie crust.  The girls slowly slid the pie tins down, and Ginger experienced a particular satisfaction as she watched a trail of gooey cream ooze down the royal bitch’s blond hair, finally able to extract some messy revenge.  Kate’s diamond tiara was askew, the jewels spattered with cream.  The Duchess could barely comprehend what was happening, and because of that, a multitude of pies and cakes were smacked into her face, chest, and even her ass.  She scrunched up her face as the pies continued to splatter onto her, at times trying to shield her face or breasts with her hands, to no avail.

Ginger cheekily took a cherry fruit pie, and lifted up Kate’s skirt to expose her soft lacy panties underneath her pantyhose.  She pulled out both waistbands, and dumped the entire pie down the back of her ass.  The Duchess screamed in shock as the cherries slid along and between her butt cheeks to rest in a gooey, slimey pile nestled against her pampered pink slit.  Red stuffed a creamy vanilla cake covered in thick frosting into her face, cutting off her scream of shock.  The Duchess wavered for a moment as Red peeled off the plate, and a glob of cake and cream oozed out from her open mouth.  She felt hands lifting up her skirt again, and groaned as Ginger slammed a blueberry pie directly onto her pantyhosed ass.  The bunny girl eagerly swirled the pie around, further squishing the cherries onto her butt beneath her panties to form a heavy, goopy mixture of blue and red.

Red pushed the royal bitch onto the chair, and Kate squirmed as the cherries slithered along her pussy at the change in her position, and wriggled her nylon-covered legs in frustration.  Ginger found a bucket of vanilla pudding from beneath the table, and bent over to drag it out.  Every man in the audience craned their necks for a better view, watching her tight bunny butt, although coated in goo, wave around in the air as she dragged it along the ground.  Both girls lifted it over the Duchess’ blond head, and dumped the entire bucket of creamy-white goo over their nemesis’ head.  Kate’s head and upper chest were buried underneath the thick coating, and she felt it ooze in between her voluptuous breasts.

By now, just a few pies remained on the table, but the large multi-tiered cake still stood proudly intact.  The Duchess was slowly wiping the goo from her face, feeling the assorted cream, pie and goop soak into her party dress.  Although her face, hair, and chest were a mess, the lower part of her dress and her nylon-covered legs had escaped the bulk of the gooey assault.  Ginger and Red looked at each other, at the large cake, then at the spattered royalty.  Ginger smiled mischievously, Red nodded in reply, and they grabbed the Duchess’ wrists as they hauled her to her shaking feet.  They spun her around and began to pull her toward the cake, both girls gripping her arms tightly.

“No. No!  No! You wouldn’t dare!” Kate screamed in protest as she tried to dig her heels into the ground.  She vainly tried to pull back, but they both had too firm of a grip on her.

With all their strength, the two women pulled Kate forward, then quickly released her arms to simultaneously shove her forward.  With a piercing scream, she stumbled forward and plunged headfirst deep into the cake, arms outstretched before her.  KERSPLUTT!!  The cake had been filled with rich buttercream, and her entire torso now lay immersed in the creamy goo and crumbly cake.  Her face was buried deep in it, and she felt the tiara slide down over her head and clatter onto the table.  She wriggled helplessly, feeling her body ooze deeper into the dessert.  The cavernous sides of the cake lay above her, and then, in slow motion, crumbled down on top of her.  All that could be seen were her two sexy legs sticking out, her heels still attached, and a mass of white petticoats topped by her pink dress, while her entire upper half lay buried in the creamy cake.  She kicked and shook her legs in frustration, her petticoat rustling in protest, in a vain attempt to free herself, but it was no use.

Ginger lifted up the Duchess’ petticoat, and watched as Red picked up a pair of cream pies with both hands.  A pair of gooey SPLATTs echoed in the air, as the pies were slammed down onto her pert ass.  Red pulled the tins free and threw them onto the grass.  She smiled at Ginger and said quietly, “Your turn.”  As Red held up the petticoat, Ginger added another pair of cream pies to the Duchess’ ass, their foe’s legs squirming in frustration.  The Duchess’ ass was now a complete mess of cream, and Red let the petticoat drop back down, as a few small trickles of white goo oozed down her legs.  Kate’s legs slowly stopped wiggling, and she lay quietly in utter defeat and dejection.

Ginger and Red’s chests were both heaving from the excitement and exertion, and they took a few steps away from the table, turning away from the sight of the Duchess.  Although Red had not been hit with any pies, her gloved hands were still a mess, and her arms were flecked with spatters of cream.  She looked at Ginger, who was still a complete gooey mess, and shook her head.  The crowd stood there in stunned silence as the two women approached each other.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” said Red, starting to babble incoherently at her guilt at having covered Ginger with all of the goo.  “Your costume, it’s ruined…”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. Owwww!!!!!”

With a howl of pain, both Ginger and Red felt their ear being pulled by the Duchess.  Unnoticed by each girl, she had slithered her way out of the cake, and now she held each of the women’s ears like a schoolteacher with a pair of rebellious students.

“You bitches! I’ll teach you for doing this to me!”  The Duchess dragged and pulled both women down the side of the hill, past the oak tree, and toward a large brown clay pit.

The adrenaline rush was now gone, and both girls were too exhausted to resist.  They stumbled along, closer and closer to the edge of the pit.  The clay burbled and plopped three feet down, a large muddy morass colored a dingy dark brown.  The Duchess brought both girls to the edge and halted for a moment.  The crowd stayed in place behind the trio, not daring to approach the enraged woman.

The Duchess released her hold on Ginger, then quickly pushed her from behind.  Poor Ginger squealed in horror as her already goo-covered body fell through the air toward the brown muck.  Her body impacted the surface, and accompanied by a large muddy splash and a GLOOSH, she plunged deep into the clay.  The viscous mud hungrily sucked her down, until just Ginger’s pumps were visible above the gently undulating surface, waving futilely, before they were swallowed up.  Muddy air bubbles broke the surface, popping noisily.  The surface remained still for a moment, until slowly Ginger emerged to sit up on her knees, a dripping, hulking blob of icky, sticky, thick mud.  She was unrecognizable as a beautiful girl, having been transformed into a muddy monstrosity in an instant.  She squirmed blindly in the muck, rearranging herself to face the Duchess and Red who continued to stand at the lip of the pit.  She fell back onto her butt, and supported her chest with her arms behind her back, her fingers sinking deep into the bottom of the pit, while her knees poked above the level of the mud, spread slightly apart.  Any attempt at dignity or decorum was hopeless as Ginger sat in the mud.  She raised one hand and managed to clear her eyes, before placing it back into the slop.  Her gorgeous blue eyes looked back up at Red plaintively.  She dared not try to leave the pit, feeling safer from the wrath of the Duchess while surrounded by the mud rather than out of it.

The Duchess gripped Red’s arm firmly, and hissed angrily at her, “I’m surprised at you, Alex.  First, you say your new friend would look good all covered in goo, and then you dare to throw pies at me, too?!  Apologize, or you’ll join her.”

Red looked down at Ginger, who quietly looked back at her.  Red shook her head.  She replied in a low voice, partially to herself and partially in response to the Duchess, while still looking at her friend.  “No.  It’s one thing to punish her for trying to steal the necklace, but she didn’t do anything wrong today.  I won’t apologize.”

The Duchess sucked her breath in, surprised at the response.  “Very well.  Have fun with your little friend down there.”  Kate pushed Red forward, and she fell screaming into the pit.  Her body landed face-first in the mud, with her head between Ginger’s legs.  A huge splash of slop erupted upward and coated Ginger’s chest and face in a fresh layer of wet mud.  Ginger squealed in frustration as the mud splattered in her face.  She slowly opened her eyes, and looked down between her legs.  The gooey surface of the mud remained still, until Red slowly raised her head free of the muck, emerging as a muddy blob from between Ginger’s legs.

The two girls slithered and squirmed around until they were side-by-side, all the while the mud sucking at their bodies.  Ginger’s muddy ass bobbed above the muck, contrasting with Red’s heavy, muddy petticoat and skirt, the only way of identifying which girl was which, as they oozed farther back into the pit, as far away from the Duchess as they could.  Red winced in disgust as her butt sank into the gooey bottom of the pit, but she had no choice.  The defeated duo remained sitting in the mud, not daring to try to extricate themselves any further, and sadly scooped gobs of muck out of their eyes.  Two pairs of beautiful eyes emerged as their hands plopped back into the goop that surrounded them.  They looked up at the Duchess as she stood above them, a pair of forlorn muddy blobs sitting at the bottom of the pit, immersed in thick brown clay up to their boobs.

The Duchess had, with what little shreds of dignity she had left, called security over.  Two burly men, along with White, stood at the edge of the pit.  “Take them inside.  I’ll deal with them later,” she hissed at White.  She then trudged off to the manor, having to clean herself off as well.

When she was out of earshot, White began to chuckle.  “My God, Alex.  What the hell has gotten into you?”  Now that the Duchess had left, Red and Ginger had begun to slowly ooze and claw their way out of the muddy pit.  Red looked at White, and merely shrugged her shoulders in response.  She was exhausted, and now just wanted to get cleaned up, and come what may with the Duchess later.

The two security guards watched, but made no effort to help them out, as the look on their faces made it clear that they had no desire to get any of the mud on themselves.  Finally, the two girls crawled up onto the grass, lumps of mud dripping from their destroyed costumes and sexy bodies.

White looked at the pair again, and shook her head.  “No one will ever forget this year’s party.”  Turning to the two guards, she said “Get them back inside.  Let them get cleaned up, and back to their rooms.  That’s all I want you to do.  I don’t care if the Duchess tells you anything otherwise.  I’ll take the responsibility if she objects.  Understood?”

Both men nodded.

While White watched the group make their way back to the manor, the Baron of Normandy did as well.  He took his cell phone out, and made a call.

“Hello, Pierre….Thank you, I’m fine.  I need you to look into something.  I met a lovely lady by the name of Ginger d’Argento today.  Could you please check into her background, and let me know what you find?  In the next day or two is fine….Yes, thank you. Goodbye.”  He ignored the excited chatter around him, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Who are you, Ginger?  And why are you here?” he murmured to himself.

I covered this video when it first came out, back in 2012. In it, lead singer Simone Simons gets caught in a web of sticky oily gunk. It’s one of my favourite music videos, mostly due it being a band I love doing a song I like and accompanying it with a messy element. You can watch it below.

What I wasn’t aware of at the time was that Simone has her own blog, SmoonStyle, and on it she wrote about the song and the video shoot, with some behind-the-scenes pictures. Maybe it’s just that I’m a bit of an Epica fanboy, but I loved reading this post. I’ve seen behind-the-scenes videos for music videos before, but it’s great seeing a first-hand account. It’s also great that she calls it “the hardest, dirtiest and most fun recording [she's] ever done”. The post can be found through this link. Enjoy!

So basically, the bloke made a pie bet with the woman over Oscar predictions. The frustrating irony is that despite getting seven out of eight right, he still ends up messier than the woman.

This story does NOT describe real events and should NOT be taken to accurately portray any real entity mentioned. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

It IS loosely based on the novel Atlas Shrugged and features its heroine, Dagny Taggart.

Part I-  π is π

The headlights of a solitary chauffeured limousine illuminated the partition wall at the entrance to a restaurant in one of New York’s upscale districts. Dusk had fallen uneasily; the lavender sky found itself perturbed by smatterings of mottled fuchsia, which seemed to flare up intermittently like rancorous sores.

The sense of disquiet was ever more palpable inside the restaurant’s resplendent dining hall; it was a Saturday night and the only sound that could be heard was the frenzied skirmish fought between the knife and fork held by one ‘Cuffy’ Meigs, Director of the Railroad Unification Board. Between industriously shovelling mouthfuls of pricy steak into his gullet, he scornfully watched the waiting staff as they languorously encircled the hall’s perimeter. One could withstand it no longer and surreptitiously faded into the kitchen. The others wished they could do the same without catching his stare.

With effort, Cuffy prised himself from his seat, abetted by the cluttered table, rising to his full height. His short, thickest body was underscored by a decorated military tunic and leather trousers. He cut a comic figure, which belied his quick temper. Cuffy carried with him two articles wherever he went; a pistol and a lucky rabbit’s foot, the arbiters of his decision.

He strode unthinkingly toward the door, until he locked eyes with a waitress too deferential to ask for payment; it was known that Cuffy never carried cash. He jerked his thumb at the deserted table:

“Eh, Jim’ll pick my tab up later. I gotta meet with the boys now.”

She smiled sweetly, though their mutual resentment was tacitly understood. Half-drunk and with his head in the air, Cuffy tore his coat and hat from the stand.

“I can’t abide these stuffy establishments” were his parting words. Stepping into the hallway, he joined his coterie, a slew of anonymous toadies, thugs, their molls and an assortment of opportunist shysters.

“Let’s hope the G-men have some good news for us, huh?” he said to no-one in particular. “There’s a particular boil that’s been on my ass for a long time now… and I want it lanced!”

Cuffy was alluding to Dagny Taggart, the strong-willed Vice President of the Taggart Transcontinental railroad company. While he had been instrumental in the sharp and sudden nationalisation of the railroads and the corollary stymieing of trade and enterprise across the industry, Dagny had resisted the change in any way she could and it rankled!

With a series of autocratic edicts, he and his co-conspirators had managed to finish off a number of thriving businesses in the sector, though in the face of adversity Dagny had spearheaded The John Galt Line, a high-speed track built from the controversial Rearden Metal – an alloy stronger than steel. The line was a spectacular success, touted as a breakthrough in rail engineering. Without courting the press, she had become an underdog hero, a maverick who prevailed on sheer ability and iron will alone – the very kind Cuffy and his ilk were fervent to destroy.

***

The group sat laboriously, studying the front page article of that evening’s New York Banner – that zeitgeist and arbiter of public opinion. Beneath the masthead, there was a photograph of a beautiful woman in her early thirties. Tousled brown hair sat at her clavicle, framing the angular features of her face, which wore an expression of implacable strength and pride. She wore a tailored, fitted blazer which connoted the slender elegance of her figure. The woman was shown occupying a rostrum, addressing an unruly crowd at a press conference. She possessed a rare, austere beauty that could astonish – even when consumed vicariously through newsprint.

“Damn! She’s something alright” said Wesley Mouch, a scraggy man with a brushcut.

“No kiddin” agreed Chick Morrison.

“Consarn it! She’s my sister” snapped James Taggart, giving Mouch a chiding shove.

“Little overprotective, don’tcha think?” quipped Tinky Holloway.

“Think it’s time you reined your sister in. I hope your family-ties aren’t stopping you from seeing the bigger picture here.”

“Ah, can it! I’m as sick of all this as any of you fellows. Why can’t she just be practical about these things?”

James Taggart was president of the Taggart Transcontinental railroad company…in name only. He disapproved of her unerring purpose and ambition for the company. He thought himself to be pragmatic, community spirited, egalitarian; he was all these things, or none, depending on what the expediency of the moment required of him. There were but two things he disliked more than his sister; value driven, goal-oriented thought and taking accountability for the corollary chaos when one negates such thought. He was more eager than any of the party to bring her down a notch, purely out of schadenfreude. Through many years of mental obfuscation, James had created a surrogate self-esteem, which allowed him to function as a dependant of the able, whilst resenting their ability – no mean feat.

“We could have done without the brouhaha” said Mouch.

“Well? I’m hoping you boys have some good news for me?”

The three of them turned brusquely to see Cuffy presiding over the booth with his crew lurking ominously in the background. Mouch folded in an instant:

“We can’t simply go in for the kill, Cuffy; it’d be a public relations nightmare.”

Cuffy squared with Mouch: “Got any better ideas?”

Chick Morrison rose to his feet. Draping his jacket over his shoulder, he paced the perimeter of the booth as he spoke:

“If I may, gentlemen. Wesley’s right of course…and yes, there is a better way. I propose a two-pronged solution; one that will raze this robber baron and revive our nation’s flagging morale while we’re at it.”

The words sounded right. Chick possessed a rare talent for making almost any words sound right – which was precisely why he held the portentous title of Morale Co-ordinator.

Cuffy fell silent for a rare, pensive moment before asking: “How?”

“The magic of television, friend. How many millions tune in at the end of each day? We create a gameshow, invite her on it with the incentive of winning some business. Of course, it’s a ruse. Then we upstage her. Right now the press is building her up. If we give them cause to tear her down, they’ll be chomping at the bit!”

“Yes! But how?” snapped Cuffy querulously.

“Somehow.”

“Well then, I need you to step up and figure out just ‘somehow’.”

“I have contacts in the entertainment business, Cuffy; I can make this happen.”

“Great. Make it happen as quickly as possible.”

***

Some eight months later, a gold-leaf envelope arrived at the Taggart Transcontinental mailroom. Pop Harper, a company stalwart had witnessed the industry’s gradual collapse and it had been years since he had seen such an ostentatious item. Pop pushed the mail cart by Dagny’s office and rapped on the door, which was slightly ajar. Her office was surprisingly unobtrusive for a rail magnate – function took precedence over form here.

When there was no answer, he peered inside to see her faced toward the window. She wore a simple blue summer dress which flowed below the waist to the knee; her toned, shapely legs were augmented by a pair of white heeled pumps. The clothes’ dazzling appearances were indebted to her faultless grace and elegance. Pop watched her as she wrapped up an important call:

“Don’t apologise for playing hardball; I never would. You are ruthless Ellis Wyatt…but very fair. Speak to you later.”

As she hung up, her solemn demeanour softened.

Pop lowered his cap deferentially. “Miss Taggart.”

Dagny smiled. “Pop! Something for me?

“Yeah, this came in for you just now, m’am.”

He outstretched the lavish envelope. She examined it as the pair walked along the corridor.

“So why do you suppose the letter was addressed to you and not your brother?” he asked.

Dagny grinned wryly; nominally, James was her boss – in practical reality, anybody corresponding with the company wrote to her. She shrugged playfully. The two of them cheerfully parted ways, Pop pushed onward with his mail round, as Dagny stopped by the canteen for a continental breakfast. After her inaugural sip of black coffee, curiosity got the better of her; she prised the envelope open and scanned the letter:

Dear Miss Taggart,

It gives me great pleasure to inform that you have been selected as a guest and team captain for the debut episode of our network’s latest and brightest game show production, Make a Bundle, which will be broadcast live to the nation on July 4^th. Should you choose to accept this opportunity, you will be pitted against the Railroad Unification Board (captained by Board Director Cuffy Meigs) in a series of exciting and challenging games designed to test competitors’ agility, mental stamina, ingenuity and business acumen.

The overall winning team will be awarded a lucrative rail contract in Toronto, along with  $1million cash to spend as they choose.

Tell your family, tell you friends – it is anticipated that as many as 20 million Americans will tune in. Please RSVP to verify whether you would like to partake in our show…and in television history.

We hope to hear from you soon,

Ernest Lyfe

Hydra Television Studios

This could be interesting – an opportunity to beat those tin pot tyrants at their own game. She shook her head. Her thoughts continued as she walked through the parking lot and as she drove to meet with a supplier: You’re better than them, you know that. Oh…stop it. This is a frivolous waste of time!

For the remainder of the day, the notion lingered in her mind, until she happened to pass her brother’s office.  She saw James conspicuously propping his desk; Dagny was used to seeing him dither, though he usually made some effort to connote productive work. He was sipping a glass of whiskey, which was very strange indeed – James was spectacularly inept when it came to handling his liquor.

“Working hard James?”

“I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there.”

“Why am I not surprised? You know, I had a letter today, apparently we’re in demand. They want us for a gameshow appearance.”

“Yes, Make a Bundle wasn’t it? I am aware. Naturally, as company president, I was consulted first, but I just couldn’t accept in good conscience. Why those incredible shows insist on making a tawdry spectacle of everything…I just couldn’t do that, Dagny.”

James studied his sister’s reaction; he was satisfied his lie had been accepted as truth. He couldn’t abide for her to have the upper hand for a single moment, not even while he awaited the payoff of his vituperative plot against her.

Dagny made no effort to supress her amusement: “I know you couldn’t, James.”

“Why, you’re not actually considering this? Have you taken leave of your senses? I…”

James flailed his arms, feigning incredulity.

“Perhaps.”

He turned his back on Dagny; maintaining this façade had consumed considerable effort.

“Fine. Do as you wish.”

“I always do.”

***

That evening, the city was shrouded in a dense heat haze. Rivulets of perspiration glistened on Dagny’s face and neck as she sat fatigued in her luxury convertible. She pulled the crumpled letter from the glove box, using it as a makeshift fan; she drummed fervently on the dashboard with her fingertips – she craved respite from the tumult of the rush-hour crawl. A couple of blocks from home, she noticed a lurid billboard by the roadside:

MAKE A BUNDLE: America’s new favourite hit game show sensation! Airs July 4^th 8pm

The inarticulate artwork appeared depict an Archie Andrews pastiche wresting a bundle of cash from an angry bureaucrat. Dagny noted that the articulation and proportions of the figures were entirely implausible and whoever was responsible had either failed to colour between the lines or had enlisted an over-eager kindergartener to complete the task.

She rolled her eyes upon seeing the jarring clash of serif and sans-serif fonts. It may have served adequately for a fly posted notice for a lost pet, but as a billboard for a nationwide broadcast event, she found it wanting.

At last, she made it to her apartment complex. As she passed through the vestibule, she crossed the trajectory of light which shone through the small circular stained-glass window above her head. The window had not been shown a brush in some time and wore a layer of mud and grime; for a transient moment, the light struck Dagny in a way that made it appear as though she too were caked in mud. She caught sight of this in a mirror, then shrugged, nonplussed.

Walking away toward her apartment, she realised she was still clutching the letter from earlier.

Ah, to hell with it!

She drew a bath, shedding the bondage of a sticky summer dress and prised the telephone from the receiver; the cable extended languorously along the floor. As the biting water met her skin, she flinched, pulling the cable taut and straight. The shock brought with it a renewed clarity of thought. She reached out and carefully dialled the number printed on the reverse of the letter.

“Yes, hello? This is Miss Dagny Taggart.”

“Ah, Miss Tagart – won’t you hold a moment please?”

She obliged. “Yes? Miss Taggart, this is Ernest Lyfe.”

At ease now, she saw no need to hurry her reply. She tilted her head backward, adeptly lowering her body to the floor of the tub, before surfacing with the pleasing sensation of newly moistened legs and breasts.

“Mr. Lyfe, I’m just calling to inform that I do accept your invitation.”

“You do? Why that’s wonderful. Thank you Miss Taggart – I’ll let the producers know at once.”

***

Marcel Berkley, an agitated young man checked his clown garb in the dressing room mirror for the fifth time. That collar is too small. I’m supposed to appear absurd.

“Cycle, plate, Barbasol…Cycle, plate, Barabasol.”

He recited the worn mantra his mentor had given him. Yet with each incantation, his resolve sapped a little; it seemed he fell farther short of his intended aim with each successive attempt. This time…I hope.

He mounted a unicycle, then began to pedal laboriously; he passed a table stacked with paper plates…No, no the plate’s seconds, yack! Get it right,Marcel. He reached for the table and upset it entirely, which threw off his balance. Marcel careered past the stack of barbasol cans and head-first into the stone wall, making a terrible sound. He coiled on the floor in the foetal position, nursing his bruised forehead, while floundering for a balm to soothe his similarly injured self-esteem.

God damn it! Not even close. Only a week till showtime. How in the hell am I gonna carry this off? Still, as the saying goes: it’ll be alright on the night!

To be continued…

This story is purely a work of fiction. The story does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

Chapter 4

Ginger and Red were escorted all the way back to the manor.  Both girls were dripping mud, and trying to keep it out of their eyes the entire time.

Red was sure that the security guards’ chuckles were a combination of watching the two girls’ muddy asses the whole way back, and also at the humiliation that had been visited upon the Duchess.  She occasionally cast looks at Ginger, who had a sad expression on her face the whole time.  Red knew that what just occurred put Ginger no closer to having her ruby necklace returned.

The muddy pair finally made it back to the manor.  They were escorted up to Ginger’s guest room, and ushered into it.  The same maid who had left breakfast was just leaving the wash room, having deposited bars of soap, shampoo, and many fluffy white towels in the room.  She appraised both girls unblinkingly, and did a little curtsey as she left the room, the guards closing the door behind her.

“Clean!  I just want to be clean!” said Ginger, as she walked into the bathroom.  It was the first words she had spoken since being pushed into the clay pit and Red could hear the frustration in her voice.  She kicked her muddy heels off, and without even removing the rest of her costume, Ginger walked into the large shower stall, turned on the water, and turned her face toward the shower head.

A steady stream of water slowly washed away the accumulated mud and goo from her face.  She closed her eyes in relief, and let the warm water stream down her body.  She rested her still muddy arms on the cool tile walls, pressed her forehead against her arms, and let the water run down her back.

The accumulated stress and strain of the past few days caught up to the young woman and it broke Red’s heart to hear soft sobs come from Ginger.  She took off her muddy shoes as well, and joined her friend in the shower.  She took the shampoo bottle, removed the bunny ears from her friend’s head, and began to wash Ginger’s reddish-brown tresses.

“Shhh, it’s OK,” said Red soothingly.  The warm water and suds slowly revealed Ginger’s natural hair color, and the mud from the rest of her body and costume was spiraling down the drain in muddy swirls and rivulets.  Red continued to wash the rest of her friend’s body, soaping and lathering up as much of it as she could, then wiping it down with the wash cloth.

“What am I gonna do?” murmured Ginger, half to herself, and half to Red.

Red paused for a moment, by now kneeling on the floor as she washed Ginger’s calves.  She looked up, and saw Ginger looking back at her, her eyes questioning her soul.  She sighed, and simply said, “I don’t know.  We’ll think of something.  Come on, let’s get you out of that muddy costume.”  Ginger turned around, and let Red unhook and unzip the bunny outfit from her body.  Her long legs stepped out of the leg holes.  The gobs of mud and goo that had slithered underneath Ginger’s costume now began to run down her body, and Red resumed her washing of her friend’s body.  They removed both pairs of pantyhose, tossing them in a wet heap in the corner of the shower.  Ginger was now completely naked.  Red continued to wash her friend, and eventually her body was glistening and clean.

Ginger looked at Red, who, despite the shower, was still fairly muddy.  As a means of forgetting her predicament, and also to show her gratitude to Red, she smiled a faint smile.  “Now come on, let me help you get washed up.”  Red’s Snow White costume was removed as well, and Ginger gently washed her friend’s dark black hair and her naked body as well.

Ginger couldn’t help but get a good look at Red’s pussy, as the soapy washcloth darted in between her thighs.  This was the first time she had seen her friend’s pussy, and she playfully bent her head down, and gave her shaven mound a quick kiss.  Red giggled, and said, “Stop it.  Get my legs, please, they still feel muddy.”  Ginger obliged, loving the feeling of running her hands up and down Red’s calves and thighs.  She got a good look at her tight ass, and gave one of her ass cheeks a quick peck of her lips.  Red laughed, and wiggled her bum around a bit.

The front of Red’s gorgeous body was next, and Ginger hungrily watched as the suds ran down Red’s chest and boobs.  She pressed her body up against Red, their wet boobs slipping and sliding against each other, both of their erect nipples poking into each other’s flesh.  She pressed her mound up against Red tightly, and started to grind.  A kiss, followed by more kissing, and soon the pair were a soapy, wet mass of gasping, quivering flesh, hands running up and down each other’s wet, warm skin, their pussies tingling.  The trials of the day were put aside for the moment, to simply live for the enjoyment of each other’s body.

Ginger ran a trail of kisses down Red’s neck to her left breast, and began to suck hungrily at her friend’s big nipple.  Red groaned, running her hand through Ginger’s sopping wet hair.  She tilted her head back, the water from the shower head splashing onto her body as well as the back of Ginger.  Ginger ran her hand down Red’s back, to the front of her thigh, then began to rub it around her wet, slippery pussy lips.  She slowly eased her index finger up between Red’s lips, hearing her gasp in surprise and excitement.  Ginger began to wiggle and thrust her finger in random motions, while her thumb began to rub at Red’s clit.  Red bit down on her lower lip, and stuttering gasps echoed in the shower.  Ginger eased her middle finger up to join her index finger, and now two wet, slippery fingers were pumping in and out of Red’s juicy hole.  Red bucked, and an unintelligible series of gasps and stuttering squeaks issued from her.  Red’s body shook, and Ginger felt her own fingers being coated with her warm sweet pussy honey.  Red dove for Ginger’s luscious lips and tongue.  The two lovers hungrily kissed, their senses consumed for the moment in only each other.

Ginger eased her fingers free, and the girls slowly slid down into a heap on the floor of the shower, the warm water steaming the room and running down their wet bodies, the exhaustion of the afternoon’s events finally catching up to them.  The two lay motionless on the floor in each other’s arms, enjoying the touch of warm, soft skin and the clean water.

“Please, stay with me here tonight,” Ginger said quietly.  Her warm breath and sweet scent filled Red’s entire senses, and she nodded tenderly. Come what may tomorrow, tonight at least the two would share a bed together, their warm bodies pressed up against each other.

——————–

In the evening, the Duchess was in her study, reclining on a long leather couch in front of a roaring, crackling fire.  The dark, rich wood walls glowed in the light, and the paintings on the walls shimmered and jumped as the light from the fire wavered and shook, animating the static scenes.  She wore a white silk robe, the bottom ending near her knees, as her smooth legs were shown off to benefit.  She stared into the flames, sipping a glass of wine.  The warmth of the fire and the drink suffused her entire body.   The sound of a knock on the door broke her reverie.

“Come,” replied Kate.

The softly muffled footsteps of heels on carpeting were heard, and Natalie came into the room, and sat down in a large leather chair to the side of the couch, facing the Duchess.  She crossed her legs, and simply looked at Kate.

The Duchess ignored her, still looking into the fire.

Finally, Natalie said, “How does this end, Kate?  You know you can’t keep her here forever.  Even if you report the attempted theft, that’ll just draw more publicity to the trial.  You’ve delayed this long enough.”

The Duchess stared at the fire for a few moments, before turning her head to look at Natalie.  “The necklace is mine.  I don’t care who her family is.  We didn’t know that it was stolen.  That’s not my fault,” she said curtly.

“I didn’t say it was your fault.  But we both know that necklace most likely belonged to her family.  Their lawyers just can’t prove it.”

The Duchess didn’t reply.  Natalie waited for a response, then threw up her hands in frustration, and exclaimed,  “It’s never enough for you, is it?  Look around you,” and she swept her hand in a circular motion, indicating the room around them. “How many millions is this entire estate worth?  All the things you have in that room, kept locked up and away from people?  Are you really gonna miss that necklace?”

The Duchess pursed her lips, sipped at her wine, and said nothing.  “I don’t plan on pressing charges.  I just want her to stay here…mmmm…for a while.”

Natalie stood up, and approached Kate.  “Fine, just remember that she is a guest.  Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy, just a little bit, what happened today.  You can have a bit of fun with her, as long as she’s willing.  Just try to exercise some restraint.  You’ve seen how Alex and her get along.”

The Duchess chuckled, and some of the tension in the room dissolved.  “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

Natalie reached out, and took Kate’s hand.  “Good.  Let them enjoy each other.  I haven’t seen Alex this happy in a long time.”  Natalie gently squeezed her hand in a friendly manner, nodded her head, then left the room.

The Duchess returned to her musings.  “How can I let those two have some fun? Let’s see…” Her voice trailed off, and one of her hands slipped underneath the silken robe, and she began to rub her pussy as she began to imagine the scene.

——————–

Ginger and Red had dried off from their shower, and white fluffy towels were wrapped around their bodies.  Their damp hair was slowly drying off.  A warm fire was burning in the fireplace, and the cleaning staff had taken their dirty costumes and heels from the bathroom.

“Are you hungry?” asked Red.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ginger.  She realized that she had not eaten anything since the morning breakfast.

Red poked her head out of the door, and saw that the security guards that had been there before were gone.

“Come on, we’ll get something from the kitchen.”

“Ermmm, I’m kinda naked underneath this towel.”

“Well, so am I, and I really don’t care.” Red took Ginger’s hand, and led her friend down to the kitchen.  She pawed around in the refrigerator, and soon a pair of sandwiches with a plate of fruit was in front of the two white towel-clothed girls.

“Thank you,” said Ginger, as she hungrily munched at the sandwich.

Red waved her hand in dismissal.  “No problem.”  She hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Does anyone know that you’re here?”

Ginger shook her head.  “No.  I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing.  I simply told them I was traveling for the past year, when I was actually planning and getting ready for this.”

“Where did you learn to use a sword?”

Ginger laughed.  “Oh, along with learning to play the violin, would you believe I also took fencing lessons?  Yes, a very ‘Renaissance woman’ upbringing.  It took some time to get used to the heavier blade, and of course that it’s a lot more dangerous waving one of those things around than a regular fencing blade. ‘Tsuki, tsuki!’” Ginger yelled in a playful Japanese accent.  “I’ll never forget my teacher screaming that in my head daily.”

Listening to her talk, Red realized that Ginger’s family was more well-off then she cared to admit, but she remained silent.

Red took the empty plates and placed them in the sink.  She returned to the refrigerator, and playfully bent over, feeling Ginger’s eyes on her.  Ginger laughed, and exclaimed, “I love your ass!” and laughed again.

“You better. I remember you kissing it. I don’t let just anybody kiss my ass.” replied Red over her shoulder, gave it an additional shake, then reached into the refrigerator and emerged holding a large black-forest cake.

Ginger’s eyes widened.  Red laughed, and said, “No, we’ll really eat this.”  The cake was sliced and the girls ooohhed and ahhhed over the yummy food.  After they finished their meal, and having cleaned all of the dishes, Ginger took Red’s hand.

“Are you coming back upstairs with me?” she asked.

“Of course.  Just give me a minute down here.  Go on, I’ll be up there soon.”  The two girls kissed, and Ginger playfully waved a goodbye as she skipped away excitedly, heading back to her bedroom.

Red turned and began to collect the things she wanted to bring back upstairs.  “OK, where is that damn tray?” she muttered to herself, feeling her heart flutter a bit in excitement at what she was going to do with Ginger.

——————–

Ginger scampered back into the bedroom.  She dimmed the lights, so that the dancing flames of the fireplace were the main light in the room, with the chandelier from the ceiling adding just a bit of additional golden light.  She smoothed out the satin sheets of the bed, then jumped onto the bed.  She buried her face into the pillow, and giggled.  Her hand drifted down to her pussy, and she gave herself a quick rub, rubbing her legs together as well.  “Stop it,” she said to herself, feeling her heart beat excitedly.

She got up, and removed her towel, and sat on the side of the bed, facing the doorway.  She arranged her hair to one side, letting it drape over her shoulder and curl around her right breast.  She switched her legs around, trying to decide on the best pose.  “Legs crossed, legs apart a bit, which one is sexier?” she wondered.  She scooted forward a bit, and thrust out her chest, accenting her ripe breasts.  She parted her legs slightly, and pressed the balls of her toes onto the carpet, accenting her arches and her calves.  She tried to calm her breathing and her heart, and she felt her pussy moisten a bit.  She whimpered.  The sexual excitement of the day was going to culminate tonight.  She closed her eyes, eased out a small breath, and heard the sound of the door opening.

She opened her eyes, and a beautiful sight greeted her.  Red stood in the doorway, completely naked as well.  Her black hair was spilling over both shoulders, while she held a silver serving tray in both hands across her chest.  As she approached, Ginger hungrily watched her every movement.  Red’s breasts were framed by her dark tresses, the ripe boobs hovering above the glorious sight she held in her hands.  The tray contained bowls of whipped cream, melted chocolate sauce, and golden honey, along with a small glass bowl of cut strawberries.  Ginger closed her eyes in ecstasy, and exhaled again.  She opened them, and Red was standing directly in front of her, still holding the tray.

Red drank in the sight of Ginger sitting in front of her, her legs parted to show off her puffy pussy lips, and the enticing pink treasure within her body.  She watched Ginger’s heart beneath her chest and her nipples beginning to swell in arousal.  Red was having a hard time controlling herself as well.  She motioned with her head, “Lie down.”

Slowly, Ginger dropped her chest down while simultaneously lifting her legs off the floor, keeping her eyes locked onto Red’s face.  She licked her lips slowly, and languorously spread her legs wider, before she placed them onto the bed, and laid back, her head resting on the pillows.  Red placed the tray onto the bed stand then sat on the edge of the bed beside her lover.  She bent down, and kissed Ginger on the lips.  She whispered, “Just relax,” as she reached for the bowl of whipped cream.  Red took the bowl, and with a spoon, began to scoop out blobs of cream, letting them drip and plop onto Ginger’s hard nipples.

Ginger stifled a scream, feeling the cold cream set her nipples to tingling, and she groaned again.  Her hand began to reach for her pussy, but Red said, “No, wait,” and guided Ginger’s hand back down onto the satin sheet.

Ginger laughed, and arched her head back as she did so.  “Fuck, don’t be so mean to me!”

Red laughed as well, and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make my way down there soon enough.”  She continued to pile a small mound of cream onto Red’s breasts, until two small white mounds covered her nipples.  She reached into the strawberry bowl, and placed three strawberries on top of each mound, and followed it up with a small pouring of chocolate sauce.  A sloppy sundae soon capped both of Ginger’s breasts.

Ginger tried to lie still, so that the gooey treat would not run down the side of her chest.  She giggled, and said “Well, don’t just let it sit there.”

Red took a finger, and dipped it into the cream and chocolate combination, and extended her finger to Ginger’s lips.  The little minx’s pink tongue darted out, and hungrily lapped up the sweet goo.  Red bent her head down, and with one hand, gripped Ginger’s right breast, and began to delicately lick and suck at the treat.  Her other hand drifted down to Ginger’s pussy, and her fingers were pushed into the sopping pink slit.  With a slippery squelch, Red’s fingers penetrated easily, and she began to finger-fuck her friend, while continuing to lick her right breast clean.

Ginger moaned, and felt her pussy muscles clamp down on Red’s slick fingers.  Her mind spun, waves of ecstasy and stimulation flowing from her pussy and nipples.  Red shifted her attention to Ginger’s left breast, leaving just a slick shiny coating of saliva on her other breast.  Ginger lifted her hand, and began to run her hand through Red’s black hair, and her pussy bucked as another spasm of pleasure coursed through her lithe frame.  The sound of moans, licking, sucking, and the wet squelches of Ginger’s pussy being fucked were the counterpoint to the fire crackling in the hearth.

With a quick flourish, Red gave Ginger’s pussy a final flurry with her fingers, then with a sloppy wet squelch, she pulled her fingers out.

“No, God, put them back,” gasped Ginger.

“Shhh, don’t worry.”  Red took her cunt honey coated fingers, and dipped them into the bowl of cream.  Again, Ginger hungrily licked at her fingers, this time tasting her own juices along with the sweet cream.

A fresh mound of sundaes were deposited onto Ginger’s breasts, and the licking, sucking, and finger-fucking resumed.  Ginger’s nipples were on fire, along with her pussy, and with a scream, as Red bit down gently on one of her nipples, she orgasmed intensely.  Her hands gripped the sheets and her legs bucked and thrashed while Red pushed her own body down gently to hold her passionate lover’s body onto the bed.  Slowly, her hands relaxed, and a gentle warmth suffused Ginger’s body as her face relaxed into a dreamy expression.  Softly, gently, Red kissed her lips, and while she gently played with Ginger’s clit and pussy, the girls continued to kiss passionately.  Ginger’s hand reached out, and began to fondle Red’s breast, and her friend’s moans mingled with the sound of smacking lips.

“I wanna be on top of you,” murmured Ginger.  “Come on, roll over”  She guided Red onto her back, with her friend’s head at the foot of the bed, and then got into a 69 position, her dripping pussy hovering above Red’s pink lips and tongue.  She shook her hips, then lowered her pink treasure onto Red’s probing tongue, feeling it flick and explore her pussy.  Ginger groaned, and soon a second orgasm washed over her body, while Red hungrily licked and sucked, her lips and chin dribbling with Ginger’s tangy juices.  Her mind a blur, Ginger reached for the whipped cream bowl.  With one hand, she spread Red’s engorged pussy lips wide, exposing her sopping slit, and with the other hand, delicately spooned in gobs of whipped cream.  She watched in fascination as Red’s pussy swallowed up the spoon filled with quivering blobs of cream, then emerged with an faintly audible wet shlurp.  The cream remained embedded within her friend’s pussy, and the process was repeated many times.  Ginger then took a spoon full of cut strawberries, and deposited them into Red’s moist treasure.

Ginger’s hands gripped Red’s upper thighs, and spread her lover’s legs wider, pulling up her thighs until they were perpendicular to the bed, her calves horizontal which led to her quivering toes and feet.  With no hesitation, Ginger buried her face tightly between Red’s thighs, her long hair spilling across her cheeks and gently tickling Red’s skin, and her own tongue began to dart in and out to collect the sweet strawberry and cream concoction that was now gently warming deep within the pink pussy.  Shlurping and sucking noises emanated from Red’s pussy, and she groaned in ecstasy as she felt Ginger’s tongue worm its way deep into her body.

“Ohhhhh, you bitch,” Red growled, and she rubbed at Ginger’s ass with her hand, feeling the sweaty, aroused flesh underneath her fingers.  Ginger’s tongue continued to slither in and out of Red’s twat, then was dragged along Red’s sensitive little clit, before plunging deep back into her lover’s pussy.  Red screamed, and Ginger tasted a tangy flow of juice mix with the remaining bit of cream in her friend’s cunt.

She removed her tongue, and scooped out a large mixture of warm cream and pussy juice with two fingers.  She briefly marveled at the delicious treat that coated her fingers, then licked it up hungrily.  “You taste fucking awesome,” Ginger said, and the sound of smacking lips and shlurps were all that Red could register in her post-orgasmic haze, feeling her beating heart gradually return to normal.

Slowly, the girls rolled off of each other.  Their hair was mussed up sexily, their skin flushed and tingling with passion and excitement.  Red got on her knees, kneeling on the bed, while Ginger got behind her, her boobs pressed up against the small of her back.  One of Red’s hands dipped into her own sex, and Ginger brought her hand down to also slide her fingers into Red’s pussy.  The feeling of so many fingers caused Red to gasp, and she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and began to moan.  Ginger rested her chin on Red’s shoulders, and peered down her friend’s chest, seeing her boobs waver, as both hands were thrusting in and out of Red’s twat.  Ginger nibbled at Red’s ear then trailed a line of kisses down her neck and shoulder, her free hand distractedly pinching one of Red’s nipples.  Red whimpered, her hips bucked and her arms and legs tightened, and she felt another orgasm run through her body as she emitted a squeak of pleasure.  She turned her head, seeking out Ginger’s lips, and the two girls kissed again.

The two girls disentangled themselves, and Red guided Ginger into a sitting position on the side of the bed.  She gently pushed Ginger’s legs apart, revealing her pink treasure easily.  She placed soft, slow kisses on the inside of Ginger’s thighs, listening to her lover’s heavy breathing.  Red then reached for the bowl of honey, and pulled out the wooden dipper, the rounded, grooved end dripping with a thick coating of golden honey.  She looked at Ginger, who began to laugh nervously.

“No way, you’re not gonna do that!”  She squealed, and she tried to close her legs, but Red pressed her free hand up against her thigh.

“Come on, I told you I was gonna fuck you tonight.  Don’t you remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t expecting this!”  Ginger laughed, and relaxed her thighs, spreading her legs wider, then scooted forward onto the edge of the bed.  She leaned back onto her elbows, and watched as Red brought the dripping dipper closer to her pussy.  Her lower lip quivered, and she nervously laughed again.  “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

Red looked at her, the honey dipper frozen in mid-air.  “Really?  After everything I did to you earlier?  I think this is pretty tame.”

Ginger laughed again, and tilted her head back briefly, then looked back down again at Red.  She lustily looked Red straight in her eyes, emitted a long, slow breathy sigh, and said huskily, “Fuck me, please.  Do what you want.  Just fuck me, please.”

Red nodded, and placed a quick kiss onto Ginger’s knee as acknowledgement.  She brought the honey dipper up to Ginger’s slit, and gently began to push it up into her lover’s sopping pussy.  Ginger gasped a bit, feeling her toes curl at the feeling of the honey-laden dipper penetrating her sex.  Red gently pushed the dipper in and out a bit, feeling the resistance as the grooves grabbed and stimulated the walls of Ginger’s pussy.  With a slow, teasing pull, she removed the dipper, recoated it with honey, and reinserted it.  This time, she began to rhythmically push it in and out, varying the pressure and angle at each stroke.  She watched in fascination as dribbles of golden honey oozed out of Ginger’s cunt, along with a faint trace of pussy juice.  Ginger grunted, and began to push back when Red would push the dipper in.  With an audible shlurp, the dipper was removed, recoated, and then swiftly pushed back into Ginger.  Ginger groaned a deep guttural groan of erotic pleasure, and she felt a rising, tingling rush return to her body as the dipper pushed up against the walls of her pussy.

“Go on.  Come, sweetie.  I wanna see you come,” Red gently whispered.  She continued to pump the dipper in and out, the flow of honey and cunt juice dribbling out between Ginger’s thighs increasing.  Small strands of yellowish gold honey tinged with white juice dangled in the air beneath her puffy, swollen lips.

Ginger tilted her head back, and as her body tensed, accompanied by a scream, she orgasmed, and a spurt of juice squirted out around the edges of the dipper.  She flopped back onto the bed, chest heaving, then felt the dipper being gently removed from her pussy.  It was replaced by Red licking up the mess on her thighs, then probing deep into her pussy with her tongue.  Ginger’s hand drifted down and she began to play with Red’s long black hair, feeling her lover’s nose bump up against her bald mound.  She increased the pressure on Red’s head, and held her face and tongue in place.  Her friend continued her vigorous ministrations, loving the taste of honey and female pussy juice mixed together as one.  Ginger wrapped her legs around Red’s back, and drove her pussy down onto Red’s tongue.  Moments later another orgasm pulsed through her sweaty body, gentler than before, and she pulled back on Red’s hair.  Her friend’s face was coated with come and honey as she gasped for air, and the two women looked at each other hungrily, their chests heaving in unison.  Ginger untangled her legs, then slithered down onto the ground and began to kiss and lick Red’s face clean.

The girls’ heartbeats returned to normal, and they savored the moment, hearing the fire crackle accompanied by the soft tick-tock of the clock.  All was quiet in the manor.  They sat on the floor, hugging each other, just feeling each other’s warm flesh touching their own.  Ginger held Red’s face with both of her hands, and looked her in the eye.

“I love you, you know that.” Ginger said.

“Yes, I know.  I love you, too.”

Ginger held her face gently, and then said, “V’adoro, pupille, saette d’amore, le vostre faville son grate nel sen.”

Although Red did not know what she had just said, the gentle rhyming speech sounded beautiful to her ears, and put her mind at ease.  “What does that mean?” she asked.  One of her hands held Ginger’s hand, which still gently held her face in their grasp.

“I adore you, eyes that are love’s darts; your fiery beams fall gratefully upon my heart.”  Ginger gently placed a kiss on the top of Red’s forehead.  The girls rose, their naked bodies draped in only the gentle reddish-gold light by the dimming fire.  They slipped into the bed, and the soft satin sheets were pulled up around them.  They lay side-by-side, facing each other, their fingers gently running up and down each other’s skin, tracing the sensual curves of their lover’s body, and in their long, soft hair, before drifting off to sleep.

Thanks to the Messy Scenes blog. A girl skinny-dips in a mud pool.

Here’s that pie scene Jake mentioned. There’s also a little water and some flour.

The first thing I’ve seen from this show for a while and it’s something a bit different.

This story is entirely a work of fiction. The story does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. The events and activities described in the story may NOT be legal, ethical or safe, and this site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

Chapter Four

“…and there are additional fire exits located at the sides of the stage. Now, it is a privilege and a pleasure to welcome our distinguished panel of judges”, Charlotte Wade reads from a cue-card without an ounce of conviction. “First, Sir Christoph Conrad, chairman of an impressive portfolio of companies including Friendly Fire Munitions Ltd, Blackstone Fracking Corporation, Nothing To Hide Nothing To Fear Surveillance Systems PLC, Conrad Chemicals Conglomerate, and the Too Big To Fail Banking Group. Sir Christoph’s other interests include politics – since 2010 he has been a major donor to the Conservatives, and prior to that he gave large amounts of money to Labour – and foreign affairs, for example last year’s military coup in the Republic of…”

Charlotte’s voice trails off as she notices Conrad, who is seated at a BGT-style judging desk, wagging a finger at her. Conrad is nicknamed Dracula in certain sections of the media, partly because of his long, gaunt facial features and jet-black hair receded into an angular M-shape, and partly because of his notoriety as an asset stripper. I was vaguely acquainted with his daughter at university, and she was much like him – aloof, calculating, expedient… although something happened during one summer break that caused her to go a bit loopy.

“Anyway…”, Charlotte shuffles at the podium, “true to his generous character, Sir Christoph is sponsoring the prizes on offer in this contest. The new Miss Grumford, in addition to receiving the coveted crown into her custody for the coming year, will be presented with a cheque for £20,000. The first runner-up will be treated to a week for two at Sir Christoph’s FlipFlops^® resort in the Cayman Islands (flights not included, terms and conditions apply), and the second runner-up will take home a year’s supply of HeadsYouWin^® shampoo!”

Mmmm, twenty grand’ll go down nicely – though I bet Tawney will snatch it for the station coffers – and failing that, Grace and I are long overdue a girls’ holiday. Not so enthusiastic about the shampoo though, were I to wind up second loser. HeadsYouWin is one of the stickiest and gloopiest on the market (it’s a subsidiary of Conrad Chemicals, and rumour has it they started the shampoo line as a means of getting rid of their really awful waste).

Once the applause for Conrad has died down, Charlotte moves on to the next cue-card. “Also on the judging panel is Professor George Wamdale, Dean at the University of…”

Detestable old git! I’d only just calmed myself following my soaking, but the sight of the irksome academic, seated at the opposite end of the judges’ desk, sets me off again. His bald head glistens like a beacon under the spotlights, the sweat perhaps resulting from his copious body fat (he’s even rounder than when I last saw him, I’m sure of it, and that was only a few months ago at my graduation) and the three-piece tweed suit straining around his loathsome frame. Or perhaps it results from his excitement at having so many beautiful girls lined up on the stage for his perusal.

Wamdale’s bespectacled eyes catch mine, and I swear that the bastard winks at me. But while my mind screams all the insults under the sun, I restrain myself from as much as blinking. For the next few days, the likes of Conrad, Wamdale and Wade will be calling the shots, and I shall have to grin and bear it, literally. I think back to the advice that a particularly flamboyant stylist gave me at Miss Lincolnshire, before I made my debut on the catwalk:

“No matter what the contest throws at you, never neglect to smile. When things are going well, it’s important to smile, but when things are going badly, it’s vital. When the judges mark you down for a ‘slovenly posture’ or ‘insipid twirls’, smile. When your mind goes blank during that crucial interview question, smile. When you twist your ankle and land hard on your arse, dazzle the world with your pearly whites all the way down. Greet every failure and humiliation with a resplendent grin. Smile until every muscle in your face aches. Smile until you are filled with hatred for the whole world and every fucker that walks in it. And then, my princess, smile some more.”

“…During his celebrated career as an anthropologist”, Charlotte drones on, “Professor Wamdale has conducted fieldwork on tribesmen in the Amazon, nomads in the Sahara, monks in the Himalayas, and teenagers in the Bronx. But dare I suggest, he might find our beauty contest his most enthralling study yet!”

A wiggle of the eyebrows and an eager drumming of his fat fingers suggest that the old perv damn well might.

“Last, but certainly not least, an introduction is barely required for our Head Judge, who has enjoyed a glittering career that has seen her model for Dior and Versace, appear on the cover of Vogue, and serve as fashion consultant to the late Diana, Princess of Wales. But it was here, in this very town hall, that that career was kickstarted with the title of Miss Grumford 1985. It is therefore very fitting that I should invite Mayoress Sabrina Royale to officially open the contest.”

I’ll take this opportunity to confide in you. With my 25^th birthday around the corner, the matter of how to age like a fine wine rather than a cheap lager is turning from a theoretical question to a practical dilemma. And while I’ve been reading up on the secrets of Crawford and Campbell, the Mayoress, now ascending onto the stage, presents an excellent case-study right here in the flesh. Staying with the wine analogy, the most important considerations for a good vintage are that it be made with quality ingredients and properly kept, away from the damaging rays of the sun. With her well-tended skin, the supporting structure of her high cheekbones, and a lithe figure that has become neither loose and flabby nor hollowed and boney, Sabrina makes the grade. But there’s more to it than simply freezing the clock on one’s youth. Vintage wine is sought after precisely because it doesn’t have the tart crispness and plain purity of a new bottle, something Sabrina understands well. Wearing an apple-green skirt-suit and silk tights, and with her sandy hair up in a beehive, the Mayoress isn’t looking to compete with the young girls on stage, but set herself on a level above them. Tawney may be a hopeless sucker for her, but at least he’s a hopeless sucker with taste. His stern instruction echoes in my mind. “I don’t want so much as a fleck of cream to come into contact with the Mayoress, do you understand?” I agree – it would be truly terrible if any messy misfortune were to befall her.

“Why Charlotte, you make me sound so old!” The Mayoress takes the podium. Her tone is jovial, and she gets a laugh from the audience, but the way the veteran snatches the mic suggests that she might be a little insecure in her years after all. Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t like being reminded of them by a peroxide beta. The shrewlike coordinator duly scuttles away into the shadows. Quite right too.

With Charlotte’s sycophancy having drained my attention, I can’t help but zone out as the Mayoress commences a speech of her own. As long as the smile remains in place, it’s all good. I can even steal a few sideways glances to check out the competition.

During my tumultuous journey here, I wondered whether my re-encounters with the old guard would be like that classic high school reunion trope. You know the thing. The wholesome, polished, goody-two-shoes Head Girl now sports a green mohawk and myriad piercings and passes you a spliff in the ladies. The nerdy guy who was so shy nobody remembers his name has morphed into a corporate sociopath who specialises in hostile takeovers. The strapping, lantern-jawed rugby player called Brian turns up in a paisley frock and goes by the name of Brianna. And the class drinks to the memory of the health obsessive who went under a bus in his early twenties.

Superficially, the old guard have indeed changed, so much so I struggle to recognise some of them. Three years is a long time to be absent from the scene, longer than thirty years in fact. While designers and stylists are safe to recycle decades-old looks under the banner of “retro”, nobody wants to be seen aping what was “in” a few years ago. As such, my former colleagues are so transformed in their hairstyles and make-up – not to mention a fair few modifications that can’t be hung up in a wardrobe or dabbed away with cleanser at the end of the day – that identifying them proves a tricky business. But one by one, I go through an “oh, it’s her” epiphany with the various competitors assembled on stage. In most cases, it is a gesture or mannerism that gives her away – a territorial flick of the hair, a vivacious wiggle of the hips, a covert communication imparted expertly through the corner of the mouth while maintaining the aforementioned all-important smile. It is these engrained behaviours that let me know the old guard haven’t really changed at all.

To my immediate right I discover Kristina Pavolina, attired in a light blue dress that provides the perfect summer sky to her shimmering wheat-field of hair. A competition gymnast in her native Russia until her ‘retirement’ to the modelling world in her late teens, Kristina exudes daintiness from every pore. Her feet are so petite it’s a marvel she can stand up, let alone perform incredible feats on a balance beam. Her bust is non-existent, but she knows exactly how to play that to her advantage. Her nose comes to so fine a point that she could use it as a record stylus, and she postures herself so that it forms a plumb-line perfect vertical with her equally delicate chin. But don’t confuse her exterior finesse for inner fragility. Like all successful gymnasts, Kristina possesses strength unbecoming of her looks, both physical and mental, and anyone who crosses her will receive the kind of backlash Yeltsin gave the Chechen rebels.

To my left, things take a turn from the sublime to the ridiculous in the form of Lacey Lewis. Lacey is notable as an exception to the dumb blonde stereotype – she is one hell of a dumb brunette, and has racked up an impressive array of “duh!” moments under her bodice. She once returned a tanning bed to the store, complaining that it was ineffective. It later transpired that she was slicking up with ultra-SPF sunblock before each session, “just in case”. On another occasion, her agent told her she needed some panache, to which she replied “won’t that be a bit fattening?”, thinking he was referring to some fancy dessert. Lacey has also shown herself to think that Al Pacino is an Islamic terrorist, Dr Fox is a qualified medical practitioner, and the Isle of Man has no female inhabitants. We even tricked her into asking her stylist for an “Edinburgh fringe” (good times!). Miraculously though, despite her off-stage calamities, Lacey always manages to sparkle in the limelight. Today is no exception; her long chestnut hair has a wonderful wave to it, her make-up is impeccable, and all in all she looks breathtaking in her strapless mauve gown.

Standing past Lacey is a model who could never stand accused of being underpopulated upstairs. Patricia Wang, a friend of Grace’s, balances her fashion work with freelance coding and the editorship of a popular science blog. This background, together with the fact that she eschews contact lenses and never models without her horn-rimmed glasses, has earned her the moniker “the Chic Geek”. Today, Patricia is also paying homage to her Chinese roots in a dragon-red frock with gold detailing. Her straight black hair is flawless, reaching down to a feathered taper just above her hips. She’s the shortest of the competitors at under five and a half feet, but punches way above her height with her quick and sometimes caustic wit.

Also present on stage are the twins Jenni and Kelli Grant. Jenni is decked out in a white dress with black polka dots, while Kelli complements her with white polka dots on black. Blessed alike with proportions that would impress Euclid, the curly redheads are nigh on indistinguishable, save for a mole above Jenni’s left eyebrow. Cue much mischief, such as a legendary show in Milan where “Jenni” wowed the audience with her lightning-speed changes between outfits. The sisters would have got away with it had they not slipped out of sync and strutted onto the catwalk at the same time. It would seem that Charlotte is taking no chances today, placing them at opposite ends of the stage.

And there, down the line, is Penny, playing chicken with the stage markings in a bid to be half an inch in front of the rest. Black’s hair is in the same swept style she sported at Leicester, and her attire is a marginal improvement over the orange shocker she wore at that event. The purple hue is acceptable enough, but what is that glossy material? It can’t be vinyl, can it? She must be stuck in a contract with a designer who specialises in garments made from upholstery reclaimed from public transport and hospital waiting rooms.

There are, of course, some new faces too, though many do have a ring of familiarity to them, presumably from featuring in magazines and catalogues. In particular, there’s one waifish blonde whom I’m sure I saw in something very recently, but I can’t place the source right now.

I am jolted from my musings by another round of applause, and which I hurriedly participate in. “…I hereby declare Miss Grumford open!” The Mayoress slices through a ribbon with a giant pair of scissors. “May this be a year to remember!”

I get the feeling it will be. For what reasons, I’m not sure.

Chapter Five

The morning session passes smoothly and uneventfully, and naturally I place within the top few scorers, meaning that, barring a total disaster this afternoon, I should comfortably progress to the next round tomorrow. But I’m beginning to wonder how exactly I can do detective work when I’m on stuck on stage with all eyes upon me. Tawney would have done better to send someone posing as a cleaner, not that I would suit that role, of course.

Never mind, maybe the next couple of hours will prove more fruitful. It’s lunch break, although lunch, like breakfast and dinner, is a rather alien concept to many here. My fellow models sit regarding their polystyrene plates of spinach salad and diced grapefruit with narrowed eyes, as if they suspect the food of conspiring to ruin their chances in the contest. Occasionally, after much stalling for time by prodding, cutting, and dragging the rations around the plate (it looks as if everyone in my vicinity is right-handed, but I can’t be certain), someone will pluck up the courage to move a forkful to her lips, masticating with much guilty deliberation. Did I have this attitude to eating back in the day? I fear I probably did. I’m ravenous, but I don’t want to show myself up by eating too fast. To make matters worse, next to me Cassie tucks into a meaty platter with great gusto, happily oblivious to the scandalised and envious glances she is attracting.

“I read in Grumford Guardian zat Catwalk Assassin plan to strike at zis contest”, Kristina mentions, as she scores and slices a lettuce leaf with military precision.

My ears prick up. This is news to me. Leaked info or idle speculation?

“Pah! What does the Grumford Guardian know?” Patricia spins an olive on her plate. “Every local rag is predicting that the Assassin will deign to swoop on their town’s fashion show. It’s all about drumming up publicity.”

“Still, makes you nervous, doesn’t it?”, Kelli fumbles with her cutlery. “Knowing that the Assassin is out there and could strike at any moment. I’d hate to be covered in anything yucky!”

“You know, there’s an easy way to beat the assassin.” Lacey has that look that tells us a dubious machination has just passed in her skull. “We wear raincoats.”

Patricia scrutinises Lacey as if assessing some exotic lifeform for an article on her blog. “You’re suggesting we parade in raincoats?”

“Yeah, to keep us nice and dry”, Lacey explains.

“I’m aware what the function of a raincoat is”, Patricia continues to stare. “But a beauty contest is supposed to have an evening gown round, swimsuit round, et cetera… not one frigging raincoat round after another!”

“Ahh, but here’s the clever bit”, Lacey raises a finger. “We do the same rounds as before… but wearing raincoats.”

“But…won’t…if…how can…oh, never mind!”, Patricia sighs.

“Good idea, huh?” Lacey looks as pleased as punch.

Having taken the opportunity to wolf down several mouthfuls while everyone was distracted, I wade into the debate. “I don’t think there’s any need for panic, but we should be vigilant. The Catwalk Assassin is not to be trifled with.”

“Trifle – now that’s something the Assassin hasn’t used yet.” Jenni’s eyes light up at the possibilities, while her sister pales further. “Maybe the stage will open up and we’ll all be swallowed up by a great bowl of trifle!”

“Ooo, that sounds so fattening!”, shudders Lacey.

“Impossible”, Kristina shakes her head. “Only in Soviet Russia trifle swallow you.”

I try to get things back on-topic. “Look, we don’t know what method the assassin will choose next, but we can be sure that he or she will use plenty of cunning.”

“Is that fattening?”, asks Lacey.

Kelli mashes a lump of cottage cheese with her fork. “I just hope the bugger gets caught.”

“It’s not all bad, sis.” Jenni reassures her. “As Patricia says, it’s a publicity boost. And no-one complained when Dreadful got her makeover. No-one except Dreadful, that is.”

Laughter breaks out around the table, but is then hurriedly extinguished as a newcomer approaches. “Speak of the devil”, murmurs Patricia.

Penny Black announces her arrival with a clatter of her tray into the personal space of an indignant Kristina. “Budge up Ruskie!” She peers round at us from under her swept fringe. “What’s with the guilty looks? Not talking about me I hope.”

“No no”, insists Lacey. “We were talking about the Devil.”

Penny gives Lacey a confused look as she seats herself across the table from me. “Well well, Shrove Tuesday! Didn’t expect to see you back here. Thought you were going to university to get a fancy career. Three years later, and what have you got to show for it? A beer gut and a big tax bill for us hard-workers, that’s what.”

“Nice to see you again too, Melissa”, I reply with curt restraint.

Penny harrumphs, evidently perturbed by the mention of her real name. It’s tempting to unleash the Beesley on her too – she’d hate that, in front of everyone – but I decide to keep that ammunition in reserve for now. Penny turns her attention to my assistant, who has just commenced eating a large treacle tart. “And who’s this? Some cardigan-wearing lezzer you picked up on a student demo?”

“Are you talking to me?”, Cassie speaks up. I’m not sure whether she is genuinely asking or just asserting herself.

“Don’t see any other cardigan-wearing lezzer types around here”, Penny sneers. Lacey looks around to check. “This is a beauty contest, love, not a tree-hugging session!”

Awkward glances are exchanged around the table. “Penny, don’t talk like that”, Jenni protests.

“I just want to know who she is, and what she’s doing here.” The bitch’s brow furrows as she studies Cassie. She’s probably noticed the girl’s expressionless, maldirected stare and, like me yesterday, mistaken it for some kind of social shortcoming. One thing she doesn’t realise is that if she continues down this path, Cassie is going to open a can of whoop-ass on her. This could be damaging to our undercover operation. It could also be awesome.

“I’m Cassie O’Pier”, declares Cassie. “I’m Ash’s make-up artist.”

“Make-up artist?!”, scoffs Penny. “You call that a professional make-up job? Are you blind or something?”

Uh-oh. Talk about stomping onto a megaton mine. This isn’t going to be pretty. Perhaps I should spirit Cassie away before she erupts, or at least give her a nudge of caution, but instead I sit frozen, awaiting verbal detonation.

But Cassie remains surprisingly stoic. Biting her lip, she casually inserts the thin end of her spoon under the foil tin that contains her treacle tart. I’m glad there are other witnesses to what happens next, because otherwise I would never believe it. Cassie brings her interlocked hands hard and fast onto the broad end of the spoon, and with a resonating ‘boing’, the tart is catapulted into the air. It sails over the table, performing a complete revolution as it goes. Penny tracks the arcing dessert with widening eyes, but by the time she realises its final destination, it’s too late to take evasive action. One soft, squelching “pllfftt” later, and Penny’s sardonic features are buried.

Around the table, eyes move between the foil tin that remains stuck to Penny’s face, and the sweet smile that has spread across Cassie’s. No-one is more shocked than me. How did Cassie divine the exact location of Penny’s face? From listening to her voice? Jenni stifles a titter, Patricia wears an approving smirk, Lacey points at Cassie and cries, “Oh my God! The Assassin’s right here!”

Heads turn. “No no, she’s not the Assassin”, I hurry to defuse the situation. The last thing I need is my undercover assistant getting arrested. “She just slipped and accidentally…”

“Gahhh!”, Penny flings the tin to the floor, snarling through layers of brown, sugary mush. Bits of the goo drop onto her cleavage and slide over that questionable purple dress. Her fringe sags under the weight of a clod of pastry plastered across it. “That was no accident! You did that on purpose, you little cow!” Blinking her eyes clear, she picks up a bowl of parsley soup from her tray. “Well two can play at that game!”

She flings the contents of the bowl, but despite having the full faculties of vision on her side, doesn’t achieve Cassie’s accuracy, and instead it is Patricia who gets a faceful of the bright green sludge.

“Another Assassin!”, gasps Lacey.

“Penny, look what you’ve done!”, splutters Patricia, removing her gunk-splattered glasses to leave two bare patches on an otherwise verdant visage. She examines her splotched dress with dismay. “What a state I look!”

Penny could easily end things here with an apology and an offer to help Patricia clean up. After all, it’s obvious that Patricia wasn’t her intended victim. But that’s not Penny’s way. “You don’t need me to look a state, sweetie.”

Blimey, you can talk, Ms Vinyl.

Huffing, the green-faced Asian selects a plate of houmous salad. “I knows it’s unusual to have salad after dessert, but here, have some of this!” Patricia flicks the plate at Penny. Her aim is somewhat better, but Penny manages to dodge out of the way, and a shower of grey-brown chickpea paste and lightly-oiled lettuce rains instead on Kristina, who educates us in a few Russian swear words.

“Bloody hell!”, yells Lacey, “Three Assassins!”

“Oh shut up!” I push the silly girl’s face down into a low-fat vegetable quiche. From somewhere inside the mound of broccoli and mushrooms, a muffled cry of “four!” emanates.

“Kristina, I’m really sorry”, Patricia cringes as the Russian pulls houmous from her blonde hair and flicks pieces of tomato from her sky-blue frock. “I never meant to hit you!”

“Too late”, Kristina retorts in a Putinesque tone. “You commit act of aggression and now you feel full force of my arsenal.” She gets up from the table and wheels over a dessert trolley that is about as appropriate to this event as a condom machine in the Vatican. Gâteaux, cream pastries, fruit pies… there are enough calories on that creaking trolley to make even a semi-committed model swoon.

“Kristina, please!” Patricia gets to her feet, waving her hands in front of her.

Without mercy, Kristina launches a banana cream pie. Screaming, Patricia leaps clear and yet another bystander is dragged into the fray; this time it’s Kelli who cops the projectile in the kisser. Yellow-white cream explodes outwards, into her scarlet curls and beyond, some of it spraying onto her sister.

Jenni takes this as her cue to grab some ammunition from the trolley. “FOOOOOOD FIGHT!!”, she yells, hurling a chocolate cake indiscriminately. “I’ve always wanted to shout that”, she tells her whimpering twin.

All-out war duly breaks out, and models at neighbouring tables are soon sucked in. Treats and sweets hurtle across the Town Hall canteen, undoing hours of hairdressing and make-up application at a stroke. Blonde turns brown with chocolate sauce; brunette becomes yellow under cascades of custard. Soufflé sullies silk, lemon meringue lays waste to lace, and vanilla pudding violates vinyl.

Ducking a bombardments of profiteroles, I grab Cassie’s arm and yank her under the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” I place a guiding hand on the blind girl’s shoulder and we crawl forwards together, passing cream-streaked legs and abandoned stilettos on either side.

“The door’s at eleven o’clock, about five metres away”, I say as we reach the end of the table. “Are you ready to… mmmmphh!!” A velvety coolness engulfs my face, and the rich aroma of cheesecake streams into my nostrils – coconut, if I’m not mistaken.

“Come on Ash, get involved!”, comes Jenni’s giddy voice from above me.

In the confusion, Cassie breaks from my grip and bolts for it. I wipe the goo from my eyes in time to see her grapple frantically with the door handle. The dessert trolley barges into her, pinning her against the door. Wielding it is a gunked and gooey Penny Black.

The chaos subsides as all eyes fall on Black and her entrapped victim. “Got you at last!” Smiling, Penny reaches onto the bottom shelf of the trolley and heaves out a multi-tiered, cream-coated monster of a gâteau. “And now, the Bombe Surprise.”

“Leave her alone!”, I shout, clambering out from under the table.

“And what are you gonna do about it, Tuesday?” Penny gestures the still-bountiful range of ammunition under her control. She has a point. Maybe I should leave Cassie to take this one for the team.

At that moment, the door opens, causing Cassie to all but fall into the corridor. Charlotte Wade steps through the doorway, flanked by two security guards, her expression stony as she clocks the confectional carnage in the canteen.

“Oooo Penny…”, chimes Lacey.

“You can shut it too!”, snaps Black, brandishing the ginormous gâteau to the room.

Patricia chips in. “Seriously, I wouldn’t…”

“SILENCE!” Penny draws back the monstrous cake. “I’m going to show you all what happens to those who mess with me, especially a pathetic a specimen like this!” She jabs a finger back towards Charlotte’s ashen countenance. “Take that, you butt-ugly, tree-hugging dyke!” Penny springs her arm forward to deliver the blow, turning her head back towards the door as she does so. The bitch’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull as they register the besuited administrator where she believed Cassie to be. But the gâteau has built up too much momentum, and no amount of regret can prevent it ploughing into Charlotte’s upper half. The administrator reels from the creamy impact, and no doubt would have gone down were it not for the buffering from her security heavies. Her stern face, peroxide hair, and smart black suit are all buried under a shapeless layer of gooey white.

The only sounds in the room are the plopping of cream globules to the floor and Penny giggling that high-pitched, fear-tinged giggle of someone who knows they are in deep do-do. “My dear Ms Wade, how clumsy of me! Let me help you get cleaned up. What a terrible accident! You see, what happened was…”

The white blob in the doorway digs herself a couple of eye holes and spits out a cherry. “Don’t even try to explain, Beesley.”

The author has waived all copyright to this text.

Hot woman is voted(?) to get a pie on a Spanish show.

Birthday Slime Attack	$5,000 RAISED DURING JUMP ROPE FOR HEARTS EVENT AT WEST PENN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL	Coins for Camp Week #5	Zane’s Problem-Solution Project 2014 – Slime Mrs. G. for charity!
R-E-S-P-E-C-T	It’s Slime Time!	A Time To Celebrate	Martin County School District Kicks Off Fundraising Campaigns For The March of Dimes
Daleville principal slimed	Best Friend Challenge!	Cintu recibida enchastre	Recibida Emi – La venganza!!!
El día que Nerina Paola Carnero se convirtió de “humano” a arquitecta	Recibida de Nai!!	Recibida Meli!!	Se recibe Maga :D
Recibida de Rocio asquerosidad com Abogadita 3	jajajaja que lindo prima!!!!! gracias por estar!!!! te adoro Pre!	Diseñadora Saito	SEÑORA FELICIDAD!
#recibida #amigas #chochera	ABOGADAS!!!! LA PRIMERA ABOGADA QUE SALVO AL GRUPO!!!	RECIBIDA LU 20-03-14	Barber Elementary School principal becomes a human ice cream sundae on March 7, 2014
Human ice cream sundae at Mckevett	Got yas!!!!	The Blackening of Sarah Wisely nee Sharp	Mike & Nikki’s Wedding & Blackening
#blackening #highlands #scotland #ullapool	The Blackening of the Bride	Laura & Austin get “a doin”	egg roulette
World Pie Month – School Challenge – #worldpiemonth	PI WEEK 2014	ESS Pi Week 2014	The two students were pied courtesy of the previous year’s Pi committee.
#ewurha #pieintheface	How @caitthegrrreat & @meganrae21 celebrate #piday!	Happy 3.14 day #USAO. If you missed @fran_monfron throwing a pie at me. Here you go.	Mrs. Ripp gets a pie in the face (thanks to Terroristpie)
Mrs. Ripp gets a pie in the face (thanks to oink)	Pie in the face on Pi Day	Brooklyn student throws pie in the face of her teacher — after reciting 100 digits of Pi	Pie in the FACE! Students Have Sweet Celebration
Pi Day 2014	Lincoln Pi Day	Pi/pie day at the Dayton STEM School	Pi Day 2014
Westie News:March 14th – Pi day	Westville Pi-Day Ms. Hull Preview	Miss Bill Gets Pied!	Pi Day at Badger Middle School 03-14-14
Who Wants Pi?	Pi Day Pie-Eating Contest	Pi day Friday was brill	‘Pi Day’ A Celebration at MCC
VID_20131020 _114437.mkv	We got to pick the teacher we wanted to get pie and then the principle [headdesk] got pied.	They got my XO!!!	1SG did SGT Dow sooooo dirty.
Happy birthday Aimee!	My bosses getting pied in the face	Bethany Gets Pied	Pie in face
Jessica’s Pietime	Happy 1 Year Anniversary!! || xoFarrahAlyse	Slow Motion Pie Smashing	Berkley Academy fundraising rewards
Ok so I wasn’t really expecting this to happen tonight…	Pie in the face!!!!	pie in the face!!!	got her good! Love you @katylynn6 Yay for fundraisers!!
Jean’s Birthday | Pie Fight.	Happy 3.14 Day!!!!	I got pied in the face for #PieDay!	Pi day at McVay
Community High School Teachers Get Pied in the Face	We take #piday very seriously around here(;	Project Grateful 365- Day 56	Another action shot from the pie in the face.
my last shift at High Cotton.	#pieintheface #fundraiser #teachers #lovemyschool #funny #school	Pie contest at work haha	Pie a Pi
Sorority raises money for Ronald McDonald charities at Pie a Pi Day	Managers getting pies in face	Purim carnival in Seattle	Miss Rebekah enjoys a tasty pie
尹薇生日之刮鬍泡也瘋狂	Part.1 Mia慶生之刮鬍泡偷襲大成功	2014-02-27 二月壽星慘兮兮	Pastelazo de Stefi 2
¡¡¡TARTAZO!!! de 5º ANIVERSARIO del Fiestón Canario en Madrid	Sand and Misery Challenge	sequence_5.mov (thanks to Pie-pie)

Thumbs up for literacy! Come Pie us until 4pm on McMicken commons! http://t.co/9rSeUf8Kvi—
UC Pi Beta Phi (@UCPiBetaPhi) March 14, 2014

Really? Pie in the face day! http://t.co/1sOTw8CWur—
Webber Elementary (@WebberDragons) March 21, 2014

Come pie me in the face until 4pm in Commons Plaza. Support Make A Wish Foundation http://t.co/ccNrMgDTJN—
Jalen (@Dreadhead_Jay) March 22, 2014

A huge Thank you to everyone who came out to Pie a Pi Day! It was such a huge success!! It was all for the @RMHC!! http://t.co/U4sc1gmdAj—
WKU Alpha Delta Pi (@WKU_ADPi) March 18, 2014

Sorority raises money for Ronald McDonald charities at Pie a Pi Day bgdailynews.com/wku/scene/soro… @WKU_ADPi #photos http://t.co/QScnAuC7qz—
WKU Scene (@wkudn) March 18, 2014

Up next, the other unlucky bunch. #pieintheface #MUN http://t.co/sqGTwHEl26—
MUN Dining Services (@MUNDining) March 27, 2014

I can always count on @Gassinbreh to pie me! 🍰 #sigmalove #pieaphi http://t.co/BysinXqKya—
Katie (@White_GirlKatie) February 25, 2014

https://twitter.com/_alesssandraaa/status/400476036112351232/photo/1

It was a bitter sweet, but I got @kadynavarra real good 😂😂#PieAPhi http://t.co/zEWOx2htJI—
Zac Maurer (@zacjmaurer) October 23, 2013

Emma Watson gets great coverage on the rock/paper/scissors pie game on Jimmy Fallon. She was on to promote her new film “Noah.” And good for her going in with no goggles!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiMYnnvtXUQ






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The first episode in what looks to be a promising series.

So I was reading the Metro the other day (it’s the only newspaper that’s actually worth what you pay for it) and I saw this.

Chef Gizzi Erskine (which is an amazing name, by the way) has done some photos with a few other chefs (all male, I’m afraid) where they’ve covered their heads in food. In Gizzi’s case, it’s Korean bulgogi marinade. I’m sure there’s a joke about treating women like a piece of meat in there somewhere.

Source.